SPARROWS.]
LETTER VIII.
_FROM THE GANDER TO THE TURKEY-COCK._
(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)
Old friend, you certainly have merit; You really are a bird of spirit. I'm quite surprised, I must confess; I did not think you did possess Such valour as you've lately shown-- In fact, 'tis nearly like my own. You know I've always been renown'd For bravery, since first I found That I could hiss; and feel I'm bolder Each year that I am growing older.
GOOSE.]
You must, I'm sure, have often seen, When in the pond, or on the green, With all my family about me (I can't think how they'd do without me), Some human thing come striding by, And how, without a scruple, I March after him, and bite his heel; And then, you know, the pride I feel To hear, as back I march again, The feat extoll'd by all my train. But if I were to tell you all The valiant actions, great and small, That ever were achieved by me, I never should have done, I see; For cows, and pigs, and horses know The consequence of such a foe. However, I am glad to find That you have such a noble mind, And think, my friend, that by and by You'll rise to be as great as I.
Your old friend,
HISS.
LETTER IX.
_FROM THE DUNGHILL-COCK TO THE CHAFFINCH._
I have often, during the spring and summer, heard you of a morningpiping away in the hedges, sometimes as soon as I was up myself, andthought your singing pretty fair, and that you conducted yourself as youought to do. But this I cannot say lately; for it is quite oversteppingthe bounds of decency and good manners when you and your brotherpilferers, now the winter is come, make it your daily practice to comeby scores, as you do, into our yard, and, without any ceremony, eatup all the barley you can lay your beaks to. I suppose when thespring comes again, and you find more to satisfy you outside a farmyardthan within, you will be off to the hedges again. I shall let you alone,unless the barley runs short, which is to support my wives andchildren; when if you still venture to continue your pilferings, youmust not be surprised should some of you feel the weight of mydispleasure.
COCK.]
I must go after my family, who are all out of my sight, since I havebeen writing this.
Yours in haste, and a friend if possible,
CHANTICLEER.
LETTER X.
_FROM THE BLUE-BOTTLE FLY TO THE GRASSHOPPER._
(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)
I.
As I roamed t'other day, Neighbour Hop, in my way I discovered a nice rotten plum, Which you know is a treat; And, to taste of the sweet, A swarm of relations had come.
II.
So we all settled round, As it lay on the ground, And were feasting ourselves with delight; But, for want of more thought To have watched, as we ought, We were suddenly seized--and held tight.
III.
In a human clenched hand, Where, unable to stand, We were twisted and tumbled about; But, perceiving a chink, You will readily think I exerted myself--I got out.
IV.
How the rest got away I really can't say; But I flew with such ardour and glee. That again, unawares, I got into the snares Of my foe Mr. Spider, you see;
V.
Who so fiercely came out Of his hole, that no doubt He expected that I was secure: But he found 'twould not do, For I forced my way through, Overjoyed on escaping, you're sure.
VI.
But I'll now take my leave, For the clouds I perceive Are darkening over the sky; The sun has gone in, And I really begin To feel it grow colder.--Good bye!
I'm, as ever, yours,
BLUE-BOTTLE FLY.
LETTER XI.
_FROM THE GLOW-WORM TO THE HUMBLE-BEE._
(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)
Excuse, Mr. Bee, this epistle, to one Whose time, from the earliest gleam of the sun Till he sinks in the west, is so busily spent, That I fear I intrude;--but I write with intent To save your whole city from pillage and ruin, And to warn you in time of a plot that is brewing. Last night, when, as usual, enjoying the hour When the gloaming had spread, and a trickling shower Was beading the grass as it silently fell, And day with reluctance was bidding farewell; When down by yon hedge, nearly opposite you, And your City of Honey, as proudly I threw The rays from my lamp in a magical round; I listened, alarmed upon hearing the sound Of human intruders approaching more near; But I presently found _I_ had nothing to fear, For the hedge was between us, and I and my gleam Lay hid from their view: when the following scheme I heard, as they sheltered beneath the old tree, And send you each creature's own words, Mr. Bee:-- "See, Jack, there it is; now suppose you and I, With a spade and some brimstone, should each of us try Some night, when we're sure all the bees are at rest, To smother them all, and then dig out the nest." "I know we can do it," said Jack with delight; "I can't come to-morrow; but s'pose the next night We both set about it, if you are inclined; And then we will halve all the honey we find?" "Agreed," said the other, "but let us be gone." And they left me in thought until early this morn; When I certainly meant, if your worship had stay'd But a minute or two, till my speech I had made, To have saved you the reading, as well as the cost Of a letter by post--but my words were all lost; For though they were lavished each time you came near, Or was close overhead, and I thought you _should_ hear, Yet the buzz of importance, as onward you flew, Bobbing into each flower the whole meadow through, So baffled your brains that I let you alone, For I found that I might as well speak to a drone: Yet, rather than quietly leave you to fate (Such a villainous thought never entered my pate), I send you this letter, composed by the light Of my silvery lamp in the dead of the night, And about the same time, and the very same place, That a few nights ago, when the moon hid her face, I beheld, nearly hid in the grass as I lay, And my lamp in full splendour reflecting its ray In the eye of each dewdrop, the fairies unseen To all human vision, trip here with their Queen, To pay me a visit, to dance and to feast; And their revels continued, till full in the east The sun tinged the clouds for another bright day, When each took the warning and bounded away: 'Tis the same at this moment. Farewell, Mr. Hum, I've extinguished my lamp, for the morning is come.
SPANGLE.
PARTRIDGES.]
LETTER XII.
_FROM THE PIGEON TO THE PARTRIDGE._
What a long time it is since I received your kind letter about theripening corn, and the dangers you were presently to be subject to withall your children!
PIGEONS.]
You will think me very idle, or very unfeeling, if I delay answering youany longer; I will therefore tell you some of my own troubles, toconvince you that I have had causes of delay, which you can have nonotion of until I explain them. You must know, then, that we are subjectto more than the random gun-shot in the field, for we are sometimestaken out of our house a hundred at a time, and put into a largebasket to be placed in a meadow or spare plat of ground suiting thepurpose, there to be murdered at leisure. This they call "shooting fromthe trap,"[3] and is done in this way:
We being imprisoned, as I have said, as thick as we can stand in thebasket, a man is placed by us to take us out _singly_, and carry us to asmall box, at the distance of fifty or sixty yards; this box has a lid,to which is attached a string, by means of which, he, the man (if he isa man) can draw up the lid and let us fly at a signal given. Everysensible pigeon of course flies for his life, for, ranged on each side,stand from two to four or six men with guns, who fire as the bird getsupon the wing; and the cleverest fellows are those who can killmost;--and this they call _sport_!
PARTRIDGES.]
I have sad cause to know how this sport is conducted, for I have bee
n inthe trap myself. Only one man, or perhaps a boy, fired at me as I rose;but I received two wounds, for one shot passed through my crop, but Iwas astonished to find how soon it got well; the other broke my leg justbelow the feathers. Oh, what anguish I suffered for two months! at theend of which time it withered and dropped off. So now, instead ofrunning about amongst my red-legged brethren, as a pigeon ought, I amobliged to hop like a sparrow. But only consider what glory thisstripling must have acquired, to have actually fired a gun and broke apigeon's leg! Well, we both know, neighbour Partridge, what the Hawk is;he stands for no law, nor no season, but eats us when he is hungry. Heis a perfect gentleman compared to these "Lords of the Creation," as Iam told they call themselves; and I declare to you upon the honour of apigeon, that I had much rather be torn to pieces by the Hawk than beshut up in a box at a convenient distance to be shot at by a dastard.You partridges are protected during great part of the year by severelaws, but whether such laws are wise, merciful, or just, I cannotdetermine, but I know that they are strictly kept and enforced by thosewho make them. Take care of yourself, for the harvest is almost ripe.
I am, your faithful,
ONE-LEGGED FRIEND AT THE GRANGE.
LETTER XIII.
_FROM THE WOOD-PIGEON TO THE OWL._
MY GOOD, OLD, WISE, SECLUDED, AND QUIET FRIEND,
I write to you in the fulness of my heart, for I have been grosslyinsulted by the Magpie, in a letter received this morning; in which Iam abused for what my forefathers did long before I was born. I know ofnothing more base, or more unjust, than thus raking up old quarrels[4]and reproaching those who had nothing to do with them. The letter musthave come through your office, but I know you have not the authority tobreak open and examine letters passing between those who should befriends; I therefore do not accuse you; but sometimes the heart isrelieved by stating its troubles even when no redress can be expected. Iknow that you cannot bring to punishment that slanderer, that babbler ofthe woods, any more than I can; but I wish you would give me a word ofcomfort, if it is ever so short.
OWL.]
From the plantation of firs,
Near the forest-side,
WOOD-PIGEON.
LETTER XIV.
_THE OWL IN REPLY TO THE WOOD-PIGEON._
DISTRESSED NEIGHBOUR,
I am sorry for your trouble, but cheer up your spirits, and though youare insulted, remember who it is that gives the affront, it is only themagpie; and depend upon it that in general the best way to deal withimpudent fools is to be silent and take no notice of them. I should haveenough to do if I were to resent all her impertinences. She will comesometimes round the ivy where I lodge in the old elm, or into the toweron the top of the hill; and there she will pimp and pry into my privateconcerns, and mob me, and call me "Old Wigsby" and "Doctor Winkum," andsuch kind of names, and all for nothing. I assure you it is well for herthat she is not a mouse, or she should not long escape my talons; butwho ever heard of such a thing as eating a magpie? I live chiefly onmice (when I am at liberty to catch them), but I have my complaints tomake as well as you, for you know I hold a high situation in thePost-office, and I suppose you know, likewise, that the letters arebrought in so very late that it often takes me half the night to sortthem, and night is the very time when I ought to get my own food! Atthis rate of going on, and if the cats are industrious as usual, therewill not be a mouse left for me, if I do not give up my place.
I have heard that my family are famed for wisdom; but for my part I willnot boast of any such thing: yet I am wise enough to know that otherpeople in high offices expect either a good salary or perquisites, as areward for their labour, or what is easier still, somebody to do all thework for them. If I hold in my present mind until next quarter, I willcertainly send in my resignation. Thus you see what an important thingit is to suit the person to the office, or the office to the person onwhom it is conferred; for had the magpie, for instance, been secretary,every one of the letters would have been peeped into, for a certainty,for nothing can escape her curiosity. I will try to bear with mysituation a little longer, and believe me to be
Your true friend,
SECRETARY TO THE BOARD OF MANAGERS.
LETTER XV.
_FROM A SWALLOW IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE TO AN ENGLISH ROBIN._
DEAR LITTLE BOB,
I remember your peaceful singing on the top of your shed, near my latedwelling, and I remember also that I promised to write you someaccount of my journey. You may recollect that, at the close of yoursummer, when flies became scarce, we all assembled on a sunny morning,on the roof of the highest building in the village, and talked loudly ofthe flight we intended to take. At last came the day appointed, and wemounted up in a vast body and steered southward.
SWALLOWS.]
Being hatched in England, I had thought your valleys and streamsmatchless in beauty; and for anything I know to the contrary theycertainly are; but I am now a traveller, and have a traveller'sprivilege to say what I like. When we reached the great water I wasastonished at its width, but more still to see many travelling housesgoing at a prodigious rate, and sending forth from iron chimneys columnsof black smoke over the face of the water, reaching further than youever flew in your life; they have a contrivance on each side which putsthe waves all in commotion, but they are not wings. My mother says thatin old times, when swallows came to England, there were no such thingsto be seen. We crossed this water, and a fine sunny country beyond it,until I was tired, and we now found flies more abundant, though theoldest amongst us assure me that we must travel further still, overanother wide water, into a country where men's faces are of the samecolour as my feathers, black and tawny; but travellers see strangethings. When I come to England again I will endeavour to find out yourvillage.[5] I hope, for your sake, you may have a mild winter and goodlodgings. This is all the news worth sending, and I must catch flies formyself now, you know.
So farewell,
For I am in haste.
LETTER XVI.
_ON HEARING THE CUCKOO AT MIDNIGHT, MAY 1st. 1822._
(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)
'Twas the blush of the spring, vegetation was young, And the birds with a maddening ecstasy sung To welcome a season so lovely and gay-- But a scene the most sweet was the close of May-day. For the air was serene, and the moon was out bright, And Philomel boldly exerted her might In her swellings and trillings, to rival the sound Of the distant defiance of nightingales round. While the cuckoo as proudly was heard to prolong, Though daylight was over, her own mellow song, And appeared to exult; and at intervals, too, The owl in the distance joined in with "Too-whoo!" Unceasing, unwearied, each, proud of his power, Continued the contest from hour to hour; The nightingale vaunting--the owl in reply-- With the cuckoo's response--till the moon from the sky Was hastening down to the west, and the dawn Was spreading the east; and the owl in the morn Sat silently winking his eyes at the sight; And the nightingale also had bidden "good-night." The cuckoo, left solus, continued with glee, His notes of defeat from his favourite tree; At length he departed; but still as he flew, Was heard his last notes of defiance, "Cuckoo!"
THE END.
_London: R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers_
* * * * *
NOTES:
[1] This part of the letter is very difficult of translation, as theplain word, in spiders' language, means merely "a deep one."--R. B.
[2] Cowper, that excellent man and poet, and close observer of nature,writes as follows to his friend, on the 11th of March, 1792:--
"_TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ._
"You talk of primroses that you pulled on Candlemas Day, but what thinkyou of me, who heard a nightingale on New Year's Day? Perhaps I am theonly man in England who can boast of such good fortune. Good indeed! forif was at all an omen, it could not be an unfavourable one. The winter,however, is now making himself amends, and seems the more peevish forhaving been encroached o
n at so undue a season. Nothing less than alarge slice out of the spring will satisfy him."