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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
itoe;
Collection of
Children's jBooks
CHILDREN'S BOOK
COLLECTION
LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
/*.
MY BIRD AND MY DOG,
Printed by J. Darling, LeadenhaH-Street, London.
See pay e 2.
My Bird and my Dog.
TALE FOR YOUTH.
BY THE AUTHOR OP THE
CITIZENS DAUGHTER, IDIOT HEIRESS, fr*.
While as infants you yet sported at my kuee, I perceived that the
mind of man, brought forth in sin, like the earth cnrsed by the
Almighty, requirts cultivation, and (hat the utmost vigilance and
care are necessary to train it in the paths of virtue. GES3NER.
Hontiont
Printed at the Minerva Prtst for
A. K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADENIIALL-STREET.
1816,
My Bird and my Dog.
MY BIRD.
CHAP. I.
" V
JL OU have often promised, mam-
ma, to give us the history of our
pretty goldfinch ; I wish you would
indulge us, now that we are all to-
gether," said Caroline Fitzallan one
evening to her mother. " We have
read all the books which papabrought
A3 US
6 MY BIRD.
us down; and you assured us that
you would get your story ready by
that time."
" Do pray, mamma," cried Char-
lotte and Henry, with looks of eager
expectation,
" I would most willingly oblige
you, my children," said Mrs. Fitz-
allan ; " but we must first know whe-
ther it is agreeable to your father ;
you should consider that while you
are seeking your own gratification,
you may unintentionally tire others.
Subjects adapted to your comprehen-
sion and taste are of too trifling a
nature to interest persons of a more
mature age."
Caroline cast her eyes down at this,
mild
MY BIRD. 7
mild rebuke, and her ever-indulgent
parent, perceiving her disappoint-
ment, said, with a fond smile
" Whatever amuses my children
must interest me ; so pray, my dear,
begin your tale as soon as you please."
A grateful kiss from each of his
blooming infants was the reward of
his kindness; and the little party
drew nearer to the fire, with looks
of pleasing impatience.
Caroline took out her netting;
Charlotte busied herself in colouring
pictures for her brother's kite; and
little Henry climbing on his father's
knee, rested his face on his bosom,
and listened with silent attention,
while Mrs. Fitzallan drew from her
desk
S MY BIRD.
desk the following little manuscript,
and immediately read to them
THE HISTORY OF MY BIRD,
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
" When my eyes first opened to
the light, I found myself, with three
other unfledged goldfinches, com-
fortably lodged in a warm nest. A
fondparent sat watching over us with
anxious solicitude; and her joy, at
seeing her callow offspring safely re-
leased from the confinement of the
shell, was expressed in lively chirp*
ing notes; her beautifully-painted
wings were expanded with raptu-
rous
MY BIRD. 9
rous haste, and, heedless of our timid
complaints, she flew from us ; but
her absence was short ; she soon re-
turned, and evinced her maternal
care, by bringing us such food as
suited our delicate state, and which
we were unable to procure for 'our-
selves. This she repeated till we
were satisfied; then perching on a
bough above us, she shook her plu-
mage with exultation, and poured
forth a strain of heartfelt delight.
" The tree in which my mother
had built our nest grew near a farm-
house, the windows of which over-
looked the orchard, whose tempting
fruit had attracted innumerable fea-
thered tenants. A young lady from
town,
10 MY BIKD.
town, who was on a visit to the farm-
er's daughter, had often expressed a
wish to have a goldfinch ; and her
friend, who happened to be rambling
with her through the orchard, at that
moment looking up, exclaimed
6 You shall soon have a bird now,
Eliza ; for I believe a goldfinch has
just hatched some young in this tree,
and I will tell one of our men to
watch it: when they are fledged
you shall have the finest,'
6 But would it not be an act of
cruelty to take them from their mo-
ther?' asked Eliza, her eyes filling
with tears of sensibility.
" Fanny, though naturally com-
passionate, was more accustomed to
such
^lY BIRD. II
such tilings, and considered them
with indifference ; she therefore re-
plied ' Not cruel in the least, Eliza ;
you will be very fond of it, and use
it well ; then where can be the harm?
If you do not take it, some mischie-
vous boy may find the nest, and per-
haps torture them all to death ; and
as to the old bird, she will soon for-
get them, and make a new nest.'
6 I am not exactly of your opi-
nion,' said Eliza ; * it does not jus-
tify me in my own eyes to be cruel,
because another may have the power
to be more so ; for you know, my
dear Fanny, I might as well wan-
tonly crush this poor insect beneath
my
12 II Y EIRI>.
my foot, and say, it is no matter <
the next who passes this way will
do it, if I do not ; but that would be
very barbarous of me, you must al-
low.'
* Why indeed that is very true,'
replied Fanny ; ' and I am sure I
would not willingly be guilty of any
act of barbarity ; but you may as
well have one of these birds as any
other, for I know Dick has watched
them here ; and as he considers them
his property, he will dispose of them
to people who are not quite so scru-
pulous.'
' If that is the case,' said Eliza, ' I
will certainly have one at least ; and
I will
MY imiD. 13
1 will teach it such sweet tunes, that
you will be quite delighted when
you come to see me in town.';
" In this instance, Eliza certainly
suffered self-gratification to triumph
over the dictates of native benevo-
lence. The simplest sophistry has
too often the power to lull the sug-
gestions of virtue; and that very
night our mossy bed was torn from
the supporting branch by the hand
of an unpitying rustic, and placed
within a beautiful, brass- wired cage.
We beheld the transition with won-
der and alarm. The splendour of the
change dazzled our eyes; but we
knew that our newly-acquired gran-.
$ deur
14 MY BIRD.
deur robbed us of life's sweetest
blessing liberty.
" A heavy shower of rain brought
our fond parent home, in the hope
of affording shelter to her callow
brood. Our feeble voices were raised
to implore her succour, for the wet
flowed in upon us, and we shivered
with the uncomfortable sensations it
occasioned. Perceiving our situation,
our tender mother uttered a shrill
cry of despair. She flew round and
round the cage, in the vain attempt
of forcing an entrance. She pecked
the wire with her bill, and beat
against it with her downy breast.
Ah ! who can conceive the anguish
of
MY BIRD. 15
of her little throbbing heart, at thus
finding herself robbed of her darling
treasure! She passed the whole
night in mournful lamentations, nor
ventured to quit us till our piercing
cries for food rung in her ears, and
roused her from the stupor of grief
into which she had fallen.
" Arduous was her task to supply
us with sufficient nutrition ; for the
little morsels she dropped at random
into the cage, we were too feeble to
search for, and it cost her many
weary journeys before the cravings
of our hunger could be satisfied.
How little do children think of the
vast debt of gratitude they owe to
their parents for their assiduous cares
B 2 during
16 MY BIRD.
during their infant years of helpless-
ness ! how, in hours of want or sick-
ness, the fond afflicted parent robs
herself of rest, of food, of health, or
of pleasure, to administer to the
wants of her offspring ! Oh youth !
whilst thy heart is yet warm with
the glow of compassion at this pic-
ture of animal distress, call to re-
membrance, if thou hast ever, by
stubborn or un dutiful conduct, given
a pang to that maternal breast which
fostered thee with such care and ten-
derness if thou hast been guilty of
such indiscretion in an unguarded
moment, resolve not to transgress
again ; think what thy mother hath
endured for thee, and let thy virtues
prove
MY BIRD. 17
prove the sweet reward of her love
and solicitude.
" Five tedious days passed on i
this manner. Our strength increas-
ed, and the growth of our feathers
enabled our persecutor to distinguish
the male from the female. Being a
stout and lively bird, I was chosen
from the rest. The other four,
happening to prove hens, were suf-
fered to fly ; and the joy of our pa-
rent at seeing her young ones re-
stored to liberty prevented her from
perceiving that I was doomed to
captivity and sorrow.
" I was removed, in my splendid
prison, to the farmhouse parlour,
where I remained several days, in a
B a state
18 MY BIRD.
state of terror and distress that can*
hardly be imagined, which gave the
gentle Eliza apprehensions that I
could not live. Every kind atten-
tion in her power to bestow was af-
forded me: the utmost care was taken
that I should not be exposed to the
inclemency of the weather, that my
habitation should be kept free from
dirt, and my food such as would
agree with me. I was not insensi-
ble to this kindness ; but I panted
for freedom, and with my tender bill
strove to remove the bars which
impeded my flight.
" Finding all my strength ineffec-
tual, I fell into a state of sullen me-
lancholy, which my tender mistress
endeavoured
MY BIRD. 19
endeavoured to dissipate by music
and sweet songs. She was at length
successful. Habit reconciled me to
my situation ; and finding it impos-
sible to escape, I resolved to enjoy
the good that was not withheld from
me. Repinings would avail but lit-
tle ; patience and cheerfulness would,
I knew, endear me to those who had
power over me ; and I was not with-
out a hope that it would induce
the ai to allow me still greater indul-
gencies. When once I had formed
this resolution, I found my health
and spirits daily improving; and I
endeavoured to testify my gratitude
for every little kindness I experi-
enced by lively strains.
I was
20 MY BIRD.
" I was soon praised and admired
by every visitor, and became ac-
quainted with every guest. I be-
came tame and tractable, and soon
found a source of amusement in all
the little domestic transactions of the
inhabitants of the farm.
" The family party consisted of
Mr. Somers, as worthy a man as ever
lived, his. wife, Francis and Fanny,
their children, Miss Fitzallan and
her brother, who were visitors, and
who I found were shortly to be more
closely connected by the union of
Eliza with Francis Somers. Xever
was there presented a more perfect
picture of dom ;;tic felicity than a
forded by this amiable family. The
father
MY BIRD. 21
'father was a man of good under-
standing and agreeable manners, in-
dustrious, sober, and assiduous in
implanting principles of rectitude in
the minds of his children, whose
dispositions were truly amiable.
Miss Fitzallan was handsome, lively,
and accomplished; her brother, a
youth of spirit and prepossessing ap-
pearance ; and their presence at the
farm gave animation to industry, by
the amusements they afforded in the
hours of relaxation.
" Eliza had brought down a gui-
tar, on which she played every even-
ing, when Somers returned with his
son from the fields. After a few
pleasing tunes, forfeits, or some agree-
able
22 MY BIRD.
able pastime, were introduced, and
the evening passed delightfully away.
Sometimes Eliza would divert them
with enigmas and charades, one of
which I think I can remember: it
was addressed to Francis, and was
as follows."
" I beg your pardon, mamma, but
pray," said Caroline to Mrs. Fitzal-
lan, " what is the meaning of a cha-
rade?"
" It is, my dear, a sort of riddle,
formed upon a word of two syllables,
each of which must convey a sepa-
rate sense : thus we can make a cha-
rade of house-dog, while it would be
impossible to form one on the word
ki%d-ness, as the latter conveys no
meaning
MY BIRD, 23
meaning without being joined to the
former."
" I understand you, mamma," re-
plied Caroline; " please to let us
hear Miss Fitzallan's charade,"
CHARADE.
" Take a coarse kind of corn, which makes bread
for the poor,
Then add that which you've oft help'd me
over;
Join these aptly together, and you will be sure
An old borough town to discover,
To whidi every summer I gladly repair,
For friends kind and generous I ever found
there."
" I think the first must be oats,"
said Charlotte.
"Ay,
4 MY BIRD.
" Ay, that is a coarse kind of
grain," replied Caroline ; " but what
town begins with that syllable ?"
Mrs. Fitzallan smiled.
" I will give you ten minutes to
guess," said she ; " after which we
will go to supper."
The ten minutes soon passed away,
during which they puzzled them-
selves in vain ; after which she satis-
fied their anxious inquiries, by shew-
ing them the word Rye-gate. Each
wondered that they had not guessed
what was so very plain, and they
retired to bed, highly entertained
with what they had heard, Caroline
protesting she would get a book of
enigmas and charades with the very
first
AIY BIRD. 35
first shilling she could obtain from
her pap&
CHAP.
S6 MY BIRD,
CHAP. II.
A mild and sweet-tempered old man or woman,
whose mind is rather chaste than severe, and
whose manners are discreet rather than grave, is
the most graceful ornament which humanity can
boast, and the most effectual agent which virtue
can employ. ROUSSEAU.
THE next evening, after each had
completed the domestic occupation
of the day, Mrs. Fitzallan, in com-
pliance with the desire of her young
family, resumed the history of the
goldfinch.
" The
MY BIRD. 27
" The cheerful and hospitable dis-
position of Farmer Somers led him
to give readily into any little plan
for die amusement of the youthful
party, who, far from feeling his pre,.
sence a restraint on their pleasures,
were never so happy as when, col-
lected around him, they could make
him umpire of their debates, or par-
ticipator of their amusements. Un-
like the austere parent, whose brows
are ever contracted wit-la a frown,
and whose step, when heard, is suffi-
cient to strike terror into the minds
of his children, if their faults requir-
ed correction, Mr. Somers possessed,
the happy art -of reproving -with
such gentle arguments as proved
c 3 superior
28 MY BIRD.
superior judgment without wound-
ing affection, and entered with spirit
into all their trifling pastimes.
" As the birthday of Fanny drew
near, the indulgent Somers promised
them a rural jubilee, and the farm
soon became a scene of pleasing bus-
tle. The residence of this happy fa-
mily was a neat brick dwelling-
house, built in a modern style, the
barns and outhouses detached so as
not to spoil the appearance of the
building, which was much improved
by sash-windows, and the elevation
of a flight of steps, which were orna-
mented on each side by flower-pots,
containing a variety of blooming
plants ; a grass-plot and border, with
a nice
MY BIRD. 29
a nice gravel-path; graced the front
of the house, round wliich the fra-
grant jessamine grew in wild lux-
uriance. On the green, tables were
spread for the rustic guests, who
were to be indulged that day with
extra good cheer, and unrestrained
licence to do as they pleased a prL
vilege which they had too much re-
gard for their master and his family
to abuse.
" The willing hands of Fanny
prepared the dainties, Mr. Somers
having previously taken care that
the robust appetite should be first
satisfied with excellent, substantial
food, Each honest peasant had the
C 3 girl
30 MY BIRD.
girl of his heart beside him; arid
their heartfelt glee, which, though ex-
pressed in the unpolished accents of
simple nature, communicated a glow
of pleasure to every spectator. A
pipe and tabor was not forgotten ;
and Somers, inspired by the sur-
rounding gaiety, drew his violin
from the case wherein it had been
buried for many years, and delight-
ed them with scientific sounds of
merriment, while, dropping the mas-
ter for the obliging host, he instructed
them in the intricate figure of the
mazy dance, which was led off by
Miss Fitzallan and young Somers,
succeeded by Fanny and a neigh-
bouring
MY BIRD. 31
bearing farmer's son, who had re-
cently solicited her father's -permis-
sion to address her. They conti-
nued this diversion with spirit, till
the rising moon gave notice that the
hour of rest drew nigh, and a signal
was given by Mrs. Somers that sup-
per was ready,
( We must husband our pleasures,
my children,' said the farmer ; ' in
the sports of to-day we must not
forget the duties of to-morrow ; the
grass is already damp, and even in
the midst of revelling, disease may
punish us, if we neglect the admo-
nitions of prudence. Let us adj ourn
to the house, and after devoting a
few
32 MY BIRD.
few hours more to pastimes, which
we may with safety indulge, retire
to rest, satisfied with the amusements
of the day, and rise in the morning,
able and willing to pursue our allot-
ted labour.'
" This hint was sufficient. Each
led his willing fair one to the sup-
per-table; arid the jest, the laugh,
and merry tale, went round. The
health of the lovely Fanny and the
benevolent host was drank with re^-
peated cheers ; and upon Miss Fitz-
allan being solicited to sing, she,
without any affectation, gave the
following song, composed by herself
for the occasion :
MY BIRD. 33
TUNE BJ/ this Fountain's Jhnvery side. ROSIXA.
" Happy in our native plains,
Pure content is still our own ;
Courtly cares and envy's pains
Long to us shall be unknown.
Let the sprightly tabor sound,
Let the merry bells ring round;
Cheerful hearts and spirits gay,
Bless sweet Fanny's natal day.
C /torus -Let the sprightly, &..
({ What is fashion's gilded state ?
Idle pomp and tinsel glare.
Can they Nature's charms overrate?
Can they with her joys compare?
Let the sportive jest be ours,
Let us cull life's choicest flowers;
Mirth is ours and spirits gay,
On sweet Fanny's natal day.
Chorus Let the sportive, &c,
When
34 3IY BIRD.
" When the happy favour'd youth
To the altar leads the fair,
Plighting there his love and truth,
May each blessing be their share !
Broach the heart-enlivening ale,
Nought but joy shall here prevail;
Cheerful hearts and spirits gay,
Bless sweet Fanny's natal day.
Chorus Broach the heart, <5cc.' ;
" The old man, filled with glee,
joined in the chorus ; and his exam-
ple was eagerly followed by the ho-
nest rustics, whose coarse voices and
uncouth accents formed a most co-
mical melody, and afforded infinite
amusement to the more polished
guests, among whom it may be ne-
cessary to mention a young lady, the
daughter
MY Bmr>. 35
daughter of Sir George Norbury.
whom Somers rented the farm. An
attachment had subsisted for several
years between young Fitzallan am 1
Miss Norbury, which has since been
crowned with a happy marriage."
" That was you and papa, I be-
lieve," cried Charlotte, looking "at
her mother.
" It was, my dear ; and I reckon
that day among the happiest in my
life."
" For what reason, mamma ?"
" I will explain it to you another
time, my love. Suffer me now to
proceed with the history of " My
Bird."
" The attachment of these young
people
36 MY BIRD.
people was founded on the most per-
fect mutual esteem ; but I am unfor-
tunately unable to afford the curious
reader any further account of their
affairs, as I was' removed to London
with my young mistress a few days
after that on which this rural jubilee
took place, and I must now proceed
to relate the adventures which befti
me there.
" Miss Fitzallan, among many
amiable qualities, had one fault, to
which many young people are but
too prone she was heedless in the
extreme. What she at one time
most anxiously desired, and took the
utmost pains to obtain, she would,
in a few hours after possession, throw
aside,
MY BISB. 37
aside, or lose by her inattention. It
was in this blameable manner she
acted by me, when, after a very fa-
tiguing journey, I arrived safely in
town. She purchased a new and
elegant cage for me, and hung it in
her favourite apartment, where she
visited me every hour, bringing me
bits of sugar, and with a silver whis-
tle endeavouring to teach me new
notes; but, alas ! this kindness was of
short duration. She grew weary of
the frequent repetition of her .visits,
and gradually ceased to feel the same
delight in attending me. She next
gave me in charge to her servant,
with strict injunctions not to neglect
me ; but there is an old adage, which,
D if
38 !MV BIRD.
if she had attended to it, would have
been infinitely to my advantage. It
is this " If you would have a thing
well done, do it yourself."
" In fact, the servant had a variety
of business on her hands, and want
of time, more than want of inclina-
tion, was the cause of my sufferings.
I was frequently obliged to drink
foul water ; my seed was sonci etimes
so low, that it was painful to me to
reach it ; and my cage was suffered
to get so dirty, that I was much in-
commoded by the unwholesome
smell of it ; and my health would
in all probability have suffered, had
I not shortly after been released.
" One day that my mistress was
out,
MY BIRD. 39
out, her maid thought proper to in-
vite a few of her friends to see her.
Among these was a little fro ward
girl, who seldom paid any attention
to what was said to her, and whose
presence was a restraint on these
young women, who wished to talk
over their own secretS4without a
witness, who might probably re-
peat what passed. Our servant ac-
cordingly desired the girl to go up
into the lady's room, where she
would find a beautiful bird, to which
she might talk as much as she pleas-
ed, but not venture to touch. Sally
heard this injunction ; but no sooner
beheld me, than she resolved to dis-
obey, and immediately opening the
D 2! cage,
40 MY 15IHD.
cage, took me in her hands, to ad-
mire every feather separately. Witl i
a violent struggle I released myself
from her grasp, and made my escape
out of the open window, leaving her
to bewail her disobedience at leisure.
" Never shall I forget the raptu-
rous sensations I experienced, when,
for the first time in my life, I tasted
the sweets of liberty, and soared
aloft in air. I perched upon a tree,
I flew from bough to bough, and
sung the most melodious notes of
joy. Imprudent that I was ! I knew
not the perils that awaited me. Like
many other young and inconsiderate
creatures, I murmured at that re-
straint which was for my good. I
had
MY BIRD. 41
had been petted and indulged, till I
imagined that the whole world would
be alike attentive to my wants. I
found my error ; and, impatient at
the reverse, precipitated myself into
greater evils than those I had hi-
therto repined at. It was true, I
had gained my liberty ; but that was
all I could boast. I had no home
^~no kindred, and I found no friends.
I was a stranger among a numerous
tribe, who considered me as an im-
pertinent intruder, and drove me
from tree to tree with unpitying
rancour.
" The night came on the pierc-
ing cold chilled my tender frame,
who had been accustomed to the
p 3 shelter
42 MY BIRD.
shelter of a warm room, and I bit-
terly bewailed my indiscretion. In
the eagerness of my flight, I had
neglected to notice the window from
which I flew ; and I well knew that
it would be in vain for me to at-
tempt to regain it. I passed the
night in a state of misery not to be
described, nestled under a bush that
grew in the garden of a mean-look-
ing house.
" For some time I lost in sleep
the sense of my misfortunes, but was
roused from my slumber by a rude
shock. Ah! conceive my anguish
and terror, at finding myself within
the death-dealing clutches of a large
tabby cat! Puss would no doubt
have
MY BIRD. 43
have made that morning an exqui-
site breakfast, had not Providence
interfered, and sent the master of
the house into the garden at that,
to me, critical moment. At a word
from this man, who held the animal
in complete subjection, Grimalkin
released me, and suffered her master
to take me in his hand, while she
purred round him, evidently with
exultation at what she had done,
" After a short investigation, I
was taken into the house, and con-
signed to a cage of curious construc-
tion, in an apartment which contain*
ed about a hundred birds of different
species. It was not long before I
learnt that my present owner was 3
44 MY BIRD.
bird-fancier; and I was soon after fated
to undergo the most exquisite tor-
tures, as the means of teaching me a
variety of tricks and graces, to which
I was before a stranger, such as draw-
ing up a bucket of water, standing
on one leg with a paper gun under
my wing, and twisting round my
perch like a rope-dancer. These
accomplishments, though they may
be amusing to an inconsiderate spec-
fetor, will, I am sure, afford but lit-
tle pleasure to the feeling breast,
when they know the tortures which
are inflicted on a tender, unresisting
animal, wfyen they hear how our de-
licate limbs are twisted to agony, or
goaded withred-hot knitting-needles.
But
MY BIRD, 45
But why should I shock the suscep-
tible mind hy a minute detail of such
barbarities? Already, in imagina-
tion, I perceive the eye of pity drop
a tear on the page the generous
heart throb with indignation. Oh
Sensibility ! sweet inmate of the hu-
man breast! may thy soft dictates
impress betimes the minds of my
youthful readers may they turn
with disgust from every scene of
cruel sport, and follow the glorious
example of their blessed Redeemer
in gentleness and mercy !
" It will, I trust, afford satisfac-
tion to my reader to learn, that I was
soon after relieved from such perse-
cutions by an old maiden lady, who
tools
46 MY BIRD.
took a fancy to me, and purchased
me at an exorbitant price. My joy
at the exchange may be easily ima-
gined ; and I became so very tame,
that, as I was a particular favourite,
I was indulged with the range of
the whole apartment, and suffered
to peck the sugar out of her cup at
breakfast. Thus, m the vicissitudes
of life's changeful scene, do luxury
and misery tread alternately on the
heels of each other.
" The whims and caprices of this
old lady would afford ample diver-
sion to those who take delight in ri-
diculing the infirmities of human
o
nature. For my own part, I think
no practice so truly despicable ; be-
sides
MY BIRD. 47
sides which, gratitude ought to re*
strain those who eat of the bread
and drink of the cup of their supe-
riors, especially (as was the case with
my mistress) when a good heart
makes ample compensation for a
number of peculiarities.
" The death of my venerable
owner again consigned me to new
hands, and I became the property
of her niece, Mrs. Torrent, with
whom I was once more subjected to
every kind of ill usage that it was pos-
sible for me to bear. This lady had
three children, peevish, ill-bred, and
disgusting. Every visitor was tor-
mented by their impertinence, every
domestic the slave of their caprices,,
and
48 MY BIRD.
and every dumb animal the object
of their mischievous pastime. To
please these little wretches, I was
taken from my cage, a string was
fastened to my slender leg, to which
Master Tommy attached a paste-
board toy, which he denominated a
flying Harlequin, and the weight
of which caused me extreme pain.
Yet I was compelled to drag it about;
and if I failed to perform my task
"to his satisfaction, I was urged to
obedience by a needle's point. At
other times Miss Sophy would spin
my cage round, till I dropped from
my perch, sick, giddy, and almost
expiring.
" These and such tyrannical amuse-
ments
MY BIRD. 49
meiits they were permitted by their
foolishly-indulgent parents; and I
should, in all probability, have been
the victim of their cruelty, had I
not been at last so fortunate as to
make my escape.
" Again I had the wide world be-
fore me, and again was my life en-
dangered by a rapacious bird of prey,
who saw and pursued me. Exert-
ing the utmost swiftness of which
my wings were capable, I flew over
hill and valley; but, notwithstand-
ing all my speed, I must inevitably
have been overtaken by my dreaded
foe, had not I fortunately perceived
a young lady sitting at a window,
into which I immediately flew, and
E sheltered
60 MY BIRD.
sheltered myself in her bosom.
Surprised and alarmed, she gave a
loud shriek ; but the palpitations of
terror, which had before agitated my
bosom, changed to rapture when I
perceived my pursuer retreat in
affright at the sound of her voice ;
and my delight was still further aug-
mented, when I discovered, in my
fair preserver, my former mistress,
Eliza Fitzallan, at that time Mrs.
Somers, the union of the young
lovers having taken place since my
flight.
" In the same apartment were
assembled Fanny and her hus-
band, with Mr. and Mrs. Fitzallan^
and my happiness was complete,
when,
MY BIRD. 51
when, after regarding me attentively
for some time, Eliza declared to
young Seiners that I was the very
bird she had brought away from the
farm.
' I know him,' said she, * by the
particular formation of one of his
claws, which must have received a
hurt when it was first hatched ; and
now I have found my pretty crea-
ture, I will take care of it.'
' I think, Eliza,' said her husband,
e you had better give it to Mrs.
Fitzallan. You are going back into,
the country, where we shall be at
no loss for birds ; and I think Mrs.
Fitzallan will set greater store by
E 2 this
2 MY BIRD.
tins than any one she might pur-
chase.'
* Ah ! you know I am a careless
creature ; but now I am settled, I
mean to reform, I assure you. How-
ever, my sister shall have the little
flutterer if she pleases.'
" I was accordingly transferred to
the protection of Mrs. Fitzallan, with
whom I have continued a willing
and happy captive ever since, and
hope with her to finish my days,
which now draw very near a conclu-
sion, being at present far advanced
in years.
" Eliza was faithful to her word ;
she sawthe^rrorpf youthful thought-
lessness.
MY BIRD. 53
lessness, and is now a most exem-
plary wife ; and I have the felicity of
beholding all my earliest friends
happy and respected."
" A famous story, upon my word,"
cried Fitzallan, smiling; " I give
you credit for your ingenuity, though
I must own I should feel a slight in-
clination to turn critic, but that I
wish to secure your candour for a
little piece of my own writing. To-
morrow evening I will begin my
tale, and these darlings shall decide
which is most interesting."
He then kissed his little family
with fond affection, and the young
ones retired to rest.
E3
MY DOG.
MY DO&;
THE ADVENTURES OF ROVER.
CHAP. III.
N the following evening, when
the family were, as usual, assembled
together in the parlour, Mr. Fitzal-
lan began his promised tale as fol-
lows :
" About twelve years ago, there
was known at Boston, in North
America,
58 MY DOG.
America, a boy, who, from the va-
grant life he led, was distinguished
by the degrading appellation of
Dirty Barnaby. He had been main-
tained by the parish, but was so de-
formed, and of such a disgusting ap-
pearance, that no one would take
him as an apprentice, and he was
obliged to earn a scanty subsistence,
by performing such menial offices
for the inhabitants as few others
would undertake. This child of
misfortune was the butt of ridicule
to all the boys in the place ; and the
hardships and ignominy he w r as con-
tinually exposed to, created in his
a sort pf sullen gloom, which
added
MY DOG, 5Q
added to the unpleasantness of his
rudely-formed countenance.
" The only object towards which
he displayed the least show of kind-
ness or affection, was a large dog,
winch followed him about wherever
he went, and who patiently shared
the kicks bestowed on his less-docile
master, and as meekly partook with
him his sorry meal of mouldy frag-^
ments.
" In the same neighbourhood was
a young gentleman, whom I shall
distinguish by the name of Theodore,
who was as remarkable for his per-
sonal graces as poor Barnaby was for
his deformity. He had often won*
dered
60 MY DOG.
dered bow such a miserable object
became possessed of such a fine dog,
and one day, with much affability,
interrogated him on the subject.
' Pray, my lad,' said he to hirn^
with a voice of kindness to which
the boy had been little accustomed,
* what is your dog's name ?'
' Rover, Sir/
5 Have you had him long?*
* Two years.'
* Was he given to you by any
body in this place?'
' Do you think I stole him, Sir ?'
' I hope not.'
' No, Sir, I did not ; though I am
poor and ugly, I thank God I am
honest/
' That's
MY DOG. Cl
* That's a good lad ; but where,
did you get the dog ?'
* He came to me, Sir, 5
* Came to you ! that is very un-
likely.'
* Sir, I would not tell a lie for the-
world.'
* I admire your integrity ; but I
wish to know how you got the dog. 1
' Sir, I w T ill tell you. Some vi-
cious boys had one day tied an old
kettle to the tail of the poor animal,
who, frightened and tormented, ran
up and down till I thought he would
go mad. Enraged at their barbarity,
I stripped off my ragged jacket, and
getting all the stones together I
could hold, pelted the boys so stout-
F ly,
(52 MY DOG.
ly, that most of them ran away.
The cruel are always cowards, Sir ;
so I had not much trouble in fight-
ing the rest. I mastered three of
them, and bore the poor animal
away out of their reach. When I
had relieved Rover's bleeding tail,
he licked my hands in gratitude. I
kissed arid cried over him, for I was
used to being ill treated myself, Sir.
Rover seemed determined not to
leave me; and if it had been my
last morsel, I could not have refused
him the bit of meat which I had put
away in paper for my supper. Well,
Sir, I never found an owner for Ro-
ver; so I have kept him ever since.
Many people have tried to decoy
him
ftlY DOG. 63
him away from me, and he fares bad-
ly enough, poor fellow ; yet he would
starve rather than he would leave
me ; and it makes my heart ache to
see his ribs almost clinging together.'
" Theodore could not restrain his
tears at this simple, touching tale.
He was affected by the magnani^
mity and sensibility which this poor
child of nature displayed, and was
for some moments incapable of mak-
ing any reply. At length he in*
quired of Barnaby whether he would
sell his dog ? ' I have half-a^guinea
in my pocket,' said he, ' and if you
will let me have Rover, it shall be
yours. You may be assured also
F 2 that
64
that I will do more for you when I
have the power.'
' You are a generous young gen-
tleman, Sir/ said Barnaby, ' and I
always loved you, because you look-
ed so tender, and never joined the
other boys in hooting at me. If I
could do without my dog, you should
have him, for I am sure he would be
better off with you; but indeed, Sir,
I cannot bear to part with him. I
hope you will not be angry with me.'
* Angry ! oh no,' replied Theodore;
' to shew you that I am not, you
shall take this half-guinea, and buy
a good dinner for yourself and Rover.'
6 God bless you, Sir!' ejaculated
Bamaby.
-It
MY DOG. 63
" It was all he could say ; and he
turned hastily away, his eyes swim?
ining with tears.
" The kind accents of Theodore
had even a more powerful effect on
him than his money. Theodore was
returning home, when, at the corner
of the street in which he lived, he
again encountered Barnaby, who had
taken a circuit round the houses, and
was now hastening to meet him.
* You must have the dog, Sir,'
said he, with a firm voice ; ' I can^
not take your money for nothing ;
but you must keep him close, or he
will run away, IJowever, if he
should return to me, I will bring
him back ; and I hope you will some-
F 3 times
G6 MY DOG.
times let me just have a peep at him
in the kitchen or the stable.'
* You shall see him every day,'
returned Theodore, well pleased with
the arrangement, as well as with the
noble-minded boy, whose deformed
exterior concealed such a valuable
heart.
" Blush, oh ye children of vanity !
at this simple truth ; fly not to your
looking-glasses for self-approval, nor
henceforward deem ugliness incom-
patible with virtue.
" Barnaby retreated, casting many
a longing, lingering look behind at
poor Rover, who, secured by the
silk handkerchief of Theodore, strug-
gled to get free, and was reluctantly
forced
MY DOG. 67
forced into the house. A few days
of close confinement ensued ; and at
last good fare, the comforts of a warm
fireside, and kind treatment, recon-
ciled him to his new master, and
every inmate of the house, with
whom he was soon on the most fa-
miliar terms. He was at once lord
of the kitchen, and a welcome guest
in the parlour. His engaging and
docile manners rendered him an ob-
ject of admiration to every one, and,
unlike many who are suddenly ex-
alted from indigence to prosperity,
he forgot not his former benefactor,
but the first time he came to the
house, set up a loud bark of joy, and
leaped upon him with every demon*
stratiou
08 MY DOG.
stration of affection, and could with
difficulty be restrained from again
following the fortunes of his humble
master.
" The hardships under which poor
Barnaby had formerly laboured had
been much ameliorated by the kind
generosity of the amiable Theodore,
who had taken care that he should
be supplied with wholesome food,
and a decent change of wearing ap-
parel from his own cast wardrobe ;
and as the boy had learnt to read
and write in the charity-school, and
was now too old to be apprenticed
to a trade, Theodore gave him a re-
commendation to an old friend and
schoolfellow, who consented to re-
ceive
MY DOG. 69
ceive him as a servant, and took him
with him to England.
" We must now pass over a lapse
of three years, during which Theo-
dore attained the stature and matu-
rity of manhood, and formed an in-
timacy with the family of Sir George
Norbury, whose charming daughter
soon engaged his affections, and in
return bestowed hers on the worthy
youth.
" It may not be unnecessary here
to observe, that the early dissipations
of the Baronet had materially im-
paired his fortune., to repair which
he hoped to form an advantageous
alliance for his daughter. As family-
pride led him to shudder at the idea
of
70 MY DOG.
of sinking into obscurity, after hav-
ing enjoyed all the notoriety of rank
and affluence, he therefore no sooner
discovered the attachment subsisting
between the young people, than he
determined to break it off, and for
that purpose removed his daughter
out of Theodore's reach, by taking
her to England, as the parents of
Theodore, though genteel, were not
affluent, and he being but a younger
son, could not be expected to have
a very ample provision made for him.
Young Fitzallan had indeed been
destined for the navy, and had served
four years as a midshipman ; but an
unexpected peace had occasioned
him to be paid off, and he was now -
deemed
MY DOG. 71
deemed an unwelcome encumbrance
to his family.
" War once more opened a pro-*
spect for Theodore, and he was or-
dered to London by his father, to
solicit an appointment at the navy-
board. Accompanied by his faith--
ful dog, he pursued his course with
a light heart ; and after a favourable
voyage, landed in England, his na-
tive place.
" The evening was far advanced
when the vessel put into port ; and
Theodore, impatient to proceed as
far as possible on his way to town,
took a postchaise immediately. His
whole mind was occupied with the
pleasing idea of seeing Miss Norbury
in
72 MY DOG.
in London; and he had proceeded
two stages before it occurred to him
that he had not got his faithful Ro-
ver in the chaise with him. To go
forward was now impossible for his
life he would not leave the poor ani-
mal behind in a strange country;
and he accordingly procured fresh
horses, in the resolution of return-
ing, let the expence and delay cost
him what it might. A heavy fog-
now obscured the atmosphere, and
rendered it impossible to distinguish
any object at the distance of a yard.
The postboy declared it was a * des-
part night for travelling in such a
confounded hurry, and all for a stu-
pid hound of a dog, who, if he had
any;
MY BOG. 73
any nouse, would be sure to follow
him to London.' But the resolution
of Fitzallan was immoveable; and
with all the inconsiderate vehemence
of a sailor, he swore the postboy in-
to obedience.
" The cutting whip now smacked,
on the lank sides of the jaded ani-
mals, who, fatigued with a day of
hard labour, and disturbed from a
transient moment of repose, could
scarcely drag their stiffened limbs
along. Theodore every minute put
his head out of the window, alter-
nately encouraging the driver to
proceed, or whistling and hallooing
for the wandering fu^ive.
" Xo Rover appeared; and the
G impatience
7* MY DOG.
impatience of Theodore increased,
till it was suddenly checked by a
violent crash, with which the chaise
was precipitated down a steep bank,
and FitzaUan received a contusion
on his head, which, for some mo-
ments, deprived him of sensation.
The postillion with difficulty extri-
cated him from the chaise, and
scratching his head, with much stoic-
al coldness, said ' I am sure, please
your honour, it was no fault of mine;
you would have me drive at such an
outrageous rate, though T could not
see the nose on my face. I am sure
too the poor beast eses have suffered
cruelly, for their sides bleed like any
thing.*
* I see
MY DOG. 75
' I see my error, now it is too late,
my lad,' said Theodore, with a sigh
of anguish, * and am justly punished
for my thoughtless inhumanity ; but
repining will not repair our difficul-
ties. What is to be done?'
' That he's the puzzle, your ho-
nour ; the chaise is all to shatters,
and thof I mought ride to , it
would be morally impossible to your
honour, in such a bleeding and scari-
fied state. By the mass, a lucky
thought has just entered my head,
I seed a light in a window glimmer-
ing just now ; the house cannot be
far off; do you wait here with the
cattle, and I will hunt it out, and
G 2 see
76 MY DOG.
see if they are willing to do any
thing for us.'
" This being instantly agreed to
by Theodore, the postboy ran off,
and soon returned with the pleasing
intelligence, that the gentleman was
welcome to what accommodation
they could afford.
' And so, Sir/ added the postillion,
6 if you please I will help you on,
and then I can go forward with the
horses.'
" Theodore, ill as he was, was
touched with compassion for the
poor goaded animals; and slipping
a crown-piece into his hand, begged
him to stop and refresh them at the
next inn on the road,
They
MY DOG. 77
" They were by this time arrived
at the door of a spacious and elegant
mansion, where a servant waited
with a light, and conducted him into
a parlour superbly furnished. Theo-
dore would have retreated.
* I must be an intruder here/ said
he ; e shew me into any place more
suitable to my present condition. I
fear your humanity induces you to
act without permission from the
master of the house.'
' Indeed I do not, Sir,' replied the
man ; ' our Peter has been sent up
to my young master with an ac-
count of your misfortune; and though
he has retired for the night, being
much fatigued after a long journey,
G 3 he
78 MY DOG.
he begs you will not refuse to accept
the offer of accommodation, and has
ordered us to pay you every atten-
tion which your situation requires.'
' I am infinitely obliged to your
master for his politeness and hospi-
tality. May I beg to know his name?'
' Earon Montgomery, Sir.'
" Theodore put his hand in his
pocket for a card ; but fatigue and
exertion had so completely overpow-
ered him, that he fainted away.
When he recovered, he found him-
self in bed. Proper styptics had
been applied to his head, to stop the
effusion of blood, and such cordial
restoratives administered, as essen-
tially relieved him,
The
MY DOG. T9
" The young man then retired,
leaving him to repose. As he took
leave of him for the night, he said
' Should you want any thing, Sir,
please to ring the bell ; there will he
a person up all night/
' 'Not on my account, I hope,' said
Fitzallan.
' No, Sir ; my old master expired
this day at two o'clock, and there is
one of the domestics sitting up with
the corpse, which is in the apartment
below this.*
* Very well,' returned Theodore,
and then wished the man a good-
night.
" After passing a few unquiet
hours, Fitzallan fell into a doze, from
which
80 MV DOG,
which he was roused by a noise,
which he distinguished to be foot-
steps on the stairs. He imagined
some one was coming to know if he
wanted any thing, and he expected
every moment the entrance of a ser-
vant. The steps, however, died
away, and again he tried to compose
himself to sleep, when lie heard a
repetition of the same noise, and at
the same time accompanied by a sort
of breathing, which seemed to pause
at his door.
" A degree of superstition had,
very early in life, crept into the mind
of Theodore, ov/ing to the improper
management of those intrusted with
the care of his infant years. He re-
collected
MY DOG. 81
collected that the old Baron had ex-
pired that day at two o'clock ; and
sounding his repeater, found that it
was precisely the same hour. The
weak state of his body also affected
his spirits; and he yielded himself
up to a state of timidity, which he
was unable to get the better of.
* ( His terror was considerably aug-
mented by a noise which shook the
room, and seemed as if part of it had
given way. In a faltering voice he
articulated 6 Who 4s there?' but
no answer was returned. The low
breathing sound was again heard,
and the next instant something of
icy coldness pressed against his
cheek, and a heavy weight seemed
to
82 MY DOG.
to rest on his stomach. No longer
master of his fears, Theodore rung
the bell, violently uttering a cry of
terror, which, in a few minutes,
brought an old woman with a lamp
into the room, and immediately, to
the mingled astonishment, shame,
and joy of Fitzallan, he discovered,
in the object of his groundless alarm,
his faithful dog !"
" Dear papa !" exclaimed Caroline,
who, during the narration, had crept
closer to her mother, and turned
pale with apprehension, " how happy
I am to hear that was all ! I really
thought it had been a ghost."
" My dear child," returned Fitz-
allan, " have not I often warned you
against
MY DOG. 83
against the folly of giving way to
such weak fears ? The possessor of
a virtuous heart has no more to
dread by night than by day; and
though I was timid enough in the
case I have related to suffer my fears
to vanquish my reason, I must, in
justice to myself, attribute my terror
to the powerful force of early im-
pressions. There is a passage in a
favourite author, which I have often
read to you, and wished you to re-
tain it in your memory, as you may
find it of infinite service to you in
the events of life. It is in Sturm,
whose works you have perused with
so much profit and delight. That
exquisitely sublime author makes
this
84 Mi r DOG.
tins judicious observation : * How
much we torment ourselves by vain
terrors, which have no foundation
but in a disordered fancy ! We might
spare ourselves many fears, if we
would take the trouble to examine
the objects which frighten us, and
.seek for their natural causes. The
same thing happens to us with respect
to moral tilings. With what ardour
we pursue the goods of fortune, with-
out examining if they are worth such
anxiety, or can procure us the hoped-
for happiness.'
" I well remember this, papa," said
Caroline ; " but pray tell us now how
Hover came to be in that house ?"
" I will to-morrow evening, my
love;
MY DOG., 85
love; but it grows late you must
retire ; and let me again caution you
to indulge no fears of darkness or
hobgoblins. There is -a good God
watching over to protect virtue and
innocence. Pray to him when you
lay down to sleep ; let his blessings and
mercies occupy your last thoughts,
and he will suffer nothing evil to ap-
proach you. So good night, my
children.
H CHAP.
MY DOG.
CHAP. IV.
Let it be considered, that besides as happiness is
uncertain, misfortune is rarely without remedy.
Time may console us, Fate may change; and he
who fancies himself the most unfortunate of
beings may yet become happy. GESLI3.
ON the following evening, eacli of
the young ones being anxious to
hear the sequel of Rover's adven-
tures, Fitzallan, ever indulgent to
their wishes, when bounded by pro-
priety, resumed his narrative.
" Theodore, having enjoyed a good
night's
MY DOG. 87
night's rest, and satisfied in his mind
as to the safety of his faithful follow,
er, who that night reposed soundly
by his bedside, was anxious to con-
tinue his journey to London as early
as possible. He therefore rose be-
fore any but the menial domestics
of the family were stirring, not re-
collecting that gratitude as well as
politeness required that he. should
make his acknowledgments person-
ally for the kindness he had expe-
rienced. Recollecting this in time,
he sauntered listlessly from room to
room, till he had the satisfaction to
hear that Lord Montgomery was
stirring, and requested the favour of
Mr. Fitzallan to breakfast with him,
H 2 Theodore
S8 MY DOG.
Theodore returned a polite answer,
and was soon summoned to the Ba-
ron's apartment.
" The servant having announced
him to his master, Theodore enter-
ed; but started back with uncon-
cealed surprise at beholding a form
with which he was well acquainted.
Montgomery, though well pleased
at the interview, and better prepar-
ed, had presence of mind sufficient
to prevent the servant from noticing
the confusion of Fitzallan ; but mo-
tioning to him to retire, cordially
seized the hand of his friend, and
leading him to a chair, sat down be-
side him.
' I see your astonishment, my dear
Mr,
MY DOG. 89
Mr* Fitzallan ; it is too great to be
repressed; yet I can read also the
various doubts ami conjectures whicb
agitate your mind. Upon my word ,
but that other emotions at present
agitate my feelings, I could laugh
heartily at the portrait you now ex-
hibit'
" Theodore glanced at himself in
an opposite mirror, and could not
suppress a smile; but, in an instant,
his seriousness returned 4 aijd looking
round him with an air of pleasantry
mingled with apprehension, he said
' How am I to unriddle this ? In-
form me, I beseech you, with can-
dour, whether I am addressing Lori]
H 3 Montgomery
90 MY t>oG.
Montgomery or my old friend Bar-
naby Shute?'
' Both, I can assure you,* replied
the Baron, gaily ; ' yesterday put me
in possession of a title to which I was
born lawful heir, and which I trust
I shall never disgrace ; and indeed I
augur most favourably from this be-
ginning, whicli has thus enabled me,
in a small degree, to make a return
to my earliest friend and benefactor.'
* If my heartfelt congratulation
can add any thing to your satisfac-
tion, be assured it is sincere as any
feeling my heart ever experienced,
and can hardly be equalled by my
curiosity, great as it is, to know how
tliese
MY t)OC. 91
these strange occurrences have been
brought about.'
6 I will satisfy you,' said the Ba-
ron ; ' it is a short story, though an
extraordinary one.
6 The kindness of the gentleman
to whom you recommended me was
extended towards me in more ways
than mere pecuniary advantage.
Finding that I had a natural wish
for improvement, he spared no pains
to pi>eure me such assistance as was
requisite, and even suffered me to
share the lessons which he received
from masters in the various branches
of education. By these means my
situation became delightful, and my
gratitude
92 MY DOG.
gratitude to him was unbounded. I
loved him equally with you, and
towards both I bore the affection of
a brother so much does generosity
attach the humblest dependant.
' The advantages winch I reaped
from the indulgence of my amiable
young master, were such as I shall
now most essentially derive benefit
from. I no longer repined at the
severity of nature, in giving me such
an uncouth form ; I knew ho^ r to
value more justly the beauties of the
mind, and eagerly sought to com-
pensate for personal deficiencies, by
every possible improvement in mo-
sals and manners. No longer con-
sidered
MY DOG. 93
sidered as a servant, I became the
honoured friend and companion of
the generous Mowbray.
' One morning I was reading the
paper to him, while at breakfast* as
was my usual custom, when the sur-
prising purport of one paragraph ren-
dered me incapable of attending to
any thing else. Read it yourself,
and judge what my feelings must
have been.'
" Lord Montgomery handed a pa-
per to Theodore, in which he read
these words ( If an unfortunate ob-
ject, commonly known by the appel-
lation of Barnaby Shute, is yet liv-
ing, and should meet with this para-
graph, let him make the earliest ap-
plication
94 MY DOG.
plication possible to Mr. Melviii, 46,
Cockspur-street, from whom lie will
learn particulars of the -utmost con-
sequence, and tending, in a most
particular manner, to his future esta-
blishment in life.'.
6 You may easily imagine,' re-
sumed Montgomery, ' that I repair-
ed immediately to the person men-
tioned in the advertisement. I
found the gentleman at home, who
received me with much politeness ;
and, as a preface to what he had to
communicate, begged to know if I
had any particular mark by which
he could be satisfied that I was the
person with whom he was authorised
to hold a private conference of a
most
MY DOG. 95
most interesting nature. I instantly
untied my cravat, and shewed him
on my throat the exact representa-
tion of a bunch of purple grapes, im-
printed there so correctly, that every
berry was perfect.
' It is enough, Sir,' said Mr. Mel-
vin ; ' I am convinced of your iden-
tity; and now, to spare the confu-
sion of your only existing parent,
will enter into a detail of the circum-
stances which occasioned your being
hitherto kept in ignorance that you
are presumptive heir to a title and
estate of no inconsiderable conse-
quence in this country.'
' I will pass over my exclamations
of surprise at this intelligence, and
content
96 31Y DOG.
content myself with repeating his
words as exactly as my memory will
permit.
6 Your father, Sir, was, very early
in life, married, by the persuasions
of his family, to a young lady, who
had very few personal charms to re-
commend her. Lord Montgomery
had been too fondly attached to a
dissipated life to become suddenly a
domestic man ; and feeling no strong
partiality for the lady to whom he
was united, after a very few weeks
of self-denial, in compliance with the
forms propriety dictated, returned,
with heightened avidity, to his for-
mer licentious companions. Among
these was a woman of infamous
feme,
MY DOG. 97
fame, who had, by her vile artifices*
obtained such a complete ascendancy
over his Lordship's inclinations, that
she had power to urge or persuade
him to any measure which her ca-
prices or necessities dictated.
* After being married about three
years, Lord Montgomery expressed
the bitterest dissatisfaction that his
lady had not yet brought him any
offspring. It was the first wish of
his heart to have an heir, and the
only consideration which could pos-
sibly have induced him to comply
with the wishes of his friends. At
length the anxiously-desired event
took place, and the hopes of the Earl
were gratified by the birth of a male
I child,
98 MY DOG.
child, which the impatient father
eagerly waited to embrace. But
who can speak his disgust and hor-
ror, when an infant the most deform-
ed and hideous was put into his arms !
6 Excuse me, Sir,' observed Mr.
Melvin, ' that I express myself in
this unqualified manner; it is the
only palliative that can be offered
for the subsequent culpable conduct
of Lord Montgomery. The disap-
pointed parent started with dismay
at beholding an object so very differ-
ent from what paternal pride had
taught him to expect.
' This cannot be my child,' he ex-
. claimed, in unconcealed rage ; * it is
a trick, an imposition practised on
my
MY DOG. 99
my credulity. Does Lady Mont-
gomery imagine I am thus to be de-
ceived with impunity ?'
' It was in vain that the nurse and
attendants assured him the child was
his. He flew from the house in a
state of phrenzy not to be described.
For consolation, he hastened to his
vile favourite, imparted to her his
cause of vexation, and intreating her
advice. She heard him with malig-
nant satisfaction; for her terror was
extreme, that the fond feelings of a
father would restore his affections
to his lady, and alienate them from
herself.
' How could you be foolish enough
to imagine, Montgomery,' said she,
I 2 that
100 MY DOG.
' that a woman so plain as your wife
could have handsome children ? the
little ugly thing is yours, and you
must do the best you can with it.
The world will be very charitable in
surmises, no doubt.'
6 Distracted by these taunts, the
Earl indignantly swore that he would
perish rather than suffer such a hi-
deous little being to call him father.
' No,' he exclaimed, * I will never
be the finger-mark of scorn and ridi-
cule.'
* Suppose I help you out of this
dilemma,' said his fair adviser, laugh-
ing : ' what I have to propose may
perhaps seem hard; but if you are
determined not to acknowledge the
child,
MY JJOCi. 101
child, I think my plan will be ad-
mirable.'
' Name it, dearest creature,' cried
Lord Montgomery, * and I will think
you the preserver of my honour.'
6 My poor maid, Lucy, was this
morning unluckily, or perhaps luck-
ily, brought to-bed of a son ; it is as
lovely a child as can be imagined.
"Now if you would have the genero-
sity to substitute this child in the
place of him you mean to abandon,
a decent sum would, I doubt not,
induce the mother to give him up
to you, and save her from want.'
' It is an excellent thought, and
shall be done,' exclaimed Montgo-
j 3 mery ;
102 MY DO&.
mery; ' at all events, this shall be
put in execution/
* Thus did these wicked creatures
plan the most detestable of actions
the one through a false shame and
fear of the world's ridicule, the other
through motives of avarice and re-
venge; so easily does bad example
and improper counsel urge the weak
mind to the commission of the most
terrible crimes.
' It was the error of Montgomery
in his earliest youth to give himself
over to bad example. At school his
associates were chiefly those who de-
lighted most in mischievous sports
and idle habits ; and this vicious pro-
pensity
MY DOG. 10S
pensity gained ground on his incli-
nations at maturer years, and laid the
foundation for a wretched old age.
6 Lord Montgomery hastened
home ; he bribed the nurse to be se-
cret, and dispatched a trusty servant
to Lucy, who hesitated not to give
up her infant, and received the un-
fortunate wronged babe in its place.
As soon as Lady Montgomery was
able to travel, his Lordship hurried
her to England, that she might ne-
ver get knowledge of the transaction,
leaving his base confederates to make
the best of their bargain for misr
trust is ever the attendant of guilt,
and those who instigate us to the
commission of an improper action,
soon
104 MY DOG.
soon become objects of fear and dis-
gust, even to the most abandoned.
9 No sooner was Lord Montgo-
mery removed from Boston, than
this vile woman and her companion
formed other connexions ; and secure
of the money, the price of their vil-
lainy, abandoned the helpless infant
to the charitable institution ; but re-
tribution hovered over the head of
the misguided, guilty Montgomery.
His lady died the victim of his neg-
lect and harshness ; and the base off-
spring of Lucy repaid his care with
the most horrible ingratitude.
' These events have embittered
the remaining days of the Earl. He
finds an accusing conscience has
power
]Y DOG. 105
power to deaden every sense of plea^
sure; and, as the only means re-
maining of restoring peace to his
wounded mind, he determined on
this act of justice ; he has discarded
the prodigal, who abuses his genero-
sity ; he acknowledges the justice of
his punishment; and in restoring
you to your birthright, with ample
confession of his guilt, hopes to ob-
tain your forgiveness, and the mercy
of offended Heaven.' t
6 You may imagine, my dear
friend/ said Barnaby, * how much
my feelings were agitated by this
recital, and what heartfelt gratitude
glowed in my breast towards you,
whose goodness had raised me from
such
106 MY DOG.
such indigent obscurity and igno-
rance to a degree of comparative
respectability. I readily forgave,
though I felt I could never respect,
my unjust parent, and was impatient
to present myself before him, that
he might see I was not altogether
the monster his imagination had hi-
therto represented me. Our meet-
ing was particularly affecting. All
my resentment was changed to pity,
at the deplorable state in which I
found him. His humility was ex-
treme; and he expired in my arms,
breathing the tenderest blessings on
me. That moment repaid me for all
I had before suffered. So sweet are
the sensations of filial love ! Nature
has
MY DOG. 107
has implanted it in our breasts in its
full force. Happy, happy children
are ye, who can look up to your pa-
rents with equal love and reverence!
Never may you repay kindness with
neglect ! for even the unworthy, err-
ing father, claims comfort, support,
and pity from his own natural off-
spring; and Heaven will repay to
the duteous child, sooner or later,
the mercy he has shewn to an aged,
unhappy parent.'
" Theodore congratulated his
friend with sincere joy, and then
made him acquainted with the par-
ticulars of his own affairs. Lord
Montgomery regretted that the pecu-
liar situation ;n which he was at that
time
108 MY DOG.
time placed, prevented his attending
him to town, but begged that he
would not neglect to write to him
as soon as he possibly could; and fur-
ther requested that he would indulge
him so far as to leave Rover with
him.
( I found the faithful creature/
said he, ' at the inn where you put
up last. He was roaming from
chamber to chamber in search of you ;
but he instantly recollected me, and
gave every testimony of joy in his
power. He willingly followed me
hitherto, and no doubt traced you by
liis acute scent to your apartment,
where he caused you such extreme
alarm. The precariousncss of your
situation
MY DOG, 109
situation will render him rather a
trouble to yon ; and independent of
my own wish, I would advise you
to leave him here. You shall have
him whenever you think proper to
claim him*'
" Theodore gave an immediate
assent, and parted from his friend
and his dog with mingled pain and
pleasure, happy at the events which
had so recently occurred, yet anx-
ious as to his own future destiny.
" As soon as he arrived in town,
he repaired to the house of Sir George
Norbury, where, to his infinite mor-
tification, he was denied sight of her
on whose account alone he had made
the visit. His business at the Ad-
K miraltv
110 MV DOG.
miralty being settled to his satisfac-
tion, he embarked in the ship to
which he was appointed, with a heavy
heart. They were ordered to Ja-
maica on a three years' station ; and
there Fitzallan was so fortunate as
to get promoted to the rank of First
Lieutenant. He was preparing to
return to England with renewed
hopes, when a letter from Lord
Montgomery gave a final blow to all
his fond expectations. It ran thus :
* MY DEAR FRIEND,
' At a moment of extreme
happiness to myself, I am under the
painful necessity of communicating
to
MY DOG. Ill
to you the melancholy intelligence
of your father's death. I know that
no consideration of future affluence
and independence will console you
for this event, nor can I attempt the
language of condolence on the occa-
sion, as Nature must take her course,
and the feelings of the heart find
vent, in despite of all the arguments
which friendship or philosophy might
suggest. In fact, I look upon plau-
sible reasoning to be officious, and
seldom more than mere common-
place civility ; our friendship is too
sincere to require any such varnish.
I know that if any thing can turn
aside the tide of grief for a revered
parent, it is the information that
K$ him
112 MY DOG.
him you have so long honoured
your regard, is on the eve of being
made the happiest of men.
' One particular circumstance in
my life, I believe, I have till now
omitted mentioning to you. It was
this: I had once the good fortune
to save from death the lovely daugh-
ter of Sir George Norbury. I was
attending my master on a pleasur-
able excursion, when the animal
Miss Norbury rode took fright, and
would have plunged down a fright-
ful precipice, had I not, by a despe-
rate effort, impeded his progress, and
received the lovely girl in my arms.
From that happy moment I became
a favourite in the family. With the
sweetness
MY DOG. 113
sweetness peculiar to her disposition,
Miss Norbury paid me the most
flattering attention ; and as I was no
longer considered in the character of
a domestic, I suffered insensibly my
heart to be impressed with her merit
too strongly for my peace. Yet I
forgot not my own dependant situ-
ation, and forbore to drop a hint
which might indicate my presump-
tion. The late extraordinary change
in my prospects has emboldened me
to aspire to the hand of this amiable
girl, and I was successful in my ap-
peal to Sir George. He seems even
desirous of the alliance, and his love-
ly daughter has consented to become
mine, As your return is now ex-
pected.
114 MY DOG.
pected, I shall not hasten the arrange-
ments, that I may have the addi-
tional pleasure of your presence. I
congratulate you on your recent
promotion, and trust that you will
not doubt my word when I say, that
if money or interest can secure your
further advancement, you may com-
mand to the utmost your grateful
and affectionate
* MONTGOMERY.'
" Astonishment and concern took
possession of Theodore's mind. He
was surprised that Miss Korbury
should so readily consent to marry
Montgomery, and equally grieved
that
MY DOO. 115
that she no longer regarded him with
a preference. He therefore return-
ed an answer, in which his agitation
and uneasiness could not be concealed
under his feigned congratulations;
and Montgomery was not long be-
fore he learned from Miss Norbury
herself the particulars of his friend's
attachment to that lady. She had
indeed never ceased to regard him ;
but the care her father had taken to
prevent her hearing from or seeing
him, Was too effectual for her to ob-
tain any knowledge of his senti-
ments, and she attributed to indiffer-
ence what was in fact the result of
necessity. Gratitude, and the com-
mands of a father, now induced her
to
.110 MY DOG.
to promise her hand to Lord Mont-,
gomery; but she candidly acknow-
ledged to him every particular.
" Montgomery, though sensibly
affected by her candour, and the
knowledge that he was not the ob-
ject of her regard, yet concealed his
chagrin, and strove to gain her fa-
vour by the most delicate attentions*
" When Theodore arrived, he hast-
ened, with ardent eagerness, to em-
brace him, and experienced the most
acute anguish at perceiving the al-
tered looks and cold manners of his
once-ardent friend.
6 My dear Mr. Fitzallan,' said he,
affecting ignorance, * how have I
been so unfortunate as to offend you ?
I have
MY DOG. 117
I have been impatiently expecting
your return to crown my happiness ;
yet you meet me with pallid cheeks
and averted eyes what can this
mean ?'
* Lord Montgomery,' said Theo-
dore, seriously, ' press me not on this^
subject; you have been innocently
the cause of some unhappiness to
me ; but I bear you no enmity ; and
though I cannot witness your feli-
city, I will never cease to pray for it'
( My dear, dear friend/ cried
Montgomery, throwing himself into
the arms of Theodore, 6 I know all ;
Charlotte has told me every thing,
and I have only secured her to my-
self, that I might have the power of
K 3 presenting
US MY DOG.
presenting her to you, as a proof that
gratitude has never slept in my
heart. The settlements are all drawn
up ; there only remains to insert your
name instead of mine.'
* Generous, too-generous Mont-
gomery !' exclaimed Theodore, ' I
have not deserved this goodness.'
* Much more than ever I can have
power to acknowledge, 5 returned
Montgomery ; ' you raised me from
the dust to your bosom. I only
have restored to you what was by
right your own.'
" Theodore was overjoyed, and
embraced his friend with grateful
tears; and in the sweet delight of
ooing good to others, Montgomery
established
MY D0, 119
established his own happiness. He
gave the fair bride away ; and in the
course of a few years stood godfa-.
ther to Charlotte, Caroline, and
Henry, who now listen with such
earnestness to my tale, and who will,
I hope, be impressed by it with the
amiable sentiment, that virtue, inde-
pendent of personal beauty, should
alone command our esteem, as the
most deformed and hideous to be-
hold may possess a heart more valu-
able than that enclosed within the
fairest outside."
FINIS.
i J. Darling, Leadenhall-Sir..et, Londoi
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