LETTER XXXVIII.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
Oh! my dear mother, poor Emilia had yesterday such a dreadful accident. I do pity her, I never before saw her cry so bitterly. Charles and I were amusing ourselves, working in our little garden; Emilia came running to us sobbing; but you shall hear all.
EMILIA.
My dear brother—I am so sorry.
CHARLES.
Tell me on what account? You astonish me; has any thing befallen my father or mother?
No, no.— But I am afraid to tell you; it will vex you.
CHARLES.
Tell it me directly; if I may know it.
EMILIA.
The cat has eat my sweet canary-bird. I did love it—you gave it me, it sung so charmingly, and was so tame.
CHARLES.
It is a pity, I acknowledge; but you are not to grieve for the loss of a bird, as if you had lost a parent. You have lost a plaything, not a friend; it gave you pleasure, excited your tenderness, but without esteem affection soon dies: any new favourite will supply its place.
WILLIAM.
You took such care of it, how could it happen?
I had, as I often did, let the bird out of the cage to eat out of my hand. My mamma sent for me, I went to her for a moment, and in the mean time, the maid had let the cat slip into the chamber, who instantly seized and devoured my poor little creature. I shall never forgive myself for not putting it into its cage. And as to the careless maid, I hope my mother will soon part with her.
CHARLES.
She did not do it on purpose, I am sure; and, Emilia, your carelessness was more inexcusable because you loved the bird.
EMILIA.
Let us then look for the cat and beat her.
CHARLES.
And why? The cat cannot help it, it is its nature to catch birds and mice; you would correct her for following an instinct which renders her a useful domestic. If you had beat her the very moment after the accident, it might have restrained her in future; but by this time she has forgot it, and consequently it would be cruel. You cannot get your bird again by indulging a spirit of revenge; you must console yourself.
EMILIA.
I am almost inconsolable—I wish there were no cats in the world.
CHARLES.
That wish is wrong, sister. God knew best when he created them. We should find the rats and mice very troublesome and mischievous; but for the assistance of a cat, how should we preserve our grain?
EMILIA.
I shall never forget my sweet little bird.
Not forget a creature without sense! after all, there are more canary-birds.
EMILIA.
Not so tame.
CHARLES.
I will endeavour to get you another, which shall be just as tame.
EMILIA.
You are very good, brother; but that bird loved me, it would follow me about the room.
CHARLES.
It had no love for you, believe me; it was only not afraid of you: it followed you because you fed it.
EMILIA.
Had it died a natural death, I should soon have forgotten it; but such an unfortunate end vexes me.
Another death might have been harder; the cat caught it instantly, and not through the wires of the cage.
EMILIA.
Think you so, then I am content, and forgive the cat.—She then left us.
WILLIAM.