HISTORY OF MY PETS.
BY
GRACE GREENWOOD.
WITH ENGRAVINGS FROM DESIGNS BY BILLINGS.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LI.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
SARA  J. CLARKE,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
METCALF  AND  COMPANY,
PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY.
Cuts electrotyped by J. W. Wilcox, 152 Washington Street.




A
LETTER OF DEDICATION,
TO MARCEL, FRED, FANNY, AND FRANK BAILEY,
OF WASHINGTON, D. C.
DEAR CHILDREN: -
Do you remember that, one evening last
summer, while I was with you in Washington,
I told you some stories of the odd sort of pets
I had when I was a child? And do you remember that our friend, Senator C-, who
was a good deal amused by them, advised me
to write them out, and so make a little book
for the holidays? I laughed at the idea at
first, but finally promised to do so. and here is
the book, to prove me a woman of my word.
I was the more desirous of writing this little
volume for you, as a sort of remembrancer of




1V             DEDICATION.
the happy days I spent in your happy home,
at Washington, - as something that might, in
after years, recall to you our morning frolics
on the piazza and in the garden, our evening
story-telling and strictly private theatricals,
and the still merrier times which came after, —
the sea-shore sports, the fishing and bathing,
and long rambles over the rocks and through
the woods. I don't know but I flattered myself too much, but I did believe that you
heartily liked your playmate and friend. Yet,
if so, perhaps for the reason that a funny little
nephew of mine gave for his liking, when he
said that he loved his Aunt Grace best of all
his aunts, " because she was so foolish."
I have been thinking that you may wish to
know something of my life as a child, more
than you can get from the stories.
The first years of my childhood were spent
with my parents, and a large family of brothers and sisters. Our home was on a farm, in
one of the interior counties of the State of
New York. We did not reside in any city




DEDICATION.              V
until I was in my teens, which was well for
me, as I was never very strong, and needed the
healthful air, and all the sports and freedom of
the country. I have not grown up into a fine
lady, or a great scholar; but I have, as you
know, good health and good spirits, which I
think come from the wild way I lived as a
child. I was then, it is true, more given to
romping than reading, and always thought
more of a new pet than a new dress. Of pets
I had many more than I have told about in
this book; but you might weary of the sport
should I show up the whole menagerie. Yet
if you and the other children who may read
these stories, whose only merit is that they are
true, are pleased with my first effort in this
line, I shall be so happy and feel so much flattered, that I may do myself the honor of writing another book for such kind and indulgent
readers.
I am hoping to see you soon, - almost as
soon as this book may reach you. I have not
been quite content on the sea-shore since you




vi             DEDICATION.
left, from the feeling that something brighter
and pleasanter than the sparkling waves and
the blue skies, and the beautiful autumn woods,
had gone from me. I have missed you, dear
children, even in my busy and happy life. I
have missed the sight of Marcel and Fred,
leaping among the rocks in their bold play,
in perfect agreement with each other, - true
brothers in heart as well as in name. I have
missed the sound of Fanny's merry laugh and
the tossing of her bright curls; and I have
sadly missed dear little Frank, who crept so
near to me with his sweet ways and queer sayings, that my heart ached all night long after
I parted from him. Ah, it seems to me that
I can see you all, standing on the steps, to greet
me as I come! You may make as much noise
as you please in your welcoming, and be
sure it will be very agreeable music to your
friend,
GRACE.
LYNN, MASS., October, 1850.




CONTENTS.
PAGE
KETURAH, THE CAT.....  1
SAM, THE COCKEREL....   17
TOBY, THE HAWK...... 23
MILLY, THE PONY, AND CARLO, THE DOG.   34
CORA, THE SPANIEL..... 49
JACK, THE DRAKE.....   58
HECTOR, THE GREYHOUND.... 67
BOB, THE COSSET....      79
ROBIN REDBREAST...... 86
TOM.......   98








HISTORY OF MIY PETS.
KETURAH, THE CAT.
THE first pet, in whose history you
would take any interest, came into my
possession when I was about nine years
old.  I remember the day as plainly
as I remember yesterday.  I was going
home from school, very sad and out of humor with myself, for I had been marked
deficient in Geography, and had' gone
down to the very foot in the spellingclass. On the way I was obliged to pass
a little old log-house, which stood near
the road, and which I generally ran by
in a great hurry, as the woman who lived
there had the name of being a scold and
1




2        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
a sort of a witch. She certainly was a
stout, ugly woman, who drank a great
deal of cider, and sometimes beat her husband,- which was very cruel, as he was
a mild, little man, and took good care of
the baby while she went to mill. But
that day I trudged along carelessly and
slowly, for I was too unhappy to be afraid,
even of that dreadful woman.  Yet I
started, and felt my heart beat fast, when
she called out to me. " Stop, little girl! "
she said; "don't you want this'ere
young cat?" and held out a beautiful
white kitten. I ran at once and caught
it from her hands, thanking her as well
as I could, and started for home, carefully covering pussy's head with my pinafore, lestf she should see where I took her,
and so know the way back. She was
rather uneasy, and scratched my arms a
good deal; — but I did not mind that.;/l
was so entirely happy in my new.-pet.
~When I reached home, and my mothers:
looked more annoyed than pleased with




KETURAH, THE CAT.        3
the little stranger, and my father and
brothers would take no particular notice
of her, I thought they must be very hardhearted indeed, not to be moved by her
beauty and innocence. My brother Wailliamn, however, who was very obliging, and
quite a mechanic, made a nice little house,
or " cat-cote," as he called it, in the back
yard, and put in it some clean straw for
her to lie on. I then gave her a plentiful
supper of new milk, and put her to bed
with my own hands. It was long before
I could sleep myself that night, for thinking of my pet. I remember I dreamed
that little angels came to watch over me,
as I had been told they would watch over
good children, but that, when they came
near to my bedside, they all turned into
white kittens and purred over my sleep.
The next morning, I asked my mother
for a name for pussy. She laughed and
gave me "Keturah," - saying that it was
a good Sunday namle, but that I might
call her Kitty, for short.




4        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
Soon, I am happy to say, all the family
grew to liking my pet very much, and I
became exceedingly fond and proud of
her. Every night when I returned from
school, I thought I could see an improvement in her, till I came to consider her a
kitten of prodigious talent. I have seen
many cats in my day, and I still think that
Keturah was very bright. She could perform a great many wonderful exploits, -
such as playing hide and seek with me, all
through the house, and lying on her back
perfectly still, and pretending to be dead.
I made her a little cloak, cap, and boninet,
and she would sit up straight, dressed in
them, on a little chair, for all the world
like some queer old woman. Once, after
I had been to the menagerie, I made her a
gay suit of clothes, and taught her to ride
my brother's little dog, as I had seen the
monkey ride the pony. She, in her turn,
was very fond of me, and would follow me
whenever she could.
It happened that when Kitty was about




KETURAH. THE CAT.       5
a year old, and quite a, sizable cat, I became very much interested in some religious meetings which were held on every
Wednesday evening in the village church,
about half a mile from our house.  I
really enjoyed them very much, for I
loved our minister, who was a good and
kind man, and I always felt a better and
happier child after hearing him preach,
even though I did not understand all that
he said.  One evening it chanced that
there were none going from our house;
but my mother, who saw that I was sadly
disappointed, gave me leave to go with a
neighbouring family, who never missed a
meeting of the sort. But when I reached
Deacon Wilson's, I found that they were
already gone. Yet, as it was not quite
dark, I went on by myself, intending, if I
did not overtake them, to go directly to
their pew. I had not gone far before I
found Kitty at my heels. I spoke as
crossly as I could to her, and sent her
back, - looking after her till she was out




6         HISTORY OF MY PETS.
of sight.  But just as I reached the
church, she came bounding over the fence,
and went trotting along before me: Now,
what could I do? I felt that it would be
very wicked to take a cat to meeting, but
I feared that, if I left her outside, she
might be lost, or stolen, or killed.  So I
took her up under my shawl, and went
softly into church. I dared not carry her
to Deacon Wilson's pew, which was just
before the pulpit, but sat down in the farther end of the first slip, behind a pillar,
and with nobody near.
I was very sorry to find that it was
not our handsome, young minister that
preached, but an old man and a stranger.
IIis sermon may have been a fine one, for
the grown-up people, but it struck me as
rather dull. I had been a strawberrying
that afternoop, and was sadly tired, - and
the cat in my lap purred so drowsily, that
I soon found my eyes closing, and my head
nodding wisely to every thing the minister
said. I tried every \way to keep awake,




KETURAH, THE CAT.        7
but it was of no use. I finally fell asleep,
and slept, as soundly as I ever slept in my
life.
When I awoke at last, I did not know
where I was. All was dark around me,
and there was the sound of rain without.
The meeting was over, the people had
all gone, without having seen me, and I
was alone in the old church at midnight!
As soon as I saw how it was, I set up
a great cry, and shrieked and called at
the top of my voice. But nobody heard
me,- for the very good reason that nobody lived anywhere near. I will do Kitty
the justice to say, that she showed no fear
at this trying time, but purred and rubbed
against me, as much as to say, — " Keep
a good heart, my little mistress!"
O,'t was a dreadful place in which to
be, in the dark night!  There, where I
had heard such awful things preached
about, before our new minister came, who
loved children too well to frighten them,'t who chose rather to talk about our




8        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
good Father in Heaven, and the dear
Saviour, who took little children in his
arms and blessed them.  I thought of
Him then, and when I had said my
prayers I felt braver, and had courage
enough to go and try the doors; but all
were locked fast. Then I sat down and
cried more bitterly than ever, but Kitty
purred cheerfully all the time.
At last I remembered that I had seen
one of the back-windows open that evening, — perhaps I might get out through
that. So I groped my way up the broad
aisle, breathing hard with awe and fear.
As I was passing the pulpit, there came a
clap of thunder which jarred the whole
building, and the great red Bible, which
lay on the black velvet cushions of the
desk, fell right at my feet! I came near
falling myself, I was so dreadfully scared;
but I made my way to the window, which
I found was open by the rain beating
in.  But though I stretched myself up
on tiptoe, I could not quite reach fie




KETURAH, THE CAT.       9
sill. Then I went back by the pulpit
and got the big Bible, which I placed on
the floor edgeways against the wall, and
by that help I clambered to the window.
I feared I was a great sinner to make
such use of the Bible, and such a splendid book too, but I could not help it. I
put Kitty out first, and then swung myself down. It rained a little, and was so
dark that I could see nothing but my
wlkte kitten, who ran along before me,
and was both a lantern and a guide. I
hardly know how I got home, but there I
found myself at last. All was still, but I
soon roused the whole house; for, when
the danger and trouble were over, I cried
the loudest with fright and cold.  My
mother had supposed that Deacon WVilson's family had kept me for the night, as
I often stayed with them, and had felt no
anxiety for me.
Dear mother! -I remember how she
took off my dripping clothes, and made
me some warm drink, and put me snugly




10        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
to bed, and laughed and cried, as she
listened to my adventures, and kissed me
and comforted me till I fell asleep. Nor
was Kitty forgotten, but was fed and put
as cosily to bed as her poor mistress.
The next morning I awoke with a
dreadful headache, and when I tried to
rise I found I could not stand. I do not
remember much more, except that my father, who was a physician, came and felt
my pulse, and said I had a high feir,
brought on by the fright and exposure of
the night previous. I was very sick indeed for three or four weeks, and all that
time my faithful Kitty stayed by the side
of my bed. She could be kept out of the
room but a few moments during the day,
and mewed piteously when they put her in
her little house at night. My firiends said
that it was really very affecting to see her
love and devotion; but I knew very little
about it, as I was out of my head, or in a
stupor, most of the time.  Yet I remember how the good creature frolicked about




KETURAH, THE CAT.       11
me the first time I was placed in an armchair, and wheeled out into the diningroom to take breakfast with the family;
and when, about a week later, my brother
Charles took me in his strong arms and
carried me out into the garden, how she
ran up and down the walks, half crazy
with delight, and danced along sideways,
and jumped out at us from behind currant-bushes, in a most cunning and startlin0 *manner.
I remember now how strange the garden looked, — how changed from what I
had last seen it. The roses were all, all
gone, and the China-asters and marigolds
were in bloom. When my brother passed
with me through the corn and beans, I
wondered he did not get lost, they were
grown so thick and high.
It was in the autumn after this sickness,
that one afternoon I was sitting under the
shade of a favorite apple-tree, reading AIrs.
Sherwood's sweet story of " Little Henry
and his Bearer."  I remember how I cried




12       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
over it, grieving for poor Henry and his
dear teacher. Ah, I little thought how
soon my tears must flow for myself and my
Kitty! It was then that my sister came
to me, looking sadly troubled, to tell me
the news. Our brother William, who was
a little mischievous, had been amusing
himself by throwing Kitty from a high
window, and seeing her turn somersets
in the air, and alight on her feet unhurt. But at last, becoming tired orfizzy, she had fallen on her back and broken the spine, just below her shoulders.
I ran at once to where she lay on the turf,
moaning in her pain. I sat down beside
her, and cried as though my heart would
break. There I stayed till evening, when
my mother had Kitty taken up very gently, carried into the house, and laid on a
soft cushion.  Then my father carefully
examined her hurt. He shook his head,
said she could not possibly get well, and
that she should be put out of her misery
at once. But I begged that she might be




KETURAH) THE CAT.       13
allowed to live till the next day. I did
not eat much supper that night, or breakfast in the morning, but grieved incessantly for her who had been to me a fast friend
in sickness as in health.
About nine o'clock of a pleasant September morning, my brothers came and
held a council round poor Kitty, who was
lying on a cushion in my lap, moaning
with every breath; and they decided
that, out of pity for her suffering, they
must put her to death. The next question was, how this was to be done. " Cut
her head off with the axe!" said my
brother Charles, trying to look very manly
and stern, with his lip quivering all the
while. But my brother William, who
had just been reading a history of the
French Revolution, and how they took
off the heads of people with a machine
called the guillotine, suggested that the
straw-cutter in the barn would do the
work as well, and not be so painful for
the executioner. This was agreed to by
all present.




14       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
Weeping harder than ever, I then took
a last leave of my dear pet, my good
and loving and beautiful Kitty.  They
took her to the guillotine, while I ran and
shut myself up in a dark closet, and stopped my ears till they came and told me
that all was over.
The next time I saw my poor pet, she
was lying in a cigar-box, ready for burial.
They had bound her head on very cleverly
with bandages, and washed all the blood
off from her white breast; clover-blossoms were scattered over her, and a green
sprig of catnip was placed between her
paws. My youngest brother, Albert, drew
her on his little wagon to the grave, which
was dug under a large elm-tree, in a corner of the yard. The next day I planted
over her a shrub called the "pussy-willow."
After that I had many pet kittens, but
none that ever quite filled the place of
poor Keturah. Yet I still have a great
partiality for the feline race. I like noth



KETURAH, THE CAT.         15
ing better than to sit, on a summer afternoon or in a winter evening, and watch the
graceful gambols and mischievous frolics
of a playful kitten.
For some weeks past we have had with
us on the sea-shore a beautiful little Virginian girl, - one of the loveliest creatures
alive, — who has a remarkable fondness
for a pretty black and white kitten, belonging to the house. All day long she will
have her pet in her arms, talking to her
when she thinks nobody is near, - telling
her every thing, - charging her to keep
some story to herself, as it is a very great secret, - sometimes reproving her for faults,
or praising her for being good.  Her last
thought on going to sleep, and the first
on waking, is this kitten. She loves her
so fondly, that her father has promised
that she shall take her all the way to Virginia. We shall miss the frolicsome kitten much, but the dear child far more.
O, we'11 be so sad and lonely
In the dreary autumn weather,




16           HISTORY OF MY PETS.
For the birds and little Mary
Are going South together!
When upon the flowers of summer
Falls the cruel autumn blight,
And the pretty face of Mary
Has faded from our sight.








To 0 9% z
Zi
IIU




SAM, THE COCKEREL.
-4 —
THE next pet which I remember to
have had was a handsome cockerel, as
gay and gallant a fellow as ever scratched up seed-corn, or garden-seeds, for the
young pullets.
Sam was a foundling; that is, he was
cast off by an unnatural mother, who,
from the time he was hatched, refused to
own him. In this sad condition my father found him, and brought him to me.
I took and put him in a basket of wool,
where I kept him most of the time, for a
week or two, feeding him regularly and
taking excellent care of him. He grew
and thrived, and finally became a great
house-pet and favorite. My father was
2




18        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
especially amused by him, but my mother,
I am sorry to say, always considered him
rather troublesome, or, as she remarked,
" more plague than profit." Now I think
of it, it must have been rather trying to
have had him pecking at a nice loaf of
bread, when it was set down before the
fire to raise, and I don't suppose that the
print of his feet made the prettiest sort of
a stamp for cookies and pie-crust.
Sam was intelligent, very. I think I
never saw a fowl turn up his eye with
such a cunning expression after a piece of
mischief. He showed such a real affection
for me, that I grew excessively fond of
him. But ah, I was more fond than wise!
Under my doting care, he never learnt to
roost like other chickens. I feared that
something dreadful might happen to him
if he went up into a high tree to sleep;
so when he grew too large to lie in his
basket of wool, I used to stow him away
very snugly in a leg of an old pair of pantaloons, and lay him in a warm place un



SAM, THE COCKEREL.      19
der a corner of the wood-house. In the
morning I had always to take him out;
and as I was not, I regret to say, a very
early riser, the poor fellow never saw daylight till two or three hours after all the
other cocks in the neighbourhood were up
and crowing.
After Sam was full-grown, and had a
"coat of many colors" and a tail of gay
feathers, it was really very odd and laughable to see how every evening, just at sundown, he would leave all the other fowls
with whom he had strutted and crowed
and fought all day, and come meekly to
me, to be put to bed in the old pantaloons.
But one morning, one sad, dark morning, I found him strangely still when I
went to release him from his nightly confinement. He did not flutter, nor give a
sort of smothered crow, as he usually did.
The leg of which I took hold to pull him
out, seemed very cold and stiff. Alas, he
had but one leg! Alas, he had no head
at all! My poor Sam had been murdered




20       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
and partly devoured by a cruel rat some
time in the night!
I took the mangled body into the house,
and sat down in a corner with it in my
lap, and cried over it for a long time. It
may seem very odd and ridiculous, but I
really grieved for my dead pet; for I believed he.had loved and respected me as
much as it is in a cockerel's heart to love
and respect any one. I knew I had loved
him, and I reproached myself bitterly for
never having allowed him to learn to
roost.
At last, my brothers came to me, and
very kindly and gently persuaded me to
let Sam be buried out of my sight. They
dug a little grave under the elm-tree, by
the side of Keturah, laid the body down,
wrapped in a large cabbage-leaf, filled in
the earth, and turfed over the place. My
brother Rufus, who knew a little Latin,
printed on a shingle the words, " Hic jacet Samruelus," - which mean, Here lies
Sam, — and placed it above where the




SAM, THE COCKEREL.           21
head of the unfortunate fowl should have
been.
I missed this pet very much; indeed,
every body missed him after he was gone,
and even now I cannot laugh heartily
when  I think of the morning when  I
found him dead.
A short time after this mournful event,
my brother Rufus, who was something of
a poet, wrote some lines for me, which he
called a " Lament." This I then thought
a very affecting, sweet, and consoling
poem, but I have since been inclined to
think that my brother was making sport
of me and my feelings all the time. I
found this same " Lament" the other day
among some old papers, and as it is quite
a curiosity,I will let you see it:" Full twenty suns have risen and set
And eke as many moons,
Since I found thee dead, without a head,
In the bloody pantaloons!
" As thy foe did rob thee of a leg
In his hunger and despite,




22            HISTORY OF MY PETS.
An L. E. G. I give to thee,
In song, dear Sam, to-night.
"Thy tail was full of feathers gay;
Thy comb was red and fine;
I hear no crow, where'er I go,
One half so loud as thine.
" O I mourn thee still, as on the morn
When cold and stiff I found thee,
And laid thee dead, without a head,
The cabbage-leaf around thee! "








li      f;time,                                                       i -                       -~
4, 
T         yI'!~,t




TOBY, THE HAWK.
ABOUT the queerest pet that I ever had
was a young hawk. My brother Rufus,
who was a great sportsman, brought him
home to me one night in spring. He had
shot the mother-hawk, and found this
young half-fledged one in the nest. I received the poor orphan with joy, for he
was too small for me to feel any horror of
him, though his family had long borne
rather a bad name.  I resolved that I
would bring him up in the way he should
go, so that when he was old he should
not destroy chickens. At first, I kept
him in a bird-cage, but after a while he
grew too large for his quarters, and had to
have a house built for him expressly. I




24       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
let him learn to roost, but I tried to bring
him up on vegetable diet. I found, however, that this would not do. He eat the
bread and grain to be sure, but he did not
thrive; he looked very lean, and smaller
than hawks of his age should look. At
last I was obliged to give up my fine idea of
making an innocent dove, or a Grahamite,
out of the poor fellow, and one morning
treated him to a slice of raw mutton. I
remember how he flapped his wings and
cawed with delight, and what a hearty
meal he made of it.  He grew very fat
and glossy after this important change in
his diet, and I became as proud of him as
of any pet I ever had. But my mother,
after a while, found fault with the great
quantity of meat which he devoured. She
said that he eat more beef-steak than any
other member of the family. Once, when
I was thinking about this, and feeling a
good deal troubled lest some day, when I
was gone to school, they at home might
take a fancy to cut off the head of my pet




TOBY, THE HANVK.      25
to save his board-bill, a bright thought
came into my mind. There was running
through our farm, at a short distance
from our house, a large mill-stream, along
the banks of which lived and croaked a
vast multitude of frogs. These animals
are thought by hawks, as well as Frenchmen, very excellent eating.  So, every
morning, noon, and night, I took Toby on
my shoulder, ran down to the mill-stream,
and let him satisfy his appetite on all such
frogs as were so silly as to stay out of the
water and be caught. He was very quick
and active, - would pounce upon a great,
green croaker, and have him halved and
quartered and hid away in a twinkling.
I generally looked in another direction
while he was at his meals, - it is not polite to keep your eye on people when they
are eating, and then I could n't help pitying the poor frogs.  But I knew that
hawks must live, and say what they might,
my Toby never prowled about hen-coops
to devour young chickens. I taught him
3




26       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
better morals than that, and kept him so
well fed that he was never tempted to such
wickedness. I have since thought that, if
we want people to do right, we must treat
them as I treated my hawk; for when we
think a man steals because his heart is
full of sin, it may be only because his
stomach is empty of food.
When Toby had finished his meal,
he would wipe his beak with his wing,
mount on my shoulder, and ride home
again; sometimes, when it was a very
warm day and he had dined more heartily
than usual, he would fall asleep during
the ride, still holding on to his place with
his long, sharp claws. Sometimes I would
come home with my pinafore torn and
bloody on the shoulder, and then my mother would scold me a little and laugh at
me a great deal. I would blush and hang
my head and cry, but still cling to my
strange pet; and when he got full grown
and had wide, strong wings, and a great,
crooked beak that every body else was




TOBY, THE HAWK.       29
a ghost. But in the morning he had no
recollection of these things. Of course,
we were very anxious about him, and tried
to keep a constant watch over him, but he
would sometimes manage to escape from
all our care. Well, that night there was
suddenly a violent outcry set up in the entry. It was Toby, who shrieked and flapped his wings till he woke my father, who
dressed and went down stairs to see what
was the matter.  He found the door wide
open, and the hawk sitting uneasily on his
perch, looking frightened and indignant,
with all his feathers raised. My father, at
once suspecting what had happened, ran
up to William's chamber and found his
bed empty; he then roused my elder
brothers, and, having lit a lantern, they
all started off in pursuit of the poor boy.
They searched through the yard, garden,
and orchard, but all in vain. Suddenly
they heard the saw-mill, which stood near,
going. They knew that the owner never
worked there at night, and supposed that




30       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
it must be my brother, who had set the
machinery in motion. So down they ran
as fast as possible, and, sure enough, they
found him there, all by himself. A large
log had the night before been laid in its
place ready for the morning, and on that
log sat my brother, his large black eyes
staring wide open, yet seeming to be fixed
on nothing, and his face as pale as death.
He seemed to have quite lost himself, for
the end of the log on which he sat was
fast approaching the saw. My father, with
great presence of mind, stopped the machinery, while one of my brothers caught
William and pulled him from his perilous
place. Another moment, and he would
have been killed or horribly mangled by
the cruel saw. With a terrible scream,
that was heard to a great distance, poor
W~illiam awoke. He cried bitterly when
he found where he was and how he came
there. He was much distressed by it for
some time; but it was a very good thing
for all that, for he never walked in his sleep
again.




TOBY, THE HIIAK.      31
As'you would suppose, Toby, received
much honor for so promptly giving the
warning on that night. Every body now
acknowledged that he was a hawk of great
talents, as well as talons.  But alas! he
did not live long to enjoy the respect of
his fellow-citizens.  One afternoon that
very autumn, I was sitting at play with
my doll, under the thick shade of a maple-tree, in front of the house. On the
fence near by sat Toby, lazily pluming his
wing, and enjoying the pleasant, golden
sunshine, - now and then glancing round
at me with a most knowing and patronizing look.. Suddenly, there was the sharp
crack of a gun fired near, and Toby fell
fluttering to the ground. A stupid sportsman had taken him for a wild hawk, and
shot him in the midst of his peaceful and
innocent enjoyment. lie was wounded in
a number of places, and was dying fast
when I reached him. Yet he seemed to
know me, and looked up into my face so
piteously, that I sat down by him, as I




32      IIISTORY,OF'MY PETS.
had sat down by poor Keturah, and cried
aloud. Soon the sportsman, who was a
stranger, came leaping over the fence to
bag his game. ~When he found what he
had done, he said he was very sorry, and
stooped down to examine the wounds
made by his shot. Then Toby roused
himself, and caught one of his fingers in
his beak, biting it almost to the bone.
The man cried out with the pain, and tried
to shake him off, but Toby still held on
fiercely and stoutly, and held on till he
was dead. Then his ruffled wing grew
smooth, his head fell back, his beak parted and let go the bleeding finger of his
enemy.
I did not want the man hurt, for he
had shot my pet under a mistake, but I
was not sorry to see Toby die like a hero.
WVe laid him with the pets who had gone
before. Some were lovelier in their lives,
but none more lamented when dead. I
will venture to say that he was the first
of his race who ever departed with a clean




TOBY, THE HIAWK.       33
conscience as regarded poultry. No careful mother-hen cackled with delight on
the day he died, - no pert young rooster
flapped his wings and crowed over his
grave. But I must say, I don't think that
the frogs mourned for him. I thought that
they were holding a jubilee that night;
the old ones croaked so loud, and the
young ones sung so merrily, that I wished
the noisy green creatures all quietly doing
brown, on some Frenchman's gridiron.




MILLY, THE PONY, AND CARLO,
THE DOG.
WHEN I was ten or eleven years of age,
I had two pets, of which I was equally
fond, a gentle bay pony and a small
pointer dog. I have always had a great
affection for horses, and never knew what
it was to be afraid of them, for they are
to me exceedingly obliging and obedient.
Some people think that I control them
with a sort of animal magnetism. I only
know that I treat them with kindness,
which is, I believe, after all, the only magnetism necessary for one to use in this
world. When I ride, I give my horse to
understand that I expect him to behave
very handsomely, like the gentleman I.




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r~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~E
i I::I!:' ~~:,:~Bli~4a~~ kk~.~3Ye; Bld~g~W 4L6








MILLY AND CARLO.        35
take him to be, and he never disappoints
me.
Our Milly was a great favorite with all
the family, but with the children especially. She was not very handsome or remarkably fleet, but was easily managed,
and even in her gait. I loved her dearly,
and we were on the best terms with each
other. I was in the habit of going into
the pasture where she fed, mounting her
from the fence or a stump, and riding
about the field, often without saddle or bridle. You will see by this that I was a sad
romp. Milly seemed to enjoy the sport
fully as much as I, and would arch her
neck, and toss her mane, and gallop up and
down the little hills in the pasture, now
and then glancing round at me playfully,
as much as to say, "Aint we having
times!"
Finally, I began to practise riding standing upright, as I had seen the circus performers do, for I thought it was time I
should do something to distinguish my



36        HISTORY OF MIY PETS.
self. After a few tumbles on to the soft
clover, which did me no sort of harm, I
became quite accomplished that way. I
was at that age as quick and active as a
cat, and could save myself from a fall after I had lost my balance, and seemed halfway to the ground. I remember that my
brother William  was very ambitious to
rival me in my exploits; but as he was
unfortunately rather fat and heavy, he did
a greater business in turning somersets
from the back of the pony than in any
other way. But these were quite as amusing as any other part of the performances.
We sometimes had quite a good audience of the neighbours' children, and our
schoolmates, but we never invited our
parents to attend the exhibition.  We
thought that on some accounts it was best
they should know nothing about it.
In addition to the "ring performances,"
I gave riding lessons to my youngest brother, Albert, who was then quite a little
boy. He used to mount Milly behind




MILLY AND CARLO.       39
ure. My mother took me by the shoulder, set me down in a chair, not very
gently, and looked at me with a real frown
on her sweet face. She told me in plain
terms that I was an idle, careless child!
I put my finger in one corner of my
mouth, and swung my foot back and forth.
She said I was a great romp! I pouted
my lip, and drew down my black eyebrows. She said I was more like a wild,
young squaw, than a white girl! Now
this was too much; it was what I called
" twitting upon facts "; and't was not the
first time that the delicate question of my
complexion had been touched upon without due regard for my feelings. I was not
to blame for being dark, - I did not make
myself, - I had seen fairer women than my
mother. I, felt that what she said was
neither more nor less than an insult, and
when she went out to see about supper,
and left me alone, I brooded over her
words, growing more and more out of humor, till my naughty heart became so hot




40       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
and big with anger, that it almost choked
me. At last, I bit my lip and looked very
stern, for I had made up my mind to something great. Before I let you know what
this was, I must tell you that the Onondaga tribe of Indians had their village not
many miles from us. Every few months,
parties of them came about with baskets
and mats to sell. A company of five or
six had been to our house that very morning, and I knew that they had their encampment in our woods, about half a mile
distant.  These I knew very well, and
had quite a liking for them, never thinking of being afraid of them, as they always seemed kind and peaceable.
To them I resolved to go in my trouble.
They would teach me to weave baskets,
to fish, and to shoot with the bow and arrow. They would not make me study, nor
wear bonnets, and they would never find
fault with my dark complexion.
I remember to this day how softly and
slyly I slid out of the house that evening.




MILLY AND CARLO.       41
I never stopped once, nor looked round,
but ran swiftly till I reached the woods.
I did not know which way to go to find
the encampment, but wandered about in
the gathering darkness, till I saw a light
glimmering through the trees at some distance. I made my way through the bushes
and brambles, and after a while came upon my copper-colored friends. In a very
pretty place, down in a hollow, they had
built them some wigwams with maple
saplings, covered with hemlock-boughs.
There were in the group two Indians, two
squaws, and a boy about fourteen years
old. But I must not forget the baby, or
rather pappoose, who was lying in a sort
of cradle, made of a large, hollow piece
of bark, which was hung from the branch
of a tree, by pieces of the wild grape-vine.
The young squaw, its mother, was swinging it back and forth, now far into the
dark shadows of the pine and hemlock,
now out into the warm  fire-light, and
chanting to the child some Indian lullaby.
4




42       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
The men sat on a log, smoJling gravely
and silently; while the boy lay on the
ground, playing lazily with a great yellow
hound, which looked mean and starved,
like all Indian dogs. The old squaw was
cooking the supper in a large iron pot, over
a fire built among a pile of stones.
For some time, I did not dare to go forward, but at last I went up to the old
squaw, and looking up into her good-humored face, said, "I am come to live
with you, and learn to make baskets, for I
don't like my home." She did not say
any thing to me, but made some exclamation in her own language, and the others
came crowding round. The boy laughed,
shook me by the hand, and said I was a
brave girl; but the old Indian grinned
horribly and laid his hand on my forehead,
saying, "What a pretty head to scalp!"
I screamed and hid my face in the young
squaw's blue cloth skirt. She spoke soothingly, and told me not to be afraid, for
nobody would hurt me. She then took




MILLY AND CARLO.       43
me to her Wigwam, where I sat down and
tried to make myself at home. But somehow I did'nt feel quite comfortable. After
a while, the old squaw took off the pot,
and called us to supper. This was succotash, that is, a dish of corn and beans,
cooked with salt pork. x We all sat down
on the ground near the fire, and eat out of
great wooden bowls, with wooden spoons,
which I must say tasted rather too strong
of the pine. But I did not say so then, -
by no means,  but eat a great deal more
than I wanted, and pretended to relish it,
for fear they would think me ill bred. I
would not have had them know but what
I thought their supper served in the very
best style, and by perfectly polite and genteel people. I was a little shocked, however, by one incident during the meal.
While the young squaw was helping her
husband for the third or fourth time, she
accidentally dropped a little of the hot
succotash on his hand. He growled out
like a dog, and struck her across the




44       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
face with his spoon. I thought that she
showed a most Christian spirit, for she
hung her head and did not say any thing.
I had heard of white wives behaving
worse.
When supper was over, the boy came
and laid down at my feet, and talked with
me about living in the woods. He said
he pitied the poor white people for being
shut up in houses all their days. For his
part, he should die of such a dull life, he
knew he should. He promised to teach
me how to shoot with the bow and arrows,
to snare partridges and rabbits, and many
other things. He said he was afraid I
was almost spoiled by living in the house
and going to school, but he hoped that, if
they took me away and gave me a new
name, and dressed me properly, they
might make something of me yet. Then
I asked him what he was called, hoping
that he had some grand Indian name, like
Uncas, or Miantonimo, or Tushmalahah;
but he said it was Peter. He was a pleas



MILLY AND CARLO.       45
ant -fellow, and while he was talking with
me I did not care about my home, but
felt very brave and squaw-like, and began
to think about the fine belt of wampum,
and the head-dress of gay feathers, and
the red leggins, and the yellow moccasons
I was going to buy for myself, with the
baskets I was going to learn to weave.
But when he left me, and I went back to
the wigwam and sat down on the hemlock
boughs by myself, somehow I couldn't
keep home out of my mind. I thought
first of my mother, how she would miss
the little brown face at the supper-table,
and on the pillow, by the fair face of my
blue-eyed sister. I thought of my young
brother, Albert, crying himself to sleep,
because I was lost. I thought of my father and brothers searching through the
orchard and barn, and going with lights
to look in the mill-stream.  Again, I
thought of my mother, how, when she
feared I was drowned, she would cry bitterly, and be very sorry for what she had




46       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
said about my dark complexion. Then I
thought of myself, how I must sleep on
the hard ground, with nothing but hemlock-boughs for covering, and nobody to
tuck me up. What if it should storm before morning, and the high tree above me
should be struck by lightning! What if
the old Indian should not be a tame savage after all, but should take a fancy to
set up the war-whoop, and come and scalp
me in the middle of the night!
The bell in the village church rang for
nine. This was the hour for evening devotions at home. I looked round to see
if my new friends were preparing for worship. But the old Indian was already fast
asleep, and as for the younger one, I feared
that a man who indulged himself in beating his wife with a wooden spoon would
hardly be likely to lead in family prayers.
Upon the whole, I concluded I was among
rather a heathenish set. Then I thought
again of home, and doubted whether they
would have any family worship that night,




MILLY AND CARLO.        47
with one lamb of the flock gone astray.
I thought of all their grief and fears, till I
felt that my heart would burst with sorrow and repentance, for I dared not cry
aloud.
Suddenly, I heard a familiar sound at a
little distance, - it was Carlo's bark!
Nearer and nearer it came; then I heard
steps coming fast through the crackling
brushwood, then little Carlo sprang out
of the dark into the fire-light, and leaped
upon me, licking my hands with joy. He
was followed by one of my elder brothers,
and by my mother!  To her I ran. I
dared not look in her eyes, but hid my
face in her bosom, sobbing out, " O mother, forgive me! forgive me!" She pressed
me to her heart, and bent down and
kissed me very tenderly, and when she
did so, I felt the tears on her dear cheek.
I need hardly say that I never again
undertook to make an Onondaga squaw
of myself, though my mother always held
that I was dark enough to be one, and I




48        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
suppose the world would still bear her out
in her opinion.
I am sorry to tell the fate of the faithful dog who tracked me out on that night,
though his story is not quite so sad as that
of some of my pets. A short time after
this event, my brother Charles was going
to the city of    -, some twenty miles
away, and wlshti,  A take Carlo for company.  I let himn go very reluctantly,
charging my brother to take good and
constant care of him. The last time I
ever saw Carlo's honest, good-natured face,
it was looking out at me through the
window of the carriage. The last time,
for he never came back to us, but was lost
in the crowded streets of S-.
He was a simple, country-bred pointer,
and, like many another poor dog, was bewildered by the new scenes and pleasures
of the city, forgot his guide, missed his
way, wandered off, and was never found.




CORA, THE SPANIEL.
THE pet which took little Carlo's place
in our home and hearts was a pretty,
chestnut-colored water-spaniel, named Cora. She was a good, affectionate creature,
and deserved all our love. The summer
that we had her for our playmate, my
brother Albert, my sister Carrie, and I,
spent a good deal of time down about the
pond, in watching her swimming, and all
her merry g ols in the water. There
grew, out beyond the reeds and flags of
that pond, a few beautiful, white waterlilies, which we taught her to bite off and
bring to us on shore.
Cora seemed to love us very much, but
there was one whom she loved even more.
5




50       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
This was little Charlie Allen, a pretty boy
of about four or five years old, the only
son of a widow, who was a tenant of my
father, and lived in a small house on our
place. There grew up a great and tender
friendship between this child and our Cora,
who was always with him while we were
at school. The two would play and run
about for hours, and when they were tired,
lie down and sleep together in the shade.
It was a pretty sight, I assure you, for
both were beautiful.
It happened that my father, one morning, took Cora with him to the village,
and was gone nearly all day; so little
Charlie was without his playmate and protector. But after school, my sister, brother, and I called Cora, and ran down to
the pond. We were to have- a little company that night, and wanted some of those
fragrant, white lilies for our flower-vase.
Cora barked and leaped upon us, and ran
round and round us all the way. Soon
as she reached the pond, she sprang in




CORA, THE SPANIEL.      51
and swam out to where the lilies grew,
and where she was hid from our sight by
the flags and other water-plants.  Presently, we heard her barking and whining,
as though in great distress. We called
to her again and again, but she did not
come out for some minutes. At last, she
came through the flags, swimming slowly
along, dragging something by her teeth.
As she swam near, we saw that it was a
child, — little Charlie Allen! We then
waded out as far as we dared, met Cora,
took her burden from her, and drew it
to the shore. As soon as we took little
Charlie in our arms, we knew that he was
dead. He was cold as ice, his eyes were
fixed in his head, and had no light in
them. His hand was stiff and blue, and
still held tightly three water-lilies, which
he had plucked. We suppose the poor
child slipped from a log, on which he had
gone out for the flowers, and which was
half under water.
Of course we children were dreadfully




52        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
frightened. My brother was half beside
himself, and ran screaming up home, while
my sister almost flew for Mrs. Allen.
0, I never shall forget the grief of that
poor woman, when she came to the spot
where her little dead boy lay! - how she
threw herself on the ground beside him,
and folded him close in her arms, and tried
to warm him with her tears and her kisses,
and tried to breathe her own breath into
his still, cold lips, and tried to make him
hear by calling, "Charlie, Charlie, speak
to mamma! speak to your poor mamma! "
But Charlie did not see her, nor feel
her, nor hear her any more; and when
she found that he was indeed gone from
her for ever, she gave the most fearful
shriek I ever heard, and fell back as
though she were dead.
By this time, my parents and a number
of the neighbours had reached the -spot,
and they carried Mrs. Allen and her
drowned boy home together, through the
twilight.  Poor Cora followed close to




CORA, THE SPANIEL.      53
the body of Charlie, whining piteously all
the way. That night, we could not get
her out of the room where it was placed,
but she watched there until morning.
Ah, how sweetly little Charlie looked
when he was laid out the next day! His
beautiful face had lost the dark look that
it wore when he was first taken from the
water; his pretty brown hair lay in close
ringlets all around his white forehead.
One hand was stretched at his side, the
other was laid across his breast, still holding the water-lilies. He was not dressed
in a shroud, but in white trousers, and a
pretty little spencer of pink gingham.
He did not look dead, but sleeping, and
he seemed to smile softly, as though he
had a pleasant dream in his heart.
Widow Allen had one other child, a year
younger than Charlie, whose name was
Mary, but who always called herself " Little May." O, it would have made you cry
to have seen her when she was brought
to look on her dead brother. She laughed




~54    HISTORY OF MY PETS.
at first, and put her small fingers on his
shut eyes, trying to open them, and said,
"Wake up Charlie! wake up, and come
play out doors, with little May!"  But
when she found that those eyes would
not unclose, and when she felt how cold
that face was, she was grieved and frightened, and ran to hide her face in her
mother's lap, where she cried and trembled; for though she could not know what
death was, she felt that something awful
had happened in the house.
But Cora's sorrow was also sad to see.
When the body of Charlie was carried to
the grave, she followed close to the coffin,
and when it was let down into the grave,
she leaped in and laid down upon it, and
growled and struggled when the men took
her out. Every day after that, she would
go to that grave, never missing the spot,
though there were many other little
mounds in the old church-yard.  She
would lie beside it for hours, patiently
waiting, it seemed, for her young friend to




CORA, THE SPANIEL.      55
awake and come out into the sunshine,
and run about and play with her as he
was used to do.  Sometimes she would
dig a little way into the mound, and bark,
or whine, and then listen for the voice of
Charlie to answer. But that voice never
came, though the faithful Cora listened
and waited and pined for it, through
many days. She ate scarcely any thing;
she would inot play with us now, nor could
we persuade her to go into the pond.
Alas! that fair, sweet child, pale and dripping from the water, was the last lily she
ever brought ashore. She grew so thin,
and weak, and sick, at last, that she could
hardly drag herself to the grave. But
still she went there every day. One evening, she did not come home, and my
brother and I went down for her. When
we reached the church-yard, we passed
along very carefully, for fear of treading
on some grave, and spoke soft and low,
as children should always do in such
places.  Sometimes we stopped to read




56       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
the long inscriptions on handsome tombstones, and to wonder why so many great
and good people were taken away. Sometimes we pitied the poor dead people who
had no tombstones at all, because their
friends could not afford to raise them, or
because they had been too wicked themselves too have their praises printed in
great letters, cut in white marble, and put
up in the solemn burying-ground, where
nobody would ever dare to write or say
any thing but the truth. When we came
in sight of Charlie's grave, we talked
about him. We wondered if he thought
of his mother, and cried out any when he
was drowning. We thought that he must
have grown very weary with struggling in
the water, and we wondered if he was
resting now, sleeping down there with his
lilies. We said that perhaps his soul was
awake all the time, and that, when he was
drowned, it did not fly right away to
heaven, with the angels, to sing hymns,
while his poor mother was weeping, but




CORA) THE SPANIEL.     57
stayed about the place, and somehow comforted her, and made her think of God
and heaven, even when she lay awake in
the night, to mourn for her lost boy.
So talking, we came up to the grave.
Cora was lying on the mound, where the
grass had now grown green and long.
She seemed to be asleep, and not to hear
our steps or our voices. My brother spoke
to her pleasantly, and patted her on the
head.  But she did not move.  I bent
down and looked into her face. She was
quite dead!




JACK, THE DRAKE.
I HAvE ~hesitated a great'deal about
writing the history of this pet, for his little life was only a chapter of accidents,
and you may think it very silly. Still, I
hope you may have a little interest in it
after all, and that your kind hearts may
feel for poor Jack, for he was good and
was unfortunate.
It happened that once, during a walk in
the fields, I found a duck's egg right in
my path. We had then no ducks in our
farm-yard, and I thought it would be a
fine idea to have one for a pet. So I
wrapped the egg in wool, and put it into a
basket, which I hung in a warm corner
by the kitchen-fire. My brothers laughed




JACK, THE DRAKE.       59
at me, saying that the egg would never be
any thing more than an egg, if left there;
but I had faith to believe that I should
some time see a fine duckling peeping out
of the shell, very much to the astonishment of all unbelieving boys. I used to
go to the basket, lift up the wool and look
at that little blue-hued treasure three or
four times a day, or take it out and hold
it against my bosom, and breathe upon it
in anxious expectation; until I began to
think that a watched egg never would
hatch. But my tiresome suspense finally
came to a happy end. At about the time
when, if he had had a mother, she would
have been looking for him, Jack, the
drake, presented his bill to the world that
owed him a living. He came out as
plump and hearty a little fowl as could
reasonably have been expected. But what
to do with him was the question. After
a while, I concluded to take him to a hen
who had just hatched a brood of chickens, thinking that, as he was a friendless




60        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
orphan, she might adopt him for charity's
sake. But Biddy was already like the celebrated
"Old woman that lived in a shoe,
Who had so many children she didn't know what to do."
With thirteen little ones of her own, and
living in a small and rather an inconvenient coop, it was no wonder that she felt
unwilling to have any addition to her family. But she might have declined civilly.
I am afraid she was a sad vixen, for no
sooner did she see the poor duckling
among her chickens, than she strode up
to him, and with one peck tore the skin
from his head, — scalped him,- the old
savage!  I rescued Jack from  her as
soon as possible, and dressed his wound
with lint as well as I could, for I felt
something like a parent to the fowl myself. He recovered after a while, but,
unfortunately, no feathers grew again on
his head, - he was always quite bald,which gave him an appearance of great
age. I once tried to remedy this evil by




JACK, THE DRAKE.       61
sticking some feathers on to his head with
tar; but, like all other wigs, it deceived
no one, only making him look older and
queerer than ever. What made the matter worse was, that I had selected some
long and very bright feathers, which stood
up so bold on his head that the other
fowls resented it, and pecked at the poor
wig till they pecked it all off.
While Jack was yet young, he one day
fell into the cistern, which had been left
open. Of course he could not get out,
and he soon tired of swimming, I suppose,
and sunk. At least, when he was drawn
up, he looked'as though he had been in
the water a long time, and seemed quite
dead. Yet, hoping to revive him, I placed
him in his old basket of wool, which I set
down on the hearth. He did indeed come
to life, but the first thing the silly creature
did on leaving his nest was to run into
the midst of the fire, and before I could
get him out, he was very badly burned.
He recovered from this also, but with bare




62       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
spots all over his body. In his tail there
never afterwards grew more than three
short feathers. But his trials were not
over yet. After he was full-grown, he
was once found fast by one leg in a great
iron rat-trap. When he was released, his
leg was found to be broken.  But my
brother William, who was then inclined to
be a doctor, which he has since become,
and who had watched my father during
surgical operations, splintered and bound
up the broken limb, and kept the patient
under a barrel for a week, so that he
should not attempt to use it.' At the end
of that time, Jack could get'about a little,
but with a very bad limp, which he never
got over. But as the duck family never
had the name of walking very handsomely, that was no great matter.
After all these accidents and mishaps, I
hardly need tell you that Jack had little
beauty to boast of, or plume himself upon.
He was in truth sadly disfigured, - about
the ugliest fowl possible to meet in a long




JACK, THE DRAKE.        63
day's journey.  Indeed, he used to be
shown up to people as a curiosity on account of his ugliness.
I remember a little city girl coming to
see me that summer. She talked a great
deal about her fine wax-dolls with rolling
eyes and jointed legs, her white, curly
French lap-dog, and, best and prettiest of
every thing, her beautiful yellow canarybird, which sung and sung all the day long.
I grew almost dizzy with hearing of such
grand and wonderful things, and sat with
my mouth wide open to swallow her great
stories. At last, she turned to me and
asked, with a curl of her pretty red lips,
" Have you no pet-birds, little girl? "
Now, she always called me "little girl,"
though I was a year older and a head
taller than she. I replied, "Yes, I have
one," and led the way to the back-yard,
where I introduced her to Jack.  I
thought I should have died of laughter
when she came to see him. Such faces as
she made up!
I am sorry to say, that the other fowls




64       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
in the yard, from the oldest hen down to
the rooster without spurs, and even to the
green goslings, seemed to see and feel
Jack's want of personal pretensions and
attractions, and always treated him with
marked contempt, not to say cruelty. The
little chickens followed him about, peeping and cackling with derision, very much
as the naughty children of the old Bible
times mocked at the good, bald-headed
prophet. But poor Jack did n't have it in
his power to punish the ill-mannered creatures as Elisha did those saucy children,
when he called the hungry she-bears to
put a stop to their wicked fun. In fact, I
don't think he would have done so if he
could, for all this hard treatment never
made him angry or disobliging. He had
an excellent temper, and was always meek
and quiet, though there was a melancholy
hang to his bald head, and his three lonesome tail-feathers drooped sadly toward
the ground. When he was ever so lean
and hungry, he would gallantly give up
his dinner to the plump, glossy-breasted




JACK, THE DRAKE.       65
pullets, though they would put on lofty
airs, step lightly, eye him scornfully, and
seem to be making fun of his. queer looks
all the time. He took every thing so kindly! He was like a few, a very few people
we meet, who, the uglier they grow, the
more goodness they have at heart, and the
worse the world treats them, the better
they are to it.
But Jack had one true friend. I liked
him, and more than once defended him
from cross old hens, and tyrannical cocks.
But perhaps my love was too much mixed
up with pity for him to have felt highly
complimented by it. Yet he seemed to
cherish a great affection for me, and to look
up to me as his guardian and protector.
As you have seen, Jack was always getting into scrapes, and at last he got into
one which even I could not get him out
of. He one day rashly swam out into the
mill-pond, which was then very high, from
a freshet, and which carried him over the
dam, where, as he was a very delicate fowl,
6




66            HISTORY  OF MY PETS.
he was drowned, or his neck was broken,
by the great rush and tumble of the water.    I  have  sometimes  thought that it
might be that he  was tired  of life, and
grieved by the way the world had used
him, and so put an end to himself. But
I hope it was not so; for, with all his
oddities and misfortunes, Jack seemed
too sensible for that.
ELEGY.
Alas, poor lame, bald-headed Jack!
None mourned when he was dead,
And for the sake of her drowned drake
No young duck hung her head!
The old cocks said they saw him go,
Yet did not call him back,
For a death. from hydropathy
Was a fit death for a quack.
The cockerels said, "Well, that poor fowl
Is gone,- who cares a penny  "
And guessed he found that last deep dive
Was one duck-in too many.
The heartless pullets saw him,
Yet raised no warning cries,
As he swam o'er the dam,
And was drowned before their eyes!








WI~~Fox~
~`~i3TV~
~~Pl~~"~~s~~inara~~~s~~~~; ~ ~ ~ i~~~b~~p Itly,
~~i~"l:~ecw~~s ~       I~~~a F\;~~a`77)




HECTOR, THE GREYHOUND.
HECTOR was the favorite hound of my
brother Rufus, ~Nio was extremely fond
of him, for he was~'one of the most beau-.
tiful creatures ever seen, had an amiable
disposition, and was very intelligent. You
would scarcely believe me, should I tell
you all his accomplishments and cunning
tricks. If one gave him a piece of money,
he would take it in his mouth and run at
once to the baker, or butcher, for his dinner.  He was evidently fond of music,
and even seemed to have an ear for it,
and he would dance away merrily whenever he saw'dancing. He was large and
strong, and in the winter, I remember, we
used to harness him to a little sleigh, on




68       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
which he drew my youngest brother to
school.  As Hector was as fleet as the
wind, this sort of riding was rare sport.
At night we had but to start him off, and
he would go directly to the school-house
for his little master. Ah, Hector was a
wonderful dog!
A few miles from our house, there was
a pond, or small lake, very deep and dark,
and surrounded by a swampy wood. Here
my brothers used to go duck-shooting,
though it was rather dangerous sport, as
most of the shore of the pond was a soft
bog, but thinly grown over with grass and
weeds. It was said that cattle had been
known to sink in it, and disappear in a
short time.
One night during the hunting season,
one of my elder brothers brought a friend
home with him, a fine, handsome young
fellow, named Charles Ashley. It was arranged that they should shoot ducks about
the pond the next day. So in the morning they all set out in high spirits. In




HECTOR, THE GREYHOUND.    69
the forenoon they had not much luck, as
they kept too much together; but in the
afternoon they separated, my brothers giving their friend warning- to beware of
getting into the bogs. But Ashley was a
wild, imprudent young man, and once,
having shot a fine large duck, which fell
into the pond near the shore, and Hector,
who was with him, refusing to go into the
water for it, he ran down himself. Before
he reached the edge of the water, he was
over his ankles in mire; then, turning
to go back, he sunk to his knees, and in
another moment he was waist-high in the
bog, and quite unable to help himself. He
laid his gun down, and, fortunately, could
rest one end of it on a little knoll of firmer
earth; but he still sunk slowly, till he was
in up to his arm-pits. Of course, he called
and shouted for help as loud as possible,
but my brothers were at such a distance
that they did not hear him so as to know
his voice. But Hector, after looking at
him in his sad fix a moment, started off on




70       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
a swift run, which soon brought him to his
master. My brother said that the dog then
began to whine, and run back and forth in
a most extraordinary manner, until he set
out to follow him to the scene of the accident.  Hector dashed on through the
thick bushes, as though he were half distracted, every few moments turning back
with wild cries to hurry on his master.
When my brother came up to where his
friend was fixed in the mire, he could see
nothing of him at first. Then he heard a
faint voice calling him, and, looking down
near the water, he saw a pale face looking
up at him from the midst of the black
bog.  He has often said that it was the
strangest sight that he ever saw. Poor
Ashley's arms, and the fowling-piece he
held, were now beginning to disappear,
and in a very short time he would have
sunk out of sight for ever! Only to think
of such an awful death! My brother,
who had always great presence of mind,
lost no time in bending down a young tree




HECTOR) THE GREYHOUND.   71
from the bank where he stood, so that
Ashley could grasp it, and in that way be
drawn up, for, as you see, it would not
have been safe for him to go down to
where his friend sunk. When Ashley
had taken a firm hold of the sapling, my
brother let go of it, and it sprung back,
pulling up the young man without much
exertion on his part. Ashley was, however, greatly exhausted with fright and
struggling, and lay for some moments on
the bank, feeling quite unable to walk.
As soon as he was strong enough, he set
out for home with my brother, stopping
very often to rest and shake off the thick
mud, which actually weighed heavily upon
him. I never shall forget how he looked
when he came into the yard about sunset.
O, what a rueful and ridiculous figure he
cut! We could none of us keep from
laughing, though we were frightened at
first, and sorry for our guest's misfortune.
But after he was dressed in a dry suit of
my brother's, he looked funnier than ever,




72        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
for he was a tall, rather large person, and
the dress was too small for him every way.
Yet he laughed as heartily as any of us,
for he was very good-natured and merry.
It seems to me I can see him now, as he
walked about with pantaloons half way
up to his knees, coat-sleeves coming a little
below the elbows, and vest that would n't
meet at all, and told us queer Yankee
stories, and sung songs, and jested and
laughed all the evening. But once, I remember, I saw him go out on to the doorstep, where Hector was lying, kneel down
beside the faithful dog, and actually hug
him to his breast.
When not hunting with his master,
Hector went with Albert and me in all
our rambles, berrying and nutting. We
could hardly be seen without him, and we
loved him almost as we loved one another.
One afternoon in early spring, we had
been into the woods for wild-flowers.  I
remember that I had my apron filled with
the sweet claytonias, and the gay trilliums,




HECTOR, THE GREYHOUND.    73
and the pretty white flowers of the sanguinaria, or " blood-root," and hosts and
handfuls of the wild violets, yellow and
blue. My brother had taken off his cap
and filled it with beautiful green mosses,
all lit up with the bright red squawberry. We had just entered the long,
shady lane which ran down to the house,
and were talking and laughing very merrily, when we saw a crowd of men and
boys running toward us and shouting as
they ran. Before them was a large, brown
bull-dog, that, as he came near, we saw
was foaming at the mouth.  Then we
heard what the men were crying. It was,
"Mad dog!  "
My brother and I stopped and clung to
each other in great trouble. Hector stood
before us and growled. The dog was already so near that we saw we could not escape; he came right at us, with his dreadful frothy mouth wide open. He was just
upon us, when Hector caught him by the
throat, and the two rolled on the ground,
7




74       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
biting and struggling. But presently one
of the men came up and struck the mad
dog on the head with a large club, - so
stunned him and finally killed him. But
Hector, poor Hector, was badly bitten in
the neck and breast, and all the men said
that he must die too, or he would go mad.
One of the neighbours went home with
us, and told my father and elder brothers
all about it. They were greatly troubled,
but promised that, for the safety of the
neighbourhood, Hector should be shot in
the morning. I remember how, while they
were talking, Hector lay on the door-step
licking his wounds, every now and then
looking round, as if he thought that there
was some trouble which he ought to understand.
I shall never, never forget how I grieved
that night! I heard the clock strike ten,
eleven, and twelve, as I lay awake weeping for my dear playfellow and noble preserver, who was to die in the morning.
Hectorwas sleeping in the next room, and




HECTORI THE GREYHOUND.    75
once I got up and stole out to see him as
he lay on the hearth-rug in the clear moonlight, resting unquietly, for his wounds
pained him. I went and stood so near that
my tears fell on his beautiful head; but I
was careful not to wake him, for I somehow felt guilty toward him.
That night the weather changed, and
the next morning came up chilly and
windy, with no sunshine at all, —as
though it would not have been a gloomy
day enough, any how. After breakfast —
ah! I remember well how little breakfast
was eaten by any of us that morning —
Hector was led out into the yard, and fastened to a stake. He had never before in
all his life been tied, and he now looked
troubled and ashamed. But my mother
spoke pleasantly to him and patted him,
and he held up his head and looked proud
again.  My mother was greatly grieved
that the poor fellow should have to die
for defending her children, and when she
turned from him and went into the house,




76       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
I saw she was in tears; so I cried louder
than ever. One after another, we all went
up and took leave of our dear and faithful
friend. My youngest brother clung about
him longest, crying and sobbing as though
his heart would break.  It seemed that
we should never get the child away. My
brother Rufus said that no one should
shoot his dog but himself, and while we
children were bidding farewell, he stood
at a little distance loading his rifle. But
finally he also came up to take leave. He
laid his hand tenderly on Hector's head,
but did not speak to him or look into
his eyes, - those sad eyes, which seemed
to be asking what all this crying meant.
He then stepped quickly back to his place,
and raised the rifle to his shoulder. Then
poor Hector appeared to understand it all,
and to know that he must die, for he gave
a loud, mournful cry, trembled all over,
and crouched toward the ground.  My
brother dropped the gun, and leaned upon
it, pale and distressed. Then came the




HECTOR, THE GREYHOUND.    77
strangest thing of all. Hector seemed to
have strength given him to submit to his
hard fate; he stood up bravely again, but
turned away his head and closed his eyes.
My brother raised the rifle. I covered my
face with my hands. Then came a loud,
sharp report. I looked round and saw
Hector stretched at full length, with a
great stream of blood spouting from his
white breast, and reddening all the grass
about him. He was not quite dead, and
as we gathered around him, he looked up
into our faces and moaned. The ball
which pierced him had cut the cord in two
that bound him to the stake, and he was
free at the last. My brother, who had
thrown down his rifle, drew near also, but
dared not come close, because, he said, he
feared the poor dog would look reproachfully at him.  But Hector caught sight
of his, beloved master, and, rousing all
his strength, dragged himself to his feet.
Rufus bent over him and called him by
name. Hector looked up lovingly and for



78       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
givingly into his face, licked his hand, and
died. Then my brother, who had kept a
firm, manly face all the while, burst into
tears.
~ Aiy brother William, who was always
Master of ceremonies on such occasions,
made a neat coffin for Hector, and laid him
in it, very gently and solemnly. I flung
in all the wild-flowers which Albert and I
had gathered on the afternoon of our last
walk with our noble friend, and so we
buried him. His grave was very near the
spot where he had so bravely defended us
fiom the mad dog, by the side of the way,
in the long, pleasant lane where the elmtrees grew.




BOB, THE COSSET.
-4 —
ONE cold night in March, my father
came in from the barn-yard, bringing a
little lamb, which lay stiff and still in
his arms, and appeared to be quite dead.
But my mother, who was good and kind
to all creatures, wrapped it in flannel, and,
forcing open its teeth, poured some warm
milk down its throat. Still it did not open
its eyes or move, and when we went to
bed it was yet lying motionless before the
fire. It happened that my mother slept
in a room opening out of the sitting-room,
and in the middle of the night she heard
a little complaining voice, saying, "Ma! "
She thought it must be some one of us,
and so answered, "What, my child?"




o80      ISTORY OF MY PETS.
Again it came, " Ma!". and, turning round,
she saw by the light of the moon the little lamb she had left for dead standing by
her. bedside. In the morning it was found
that the own mother of "'Bob," (for we
gave him that name,) had died of cold in
the night; so we adopted the poor orphan
into our family. We children took care of
him, and though it was a great trouble to
bring him up by hand, we soon became
attached to our charge, and grew very
proud of his handsome growth and thriving condition. He was, in truth, a most
amusing pet, he had such free manners
with every body and was so entirely at
home everywhere. He would go into every room in the house, - even mount the
stairs and appear in our chambers in the
morning, sometimes before we were up, to
shame us with hi{ early rising. But the
place which of all others he decidedly preferred was the pantry. Here he was, I am
sorry to say, once or twice guilty of breaking the commandment against stealing, by




BOB, THE COSSET.        81
helping himself to fruit and to slices of
bread which did not rightfully belong to
him. He was tolerably amiable, though
I think that lambs generally have a greater
name for sweetness of temper than they
deserve. But Bob, though playful and
somewhat mischievous, had never any serious disagreement with the dogs, cats,
pigs, and poultry on the premises. My
sister and I used to make wreaths for his
neck, which he wore with such an evident
attempt at display, that I sometimes feared
he was more vain and proud than it was
right for such an innocent and poetical
animal to be.
But our trials did not really commence
until Bob's horns began to sprout.  It
seemed that he had no sooner perceived
those little protuberances in his lookingglass, the drinking-trodih, than he took
to butting, like any common pasturereared sheep, who had been wholly without the advantages of education and good
society. It was in vain that we tried




82        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
to impress upon him that such was not
correct conduct in a cosset of his breeding; he would still persevere in his little
interesting trick of butting all such visitors as did not happen to strike his fancy.
But he never treated us to his horns in
that way, and so we let him go, like any
other spoiled child, without punishing
him severely, and rather laughed at his
sauciness.
But one day our minister, a stout, elderly gentleman, solemn-faced and formal,
had been making us a parochial visit, and
as he was going away, we all went out
into the yard to see him ride off, on his
old sorrel pacer.  It seems he had no
riding-whip; so he reached up to break off
a twig from an elm-tree which hung over
the gate. This was very high, and he was
obliged to standmon tiptoe.  Just then,
before he had grasped the twig he wanted,
Bob started out from under a large rosebush near by, and run against the reverend gentleman, butting him so violently




BOB, THE COSSET.      83
as to take him quite off his feet. My father helped the good man up, and made
a great many apologies for the impiety of
our pet, while we children did our best to
keep our faces straight. After our venerable visitor was gone, my father sternly
declared that he would not bear with Bob
any longer, but that he should be turned
into the pasture with the other sheep, for
he would not have him about, insulting
respectable people and butting ministers
of the Gospel at that rate.
So the next morning Bob was banished
in disgrace from the house and yard, and
obliged to mingle with the vulgar herd of
his kind. With them I regret to say that
he soon earned the name of being very
bold and quarrelsome. As his horns grew
and lengthened, he grew more and more
proud of the consequence they gave him,
and went forth butting and to butt. O,
he was a terrible fellow!
One summer day, my brother Charles
and a young man who lived with us were




84       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
in the mill-pond, washing the sheep which
were soon to be sheared. I was standing
on the bank, watching the work, when
one of our neighbours, a hard, coarse man,
came up, and calling to my brother, in a
loud voice, asked if he had been hunting
a raccoon the night before. "Yes, Sir, and
I killed him too," answered my brother.
" Well, young man," said the farmer, " did
you pass through my field, and trample
down the grain? "  "I crossed the field,
Sir, but I hope I did no great damage," replied Charles, in a pleasant way. "Yes,
you did!" shouted the man, "and now,
you young rascal, if I ever catch you on
my land again, day or night, I'11 thrash
you!-I'II teach you something, if your
father wont!" As he said this, stretching his great fist out threateningly toward
my brother, he stood on the very edge of
the steep bank. Just behind him were
the sheep, headed by the redoubtable Bob,
who suddenly darted forward, and, before
the farmer could suspect what was coming,




BOB, THE COSSET.        85
butted him head over heels into the pond!
My brother went at once to the assistance
of his enemy, who scrambled on to the
shore, sputtering and dripping, but a good
deal cooled in his rage. I suppose I was
very wicked, but I did enjoy that!
For this one good turn, Bob was always
quite a favorite, with all his faults, and
year after year was spared, when worthier
sheep were made mutton of.  He was
finally sold, with the rest of the flock,
when we left the farm, and though he
lived to a good old age, the wool of his
last fleece must long since have been knit
into socks and comforters, or woven into
cloth, — must have grown threadbare,
and gone to dress scarecrows, or stop cellar-windows, or been all trodden out in
rag-carpets.




ROBIN REDBREAST.
I MUST now, dear children, pass over a
few years of my life, in which I had no
pets in whose history you would be likely
to be interested.
At the time of my possessing my wonderful Robin, we had left our country
home, my brothers were most of them
abroad in the world, and I was living with
my parents in the pleasant city of R-.
I was a school-girl, between fifteen and
sixteen years of age. That spring, I commenced the study of French, and, as I was
never a remarkably bright scholar, I was
obliged to apply myself with great diligence to my books. I used to take my
grammar and phrase-book to my chamber,




N1I
Pr
Vat",
Al;Britoil!
- rpp
IN








ROBIN REDBREAST.       87
at night, and study as long as I could possibly keep my eyes open. In consequence
of this, as you may suppose, I was very
sleepy in the morning, and it usually took
a prodigious noise and something of a
shaking to waken me. But one summer
morning I was roused early, not by the
breakfast-bell, nor by calling, or shaking,
but by a glad gush of sweetest singing.
I opened my eyes, and right on the footboard of my bed was perched a pretty
red-breasted robin, pouring out all his little soul in a merry morning song. I stole
out of bed softly, and shut down the window through which he had come; then, as
soon as I was dressed, caught him, carried
him down stairs, and put him into a cage
which had hung empty ever since the cat
made way with my last Canary.
I soon found that I had a rare treasure
in my Robin, who was very tame, and had
evidently been carefully trained, for before
the afternoon was over he surprised and
delighted us all by singing the air of




88       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
"Buy a Broom" quite through, touching
on every note with wonderful precision.
We saw that it was a valuable bird, who
had probably escaped, and for some days
we made inquiries for its owner, but without success.
At night I always took Robin's cage
into my chamber, and he was sure to
waken me early with his loud, but delicious, singing. So passed on a month, in
which I had great happiness in my interesting pet. But one Saturday forenoon I
let him out, that I might clean his cage.
I had not observed that there was a window open, but the bird soon made himself
acquainted with the fact, and, with a glad,
exulting trill, he darted out into the sunshine. Hastily catching my bonnet, I ran
after him. At first, he stayed about the
trees in front of the house, provokingly
hopping from branch to branch out of my
reach, holding his head on one side, and
eyeing me with sly, mischievous glances.
At last he spread his wings and flew down




ROBIN REDBREAST.       89
the street. I followed as -fast as I could,
keeping my eye upon him all the time. It
was curious that he did not fly across
squares, or over the houses, but kept along
above the streets, slowly, and with a backward glance once in a while. At length,
he turned down a narrow court, and flew
into the open window of a small framehouse. Here I followed him, knocking
timidly at the door, which was opened at
once by a boy about nine years old. I
found myself in a small parlour, very
plainly, but neatly furnished. In an armchair by the window sat a middle-aged
woman, who I saw at once was blind. A
tall, dark-eyed, rather handsome girl was
sitting near her, sewing. But I did not
look at either of these more than a moment,
for on the other side of the room was an
object to charm, and yet sadden, my eyes.
This was a slight girl, about my own age,
reclining on a couch, looking very ill and
pale, but with a small, red spot on each
cheek, which told me that she was almost
8




90        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
gone with consumption.  She was very
beautiful, though so thin and weary looking. She had large, dark, tender eyes, and
her lips were still as sweet as rosebuds.
I think I never saw such magnificent hair
as hers; it flowed all over her pillow, and
hung down nearly to the floor, in bright,
glossy ringlets.
At that moment she was holding the
truant Robin in her white, slender hands,
crying and laughing over him, calling
him  her "dear lost pet," her "naughty.runaway," and a hundred other loving and
scolding names. I, of course, felt rather
awkward, but I explained matters to Robin's fair mistress as well as I could. She
looked pleased, and thanked me warmly
for the good care I had taken of the bird.
Then she made me sit down by her side,
and asked my name, and told me hers,
which was Ellen Harper, and introduced
me to her mother, sister, and brother, all
in the sweetest manner possible. We got
quite well acquainted, and talked like old




ROBIN REDBREAST.        91
friends, till Ellen's cough interrupted her.
Then, as I -rose to go, she made me promise to come again very soon, and raised
herself as though she would kiss me before I went. Just as I bent down to press
my lips to hers, Robin, who, of his own
accord, had taken possession of his old
cage, which had been left open for him,
burst out into a sweet, merry warble, full
of the most astonishing trills and shakes.
Then I felt that it was well that we two
should love one another.
After that, I went almost daily to see
Ellen Harper. I carried her books, I read
to her, talked to her, and listened to her
low gentle voice, and looked down deep
into her clear hazel eyes, till I grew to
love the sweet, patient girl more than I can
tell. I think that she was a most remarkable person. Her parents were quite poor,
and she had enjoyed few advantages; but
she was far beyond me in scholarship and
reading. And then she was a true Christian, with a calm hope, and a cheerful




92       HISTORY OF MY PETS.
resignation; she seemed indeed to have
given her heart to God.
Ellen knew that she was dying; she
knew that, young and fair and beloved as
she was, she had not long to stay in this
bright, beautiful world. But she did not
fear, or complain, for she knew also that
a kind Father called her away, to a world
far brighter and many times more beautiful than ours. It was touching to see her
trying to comfort her sister Lucy, whose
strength would sometimes give way as
she saw that slight form growing weaker
every day; or her young brother Willie,
when he would leave his book, or his play,
and come and lay his face against her bosom and cry; or her father, when he would
come home from his work at night, and
sit down beside his darling child, and hold
her thin, fair fingers in his great, brown
hand, and say no word, only sigh as
though his poor heart was breaking; or
her mother, who was blind, and could not
see the change in her " own little Nellie,"




ROBIN REDBREAST.        93
as she called her, and so had to be told
again and again that she was failing fast.
For all these dear ones, Ellen had words
of consolation, and they always felt stronger after she had talked with them.
On some of those mornings when I
went over to dress her beautiful hair,
which I dearly loved to do, she talked to
me as an angel might talk, I thought, and
told me many sweet and holy things,
which I shall remember all the days of
my life.
As long as she stayed with us, Ellen had
great pleasure in her pet Robin. She said
that to her ear he always seemed to be
singing hymns, which was a great joy to
her after she became too weak to sing
them herself.
Dear Ellen died at night. She had
been very restless in the evening, and at
last said that, if she could lie in her mother's arms, as she used to lie when she was
a little child, she thought that she could
sleep. So Mrs. Harper laid down beside




94        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
her daughter, who nestled against her bosom and slept. Ellen's happy spirit passed
away in that sleep. But her mother was
blind, and could not see when her child
was dead; and when her husband, fearing
what had happened, came near, she raised
her finger and said, "Hush, don't wake
Nellie!"
The next morning, Lucy sent over for
me to come and dress Ellen's hair for the
last time. I found my friend looking very
much as I had always seen her, only with
a sweeter smile, if possible, hovering about
her lips. She was lying on her couch,
dressed in white muslin, and with many
flowers scattered around her. A vase of
roses stood on a stand at her feet, and over
it hung the pretty cage of Robin, and
Robin himself was singing very sweetly,
but in lower tones than usual, as if he
thought his young mistress was sleeping,
and feared to waken her.
They had cut away some of the hair
from the back of Ellen's head, but around




ROBIN REDBREAST.       95
the forehead the familiar ringlets were
all left. These I dressed very carefully,
though my tears fell so fast, I could
scarcely see what I was doing, I shall
never forget the scene when the family
came into the parlour to look upon Ellen,
after she had been laid out, that morning. Lucy, sobbing and trembling, led
her mother to the couch.  The poor
woman felt in the air above the dead
face a moment, and said, "How I miss
her sweet breath round me!" Then
she knelt down, and, with her arms Qung
over the body, swayed back and forth, and
seemed to pray silently. The father took
those shining curls in his hands, and
smoothed them tenderly and kissed them
many times, while his great hot tears fell
fast on the head of his child, and on the
rose-buds which lay upon her pillow, and
seemed to give a flush to her white, cold
cheek.
I noticed that little Willie was the calmest of them all. He seemed to have taken




96        HISTORY OF MY PETS.
to heart the words of his sister, when she
told him that she was going into a better
and happier life, where she would continue
to love him, and whither he would come,
if he was good and true in this life. So
he did not grieve for her, as most children
grieve, but was quiet and submissive.
Ellen was buried in a beautiful cemetery
a mile or two from the noise and dust of
the city. The morning after she had been
laid there, I went to plant a little rose-tree
over her grave.  I was somewhat surprised to find Willie there, and with him
Robin Redbreast, in his pretty cage.
" Why have you brought the bird here,
Willie?" I asked.
"Because," said he, in a low, trembling
voice, "I thought that, now sister's spirit
was free, I ought not to keep her bird a
prisoner any longer."
" That is right," I said, for I thought
that this was a beautiful idea of the
child's.
So Willie opened the door of the cage,




ROBIN REDBREAST.         97
and out flew the Robin. This time he did
not alight on the trees, but mounted right
up toward heaven.  There was a light
cloud floating over us, and, as we stood
looking up after the bird, Willie seemed
troubled to see that it passed into this,
and so was lost to our sight.  " Ah," he
said, "I hoped he would follow  Nellie!
but he has gone into the cloud, and sister's soul, I am very sure, passed away
into the sunshine."
9




TOM.
I Now come to the very prince of pets,
the one of all I ever had the most noble
and most dear, —Tom, a Newfoundland
setter, the favorite dog of my brother Albert. He has been a member of our family
for five or six years past. We brought
him from the city to our pleasant village
home in Pennsylvania, where we now live.
Tom is a dog of extraordinary beauty,
sagacity, and good feeling.  He is very
large, and, with the exception of his feet
and breast, jet black, with a thick coat of
fine hair, which lies in short curls, glossy
and silken. He has a well-formed head,
and a handsome, dark eye, full of kindness and intelligence.  IIis limbs are




TOM.              99
small, and his feet particularly delicate.
He is, I am sorry to say, rather indolent
in his habits, always prefers to take a
carriage to the hunting-ground, when he
goes sporting with his master, and he
sleeps rather too soundly at night to be a
good watch-dog. We make him useful in
various ways, however, such as carrying
baskets and bundles, and sometimes we
send him to the post-office with and for
letters and papers. These he always takes
the most faithful care of, never allowing
any one to look at them on the way. He
is a remarkably gentlemanly dog in his
manner, never making free with people,
or seeming too fond at first sight; but if
you speak to him pleasantly, he will offer
you a friendly paw in a quiet way, and
seem happy to make your acquaintance.
He never fawns, nor whines, nor skulks
about, but is dignified, easy, and perfectly
at home in polite society. He is a sad
aristocrat, treats all well-dressed comers
most courteously, but with shabby people




100      HISTORY OF MY PETS.
he will have nothing to do. Tom knows
how to take and carry on a joke. I recollect one evening, when we had visitors,
and he was in the parlour, I put on him a
gay-colored sack of my own, and a large
gypsy hat, which I tied under his throat.
Instead of looking ashamed and trying to
get these off, as most dogs would have
done, he crossed the room and sprang on
to the sofa, where he sat upright, looking very wise and grave, like some old
colored woman at church. The illustrious
General Tom Thumb once travelled with
my brother and this dog, and, falling very
much in love with his namesake, offered
any price for him. Of course, my brother
would not think for a moment of selling
his faithful friend, and even had he felt
differently, I doubt very much whether
Tom, who had been used to looking up to
full-grown men, would have shown much
obedience or respect, for such a funny little fellow as the General. It was amusing
to observe the dog's manner toward his




TOM.             101
small, new acquaintance. He was kind
and condescending, though he sometimes
seemed to think that the General was a
little too much inclined to take liberties
with his superiors in age and size, - rather more forward and familiar than was
quite becoming in a child.
Two or three years ago, Tom was the
beloved playfellow of my brother Frederic's youngest daughter, - our little Jane.
She always seemed to me like a fairychild, she was so small and delicate, with
such bright golden curls falling about her
face, -the sweetest face in the world. It
was beautiful to see her at play with that
great, black dog, who was very tender with
her, for he seemed to know that she was
not strong.  One evening she left her
play earlier than usual, and went and laid
her head in her mother's lap, and said,
"Little Jane is tired."  That night she
sickened, and in a few, a very few days
she died. When she was hid away in the
grave, we grieved deeply that we should




102      HISTORY OF MY PETS.
see her face no more, but we had joy to
know that it would never be pale with
sickness in that heavenly home to which
she had gone; and though we miss her
still, we have great happiness in the
thought that she will never be "tired"
any more, for we believe her to be resting
on the bosom of the Lord Jesus.
One day last spring, I remember, her
mother gave me a bunch of violets, saying, "They are from the grave of little
Jane." I suppose they were like all other
blue violets, but I thought then I had
never seen any so beautiful. It seemed to
me that the sweet looks of the child were
blooming out of the flowers which had
sprung up over the place where we had
laid her.
Tom seems much attached to all our
family, but most devotedly so to my brother
Albert. They two have hunted very much
together, and seem equally fond of the
sport. If Tom sees his master with his
hunting-dress on, and his fowling-piece in




TOM.             103
hand, he is half beside himself with joy.
But when he returns from the hunt, spent
and weary, he always comes to me to be
fed and petted.
You will remember that years have
passed by since this brother and I were
schoolmates and playmates together. He
is now a fine young man, while I am a
full-grown woman, who have seen the
world I used to think so grand and glorious, and found it — no better than it
should be. But of my brother. He is
our youngest, you know, and so has never outgrown that peculiar fondness, that
dear love, we always give to "the baby."
While I have been writing these histories,
and recalling in almost every scene the
playmate of my childhood, I can only see
him as a boy,- a little black-eyed, rosycheeked boy; it is very difficult to think
of him as a man, making his own way
bravely in the world. Last spring we observed that dear Albert's bright face had
become very thoughtful and serious; we




104       HISTORY, OF MY PETS.
knew that something was weighing on his
mind, and finally it came out. IHe was
about to leave us all for a long time, it
might be for ever; he was going to Cablfornia! We were very unhappy to hear this,
but, as it was on some accounts the best
thing that my brother could do, we finally
consented, and all went to work as cheerfully as we could to help him off.
It was a bright May morning when he
left, but it seemed to us that there never
was a darker or sadder day.  The dear
fellow kept up good courage till it came
to the parting; then his heart seemed to
melt and flow out in his tears, fast dropping on the brows and necks of his mother and sisters, as he held them for the last
time to his heaving breast. But I will not
dwell on this parting, for my own eyes
grow so dim I cannot well see to write.
I remember that poor Tom seemed
greatly troubled that morning; he knew
that something sad was happening, and
looked anxiously in our faces, as though




TOM.            105
he would ask what it was; and when my
brother patted him on the head, bade him
good by, and passed out of the gate, forbidding him to follow, the faithful creature
whined sadly, and looked after him wistfully, till he was out of sight.
After Albert had been gone about an
hour, I remember that I went up into his
room, and sat down in his favorite seat,
by the window. 0, how still and lonely
and mournful it seemed there! Near
me hung my brother's fencing-sword and
mask, which he had used only the day
before, - on the floor lay the game-bag,
which he had always worn in hunting, and
which he had flung out of his trunk, not
having room for it.  This brought my
merry brother before me more clearly than
any thing else. I took it up and held it a
long time,. mourning at heart, but I could
not weep. Suddenly I heard a low whine
in the hall, and Tom stole softly into the
room. He came to me and laid his head
in my lap; but when he saw the game-bag




106      HISTORY OF MY PETS.
there, he set up a most mournful cry.
Then I flung my arms about him, bowed
my head down against his neck, and burst
into tears. I forgot that he was a poor
dumb brute, and only remembered that
he loved my brother, and my brother loved
him, and that he mourned with me in my
sorrow. After this, it was very affecting
to see Tom go every day, for a long. while,
to the gate, out of which he had seen his
master pass for the last time, and then
stand and look up the street, crying like
a grieved child.
As you will readily believe, Tom is now
dearer than ever to us all; we cannot see
him without a sweet, sad thought of that
beloved one so far away. I am not now
at home, but I never hear from there without hearing of the welfare of the noble
dog which my brother, in going, bestowed
upon me.
I am afraid you will not think this
much of a story. I have, I know, talked




TOM.             107
more about the master than the dog. But
you will excuse this in me, I am sure, for
you know I must think a great deal about
that dear brother, in a far and strange
country. 0, I have such hopes and such
fears for him! At night, I hope that our
good Father in heaven has cared for him all
the day long. In the morning, I hope that
he awakes well, with the joyous light still
in his eye, and the warm, fresh color on his
smiling lips. Or I hope he is thinking of
us, who love him; of me, and of the old
merry times we had together. I hope that
people are kind to him, and speak to him
in pleasant voices, that sound to him like
the voices of his home. Then I fear that
he has grown worn and pale with sickness, that he is deathly cold, with no one
near to cover him warmly, or that he is
hot and restless with fever, and no one
near to hand him a cup of cold water, or
to lave his poor, throbbing forehead. I
fear that he may be already laid under a
strange soil, with flowers that he never




108      HISTORY OF MY PETS.
saw in his own dear land blossoming
around his grave. Sometimes I fear, and
that is the darkest fear of all, that the
waves, the great, deep ocean-waves, are
rolling and sounding over him.
But we believe that, wherever he goes,
he is under the kind care of One who
knows what is best for him; and we feel
that, while he loves his home, he will keep
his good, true heart, and not fall into
evil ways. He tells me in a letter, that,
when he looks up into that strange, southern heaven, he seems to see his home, and
all the bright hills round it, painted on
the sky; and that the faces of those he
loves seem to look down from the shining
stars, and up from the bounding waves.
O children, do you not hope with me
that God will care for his dear life, and
bring him back safely to us, before many
years.




CONCLUSION.         109
AND now, my little friends, good by!
I am really sorry to part with you, but I
fear that, if I should talk much longer, I
might grow tiresome.
There are many who could have given
you better stories than these of mine, but
none, I think, could have had greater happiness in telling them; and no one in the
wide world, I am very sure, can be more
desirous to gain your love and confidence
than is your friend,
GRACE GREENWOOD.