“There is something far better.  There is something far happier.  There is a better Home than any earthly one, and a Family that shall never be divided.”

THE BLACKBIRD’S NEST.

    “Let me not think an action mine own way,
    But as Thy love shall sway,
    Resigning up the rudder to Thy skill.”

    GEORGE HERBERT.

One day, when I was a very little girl (which is a long time ago), I made a discovery.  The place where I made it was not very remote, being a holly-bush at the bottom of our garden; and the discovery was not a great one in itself, though I thought it very grand.  I had found a blackbird’s nest, with three young ones in it.

The discovery was made on this wise.  I was sitting one morning on a log of wood opposite this holly-bush, reading the story of Goody Twoshoes, and thinking to myself how much I should like to be like her, and to go about in the village with a raven, a pigeon, and a lark on my shoulders, admired and talked about by everybody.  All sorts of nonsense passed through my head as I sat, with the book on my lap, staring straight before me; and I was just fancying the kind condescension with which I would behave to everybody when I became a Goody Twoshoes, when I saw a bird come out of the holly-bush and fly away.  It was a blackbird:  there was no doubt of it; and it must have a nest in the tree, or why had it been there so long?  Down went my book, and I flew to make my discovery.  A blackbird’s nest, with three young ones!  I stood still at first in pure pleasure at the sight; and then, little by little, grand ideas came into my head.

I would be very kind to these little blackbirds, I thought; I would take them home out of this cold tree, and make a large nest of cotton wool (which would be much softer and better for them than to be where they were), and feed them, and keep them; and then, when they were full-grown, they would, of course, love me better than any one, and be very tame and grateful; and I should walk about with them on my shoulders, like Goody Twoshoes, and be admired by everybody; for, I am ashamed to say, most of my day dreams ended with this, to be admired by everybody.  I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I did not know, till his hands were laid upon my shoulders, that my friend, the curate of the village, had come up behind me.  He lived next door to us, and often climbed over the wall that divided our garden to bring me flowers for my little bed.  He was a tall, dark, not very young man; and the best hand at making fire-balloons, mending toys, and making a broken wax doll as good as new with a hot knitting needle, that you can imagine.  I had heard grown-up people call him grave and silent, but he always laughed and talked to me.

“What are you doing, little woman?” he said.

“I have got a nest of poor little birds,” I answered; “I am so sorry for them here in the cold; but they will be all right when I have got them indoors.  I shall make them a beautiful nest of cotton wool, and feed them.  Won’t it be nice?”