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CHAPTER VI.

Birds.

Having now, I think, mentioned all the “four-footed beasts” about which I had any thing particular to say, I will pass on to another and still more beautiful portion of God’s handy-work—­the birds.  The account of their creation is thus given:  “And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.  And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind:  and God saw that it was good.  And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.  And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.”  The beasts were not made until the sixth day; so that, if I had been writing a history of the creation, I should have put the birds and fishes first.  Notice these expressions, “God saw that it was good; and God blessed them.”  Every thing when it came from his glorious hand was very good; and man was the only being who became bad by his own fault, despised the blessing, and brought the curse on himself, with all its sad consequences to the whole earth and every creature.  “God blessed them;” and what right have we to make their little lives miserable?  This thought has often come over me when I have seen any cruel thing done.  God said, that the fowl were to “fly above the earth, in the open firmament of heaven;” but he has made some fowls that are very useful to man, willing to stay upon the earth.  If hens and ducks were to lay their eggs in high trees, and among rocks, as many birds do, we should get very few of them; and as they lay many more than they can hatch, it would be a great and wasteful loss.  By this we are sure that poultry was intended for our use; and if you take care not to frighten or tease them, you may bring up chickens to be as tame and familiar as dogs or cats.  I remember a droll proof of this.  Once, out of a great many fowls, belonging to a dear friend in whose house I lived, there was only one that would not be friends with me.  She was a fine old speckled black and white hen, very wild; and her running away from me vexed me; for I cannot bear that any one of God’s creatures should think I would be so cruel as to hurt it.  Well, I set myself to wheedle this hen into being on better terms; taking crumbs to her, and persuading her by degrees to feed from my hand, like the rest.  This was very good:  but it did not stop here.  Whether Mrs. Hen was flattered by so much attention, or whether she was desirous of making up for her former rudeness, or how it was, I don’t know; but she became so unreasonably fond of me, that if a door or window were opened she would pop in to look for her friend, running up and down stairs, into the parlour,