Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 22. July, 1878.Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 22. July, 1878.
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
How they love the birds! And why not? Since but for a little bird they
would not have been together in this sweet little nest, outbilling and
outcooing the Java sparrows, dwelling in the land of Love's young dream,
in the sunshine of each other's affection, and ready to declare upon
oath that there is no night in their lives that isn't radiant with the
sheen of the honeymoon.
And now I'll tell you the story of a little bird as Mistress May
Sterling told it to me one evening while her Arthur and I smoked our
cigars in the moonlight on The Nest's piazza. No: on the whole, Mistress
Sterling shall tell the story herself: she tells it much better than I
can.
"Why, yes," she says, "I'll tell it: why not? I love to tell it, for,
taken altogether, it is the best story I ever heard of.--Kiss me,
dear."
Arthur having done as he was bidden, Mrs. Sterling begins at once, and
all you and I have to do is to listen:
"When I was young and giddy--ever and ever so long ago, of course:
indeed I was quite a girl then, only eighteen--I was, as you may
imagine, quite a pet with my father--don't laugh, Arthur: you know I
was--and quite a belle too, I can assure you, with lots of young men
flinging themselves at my feet and swearing all kinds of oaths about
fidelity and everlasting affection, and all the other things that young
and enthusiastic--"
"And inexperienced," put in Arthur.
"Don't interrupt me, sir. Where was I? Oh yes!--that young and
enthusiastic and inexperienced people are accustomed to swear. And my
father, who was very stern and had old-fashioned notions--and has now,
for that matter, dear old papa!--said that, whatever befell, he would
not on any account give the least encouragement or the slightest
permission to any lover till I was past twenty years old. Not that I
cared, only it was such fun to hear the men talk, and me looking
unutterable things and saying softly, 'You must never say anything to me
on this subject again till you have papa's consent: he would be very
angry if he knew what you've said already'! You see, I knew papa's
will--it is unchangeable as granite: at least I thought it was--and I
felt perfectly safe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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