Natural history -- Juvenile fiction; Ornamental birds -- Juvenile fiction; Robins as pets -- Juvenile fiction
Transcriber’s Note
Italic text displayed as: _italic_
[Illustration: _Frontispiece._
_Tame Robin & Goldfinch._]
THE
HISTORY
OF A
TAME ROBIN.
SUPPOSED TO BE
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR DARTON, HARVEY, AND DARTON,
No. 55, Gracechurch-Street.
1817.
THE HISTORY
OF A
TAME ROBIN.
CHAP. I.
You will, perhaps, wonder, my young readers, how I attained to a
sufficient knowledge of literature, to relate my adventures; but your
astonishment will subside when I inform you, that the early part of
my life was passed in a school-room, where, though few were taught,
much was inculcated; and I, though a silent auditor, partook of the
general instruction. I once heard the “Life of Carlo” read by one of
the pupils; I was greatly pleased with it, and resolved from that time
to improve as much as possible the advantages I possessed, that, if
any of the events of my life should be worth relating, I might be able
to publish them. Of the ultimate success of my endeavours, it will be
your province to judge when you have read my history, to which, without
further preface, I now proceed.
I was hatched in a thick, sheltered box-tree, or bush, for it was not
more than a yard from the ground. My father and mother attended on me,
my brother, and sister, (for there was three of us,) with the most
tender solicitude: my mother, indeed, scarcely ever left us, but when
her affectionate mate, alarmed for her health, insisted on taking her
place, that she might enjoy some relaxation from the arduous, though,
to her, pleasing office of maternal tenderness.
My father brought us plenty of food, which, from his account, was
procured with little difficulty; for he mentioned some persons who
were so kind as to strew crumbs of bread near our dwelling, on purpose
for our use. I frequently felt an ardent curiosity to behold these
good friends. My brother and sister expressed the same desire, and we
frequently entertained ourselves with conjectures respecting them,
which, however, always ended with the supposition that they resembled
our good parents. Judge then of our astonishment, when, one day, we
heard a rustling noise in the box-tree, and the next moment beheld
three or four large objects, regarding us with apparent delight. We
were all greatly terrified, not knowing whether they intended to do us
good or harm: fear naturally suggested the latter. However, we were
soon reassured, by their closing the branches gently, and regretting
that they had disturbed my mother, who, on their approach, had flown
to an adjacent paling, where, in breathless anxiety, she waited their
departure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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