black and gold, like a herald, blowing his trumpet, and marching with a very dignified step. Then came a rook, in black, like a minister, with spectacles and white cravat. A lark and bullfinch followed,—friends, I supposed; and then the bride and bridegroom. Miss Wren was evidently a Quakeress; for she wore a sober dress, and a little white veil, through which her bright eyes shone. The bridegroom was a military man, in his scarlet uniform,—a plump, bold-looking bird, very happy and proud just then. A goldfinch gave away the bride, and a linnet was bridemaid. The ceremony was very fine; and, as soon as it was over, the blackbird, thrush, and nightingale burst out in a lovely song.
A splendid dinner followed, at which was nearly every bird that flies: so you may imagine the music there was. They had currant-pie in abundance; and cherry-wine, which excited a cuckoo so much, that he became quite rude, and so far forgot himself as to pull the bride about. This made the groom so angry that he begged his friend, the sparrow, to bring his bow and arrow, and punish the ruffian. But, alas! Sparrow had also taken a drop too much; he aimed wrong, and, with a dreadful cry, Mr. Robin sank dying into the arms of his wife, little Jane.
It was too much for me; and, taking advantage of the confusion that followed, I left the tragical scene as fast as possible.
A little farther on, I was shocked to see a goose dragging an old man down some steps that led to a little house.
"Dear me I what's the matter here?" I cried.
"He won't say his prayers," screamed the goose.
"But perhaps he was never taught," said I.
