again and again, upon its wearied wings, to follow the vessel, and again panting to alight upon its cordage or masts, only to be again driven away. I was childish enough to persecute these young men with my prayers that they would leave this poor little creature in peace. But it was to no purpose, and to my astonishment, neither did any of the other passengers take the little stranger under their protection. I called to mind that I had seen in Swedish vessels little storm-driven birds treated differently—left in peace, or fed with bread-crumbs. The end of the pursuit here was, that after the bird had left its tail in the hand of one of its tormentors, it was soon taken; it was then put into a dark cage, where it died in a few hours.
I consider myself to be far from all excess of sensibility; but nothing angers me more, among human beings, than unnecessary cruelty to animals; and I know that a noble human nature abhors it. For the rest, I deplored over the cruel children in men's shape, because I believe in a Nemesis even in little things; and I believe that the hour may come when these young men may long for rest, and find none; and that then that hunted bird may make itself remembered by them. When I arrive in America one of my first visits shall be to the Quakers, because I know that one of the beautiful traits of their religion is mercy to animals.
I once was also a cruel child, when I did not understand what suffering was, and what animals are. I received my first lesson in humanity to animals from a young, lively officer, who afterwards died the death of a hero in the war against Napoleon. Never shall I forget his reproachful glance and tone, as he said to me, “The poor worm!” It is now more than thirty years since!
I shall, my dear heart! write no more this time. But as soon as I reach New York I shall again write to you. And that which I long for there, is to hear from home. It is now so long since I had a letter.
