A FEATHERED CHORISTER. 383 



never to be forgot) there occurred an incident, in itself trifling 

 enough, yet of a kind well adapted to impress itself on the 

 mind of childhood, as well as to divert attention of the con- 

 gregation in general from the blunders of my poor uncle either 

 in choice or delivery of his discourse. A robin had found its 

 way into the church, and, perched now on one, now on another 

 of the sprigs of holly with which the pews were decorated, 

 lifted, at intervals, his sweet notes above the deep and somewhat 

 monotonous voice, which, except his own, was alone audible. 

 This was not the first time that Robin, or a fellow in his 

 livery, had excited not alone our notice (Lucy's and mine), but 

 also our pitiful sympathy, to think that he, like Goody Two- 

 Shoes, might be shut up in the church, and, less fortunate than 

 that celebrated little bell-ringer, be left to starve, and deposit 

 his remains, by leaves unshrouded, on the cold bare stones. 

 Some such sorrowful apprehension was crossing my own mind, 

 and, I was certain, my little cousin's, when Bob, taking a higher 

 flight, perched upon the ivy which canopied the pulpit. 

 Then, shaken by Robin's wings, startled by his chirp, aroused 

 by the voice of the preacher, or warmed into activity by the 

 ascending breaths of the congregation (a stove in our parish 

 church was a thing unknown), out flew from the evergreen 

 cluster a peacock butterfly, and away, open-mouthed, Robin 

 after it, here and there, backwards and forwards, betwixt the 

 sunny southeastern window and the dark, narrow, frosted 

 loop-holes opposite ; the insect peacock, by alternately raising 



