The Two Doves and the Owl, by Samuel Goodrich (Hartford: S. G. Goodrich, 1821 [1819])

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Come here little Harriott, and let me tell you a story of two pretty little doves. These doves were fond of each other when young, and as they grew up they lived together constantly. They were very beautiful birds—they had bright shining feathers, and sweet melancholy voices. They were very harmless too—they did not devour worms, but lived upon grains which they gleaned from the fields.

These little doves one spring had a nest and four pretty young ones. How very happy were they in feeding their little birds.—The whole day they were busy, from the morning to the evening, in carrying food and water to the nest.

But one day the father of these

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little doves was obliged to go away a great distance—and was gone the whole day. During his absence a great Owl came along and attacked the dove which was sitting by the nest. Here is a picture of the naughty owl—see how like a sour old batchelor he looks.—

Well, the dove fought the owl a long time, till at length all bloody and lifeless she fell upon the ground. The owl then took two of the little doves in each of his

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great claws, and although they screamed sadly, yet he flew into the woods and ate them up.

At night the dove which had been absent returned. O what a scene for him!—his little ones were gone, his pretty mate lay dead upon the ground. He flew down to her, and in the most mournful tones called to her to awake. He then flew down to the brook, and bringing some fresh water, endeavoured to make her drink. But it was all in vain! The little dove was dead—and her eyes were shut for ever.

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This is a very timid, but swift and beautiful animal. It bounds over the hills and rocks with a quickness and ease which are scarcely credible. This will appear by the following story.

Emily Francis was a little girl of 10 years old, but being a very good child, her father bought her an antelope. Emily took great pains in feeding and caressing him,

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and at length succeeded in making him tame. He would fondly lick her hands, and when she came into the yard in the morning, he would fly up to her and caper about with the greatest vivacity. The time at length arrived when Miss Emily was obliged to go abroad to school. It was a distance of about 20 miles from her father’s house where she went. She bitterly regretted leaving her little antelope—but after shedding some tears as the pretty animal licked her hand, she went away.

In a few days her father came to see her, and the antelope followed him all the way. O how happy was he when Emily came out and patted him on the head. Mr. Francis returned home at

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night, and the antelope returned with him. But early the next morning he went again to see Miss Emily, and at night again returned. This at length he repeated daily; and always carried letters back and forth which were tied by a ribbon to his neck.

But one morning, the hour at which Emily used to see him at a distance bounding along the field, passed by and he did not appear. She watched anxiously for a long time, but the sun went down and he did not come. In the evening, however, a messenger came to inform Miss Emily, that her father and his family had been taken by a band of soldiers from the house, and conveyed by order of the government to a distant country.

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The little antelope was taken by one of the soldiers and carried with them.—What occasioned the seizure of Mr. Francis and his family the messenger could not tell; it was reported however, that one of the children of Mr. Francis, called Emily, was in fact the daughter of the king, who was dead. And as another king was on the throne, he was afraid that he should he compelled to yield the crown to her.

This was in fact true; the king was satisfied that Emily was the daughter of the former king; he therefore sent his soldiers to take Mr. Francis and his whole family, and imprison them. He hoped by this measure to get Emily in is power, and thus keep her from

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the throne. These soldiers accordingly went in the night—took Mr. Francis, his two daughters and his wife, and carried them away. The antelope was tied by a rope and led away by the soldiers. After travelling several days, they at length arrived at a strong castle, where Mr. Francis and his family were imprisoned.

The captain then enquired of Mr. Francis, which of his daughters was called Emily. Neither, said Mr. Francis.—But you have a daughter of that name said the officer. No, I have not, said Mr. Francis. But a young lady of that name used to live with you. I shall allow of no equivocation.—I must have that Miss Emily—where is she? She is out of your reach said

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Mr. Francis. The officer finding that he could get no information this way, applied to the servants from whom he learnt where Miss Emily was.

He now sent immediately for Miss Emily.—Mrs. Francis finding the life of Emily in danger, slyly tied a letter to the neck of the antelope, and cut the cord by which he was tied. The antelope finding himself at liberty, immediately set out to travel back to see his dear protectress, Miss Emily. He sprang swiftly over the hills—he swam across the rivers—and in the space of 24 hours he came within sight of the house where his mistress resided. She was at the moment standing on the rock where she used to wait for him in

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the morning. She now cast her eye over the hills and there she saw the antelope darting along towards her. She held out her arms to him and he soon came up to her, but no sooner had he arrived than he fell down with fatigue. Emily read the letter hastily, and pursuing the directions of her mother, she requested a gentleman who was a friend to the family, to hasten with her out of the kingdom. This was accordingly done, and Miss Emily lived to be queen over the country from which she was forced to flee. The little antelope lived to be very old, and when he died was much regretted by the princess whose life he saved.

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Here is a fox—the most sly and cunning of animals.

What a careful designing face he has got! At the same time he is a very disagreeable fellow. He skulks about in the night and carries off geese and fowls which he tears in pieces and devours. This conduct induces many persons to hunt him, and hounds are carefully trained to pursue him. So after all the cunning of the fox he is worse off and more frequently

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perishes by violent means, than almost any other animal. This by the way furnishes a good hint to children—never be cunning—for cunning folks are always found out, and then all confidence is withdrawn by society from them. But I had almost forgot a story of a fox which I was going to tell you.—There was once a very sly old Reynard, who having had bad luck for a long time, was very hungry. He therefore went lurking about a hen roost one night, determined if possible to enter it. After considerable examination, he at length discovered a small hole where the hens went in, and putting in his nose and smelling nothing but poultry, in he went. He caught two or three chickens

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and several fowls, and greedily ate them up.—Having satisfied his hunger, and day light beginning to appear, he thought it time to depart. But what was his astonishment to find, when he attempted to go away, that his supper had so increased his size, that it was impossible for him to pass through the hole by which he entered. He was therefore obliged to stay in the hen roost to digest his meal, till the farmer who owned the roost, came out in the morning, and found Mr. Reynard apparently dead.—He took him up by the legs and threw him out the door, wondering how a dead fox came into his hen roost.—But Reynard now finding himself out of the hen roost, sprang upon his feet and flew to the woods.

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