"My poor bird looks very miserable," sighed Mrs. Greatgirdle, (the
hostess upon this occasion.)

"Very miserable!" echoed Mrs. Waddledot; and the truth of the remark
was apparent to every one.

The Java sparrow was moulting and suffering from a cutaneous disorder
at the same time; so what with the falling off, and scratching off of
his feathers, he looked in a most deplorable condition; which was
rendered more apparent by the magnitude of his cage. He seemed like the
_last_ debtor confined in the Queen's Bench.

"He has never been himself since the death of his mate." (Here the bird
scarified himself with great violence.) "He is so restless; and though
he eats very well, and hops about, he seems to have lost all care of
his person, as though he would put on mourning if he had it."

"Is there no possibility of dyeing his feathers?" remarked Agamemnon
Collumpsion, feeling the necessity of saying something.

"It is not the inky cloak, Mr. Applebite," replied Mrs. Greatgirdle,
"that truly indicates regret; but it's here," (laying her hand upon her
left side): "no--there, under his liver wing, that he feels it, poor
bird! It's a shocking thing to live alone."

"And especially in such a large cage," said Mrs. Waddledot. "_Your
house_ is rather large, Mr. Applebite?" inquired Mrs. Greatgirdle.

"Rather, ma'am," replied Collumpsion.