THE VAIN SPARROWS.
Once upon a time, so many days ago that it really makes no difference as to exactly when it did happen, a very respectable and industrious couple by the name of Sparrow lived a short distance in the country. They had a cozy little home in a tree so stout that there was no need of insuring it against damage by wind, and they were not only contented with their lot in life, but were very happy.
They were by no means ignorant of the city, which could be seen from the topmost branches of their home, for they had lived there in their younger days, moving into the country only when they felt it absolutely necessary to their comfort to get away from the bustle and confusion that almost distracted them.
Their friends and acquaintances all said they were very foolish to hide themselves in such a quiet place, even if it was cozy, and tried to persuade them to move back to town; but they paid very little attention to such talk, hardly even making any answer, and when they had two little fluffy children, Mrs. Sparrow declared that nothing could tempt her to leave their country home. You see, she thought it would be better to keep the children at that place, where she could be sure that they would not be out late at night, or get into mischief, than to take them where they might make bad acquaintances, for she loved these two boys of hers very dearly, even though they had got only about half as many wing and tail feathers as they would have when they were older.
But the strangest portion of the story is that these two young Sparrows not only thought they knew quite as much as their parents did, but they had an idea that the only place for Sparrows with any degree of spirit to live in was the city, and almost from the time their noses were poked out of the shell they coaxed their father and mother to move into town, where there was more to be seen and enjoyed. Whenever the children teased, old father Sparrow would shake his head knowingly, as if he did not even dare to tell how wicked the great city was, and mother Sparrow would offer to show them a nice fat worm if they would try and be contented at home, instead of wanting to go where they had no business, and where they would not be nearly so comfortable.
The Sparrow boys always took the worm their mother offered, and they winked at each other while they were eating it, as if to say that their father was getting entirely too old to know what was best for boys, while they were very certain they knew exactly what they should or should not do.
They thought so much about the city, and how nice it would be to live there, that they talked of very little else, and on several occasions even neglected to oil their feathers as they had been taught, which caused them to look anything rather than neat.
One morning, after they had teased their father, and been given a feast by their mother, which saved them the labor of hunting for breakfast, they accidentally came upon a pretty little stream whose waters were as clear as crystal, and along the banks of which was a rail fence that made a capital roosting place. Here, of course, they began to talk over the city life they were so anxious to lead, when one of them chanced to see his reflection in the water.
The image he saw was that of two rather ragged, untidy-looking birds; but he knew it was a reflection of himself and his brother, and he thought it was about as beautiful as anything that could be imagined.
"There! that is what I call a good-looking bird; not too young, nor yet too old; a good-shaped head, delicate feet, and a coat that will be just about perfect after I get through moulting."
Then the two looked at the reflections very critically, seeing points of beauty in each that had never even been suspected by their mother, and praising themselves and each other until the flowers almost hung their heads in shame that their cousins the birds could be so vain. If they had thought they saw the image of any one but themselves, they would very soon have discovered that the tails were not as long or broad as they should have been, that the wings were ragged-looking because of the pin-feathers, that they were untidy, and a dozen other glaring faults; but as it was, they thought it was not possible any other birds could be so beautiful.
"I'll tell you what we can do," said the elder, after he had satisfied himself that what made him look cross-eyed was the rippling of the water rather than a personal defect; "we can go over to the city for one day without letting father or mother know anything about it. We will start early, and if we don't create a sensation, I am very much mistaken in my ideas of the world."
Both these young Sparrows knew that it was very wrong for them to go away without their parents' permission; but the desire to show their beautiful figures to the city birds, and see a bit of the world at the same time, caused them to put such an idea out of their minds as far as possible. It was not such a very long journey, and there seemed to be hardly a chance that they would be missed; but even if they were, it was quite certain no one would mistrust where they had gone.
While they were making preparations for the journey—and they had considerable to do in the way of consulting some friends as to the best course to fly, laying by a store of food in order not to be delayed in the start, and attending to their toilets—they said nothing to their parents relative to their desire to live in the city. This pleased their mother greatly, for she hoped they had given up such a foolish idea.
At last everything was in readiness, and making some excuse to their parents, such as that they were going out for berries or on a butterfly-hunt, they started toward the city. It was a much longer journey than they had supposed, for from their home it seemed as if the city was close at hand; but neither of them thought of turning back, even though they were terribly tired.
The younger was in favor of alighting on Broadway, where they could be seen by every one, but the elder was much wiser.
"We will fly to the top of the City Hall, and we shall not have been there many moments before half the Sparrows in town will know of our arrival, and after that I do not fancy we shall have much trouble in making the acquaintance of the most distinguished birds in town."
Therefore they did not stop in their flight until the building in question was reached, although they saw many strange and curious things that they were anxious to investigate.
"Now get right on the edge of the roof, and see how quickly people will find out we are here," said the elder, as he gave a little shake of his tail to make sure each feather was in sight.
In one particular he was correct: they were noticed very quickly, although hardly in the way he had supposed. In less than five minutes from the time they first took possession of their lofty perch a party of young city Sparrows came up to arrange their feathers in the latest fashion after having taken their noonday bath.
"Will you look at those birds?" cried one, with a laugh and a twitter, as he shook his wings in the direction of the new-comers. "They must have worn those same feathers since last spring, they are so out of style."
Then another spoke of the wretched taste displayed in the cut of the strangers' tails, while the third actually crowded against the country Sparrows until he nearly pushed them from the roof.
The visitors were very angry, but they did not dare to say anything; for as many as a dozen other city fellows had joined the first party, all of whom made all possible sport of these two who had thought themselves so beautiful, until an old gray-headed Sparrow, who was carrying a large bug to his wife, stopped to see what the matter was.
He very soon obliged the pert young city fellows to stop their nonsense, and then asked the strangers where they came from, and how they chanced to be there. It was some time before the two vain birds would tell their story; but they did so at last, and when they had finished, the old bird said:
"In the first place, you deserve very much harsher treatment than you have received, because of having come here against your parents' wishes. Go home at once, and remember that it is much safer to trust to what your father says than to try to find out for yourselves. As to your beauty, of that you should allow others to judge. There is an old maxim which comes very near the truth, and that is, 'Handsome is who handsome does,' the true meaning of which I think you can now readily understand."
The birds were ashamed of themselves almost before the old gentleman had finished speaking, and just as soon as it was possible for them to leave him they started for home, where they have ever since remained, studying the maxim, and trying to profit by it.
[WAITING.]
BY MARY N. PRESCOTT.
Dainty little Daisy
Sits waiting for the sun—
Says she's almost crazy
To take a little run
On the hill to show her frill,
Or by the road to stray;
But she's kept in-doors till
Spring says she may.
Dandy little Buttercup,
Waiting for June weather,
In his earthy bed tucked up,
Wakes, and wonders whether
He will sprout and soon shine out
In his gold array,
Or in doubt be left to pout
Till Spring says he may.
Pussy-Willow, soon astir,
Makes an early start,
Thickens all her silver fur
Just to look smart;
Longs to break the spell, and take
Her own sweet way
Before the rest are wide awake;
And Spring says she may.
[TROUT-FISHING.]
BY W. M. LAFFAN.
There are two ways of taking trout—one at the top of the water, and the other beneath it. The latter is commonly known as bait-fishing, while the former is called fly-fishing.
Fly-fishing is undoubtedly the greater sport, and requires more delicacy and skill of handling than the other; but it is also much more expensive by reason of the cost of the rod, the line, the flies, and the various small matters that a fly-fisher always wants. Then, again, it happens that there are days when a trout will not rise at a fly, but when if you whisk a ripe red angle-worm or a fat grasshopper under his nose he will promptly take in either; and after such remonstrance as it may be in him to offer, he will get into your basket, or find himself strung on your willow twig. There are also streams wherein the water is at times thick and murky, and where the fish lurk about the bottom of the deep holes and eddies, and can not see the fly when it is thrown. In such places the bait has to be brought very close to their notice, and it must also be fresh, or frequently they will have none of it.
A fly rod for trout should be about fourteen feet long, seven ounces or thereabouts in weight, and should be fitted with a good reel that will let the light line, which is of silk or of linen fibre, run out freely, and then wind it again as quickly. Such a rod may cost a good deal of money—seventy-five dollars, for instance, if you prefer a split bamboo rod of a certain maker's work. There are fly rods which you can bend until you take the tip and butt into one hand, but which will fly out straight again on being released. A rod of this sort is a very pretty affair, but quite as many trout are likely to be taken with a much cheaper one.
In the days, however, when I fished more than, I am sorry to say, I do now, I had a rod which was not worth much more than fifty cents, the line and lead, sink and hook, included; and yet with that rod I have outdone many a fisherman who possessed the most expensive kind of an outfit. I thought that had I had their costly outfits, their books of flies for all seasons, weathers, and hours, their taper rods, their silk lines and whirring reels, their prodigal lengths of gut, their trim baskets, and their luxury of small fixings, I should have cleaned out our river at will. But I learned later that in trout-fishing a vast deal more depends upon the fisherman than upon any apparatus he may be supplied with.
To begin with, any flexible light rod will do. You should have a reel, so that you may be able to fish at varying distances from where you stand, and also in order that if you do strike a large fish, he may not get away from you by simply starting off suddenly and snapping off your line or tearing out the hook. You should have about thirty yards of line. Then you want, if you mean to fish with the fly, a few gut casting-lines and some flies; or if you intend bait-fishing, some hooks, and a sinker heavy enough to keep your bait from being swept along too fast by the current.
If you can, provide yourself with a fish basket. It will keep your fish from being dried up by the sun, and visited by the flies, which latter like fresh trout quite as much as you do yourself. It will also leave you your hands free to attend to your fishing with; and if the fish bite at all, you will need both to manage them. When you are fishing, keep this same basket lid fastened. I remember on one occasion being very much annoyed to see my fine trout, that I had caught all swept away by the rushing current, when I had, with no intention thereof, sat down in the water by reason of a slippery rock, or, out of pure anxiety, walked into some deep hole.
If you intend to use bait for your fishing, tie your sinker at the end of your line in such a way that you can attach the loop in the gut of your hook below it. Your hook ought to be at least a foot below your sinker, and it ought not to vary greatly in size from the hooks shown in the illustration on this page. You know how to get worms, just as well as I do; only choose those that are neither small nor great, and that are about twice the length of your hook. Such a worm looks best and most inviting to a trout when he is properly disposed on the hook. This you should do in the simplest way possible, putting the hook crosswise two or three times through the worm, tucking him together on it, and being chiefly careful that the point and barb are covered. If you can not get worms, there is a variety of old stumps of trees that will yield you a fat white grub that the trout esteem highly. These grubs are borers, and an axe easily lays bare their long sawdust galleries in the decaying timber. Failing worms and grubs, you can use grasshoppers or minnows. For handsome as the trout is, he is a voracious fellow, and will eat all manner of small fish, snails, frogs, and the like, being nothing short of a cannibal, and devouring things until he can hold nothing more.
Fish with your line as nearly of the length of your rod as you can, and put your bait as far from your standpoint as is possible without losing your ready observation and command of it. Never be too prodigal of your line because you have plenty of it on your reel, but use only so much of it as may be needed to put your bait where the fish lies, and keep yourself and your rod out of his sight. The trout is bold in one way, and timid in another. He is as brave as a lion about what he eats, and the quantity of it, but he is as swift-flying as a shadow if he catches a glimpse of you. Keep out of his view, and drop your line noiselessly into the stream above the eddy in the current. It will drift quietly down, and if the fish are there, you will know it very soon. When you feel him bite, strike by sharply raising the tip of your rod. Do it firmly and quickly, but with such control that if you miss him you will not send your bait flying back over your head, among the trees, perhaps, or into any place but where it ought to be. If you have him, and he be a fish of any strength and weight, your sport begins. Let him run with it, but keep your rod well up so that you can maintain a steady strain on him. If you slacken your line, the chances are he will spit out the hook, or shake it out of the hole it has made for itself in his jaw, and then you are done with him. Keep a steady hand on him; bring him up sharp and quick if he jumps out, for that is a dangerous trick, and guide him at a favorable turn, and when you have a good head of speed on him, to his landing-place.
For fly-fishing, which is the finest after all, you want a gut casting-line, and some more in reserve in your pocket-book or about your hat, and an assortment of flies suited to the season. Flies are imitations of the various insects that trout feed upon, and are of great variety. You may learn to make them yourself with a few simple materials, such as small feathers and bits of silk or woollen goods.
To your casting-line attach your flies as you see them in the engraving, and then you are ready. You have at least eight feet of gut between your end fly and your line. Fish with as much length of line as you can easily and surely throw. Use your rod like a long delicate whip, and let the three flies that form its taper lash settle down on the water as lightly as thistle-down. This can not have too much care; it is the great thing in the art of fly-fishing, and should be practiced in an open space. When you can drop your flies, every time, on a handkerchief fifty feet away, you can consider yourself an expert. For the rest of it, when you see your fish rise with a swift bright flash of red and white, and a sparkle of breaking water, strike just as before advised, and hold him after in the spirit of firmness and coolness until you land him and have him safe in your basket.
Let your tackle be of the lightest and the strongest; don't neglect it, for a real fisherman is as careful of his things as if they were so many live pets; and beyond everything else, when you go a-fishing, keep a good temper and an open eye.
[RATS AND MICE.]
BY JIMMY BROWN.
It's queer that girls are so dreadfully afraid of rats and mice. Men are never afraid of them, and I shouldn't mind if there were morenamillion mice in my bedroom every night.
Mr. Travers told Sue and me a terrible story one day about a woman that was walking through a lonely field, when she suddenly saw a field-mouse right in front of her. She was a brave woman; so after she had said, "Oh my! save me, somebody!" she determined to save herself if she could, for there was nobody within miles of her. There was a tree not very far off, and she had just time to climb up the tree and seat herself in the branches, when the mouse reached its foot. There that animal staid for six days and nights, squeaking in a way that made the woman's blood run cold, and waiting for her to come down. On the seventh day, when she was nearly exhausted, a man with a gun came along, and shot the mouse, and saved her life. I don't believe this story, and I told. Mr. Travers so; for a woman couldn't climb a tree, and even if she could, what would hinder the mouse from climbing after her?
Sue has a new young man, who comes every Tuesday and Thursday night. One day he said, "Jimmy, if you'll get me a lock of your sister's hair, I'll give you a nice dog." I told him he was awfully kind, but I didn't think it would be honest for me to take Sue's best hair, but that I'd try to get him some of her every-day hair. And he said, "What on earth do you mean, Jimmy?" And I said that Sue had got some new back hair a little while ago, for I was with her when she bought it, and I knew she wouldn't like me to take any of that. So he said it was no matter, and he'd give me the dog anyway.
I told Sue afterward all about it, just to show her how honest I was, and instead of telling me I was a good boy, she said, "Oh you little torment g'way and never let me see you again," and threw herself down on the sofa and howled dreadfully, and mother came and said, "Jimmy, if you want to kill your dear sister, you can just keep on doing as you do." Such is the gratitude of grown-up folks.
"SUE HAD OPENED THE BOX."
Mr. Withers—that's the new young man—brought the dog, as he said he would. He's a beautiful Scotch terrier, and he said he would kill rats like anything, and was two years old, and had had the distemper; that is, Mr. Withers said the dog would kill rats, and of course Mr. Withers himself never had the distemper.
Of course I wanted to see the dog kill rats, so I took him to a rat-hole in the kitchen, but he barked at it so loud that no rat would think of coming out. If you want to catch rats, you mustn't begin by barking and scratching at rat-holes, but you must sit down and kind of wink with one eye and lay for them, just as cats do. I told Mr. Withers that the dog couldn't catch any rats, and he said he would bring me some in a box, and I could let them out, and the dog would kill every single one of them.
The next evening Sue sent me down to the milliner's to bring her new bonnet home, and don't you be long about it either you idle worthless boy. Well, I went to the milliner's shop, but the bonnet wasn't done yet; and as I passed Mr. Withers's office, he said, "Come here, Jimmy; I've got those rats for you." He gave me a wooden box like a tea-chest, and told me there were a dozen rats in it, and I'd better have the dog kill them at once, or else they'd gnaw out before morning.
When I got home, Sue met me at the door, and said, "Give me that bandbox this instant you've been mornanour about it." I tried to tell her that it wasn't her box; but she wouldn't listen, and just snatched it and went into the parlor, where there were three other young ladies who had come to see her, and slammed the door; but the dog slipped in with her.
In about a minute I heard the most awful yells that anybody ever heard. It sounded as if all the furniture in the parlor was being gnashed into kindling wood, and the dog kept barking like mad. The next minute a girl came flying out of the front window, and another girl jumped right on her before she had time to get out of the way, and they never stopped crying, "Help murder let me out oh my!"
I knew, of course, that Sue had opened the box and let the rats out, and though I wanted ever so much to know if the dog had killed them all, I thought she would like it better if I went back to the milliner's and waited a few hours for the bonnet.
I brought it home about nine o'clock: but Sue had gone to bed, and the servant had just swept up the parlor, and piled the pieces of furniture on the piazza. Father won't be home till next week, and perhaps by that time Sue will get over it. I wish I did know if the dog killed all those rats, and how long it took him.
