[to be continued.]
[MR. THOMPSON AND THE SWALLOWS.]
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
Mr. Thompson was sitting in the barn belonging to the farm where he had been spending the summer. He looked very disconsolate, and from time to time heaved such deep sighs as to greatly disturb the family of swallows who had their nest against the beam just above his head.
Poor Mr. Thompson had had a hard time all summer. First of all, he had met Miss Angelina, who had captured his heart; and everybody knows that the most miserable object on earth is an old bachelor in love.
"Oh, had I wings of a bird, I would fly—" murmured Mr. Thompson to himself.
"Course you would," interrupted a saucy voice.
Mr. Thompson looked up. On the edge of the mud nest just above his head sat a bright-looking barn-swallow, eying him curiously.
"Where would you fly to?" inquired the swallow.
"Away from this world of care," murmured Mr. Thompson.
The swallow laughed heartily.
"Well, I guess not; but you can try, if you want to."
Mr. Thompson felt himself begin to shrink, and saw his clothes slowly disappear and become changed into feathers. But he was getting so used to these metamorphoses that he didn't mind it, and really gazed upon himself with satisfaction as finally he felt that he was a perfect swallow.
"Come up here," said the swallow.
Mr. Thompson stretched his wings, and fluttered up to the nest beside his friend.
"How do you like it?" inquired the swallow.
"It is glorious," replied Mr. Thompson. "Oh, that I could always be a bird!"
"Humph!" replied the bird. "How would you like to have to build your house every spring, going and coming a hundred times a day with your mouth full of mud?"
"But the glorious feeling of freedom!" said Mr. Thompson.
"Oh yes," answered the swallow, sarcastically. "Come with me; I'll show you."
The two flew out of the barn, and after wheeling around for a few minutes, flew up to a large vane on top of the carriage-house. Mr. Thompson had often seen the swallows perched on this vane, twittering and fighting among themselves. This morning he had a feeling of elation at being there himself, and shook his wings proudly. Bang! whiz! the shot flew around him, and two of his companions fell fluttering to the ground. Just then he heard two boyish voices exclaim,
"It's awful hard to hit a swaller on the wing, but you can shoot 'em sittin' like pie."
Mr. Thompson and his friend were uninjured; and as they flew away in alarm, the bird said, in an ironical tone, "Such a feeling of freedom!"
Mr. Thompson said nothing, but flew back to the barn. After resting for a moment, the swallow said, "Let's go up to the Sound and visit my cousins, the bank-swallows."
Mr. Thompson followed the bird, and skimmed over the fields, snapping up a fly or two by the way, until they reached the high sand-cliffs which border Long Island Sound. Here, high up on the cliffs, were a number of small round holes; flying about them, and darting out and in were a number of small gray birds; sitting on a fence rail not far off were nearly a hundred more solemnly sunning themselves.
"I'll introduce you to one of them, and he will show you around," said Mr. Thompson's friend.
After the introduction had been effected, the bank-swallow said, in an inquiring tone, "You are interested in birds?"
"Yes," said Mr. Thompson; "theirs is so glorious and free a life."
The swallow smiled pityingly; then, as if to change the subject, invited Mr. Thompson to visit his house. It was high up under the overhanging edge of the cliff.
The swallow led the way, and Mr. Thompson followed through a corridor about a foot long, and slanting slightly upward in order that the rain would not drive into the nest. At the end of the corridor was a circular apartment, lined with feathers and sea-weed, and here sat Mrs. Bank-Swallow upon four speckled eggs. Mr. Thompson did not wish to disturb her, so he retreated soon after having been introduced. His companion led the way back to the rail upon which the barn-swallow was seated, waiting. After a slight pause, Mr. Thompson inquired, "May I ask what you find to eat up here?"
"Certainly," replied the bank-swallow, good-naturedly. "During the summer we eat grubs, flies, mosquitoes, and the like; in the fall, when the bayberries are ripe, we eat them. You know each berry is covered with a coating of vegetable wax, and we get very fat; then people shoot us, for they say the berries give us a delicious flavor," added he, bitterly.
Mr. Thompson sighed, and was lost for a moment in reverie, when he was suddenly aroused by his companions suddenly screaming, "A hawk!"
Mr. Thompson followed the barn-swallow, too frightened to know where, for as he turned back he saw the hawk pounce upon an unfortunate bird, and bear it off in his claws.
When they reached the house again, the swallow said, "Well, do you think that the life of a bird is unalloyed pleasure?" Mr. Thompson paused for a moment, and the swallow continued: "First, there are the boys who steal the eggs, then they shoot at you; then there are the hawks, and the snakes, and the cats."
"Cats?" inquired Mr. Thompson.
"Yes, cats!" screamed the swallow in alarm, fluttering away. Mr. Thompson was too late. He felt the sharp claws in his leg, and with a jump and a scream he awoke, to find himself sitting in the barn, with the big house cat standing beside him, and looking somewhat surprised at his sudden movement. Slowly Tabby lifted her paw, and putting it on Mr. Thompson's knee, stretched herself lazily. 'Lisha, who was feeding the horses, remarked: "Reckon it's goin' to rain; the swallers fly low, and it's a great sign of rain when a cat stretches like that."
Mr. Thompson walked slowly to the house, thinking that, after all, the bird's life was not all happiness.
[A PRINCELY ART.]
BY SHERWOOD RYSE.
It is not much more than a hundred years since gentlemen gave up wearing rapiers at their sides—a practice which was once as common as is that of carrying a cane among us. And with a weapon so handy, it can easily be believed that it was drawn on very slight provocation. Hence every gentleman who valued a whole skin was diligent to make himself a master of the small-sword, as it was generally called. Small it was originally, however, only by comparison with more formidable weapons. Richard Cœur de Lion's sword, you will remember, was so large and heavy that none other than himself could wield it.
In the reign of the haughty Queen Elizabeth, the rapier, only lately introduced into England, was so much in fashion that he was the greatest dandy who wore the longest rapier and the widest "ruff." Queen Bess herself set the fashion in ruffs, but the flattery of imitation was not dear to her. She loved flattery; but to have every one copying her large ruffs—and who ever saw a picture of Elizabeth without one?—was more than her quick temper could put up with. And so she issued one of those orders which seem so strange to us now: she stationed "grave persons" at the gate of every town to break the points of all rapiers exceeding one yard in length, and to cut all ruffs measuring more than the "nayle of a yard."
Skill with the small-sword was a necessary part of the education of a gentleman. At the age when the boy of our day is just about opening his Latin grammar for the first time, the young prince or noble of two hundred years ago was being taught the art of longe and parry, of tierce and carte. And besides the usefulness of being skillful with a weapon which every gentleman carried and was ready to use at short notice, the practice of fencing gave an easy carriage to the body, making the joints supple, and strengthening every muscle.
The art of fencing, says an old French comedy, consists of two simple things—to hit, and not to be hit; but like a great many other simple things, its simplicity takes a vast deal of finding out. Each position, whether for thrust or parry, is easy by itself, but when your thrust is quickly parried, and the point of your opponent's foil is reaching for your breast quick as thought, then the cool head, the quick eye, the ready hand, are brought into play. The first thing for the beginner to do after equipping himself for the contest—and about this we shall have a few words to say later on—is to master the proper position. In no exercise is position of greater importance. Let the right side of your body be half turned toward your adversary; feet at right angles, with the left foot pointing to the left, and placed behind the right. The foil is held in the left hand, down by your side. Grasping it by the hilt with the right hand, you draw it through the left hand, at the same time raising both hands so that by the time the point of your foil comes into your left hand both hands are above your head, the one holding the hilt and the other the point of the foil.
From this position you will easily and gracefully fall into the third position, "on guard," by bringing your sword-hand down in front of you, and bending your elbow until the fore-arm and the sword make one straight line. The left arm will remain where it was. While you are doing this, bend the knees, and advance the right foot about twelve inches, sinking down only just so far as that the shin-bone of the right leg shall be perpendicular to the floor. This position is the position of defense, and is always returned to after a thrust.
Thus far you have maintained an attitude of defense only, and if you have mastered that, you have laid the foundation of your future skill. Watch your adversary's eye, and decide instantly when you will thrust, or longe, as it is called. Straightening the right arm, you advance the right foot about eighteen inches, taking care not to lean forward so far that the shin-bone makes anything less than a right angle with the floor. If you get up from the seat where you are sitting to read this, and try the movement, you will see why this right angle formed by leg and floor is important. Lean too far forward, and you can not spring back instantly and without effort to the position of defense, and thus you are at the mercy of your opponent, who will quickly parry your blow, and be able to reach you almost without advancing his right foot. Instantly after longeing you must spring back, in order to be able to parry the longe of your adversary.
In longeing, as in the "on-guard" position, the nails of the sword-hand must be turned up. This may seem a trifle, but in reality it is of the greatest importance, since the force and directness of the blow depend upon it. Try it with a cane, and you will at once feel how much firmer your wrist is than when you thrust with your nails turned down. To prove it another way: do the stroke with a long poker, and see how much easier it is to extend the poker and hold it extended with your nails turned up than when they are turned down.
There are four thrusts in fencing, and twice as many parries; that is, there are two parries for each thrust. The object of this is that having parried a thrust, you may at once return the blow; and were you always to parry the same kind of thrust in the same manner, you would always be obliged to attack in the same manner. The difference between the two kinds of parries for each thrust is that one is done with the nails turned up, the other with them turned down. Thus, having parried a thrust, the hand is in one of two positions for making a return thrust.
The various thrusts and parries are too large a subject to be gone into here. The thrust, however, it may be remarked, is always some kind of a longe, and in parrying the one sword does not beat the other aside, but simply turns it by a turn of the wrist. The idea of the parry may be gathered from the fact that the point of the foil always describes a circle of not more than three feet in diameter in the air. Thus the adversary's point is turned aside from its object.
The art of fencing is so difficult to learn without a master that it is useless for any one to attempt by himself to do more than acquire skill in the simpler movements; and it is so graceful an accomplishment that if it is worth doing, it is worth doing well.
A YOUNG PRINCE PRACTICING THE ART OF FENCING.
Without attempting, therefore, to go into all the mysteries of tierce and carte, of ripost and reprise, we will add a few words which an instructor might omit. In the first place, never cross your blade with any one who is not dressed for the exercise. He may say he will take his chances of getting hurt, but you can not afford to take the chance of putting out his eye. The proper armor to wear is a padded leather jacket, a gauntlet on the right hand, a piece of padded leather on the right thigh, and a wire mask over the head. Secondly, never use any but a good and sound foil, and see that the button is firm: many accidents have been caused by a broken foil or an unsafe button. Lastly—and though this applies to all games, it is perhaps more necessary in small-sword exercise than in anything else—remember that the coolest head always goes with the quickest eye and the surest hand.
"THEY PULLED WITH A WILL WHEN THE WORD WAS GIVEN."