And other styles to suit all hands.
THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS.
Midsummer Jaunt by a Bird-lover.
During the last week in June I decided to take a day off and go trout-fishing. Promptly after breakfast I mounted my bicycle, and was soon spinning up the "river road." In five minutes I arrived at the brook, leaned my "bike" against a neighboring barn, and started. I was at once interested in the swallows which were skimming around, almost touching the ground in their low sweeping flight. Once two of them tried to go in a hole at once, and a lively scrap resulted.
I soon found a willow rod, to which I tied my line, and after putting a little worm on my flies I commenced fishing. As usual, "skeeters" were plentiful, and I turned up my coat collar for protection. Robins were numerous in the pasture, hopping fearlessly among the cows. After going a mile and a half through pasture and bits of woodland, I came to the end of the brook without having caught a fish.
I recollected having been told of another brook about a quarter of a mile from the one I was fishing in, and I decided to hunt it up. I easily found the road which ran through the woods. I had not gone far before I became aware that birds were numerous, for a little oven-bird ran across the road into a brush-heap, where it was joined by its mate. I could not get through the underbrush as fast as they could, so they were soon lost to view. Further on a blue-jay flew screaming through the woods, starting the little red squirrels.
The woods were alive with chickadees, an unusual occurrence, and for some time all I heard was chickadee-dee-dee-chickadee-dee. The brook was a small one, and the woods were thick, so I rolled on the end of my pole all but a foot of my line. I fished the brook for about an eighth of a mile and succeeded in catching a great number of fingerlings, which of course I threw back, and one 6¼-inch trout. As the law said 6 inches, I kept it.
On the way back I spied a cat-bird on a maple sapling. Near the place where I saw the oven-bird my eye caught a glimpse of gaudy colors, and, following them up, I discovered a male Maryland yellow-throat. He was soon joined by his mate, and both of them hopped into a brush-heap. I was greatly elated, as yellow-throats are a rarity about Springfield. Near the barn were two huge chestnut-trees overhanging the brook, and as I was tired I sat down on the ground and leaned against the smaller tree. Suddenly a series of loud knocks and a pick-wick-wick-wick right over my head caused me to hop to my feet. My movements started the flickers, which flew up the brook, and, to my surprise, alighted on the ground.
Several kingbirds were perched on a rail fence near by, and now and then darted off after some insect. A meadow-lark whistled far up the pasture, and a solitary sand-piper teetered along the brook. While crossing the Connecticut River on my way home I noted a belted kingfisher on a dead limb. I arrived home in time for dinner, and you may be sure I had soon eaten my trout. While writing this a bird-note called me out-doors. There I found many bird-loving neighbors intently watching a pair of red-breasted grosbeaks. The male was resplendent in his fine colors, but the poor little brown and white female looked dilapidated.
Albert W. Atwater.
Springfield, Mass.
"Where'd I leave That?"
To-day I paid a visit to the room in which are stored the articles left by passengers on one of the great railways entering New York. People leave many articles in the cars, and forget to call for all of them. Indeed, not more than one-third of the things found in the cars are ever claimed by owners. On the other hand, very few things that are claimed and accurately described fail to be recovered. Every railway keeps a store-room for lost articles, and employs are under strict orders to send all articles to it.
Perhaps you can guess what a lot of odd things I saw in this store-room! Of course there were such common things as books, umbrellas, and, rubbers. A few of each? Oh no, not a few only, but barrel upon barrel of rubbers, a library of books, and enough umbrellas to fill a twenty-bushel bin. But the queer things included—what do you think? Well, half a dozen sets of false teeth, more than one hundred night-robes, a score or more of eye-glasses, and two razors. Any live-stock? Not in this room, for the attendant told me such things had to be cared for, and could not be stored here; but during the past few weeks, he said, there had been turned in two canaries, three kittens, a lap-dog, and a parrot!
There are not a few pocket-books found, but these are invariably called for. Some months ago a man left a book containing $54,000 in one of the sleeping-cars, and books containing $100 to $1000 are quite often found. Rather odd, too, is the fact that the people who leave most of these things in the cars are old travellers. Excursionists and others unfamiliar with the ways of travel look after their possessions. It is the confident man or woman who leaves the car and leaves his or her valise or lap-dog behind.
If your friends are coming to New York soon, tell them that the value of articles forgotten by passengers entering this city every year foots up into the hundreds of thousands of dollars, and that they will do well not to contribute anything to this wasteful fund.