mother sparrow, "she'll sing another 

 song before long. I predict she'll be a 

 shiftless sort of a thing when it comes 

 to housekeeping. Mr. Britisher will 

 repent him of his bargain ere many- 

 days, mark my words! Dearie," turn- 

 ing to her only daughter, "sing that 

 dear little note you learned of Mr. 

 Lark for the company. Thank heaven," 

 stroking her darling's ugly feathers, " I 

 have my precious child still with me. 

 She is not in a hurry to leave her poor 

 mamma, is she?" 



Many sly winks and smiles were ex- 

 changed among the matron's friends at 

 this remark, for " dearie" had chirped 

 that little note many summers and 

 winters, and many a snare had mother 

 and daughter set to entrap the sons of 

 more than one lady sparrow there. 



" My dear," said Mr. Britisher the 

 very next morning, " we must begin to 

 build a nest and make a home like 

 other people. I think we may as well 

 begin to-day." 



"Build our nest?" responded Mrs. 

 B. "Well, do as you think best, my 

 dear. I intend to make a few calls to- 

 day, so you may as well employ your 

 time whilst I am away. I presume 

 some of your folks will help you." 



" I suppose nothing of the sort," re- 

 plied Mr. B., curtly. "Do you think 

 you are to do nothing but make calls 

 from morning till night? I chose you 

 for a helpmate, madam, and not a 

 figurehead, let me tell you, and the 

 sooner you settle down to your duties 

 the better it will be for us both." 



"Duties?" retorted Mrs. B., "the 

 idea! Who was it that promised me 

 that if I would marry him I should not 

 have a care in the world?" 



"Oh, all lovers say such things," 

 replied Mr. B., with a contemptuous 

 laugh. "They expect their lady-loves to 

 have better sense than to believe them." 



" Better sense than to believe them!" 

 repeated Mrs. B., angrily. "So you 

 admit your sex are all gay deceivers, 

 do you? Oh, dear," tears coursing 

 down her pretty feathered cheeks, 

 "that I should be brought to this! Woe 

 is me, woe is me!" 



Mr. Britisher immediately flew to 

 her side, and by caresses and fond 

 words endeavored to tranquillize his 



spouse, for what husband can look upon 

 the first tears of his bride and not up- 

 braid himself for bringing a cloud over 

 the heaven of her smiles? 



Mrs. B. flew and hopped about with 

 her wonted gaiety the remainder of the 

 day, whilst Mr. B.'s preoccupation and 

 downcast air was the cause of much 

 comment and many wise " I told you 

 so's," among the old lady-birds of the 

 neighborhood. 



The subject of nest-building was, of 

 course, next day resumed; but Mrs. B. 

 proved as indifferent and indisposed to 

 participate in the labor as ever. 



" Very well," said Mr. B., at last, 

 resolutely disregarding her tears, " you 

 will do as other wives do or else return 

 to your mother. When a sparrow 

 marries he expects his mate to do her 

 share in making a home, and rearing a 

 family. There is something to do in 

 this world, madame, besides rollicking, 

 singing, and visiting from post to pil- 

 lar. Indeed, it is a wild scramble we 

 have to make for a living, and you can 

 no longer expect me to be furnishing 

 you with tid-bits and insects out of sea- 

 son, while you gossip and idle your time 

 away. You will have to-day to decide 

 upon the matter," and off Mr. Britisher 

 flew, with a heavy frown upon his face. 



" Oh! I wish I had never been born," 

 wailed Mrs. B., as the gentle wind 

 stirred the leaves and swayed the 

 branch upon which she was perched. 

 "Already I begin to experience the 

 troubles which old folks talk about. 

 Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'll fly over to 

 mother and tell her how shamefully 

 Mr. B. is treating me. I won't stand 

 it, there! Gracious! there is that med- 

 dlesome Mr. Blue Jay sneaking around 

 as usual. He has heard me sobbing, 

 I'm afraid, and all the neighbors will 

 be gossiping before night of our affairs. 

 There! how cheerily I sang when I flew 

 off! He will think my sobs were a 

 new song, perhaps. To think that I 

 should be making believe I'm happy 

 already. Happy! I shall never be 

 happy again. My heart is broken. 

 Mother will give Mr. Britisher a piece 

 of her mind, I hope, and let him know 

 I was never, brought up to work, much 

 less to be any man's slave." 

 ( To be conchidcd. ) 



