THE BLUE HERON AND THE MUSCALONGE. 



Mary Reid Mann. 



Sometimes, when people are wise 

 and quiet they may hear little 

 conversations between inanimate 

 things, that will make them open their 

 eyes, and conclude they have much yet 

 to learn. 



I found this out the other evening, 

 after dinner, when I slipped into the 

 deserted office, leaving a party of sports- 

 men telling fish stories over their des- 

 sert. 



The fire looked brisk and cheerful, 

 and I sank into an easy chair to toast 

 my toes ; but I soon noticed a discon- 

 tented look in the brazen faces of the 

 Andirons ; and was not surprised when 

 I heard one of them say to the poker, 

 ' Won't you kindly stir these logs up a 

 bit, and make it look as bright and 

 cheerful as possible ; and may be these 

 city folks will stay longer than they 

 had intended. If it looks real pleasant 

 here, they will hate to leave ; and you 

 know from past experience, that it is 

 for our interest to keep them as long 

 as possible. And the Poker, thus ad- 

 dressed, and doubtless remembering how 



black and cold he usually is from No- 

 vember to spring, was about to obey, 

 cheerfully, when I heard a flapping be- 

 hind me as of fins ; and turning, saw 

 what the poker had already seen, a fero- 

 cious gleam in the eyes of an old 

 Muscalonge. He was glowering down 

 on us from his glass box on the wall, 

 and I heard him say. 



" Don't you do a single thing to keep 

 those sportsmen here. I have endured 

 all I can for one season, in seeing my 

 relatives brought in, night after night, 

 and weighed, and gloated over, and 

 talked about, and broiled, and fried, 

 and baked, and packed in cold, hard ice, 

 and expressed, here and there — many 

 of them to be treated as I have been — 

 stuffed and boxed up to look always out 

 on the world through glass eyes, unable 

 to move a fin, or a tail, without hearing 

 the varnish crack ; and worse than all this, 

 to hear new comers say to each other ; 

 when they look up at me. 



" Well, Harry, old boy ! how would 

 you like to catch a fish like that?" And 

 Harry, never having seen me in my 



A CORNER IN THE OFFICE. 



