70 
BY THE WAYSIDE. 
duced by scraping a crumpled newspaper over 
the matting. What it suggested to the parrot, 
no one could guess, but the instant it began 
she erected her feathers, spread her tail like 
a fan, expanded her wings, put her beak down 
and rubbed the upper edge of it along the 
floor, while she walked round and round, toeing 
in, and always ploughing the matting with her 
birr bill. This curious movement she kept up 
without pause so long as the noise was con¬ 
tinued. 
An eating place was set up for the storm 
refugee on the window sash, and bread and 
water provided for her comfort. lhe water 
she accepted with thanks, but she soon dis¬ 
covered that Laura’s now vacant cage con¬ 
tained a dainty more to her taste—a large, 
square cracker. this she pecked at eagerly, 
first standing outside and putting her head 
between the wires; but finding this inconven¬ 
ient, after looking about on every side, and 
scorning the open door as a probable trap, she 
slipped between the wires and helped herself 
freelv, hammering the cracker to bits and scat- 
tering crumbs all over the floor, while the 
owner of the cage observed with displeasure 
the disorderly manners of her small neighbor. 
After enduring the sparrow’s performances 
awhile, Laura went home, and the door was 
shut. We were sure she could guard her food, 
for she was a bird of spirit herself, and not 
used to being imposed upon. * * Bliz¬ 
zard did not approve of the new arrangement, 
but cracker she was bound to have; and after 
a few cautious advances, holding herself ready 
for instant flight, she grew careless, and plainly 
made up her mind that Laura was far too slow 
to catch so very wide-awake a personage as 
herself. So once' more she slipped through and 
busied herself on the floor within six inches of 
her big neighbor, getting even so bold as to 
snatch at Laura’s tail when it hung in her 
way. 
For some time the parrot looked on, with 
wise head turned over on one side, and Bliz¬ 
zard became perfectly indifferent, when at last 
the long-suffering bird leaned over and snatched 
up the intruding scapegrace by the back. 
Had it been the head, this would be the end 
of the poor sparrow’s story, but the feathers 
are thick on the back. Blizzard screamed at 
the top of her voice, the family ran into the 
room, and the bird escaped, leaving a mouth¬ 
ful of feathers with Laura. 
This experience subdued the street gamin 
for a while, and she retired to the top of the 
window casing to recover from her fright and 
investigate the damage to her draperies, while 
Laura sat bridling in her cage, saying “Cr-r-r 
cr-r-r” in a low but evidently crowing tone, 
as if meaning, “There, miss! how do you like 
that? Perhaps you’ll keep out of my house!” 
* 
As soon as the sun came out, a window wa9 
opened, and away she went out into the white 
world to join the army of feathered tramps 
to which she belonged .—From Olive Thorne 
Miller’s True Bird Stories. 
From the “Paradise of Birds. 
William John Courthope. 
We wish to declare how the birds of the air 
all high Institutions designed, 
And holding in awe art, science and law, de¬ 
livered the same to mankind. 
To begin with: Of old man went naked and 
cold whenever it pelted or froze, 
Till we showed him how feathers were proof 
against weathers; with that he bethought 
him of hose. 
And next it was plain that he in the rain, was 
forced to sit dripping and blind, 
While the reed-warbler swung in a nest with 
her young, deep-sheltered and warm from the 
wind. 
So our homes in the boughs made him think 
of the house; and the swallow, to help him 
invent, 
Revealed the best way to economise clay, and 
bricks to combine with cement. 
The knowledge withal of the carpenter’s awl is 
drawn from the nut-hatch’s bill, 
And the sand-marten’s pains in the hazel-clad 
lanes, instructed the mason to drill. 
Is there one of the arts more dear to men’s 
hearts, to the bird’s inspiration they owe it, 
For the nightingale first sweet music rehearsed, 
prima donna, composer and poet. 
The owl’s dark retreats showed sages the 
sweets of brooding to spin, or unravel 
Fine webs in one’s brain, philosophical, vain,— 
the swallows the pleasures of travel, 
Who chirped in such strain of Greece, Italy, 
Spain, and Egypt, that men when they heard, 
