58 



THE Gl' IDE T( ) NATURE 



er arrives, Bruce makes a straight line 

 for the dressing room and waits there 

 until she is ready to go out. 



He keeps his eye on the ball wonder- 

 fully, hut never his teeth. He never 

 picks up a ball, although he invariably 



THE FOX HILLS COLLIE. 



runs ahead to within a few feet of it 

 and in that way has proved especially 

 useful. 



W hen the players are driving, he keeps 

 at a respectful distance behind or at 

 one side, bounding forward as soon as 

 the stroke is made When the start is 

 made he crouches on the wooden steps 

 in front of the first tee with only his 

 nose in sight, for he understands that it 

 would never do to get in the way of the 

 ball. As soon as he catches up with the 

 ball he lies down obediently near it, 

 waiting until the players come up. 



So many miles does he run over the 

 grass every day that he keeps himself 

 as thin and as gaunt as a wolf. Around 

 the club house he is correspondingly 

 intelligent and sensible. About the 

 only way to get a good picture of him 

 is to snap him when he is asleep, and 

 even then, the noise of the shutter 

 awakens him causing him to slink out 

 of sight without delay. Col. John J. 

 A. Donohue, president of the club 

 offered Mr. Smith Sioo for Bruce the 

 first time he saw him, but the dog is 

 not for sale. 



— The American Golfer. 



P6PU5\R.5\5n^NoMY 



Become Acquainted With the Stars 



BY HARRY G. LATHAM, ORIENT POINT, 

 NEW YORK. 



No nature follower should neglect 

 to make his aquaintaince with those 

 scintillating gems that nightly glorify 

 the heavens — the everlasting stars. 

 Flowers wither and fade throughout 

 the summer, and most of the birds that 

 estivate with us decamp to the south 

 lands at the approach of autumn. Not 

 so with the dimless stars. On the con- 

 trary, at the commencement of chilly 

 nights, when all the bloom and splen- 

 dor of the summer has yielded to the 

 invincible will of the frost king, the 

 real magnificence of the stellar concave 



begins to appear, to remain until the 

 spring returns. 



After a day or a few hours in the 

 woods or meadows with the birds and 

 plants one comes home in the twilight. 

 The resplendent after-glow has nearly 

 vanished from the western skies — all 

 the feathered songsters have silenced 

 their lays and have sought the rest and 

 quietude of their dreams. Flowers 

 have nodded farewell to the daylight 

 and are obscured by the gloaming. 

 Nothing catches the eye but indistin- 

 guishable shapes and shadows, and it is 

 unoccupied save for the guidance on 

 the way. 



How vastly different is it with the 



