

Father's Last Picture. 



Memories of Father. 



Those of our readers who have reached the meridian of 

 life and are traveling down the shady side no doubt often look 

 back to boyhood, and live over again those glorious days on 

 the. stream, in the wood or in the thicket. I am thankful for 

 the faculty that enables me to look back and enjoy, in retro- 

 spect, those boyhood days. 



Among the most pleasant memories of bygone days are 

 the fishing and shooting trips with father. He was a natural 

 woodsman, a good shot, and successful with the rod. Among 

 my earliest recollections' are the days I followed father through 

 the woods carrying his game for him. 



Ah, well do I remember the first fish I caught ! It was 

 father who cut the little willow pole, tied on a line of linen 

 thread and a bent pin hook. 



He showed me where to drop in my line near the roots 

 of a stump, then went back to his fishing, but kept an eye 

 on me. 



As the pin hook sank slowly near the roots, a very small 

 pumpkin seed snatched the bait off my hook and disappeared 



[IS] 



