THE DEER I SHOULD NOT HAVE KILLED 159 



ered by the mate of the vessel the buck had eaten 

 off its legs and it was dead. 



Arriving off Sandy Hook the Janet Ferguson 

 encountered a cold wintry gale, all hands were kept 

 busy, and during the confusion three of the little 

 creatures which had 



MANAGED TO ESCAPE 



from their snug little house, perished with the cold. 

 Immediately after arriving at port the fourth, a 

 fine buck, fell a victim to our inhospitable climate. 

 The only survivor, 



A BEAUTIFUL DOE, 



represented in the painting, came into my pos- 

 session; but she only lived about ten days. In 

 spite of all my care she too expired, killed by the 

 poisonous breath of our furnace. 



She was a timid little creature, and although per- 

 fectly tame, objected to being handled, but she 

 would take food from my hand and allow me to 

 stroke her back. She had the pose and action of 

 our ordinary deer. When watching her as she 

 leaped over a footstool, or stood, head erect, with 

 one forefoot gracefully poised, in an eager, listen- 

 ing attitude, or crept timidly and stealthily close to 

 the wall and behind the articles of furniture, it was 

 as difficult to realize that it was a real live deer as 

 it is to believe that some of the human midgets 

 are actually living specimens of mankind. 



