GEORGE RAYNOR. 161 



When the morning gleams o'er the mountain streams 



Then merrily forth we go, 

 To follow the stag o'er the slippery crag 



And chase the bounding doe. 

 For with steady aim at the bounding game, 



And a heart that fears no foe; 

 Thro' the darksome glade in the forest shade, 



Oh, merrily forth we go! 



The little we know of it serves to bring up the mem- 

 ory of the dear old singer who sang it amid the unpoetic 

 surroundings of the Chicago River one day when his 

 poor heart was lighter than usual. 



One day he said: "Billy is going to have a week off, 

 the hall is to be renovated, and he will spend his vacation 

 down at Kankakee shooting ducks, and last night he 

 said that he would like to have you go with him if you 

 could get off. Poor boy! he needs a week off if anyone 

 does; working in the office of the grain warehouse all 

 day and singing at the minstrels six nights and in the 

 church choir twice on Sundays keeps him so busy that he 

 never has an hour to himself. Only for me he would not 

 have to work so hard, and I sometimes think " 



"Now see here, Mr. Raynor, this is only an idle fancy 

 of yours. Billy is a busy boy, to be sure, but he likes it, 

 and his main delight is to see you happy. You are not a 

 burden to him, but it is his pleasure to see you made com- 

 fortable. He has no bad or expensive habits, and I 

 know that his first thought is about you. Drop the idea 

 that he would be better off without you. I believe that I 

 know him better than you do." 



"It seems good to hear you say so," said he, "and it is 

 no doubt true; but my mind has outlived my body, and 

 at times I feel morbid, blue, or whatever you may call it. 

 If you will go down there with Billy I will know that you 



