OveR THE TRAPPING LINE. 

By the brook a hawk is flying ; 
Behind the trees the squirrels hide ; 
In the pool are waters falling, 
Singing down its rocky side. 
The softly flying Canada Jay 
Is always present at their eating ; 
Sees the smoke though far away, 
Sits handy, watching, patient, waiting. 
O’er the brook the thrush are chatting, 
Four black eyes are giving glances, 
Some disturbed from noonday napping 
Yet friendly near by in the branches. 
By the brook the rocks are mossy, 
Graceful ferns beside them growing ; 
Tiniest grasses fine and flossy 
Waiving with the currents flowing. 
Midway the brook on a mossy log, 
Waters gurgling out and by him 
Sits a little spotted frog, 
Often winking at a sunbeam. 
Now sitting quite still after luncheon, 
Part in shadow, part in sunshine ; 
Always much to please attention 
While they on the shore recline. 
Fire extinguished quickly always 
On such warm and pleasant days, 
For the wary woodland rovers 
Do not like the smoky ways. 
45 
