Terms, Five Dollars a Year. | 

 Ten Cents a Copy. j 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JAN. 15, 1874. 



( Volume I, Number 23. 

 1 103 Fulton Street. 



For Forest and Stream . 

 THE FLOWER'S REVENGE. 



[FROM THB GERMAN.] 

 BY B. C. G. 



Ol f couch of downy pillows 

 Lies a maiden, sleep begnilBd, 

 On her cheeks the color flushing, 



Veiling dreams beneath her eyelid. 

 Poised upon its costly salver, 



Sways a chalice heaped with flowers, 

 Wafting incense, dreams and perfume 

 On the slowly passing hours. 



Laden with the fragrant message, 

 Heavy hangs the air above her; 



Hardly stir her cloudy tresses 

 In the summer winds that love her. 



Through the silence, dim and dreary, 

 Suddenly a quaint voice calleth : 



Quick from flow'ret and from leaflet. 

 Soft and low an answer falleth. 



From the white and gay corollas 



See the flower spirits springing, 

 Wrapt in rolls of sheeny splendor 



Crowus and spears in order bringing. 

 From the roses' crimson bosom 



Shyly smiles a queenly maiden, 

 Lightly float her airy tresses, 



That Avith dewy pearls are laden. 



From the rare old helmet-blossom, 



With its leaves of sombre blue-green, 

 Leaps a warrior, clad in armor, 



Face and name doth visor screen. 

 Waves a long plume from his helmet, 



Rivaling the snow in whiteness; 

 And the lily wafts his fair bride, 



With a veil of cobweb lightness 



From the tulip's rainbow chalice 



Starts an Arab, garments flowing, 

 And upon his swarthy features 



Fierce the desert strength is glowing. 

 From the tiger-lily's petals 



Steps a hunter of the wild chase ; 

 And the deep blue Iris blossom 



Yields up satyrs of the wood race. 



From the bed of the narcissus 



Wakes a youth with raven tresses, 

 Swinging upward to the sleeper, 



Kisses her and wildly presses. 

 Quickly haste, then, fauns and fairies, 



Each to kiss or clasp the sleeper. 

 Yet their singing and their sighing 



Only makes her rest the deeper. 



"Maiden," sing they, "earthly maiden, 



Rudely have you nipped our blooming; 

 In this silver fretted prison 



All onr beauty we're entombing! 

 Oh how happy in the brown earth 



Did we live thro' early spring time! 

 Then the golden sunlight— starlight, 



Made the soul of leaf to leaf chime! 



"All the loving winds and zephyrs 



Swayed our blushing petais gladly; 

 And at night in fairy circles 



Did we dance and warble madly; 

 Dews and rains withheld no blessing; 



Now we droop and pine in sorrow; 

 Yet before we fade and perish, 



Strength for vengeance we will borrow!' 



Silence reigns among the fairies, 



As they light upon the sleeper; 

 All the air is heavy perfume, 



i et, the maiden's dreams grow deeper. 

 What a rustling! what a sighing! 



How the maiden's,cheeks are burning! 

 How the spirits keep on breathing, 



Heedless of her restless turning! 



W hen the sun uprose in splendor 



Spirit and fairy faded slowly, 

 On the couch they left the maiden 



Deeply sleeping, sleeping wholly! 

 Like a withered blossom lying, 



With the color paling faintly— 

 Did their vengeance curse or bless herf 



For h«r rest is deep. and saintly! 



/< 



}nntitig fleer in cffinqeBofa. 



ONE DAY'S SPORT. 



Brainard, Min., Dec. 24, 1878. 

 Editor Forest and Stream: — 



A few days ago, feeling that the monotony of the office 

 was wearing heavily upon me, I threw my trusty "Wesson" 

 on my shoulder and started for a brushy marsh some three 

 miles south-west of town. The snow lay full ten inches 

 deep, with no crust. The barometer indicated a change in 

 the weather, wind blowing from the south-west, the atmos- 

 phere moderately temperate for a winter day, and clouds 

 obscuring the sun. This being the second day after quite 

 a. storm of snow, with the thermometer above the freezing 

 point, Old Probabilities suggested to me that this was a 

 very favorable day to be in the woods. I moved along 

 against the wind leisurely, stopping every now and then, 

 scanning objects critically, and watching for "signs. " After 

 about an hour's walk, just on the edge of a little area of 

 brushy land, I discovered two fresh tracks. A careful ex- 

 amination satisfied me, first, that these tracks were made 

 by fawns ; secondly, that they had been feeding on this 

 brush, and thirdly, that the tracks being fresh, the deer 

 could not be far away. I took a careful survey of the 

 whole visible surroundings, but saw nothing. I made 

 motions very slow after this. When I lifted a foot for- 

 ward, backward, right or left, my body was erect, and 

 swayed almost imperceptibly; in fact, getting aloDg at a 

 snail's pace, ten rods in as many minutes, and leaving no 

 possible depression or elevation of ground unexamined al 

 each yard of advance, eager and still careful, active but 

 slow, I moved along through the brush, and looking across 

 a small marsh, on slightly rising ground, fifty paces away, 

 I saw my game, head down, and as unconscious of danger 

 as the wind itself. I was in no hurry. And what a splen- 

 did mark ! In a twinkling my rifle pointed at the attractive 

 shoulder of the fawn. I knew it, because I saw that 

 shoulder through the sights; and, as I saw, my finger, re- 

 sponsive to the sense, bore three pounds on the trigger, a 

 report, and, as the smoke lifted, the fawn raised her flag, 

 leaped twenty feet in a direct line forward, and was off 

 like the wind, wild, free and unhurt. I spent no time, 

 however, in mourning over this result. I ran up to the 

 place where the fawn had stood, throwing in a cartridge as 

 I ran, and looking across another marsh, 150 yards away ? 

 saw the one I had missed so handsomely and its mate, with 

 heads erect, ears working back and forth, snuffling the air 

 for any stray tell-tale scent, looking as only deer can look 

 when realizing impending danger, yet unconscious from 

 whence it may come. With one glance I took in the situa- 

 tion, and at the same instant a thrill of immense satisfac- 

 tion appealed to my consciousness. Fun ahead ! thought 

 I, as the sight played along the barrel, on a direct line with 

 one of them, and the unerring ball sped on its urgent mis- 

 sion. Down went the flag and down dropped the fawn on 

 the feathery snow. " Ah, ha ! my fine fellow. You dodge 

 another ball at fifty paces, eh?" Then I threw in another 

 cartridge, drawing a straight line, and resting the farthest 

 projection on the shoulder aforesaid, I clattered away and 

 down went fawn No. 2, and I knew by the way he fell, 

 stone dead. At this report, fawn No. 1 jumped to her feet, 

 cast one look at her fallen brother, came over towards me 

 twenty paces; but her wound was a terrific one, and wear- 

 ied with her efforts, she, too, dropped to mother earth, quite 

 dead. Ah, a proud moment is such an occasion to the gen- 

 uine hunter ! No statesman, hero or warrier, ever felt a 

 greater degree of the ennobling, exalted "influence" than 

 I did at that particular time. If it could but abide with 

 me ! 



I continued my hunt for about 200 yards and struck 

 another fresh track. The other deers were hung up safely 

 in trees. Within five minutes I discovered a deer walking 

 leisurely along — some 300 yards in advance. I did not like 

 to risk a shot this distance, while the chances were favor 

 able to my getting nearer. She was moving with the wind, 

 and to avoid permitting her to get the wind of me, I macl>- 



a short hasty circuit, and stole up to the place where I last 

 saw her. She had entered a small patch of brush; 

 and, after examining the ground beyond, I was satisfied my 

 game was lying down in this brush, and not fifty paces dis- 

 tant. My only hope rested now on a shot at her "on the 

 fly." Bringing my rifle to my shoulder, and whistling 

 softly, the fawn, instead of raising up quickly to see what 

 was up, had winded me, and with a mighty leap over brush, 

 flag up, and really frightened, promised to distance all pur- 

 suers. As she was in the air on her third leap, I spoke to 

 her through my powder trumpet plainly, "stop." She only 

 partially obeyed. I had caught her on the point of a ball 

 just under the right flank, the ball ranging forward, crash- 

 ing through the left shoulder, entirely disabling it; and yet 

 in this terrible predicament, she led me a race of a mile, 

 dodging behind trees, lying down behind logs and peering 

 over the top, always on her guard, and anticipating my 

 approach before I eould sight her. But bleeding badly, she 

 finally became weak, and at last turned on her course, came 

 back to meet me, and within three paces v lay down nearly 

 at my feet, tame and docile as a cosset lamb that has been 

 wont to take its food from the hand. The destructive ele- 

 ment yielded to one of pity. I walked up, put my hand on 

 its head, patted its neck, and without an expres- 

 sion of fear, it put its nose into the hand that had been 

 raised against its life ! Pitying its suffering condition, and 

 as an act of charity, I passed a ball through its head, and 

 she yielded up the life she had' struggled so guardedly to 

 protect. I drew her back, deposited her with her dead 

 mates, and casting a satisfied look over my shoulder as I 

 passed beyond the sight of my treasures, found my way 

 back to town, after an absence of three hours and 

 thirty minutes, a wiser and abler man. I offered to give 

 odds over all competitors as against Old Probabilities. 

 Be kind enough to thank him for me, and assure him that 

 his counsel on the deer question is of paramount consider- 

 ation always. Bedford. 

 -*-**. 



DUCK SHOOTING IN NEW BRUNSWICK. 



BY J. NEWTON WILSON. 



MY London friend had been for some days coaxing me 

 to go shooting with him. He wanted to see if our 

 style of bagging game was like that of tlie old country. I 

 told him I was a poor companion for a person of his gun- 

 ning qualities to go with, but he insisted, and we went. A 

 delightful day in early September found us drawing near 

 the landing, close by which was located the pretty little 

 village of Jemseg. We were soon on shore with our traps 

 and dogs, yearning to catch sight of a duck or a blackbird, 

 or anything that had feathers and two legs and which no 

 body owned. We were both fully armed and equipped, 

 provided with an ample store of eatables, etc. The house 

 we intended to make our headquarters was situated about 

 three miles from the landing. It was one of those bright 

 and clear days peculiar to the early fall, and my friend 

 Snobby acknowledged that our scenery was nearly as fine 

 as in some parts of England. The shining waters of the 

 Grand Lake lay before us, its mirror-like surface reflecting 

 the shadows of spruce trees and the snowy sails of wood- 

 boats. Farmers mowed their grass, whetted their scythes, 

 laughed at us sportsmen, and chewed their soggy tobacco. 

 Snobby and I jogged smartly along, carrying as many of 

 our goods with us as convenient. After some warm walk- 

 ing we were directed to the house we wanted. A tap at 

 the front door brought forth a maiden of say fifty sum- 

 mers, winters thrown in. of course. Her face indicated 

 that she was one whom Nature had endowed with pleasant 

 smiles, so essential to females of her tender years. I at 

 once bowed low, and produced my letter of credit. She 

 lead it, and handed it back in a regular business-like way, 

 saying, "We've got the scarlet fever here," and shut the 

 door. Snobby was very indignant, and swore. We were 

 tired, and felt like dining; besides, our traps were heavy. 

 We sat for a while on the roadside and rested our limbs, 

 nobby London declared I was not posted in sporting, or 

 else I would have had things differently arranged. A 



