126 



RECREA TION. 



least have a taste of fish, I went one day to 

 the river, when the water was at the highest, 

 and with worms surprised myself by catch- 

 ing 3 goo'd sized bass, in 4 feet of water, 

 directly over a country road 



The day came for the return of our 

 friends, just as the waters were falling. The 

 next day the sun was shining as brightly as 

 ever; the water fell rapidly, and I was 

 alone at a time when I least desired to be 

 so. There was fine sport with bass, in creek 

 ' and in river, after the waters fell. My 

 journal tells me of 50 caught in Bear creek, 

 and of many others taken from the Yough- 

 iogheny. I have in mind one beauty, 

 captured in Bear creek August 2, measur- 

 ing 13% inches. 



The evening of August 26th found me 



and a companion standing waist deep in the 

 river, in a pool. It was an ideal evening 

 for fishing — the kind that did not come 

 again during our stay. A warm South 

 breeze came gently down the river, bring- 

 ing hundreds of small flies — tempting bits 

 to the bass, which were rising in all parts of 

 the pool. The fish bit savagely for a while, 

 and did not criticise our mullets. They 

 did not care, seemingly, whether the bait 

 was dead or alive. In 2 hours, we caught 

 32 bass, and quit. 



The time' for our return to town came 

 too soon, but we went back healthy and 

 contented, taking with us the memory of 

 a happy outing, and vowing the next sum- 

 mer should find us again in the mountains 

 of Maryland. 



CAMPED IN THE CANYON. 



JAMES HANKS. 



Wake ye, and punch up the fire, Bill, 



Let's have jest a little more light; 

 I am tired enough but try as I will 



I can't go to sleep to-night. 

 My thoughts have strayed out of sight, 



And I can't jest round 'em in; 

 So I'll spin ye a yarn — 'twixt now and day- 

 light. 



And now, while ye smoke I'll begin. 



Together we've braved the storms and the 

 flood, 

 Tryin' to find dirt that would pay; 

 And at night we've slept like babes in the 

 wood, 

 And renewed our search the next day. 

 But to-night something tells me thar's 

 comin' a change; 

 That we'll soon quit hunting for ore, 

 And Bill, ye'll soon be alone on the range — 

 Old Jim won't be with ye no more. 



For to-night as I lay here countin' the 

 stars, 

 Tryin' hard to get sleepy again, 

 I tuck my back trail o'er a long stretch of 

 years, 

 And I seed what a failure I've been. 

 Up from the dark, lonely canyon there 

 came 

 The roar of the falls and the rills, 

 And it sounded to me exactly the same, 

 As the wheels in the old Woodbine mills. 



And there came to my ears, 'bove the sound 

 of the mill, 

 The voices of children — and then, 

 They passed, one by one, right before me, 

 Bill, 

 And renewed their glad laughter again. 

 And out of the darkness there came to my 

 gaze, 

 (Now drop your pipe Bill — and breathe 

 sorter low) 

 The face of another, I knew in those days, 

 ■ And had loved in the long, long ago. 



Her hair was fast growing gray; I could 

 see 

 And — ah — how the time flies! 

 Thar — smoke away Bill — no — never mind 

 me; 

 I — I — jist got some smoke in my eyes. 

 I have seed the old mill so oft in my 

 dreams, 

 Where the river runs deep, and so still; 

 And Bill, my happiest days — it seems, 

 Were passed at the Woodbine mill. 



So when I have throwed my last lariat, 



And shovelled my last pan of ore, 

 And a paper that reads — " this prospect to 

 let" 

 Is nailed to my old cabbin door; 

 Bill plant your old pard where the violets 

 grow, 

 On the banks where the river runs still; 

 And I'll be sung to sleep by the rumblings 

 low 

 Of the dear old Woodbine mill. 



