MY " RECREATION." 



HON. S. B. MCMANUS. 

 Dedicated with hale and hearty regards, to the readers of this magazine. 



With wooing easy chair drawn close beside I note the splash of trout within the moun- 



the fire, tain stream — 



Whose warmth and light just strike the I see the lake, betrayed, yield up its choic- 



happy mien, est gift, 



In comfort quite complete — with little to I hear the thrilling click and catch the flash 



desire, and gleam 



My pipe fresh filled with brave old " nico- Of reel, and see the rod its brave game up- 



tine," ward lift. 



I open up my book, that care-kill book of A thousand lakes I see and rivers like a 



mine strand 



And yield myself to thought that comes Of quivering, laughing light illumining the 



near to divine. land. 



No more of anxious care (why must one 

 care and fret, 



Till life seems but an irony at best?) 



With mind and heart unchained — no tram- 

 mel, but to let 



Them wander as they list in happy, joyous 

 zest, 



O work begone, and care and fret good- 

 by; 



I'm once again beneath God's clean and 

 clear blue sky! 



Anon, I see the flash (or is it lightning's 



play?) 

 Of gun and hear the peal (or is it thunder's 



crash?) 

 Of rifle, as it speeds the bullet on its way; 

 And see the game through brake and tangle 



lash. 

 That strange thrill fills my soul — so hard 



in words to tell — 

 The joy of prizes won — the sorrow that 



they fell! 



I breathe the scent of trees — the balsam- 

 laden air, 



And catch the whispered gossip of the 

 leaves, 



And see the birds enplumed in garments 

 rich and fair — 



And lo! I hear a song as in and out it 

 weaves 



Its happy way in scores of dainty lore, 



While bush and branches wave a hearty, 

 hale encore. 



The camp fire, too, I see — that beacon of 



the wood, 

 And round it with boon comrades do I sit; 

 And feel that glowing sense of freedom 



rare and good — 

 While incense-like come perfumes from 



the spit 

 Of broiling steak or fish — a feast fit for a 



god, 

 The trophies of the chase, the harvest of the 



rod. 



And thus I think and think and dreaming, 



smoke and smoke, 

 And con the smiling pages one by one, — 

 And inward bless the man whose spell can 



thus invoke 

 By print so great a joy; a task is sure well 



done 

 O Recreation, where one pain is turned to 



bliss, 

 And yours a thousand turns, my brave 



young alchemist. 



23a 



