AN IDEAL VACATION. 



C. H. DILLON. 



One soft, balmy morning in early spring 

 my chum and I started for our annual 

 week with nature. By sunrise we were 

 within 20 miles of our destination. A fox 

 squirrel, out for his breakfast and an early 

 morning frolic, scampered along a rail 

 fence and vanished like a streak of dull 

 red into his castle. About 3 p. m. we 

 reached the camp ground, on the bank of 

 the Lamine river. A heavily wooded point 

 ran out into the river, and in a natural 

 clearing in the center we pitched our tent. 



After everything was made snug for the 

 night, fire wood up and horses attended to, 

 Dan left me to the pleasant task of cook- 

 ing supper while he went fishing. While 

 busying myself about the camp I heard a 

 squirrel barking. I got the gun and after 

 a half hour's walk succeeded in getting 3 

 squirrels. 



Returning to camp I had nearly finished 

 broiling them when Dan came in with 4 

 large bass. We had a glorious supper, 

 which suited our appetites exactly. About 

 9 o'clock we turned in, to be lulled to sleep 

 by the voice of the creek. 



After breakfast next morning we both 

 left camp and went to the place where Dan 

 had had such luck the evening before. We 

 caught a few small fry of bass and crappie 

 and as I made my last cast, the_ fly was 

 taken by a bass. Forty yards of line were 

 whirred off at once. Finally, after 20 min- 



utes of hard work, I landed him, a small 

 mouth, of 5 pounds. 



That was enough for one day, so we went 

 back to camp for lunch. In the afternoon 

 we took the guns and hunted along the 

 river, getting 4 grey squirrels and a wood- 

 cock. We broiled 2 of the squirrels which, 

 with some hoe cake and coffee, made a 

 repast fit for a king. Again the pipe and 

 the night sounds, sleep and dreams. 



Small bass that we could not use that 

 day we put in a little pool in a spring- 

 branch near. In the night we heard a com- 

 motion in the little pool and discovered, 

 too late, that minks had eaten all our fish,* 

 so our breakfast would be Ashless. 



The next day was not so beautiful. At 7 

 o'clock a thunder storm broke, deluging 

 everything and raising the river so that fish- 

 ing for the rest of the day was out of the 

 question. However, we went out in the 

 afternoon and killed 2 more squirrels for 

 supper. That night we again slept well. 

 The next day was bright and clear and the 

 prospects were good for fishing-. During 

 the day we caught 14 small mouth bass and 

 crappies and 2 channel cats. 



Next day we returned, arriving home 

 about sunset, to resume the stern realities 

 of life. 



* This incident is almost identical with one des- 

 cribed in " The Minks' Festival," published in De- 

 cember, 1899, Recreation. — Editor. 



THE THINGS I LOVE. 



W. S. JONES. 



I love the woods ; its solitude 



My senses holds with silent charm ; 



There soft winds sigh, and song birds fly 

 From tree to tree, secure from harm. 



I love the flowers, and bless the hours 

 That I have passed with them, alone ; 



Their sweet perfume and brilliant bloom 

 In mem'ry cling, when years have flown. 



I love the lake, its murmurs wake 



A happiness within my breast; 

 Its low, sweet song blots out the wrong 



That warps the soul with vague unrest. 



I love a heart that does its part 

 With quiet, unassuming grace. 



I love the streams, the sun's bright beams, 

 Sweet smiles upon fair Nature's face. 



I love the sway of friendship's day, 

 Its ne'er to be forgotten hours, 



And musing sweet, when mem'ries meet; 

 All these I love, for they are ours. 



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