9° 



RECREATION. 



indeed, a formidable foe. I was in no 

 mood to view his grandeur, but put a ball 

 at the butt of his ear, which finished him. 

 My first shot, from the tent, had creased 

 him. This method is frequently used in 

 capturing horses. It stuns the animal for 

 a short time only, and seldom proves fatal. 

 When creased, an animal will lie apparent- 



ly dead 5 to 25 minutes. It will then sud- 

 denly spring to its feet, and if it has not 

 been tied securely away it goes. 



My second shot was a trifle too low to 

 break into the brain, and would probably 

 have killed him in time. My third and last 

 shot that struck the butt of the ear, went 

 direct to the brain and ended his struggles. 



CHAPMAN'S POND. 



W. T. DUNCAN. 



J know a lake near a mountain side 

 That rises and falls with the flowing tide ; 

 For between the lake and the river clear 

 A raceway runs athwart the mere. 



And the river runs to the sound afar, 

 Till it weds the sea at Saybrook bar ; 

 Going and coming from tide to tide 

 With the grace of a coy, reluctant bride. 



On its edge the willowy wild oats grow, 

 And mirror their wealth in the flood below ; 

 There the wood duck floats on its placid 



breast, 

 And the marsh wren buildeth her swaying 



nest. 



Here the rail birds rise in their short- 

 winged flight, 



'Neath its sheltering arms again to light, 



Screened by its growth from the piercing 

 eye 



Of the fleet-winged hawk that soars on 

 high. 



By its wooded edge you can hear the hum 

 Of the ruffed grouse sounding his amorous 



drum, 

 While over its Waves the swallows dart 

 With a grace surpassing the hand of art. 



Beneath the water that laves the edge 

 The pickerel hides in his home of sedge, 

 On eager watch for the prey that glide 

 Along with the shimmering, limpid tide. 



Away on the mountain's noble crest 

 The eagle builds his eyrie nest, 

 Where a forest giant stricken dead 

 Defiant rears his ghostlike head. 



One cottage alone these shores doth grace, 



Built by a hermit that loved the place ; 



A man who from boyhood had known the 



spell 

 Of each leafy nook and woodland dell ; 



Who sought, when the city's strife was o'er, 

 Repose and peace by its verdant shore, 

 And breathed his las* 'neath the sheltering 



wood, 

 With a name unknown for aught but good. 



Oft by his sunlit, shadowy shore 

 I cleave the waves with the dripping oar ; 

 Secure 'mid this scene of calm repose 

 From the world outside, with its wiles and 

 woes. 



"There's some talk of a lawyers' trust." 



"Indeed?" 



"Yes; and it is said they'll make a 

 specialty of drawing up anti-trust bills for 

 the legislatures."— Puck, 



