
AMATEUR PHOTO BY EDWARD E. C. GIBBS 
DAE Y BILE BEST BERORE Hes lO keve 
Winner of the 8th prize in RECREATION’S 4th Annual Ccmpfetiticn. 

CEE ey) ONSs Ola @ eh heen) Ge 
W. H. FOOTNER. 
*Midst darkness deep, ‘tis dead of night, 
I lie “neath arching tree. 
From Heaven’s vault, like jewels bright, 
The stars peep through at me. 
The camp fire’s dying embers gleam, 
The hooting owl awakes, 
And with a nearby, gurgling stream, 
Alone the silence breaks. 
Then the rippled bay below me sings 
A faint, sweet song of rest, 
And while I think of many things, 
I sink in slumber blest. 
But other ditties then I hear, 
And apprehensions rise; 
For skeeter songs break on my ear, 
And each his bill applies. - 
A whirr, a buzz, a biting sting; 
My peace is gone, ’tis clear. 
To them I wouldn’t do a thing, 
Would they but linger near. 
With murder in my heart I rise, 
And try to kill the beasts. 
"Tis vain. My efforts they despise, 
And still keep at their feasts. 

DECEMBER. 
ENS) 3 a5 
This latest of the months is bitter cold; 
Now come deep snows, North winds, 
and leaden skies; 
The truthful angler and the hunter bold 
Just hug the fire, and tell the darnedest 
lies. 

