NATURE'S REALM. 49 
weeping willows drooping over graves? Is the 
poetry of Heaven discoursed to listeni+g mul- 
titudes by the silver tongue of a Talmage ? 
But the only answer to these vagrant lucubra- 
tions was the peaceful breathing of Lorene at 
my side and the wild call of the loons from the 
whispering reeds. 
But, in reviewing the pleasant period of 
recreation experienced by this sylvan lake, 
there comes a poignant tinge of regret, for it 
was there that the faithful companion of my 
wanderings contracted the malady which event- 
ually resulted in her untimely death. Through- 
out the greater portion of the day previous to 
our departure in the evening, Lorene, with an 
unusual and superabundant exuberance of 
spirits, was constantly in motion, leaping ex- 
ultingly along the banks or making short and 
rapid excursions through the outlying woods, 
anon returning and plunging gladsomely into 
the cold bosom of thelake. A crampy stiffness 
of her limbs resulted from this violent exertion, 
succeeded by internal inflammation, which 
shortly culminated in death. But during the 
period of emaciation and misery she displayed 
a fortitude and patience under affliction worthy 
of human emulation. J 
In the evening, a few hours preceding her 
death, Lorene left her éouch and limped teebly 
to the orchard in search of certain herbs and 
grasses to which her instinct invariably led her 
to resort when affected with any of the mala- 
dies peculiar to her species, and it was while 
thus emplcyed that her strength suddenly for- 
sook her, tor she was then a mere shadow of 
her former self, and she sank helpless in the 
path. When, gently and tenderly, I took the 
shivering creature in my arms and again 
placed her on her couch of rugs, I knew that 
the period of Lorene’s anguish would be brief, 
for the wistful and imploring gaze from the 
fast dimming eyes that followed my receding 
form to the door said as plainly as language 
could have spoken: ‘Please don't leave me, 
master; it cannot be long now.” That night, 
with the low melody of falling rain on the roof 
of the house (as if Mother Nature, moved to 
compassion for her sufferings, was weeping 
softly), Lorene passed quietly away—quietly, I 
am sure, for her couch bore no trace of those 
contortions which often accompany the agonies 
of dissolution. One flossy ear alone was up- 
turned above the border of the protecting wrap, 
and the reposeful expression of her countenance 
suggested naught but a peaceful sleep. The 
gust of emotion, however, which I experienced 
on beholding the inanimate form of my little 
favorite was dispelled bv the candid reflection 
that Lorene had passed to that bourne which, 
somewhere amid the interminable realms of 
space, the God of Nature hath mercifully pro- 
vided for all of his creatures. 


