192 



RECREATION. 



quick to see, he left the natural gallery of 

 trees and tore up the mountain side. I 

 heard him distinctly, breaking the brush on 

 the way. Imagine my surprise when he 

 came out in full view at the farthest end of 

 the nettle bed. Instinctively knowing his 

 lack of protection while among the low 

 growing plants he turned to go down the 

 mountain where the trees were. As he 

 turned I fired again, and he disappeared 

 from my view. Not wishing him to get 

 into the woods below I jumped from the 

 tree and ran down to where I supposed I 

 could get a close range shot. In my ex- 

 citement I had not noticed a little hill some 

 distance down, over which the first 2 shots 

 were fired. That hill had hid the bear from 

 me, and in my haste forward I almost 

 jumped on the wounded animal. He was 

 lying in his side, vigorously rubbing his 

 nose with his right forepaw, from which 

 the blood was dripping. I supposed he 

 was shot in the nose. He then did what I 



understand a wounded bear often does. 

 Slowly getting on his feet and burying his 

 forehead deep into the leaves, he turned a 

 deliberate somersault, showing the entire 

 white belly. Fearing he would get away I 

 took aim and sent a ball over his ear into 

 his brain, after which he did not even quiver. 



The shooting hastened the returning 

 party from above. I was almost beside my- 

 self with joy. When my friend called to 

 me and asked what I had been shooting at 

 I could only say one word, "Bear." 



I have spent several years hunting in the 

 Adirondacks and am somewhat of a judge 

 as to where game is plentiful. I have never 

 seen so many recent deer signs as at Mor- 

 ley's. Woodcock and ruffed grouse are 

 also numerous. When I was there last fall 

 it was hard to get a deer because there had 

 been no frost to make the leaves fall, and 

 the underbrush was heavy. Such condi- 

 tions, however, only whet the ambition of 

 the hunter and enable him to show his skill. 



A SKILLFUL YOUNGSTER. 



Herewith I enclose a photo of Ray 

 Simpson, age 13 years, and 3 white geese, 

 which he shot with the gun you sent him 

 as premium for getting a club of sub- 



scribers to Recreation. The geese he 

 got out of one flock at 3 shots with a 

 Davenport ejector single gun. 



J. C. Simpson, Holdredge, Neb. 



THE PASSING. 



A. L. VERMILYA. 



On a day when autumn winds were softly 



sighing, 

 And the sun was slowly sinking in the 

 West, 

 Spake my fading love to me, 

 Saying, "O'er the mystic sea 

 I am passing to the land of joy and rest." 



Then her eyelids drooped as though she 



lightly slumbered, 

 And we thought her dreaming on, with 

 visions bright; 

 But she whispered, faint and low, 

 "Kiss me, sweetheart, ere I go;" 

 Then her gentle, loving spirit took its 

 flight. 



So we laid her 'neath the autumn tinted 



maples, 



On the hillside where she loved so oft to 



stray, 



Where the daisies nod and dream, 



And the sparkling, rippling stream 



Sings a requiem while passing on its way. 



But at evening by her grave I sit and 



ponder, 

 Where the sunset casts its mellow, golden 

 bars; 

 And 'tis sweet to feel and know 

 That when I am called to go, 

 I shall meet my love again beyond the stars. 



