UNCLE JEEM'S ANNUAL HUNT. 



GEO. HENDERSON, M.D. 



The evening of November 6th found your 

 uncle on the famous " Fast Flying Virgin- 

 ian," climbing the Alleghanies, and never 

 an eagle in his flight soared more steadily 

 or more majestically up and over the giddy 

 heights of that grand old mountain range 

 than did our splendid train of Pullmans. 



A noiseless train, no rattle of brake links, 

 no jar of open joints, no squeak of dry 

 bolster heads, no spatter-ter-spat-bang of 

 flat wheels; but steady and swift as an 

 arrow went this mighty ship of the moun- 

 tains, one solid piece of wood and steel, 

 from pilot to rear red light. 



What a wonderful production of man's 

 inventive genius! Up, up we climbed, 

 speeding through tunnels like passing over 

 the shadow of great clouds, until we were 

 in the very peaks of the Alleghany moun- 

 tains. First Back Bone tunnel, then 

 Moore's, then Lake's, then Kelley's, then 

 Lewis, then Alleghany at the summit, and 

 we arrived at our destination, Alleghany 

 Station. 



The next thing was to get our jolly, rol- 

 licking crowd off from the train; but one 

 blast from my horn, as the baggage smash- 

 er threw open the door, and out they came, 

 pell mell, head over heels, an even dozen 

 of them, every one a beauty; and I love 

 them all, the rascals, for I have known 

 them all their lives. Yes, I knew their 

 grand and great grand daddies. Some of 

 them had, indeed, noble sires, and I could 

 write pages of their prowess during brilliant 

 encounters with hoofs and claws, on many 

 a mountain trail. 



But what next? Supper? Yes, supper; 

 rather late, 10 o'clock, but, boys and girls, 

 we must have supper. So we all went 

 scampering into the hotel dining room. 

 What a supper! Roast b'ar meat, with 

 sweet potatoes, and such rolls! Light? As 

 tall as the cream pitcher and as white and 

 fluffy as a snow flake. I must not forget 

 the great pans of cornmeal pones, with 

 bacon rinds interspersed for my hungry 

 dozen, who, of course, were not served 

 until the second table. They are all good 

 dogs, with perfect manners. It was only 

 necessary for me to stamp my foot once 

 and say to Mary Jane Brindle, " You be 

 done," when she tried to jump on the 

 table. I pardoned her; for greed is one of 

 her inherited faults. Her great grandfather, 

 Peter Cooper, was a mighty good dog, but 

 he was a hog. All the others sat on their 

 tails in respectful silence except dear little 

 Queen, who was curled up between my 

 feet, sound asleep. She is my jewel; a 

 thoroughbred, as pure as a dog can be. 

 As my old friend Harper, of Kentucky, 



once remarked to me about one of his colts, 

 " She is bred from the ainde of her nose! 

 to the ainde of her tail." I knew Queen's 

 great grandmother, Kate, and she was the 

 prototype of her great granddaughter. 



Then came George, who was to take us 

 to the camp the next morning. They all 

 know him, for he is their master in the 

 woods; and all gave him cordialwelcome 

 save Miss Fickle. She has a form as pretty 

 as a dancing girl and is quite as silly. I 

 never had any affection for her, but I made 

 a discovery which indicated a development 

 of character in her favor. Why do you 

 think she made all that noise as she capered 

 around George? She had treed his coon- 

 skin cap. This reminded me that her 

 grandfather, " Bill Dick," was a famous 

 coon dog. George was delighted and said, 

 ' That thar beast goes into Jerry's Run 

 gulch with me to-morrow night, and we 

 will have coon and sweet petaters day after 

 to-morrow for dinner, sure." George gave 

 the dogs a big feed of corn pone, took them 

 to the barn and gave every one a bed of 

 clean, dry hay. 



Rattle-te-bang, bang, bump ! Great 

 heavens! what is it? Is it a bear, a deer, 

 or a turkey? Has it gone through my 

 stand? I grab for my gun and tug and 

 tug, to get it to my shoulder, as I see the 

 flying form disappearing in' the distance, 

 but the gun won't come up. Suddenly I 

 awake to consciousness, discover that I 

 have been tugging at the arm of my sleep- 

 ing companion, and realize that the noise 

 is made by the Irish hostler, pounding on 

 the door and shouting at the top of his 

 voice, " Plase rase; it's 3 o'clock in the 

 mornin', and the tame's anenst the house." 

 We were all soon out and after a hearty 

 breakfast were en route for the camp. It 

 was a clear, cold, frosty morning, and ev- 

 erybody was in high glee. We reached the 

 divide between the waters of the Atlantic 

 and the Gulf just at daybreak. 



" What joy to stand at break of day, 



Watching the gathering glory 

 Of sunlight brightening all the way, 



With bird note, song and story ; 

 When the Queen of the morn comes forth with pride, 



Both heaven and earth adorning ; 

 When the Hand of God throws open wide 



All the windows of the morning." 



At that point our party took different 

 routes to the camp. B. and A. (the dis- 

 ciples of the law) and Fred, the cook, took 

 a blazed' trail on the summit; while E., 

 George, and your uncle went with the 

 team. We dropped into the waters of Ugly 

 creek and followed the left fork to its 

 mouth. From that point to the camp the 

 road is only a hacking, and at several places 



