THE FOREST. 



269 



bet there's a 'possum up there." I immedi- 

 ately got excited and proclaimed my desire 

 to climb the tree, find the hole and get the 

 'possum. Harry consented, with a suspi- 

 cious twinkle in his eye, I thought; but 

 nothing daunted, I started on my climb 

 with a whole skin and decent clothes. 

 Alas! I descended in quite another man- 

 ner and in a slightly different condition. 

 Going like a snail from limb to limb, fear- 

 ful lest I should arrive unaware at my des- 

 tination, I came at length to the hole, and 

 commenced operations. Straddling an old 

 limb where it joined the tree, I peered 

 down into the opening. From it came a 

 rapid succession of sounds, resembling the 

 click of a steel trap. I started back and 

 almost fell off my precarious perch, while 

 Harry chuckled softly. By keeping at a 

 safe distance I could see, in the 'possum's 

 retreat, 2 eyes and a lot of fur. They were 

 fully an arm's length down, and I was at 

 a loss what to do. I mentioned my pre- 

 dicament to Harry, who said 'possums 

 could not bite or scratch and were no good 

 in a scrap. He unkindly added, " If you 

 are afraid, come down." 



That settled it! Instantly I tried to get 

 a grip on that ball of fur, and as quickly 

 withdrew my hand, with 2 fingers per- 

 forated, and my arm laid open in 3 long 

 stripes. Harry howled — to keep me com- 

 pany, I suppose. 



By this time I was thoroughly roused. 

 Taking off my big felt hat, I covered my 

 hand and arm with it, and tried again. It 

 was of no avail, for I couldn't grab the 

 brute with this outfit, so I gave up the con- 

 test, much to Harry's glee and my vexation. 



" Come down, butter fingers! " he cried. 

 " Go sit on the river bank with your fish 

 lines!" 



Fish lines! It gave me an idea, and it 

 was soon put in execution. Taking a good 

 strong line out of my pocket, I unwound 

 about 6 feet and let it slowly down the side 

 of the hole, until the hook was well under 

 the 'possum's tail. Then with a sudden 

 jerk, I had him — but not out of the hole, 



for, spreading his legs, he gripped the sides 

 and hung on with great tenacity. How- 

 ever, steady pulling brought him out and 

 I lowered him by the string until he hung 

 just within Harry's reach, his legs going 

 like mad, and his vicious little jaws snap- 

 ping right and left. I was bound to get 

 even with that villain Harry, and verify 

 the statement that " He who laughs last 

 laughs best." 



"Why don't you grab him? He can't 

 bite and is no kind of a fighter," I said. 



I was getting even now with interest. 

 Harry did not fancy the look of those fly- 

 ing claws. Nevertheless, my remark had 

 the desired effect, for he made a vicious 

 grab, trying to get the animal by the tail. 

 I was prepared for that, and lifted the beast 

 a foot or so, just as Harry closed in. The 

 victory was complete; for the 'possum, 

 getting Harry's hand in his paws, held on 

 for dear life. I laughed so hard the line 

 slipped from my grasp, and the " critter " 

 fell to the ground. 



A great scratching inside the hole in- 

 formed me that madame also was at home. 

 I got her out successfully enough, but 

 while bringing her down by the tail, a most 

 unfortunate thing happened. The 'pos- 

 sum managed to get me by the wrist, and 

 stubbornly refused to let go. I lost my 

 balance and fell heels over head to the 

 ground, ripping my clothes to pieces, but 

 not hurting myself in the least, for the 

 'possum was underneath. 



Again the laugh was with Harry, but I 

 got even with him a second time, for while 

 he was crossing a stream by means of a 

 log, the 'possums, which had been put in 

 a bag, began to fight, and Harry was be- 

 tween 2 fires. He wanted to keep the 

 'possums and try to tame them, but he 

 also wished to go home with a dry skin. 

 So there he stood, keeping his balance with 

 difficulty, and finally falling off and almost 

 drowning his future pets in doing so. 



Now I maintain that the angler made a 

 better showing than the hunter that day. 

 Am I not right? 



THE FOREST. 



ARCHER. 



Here would I wander in the early morn, 



And hear the rarest music nature breathes; 



Forget the mad ambition of this life, 



Its vanity, its cringing shallowness; 



And near to nature's heart exulting rest. 



Drink of her crystal fountains flowing free, 



Breathe the pure air beneath the azure dome 



Of that vast temple made by love divine; 



Learn freedom's songs from ever rushing streams, 



Or wild bird's notes mellifluous and clear. 



