26 



RECREATION. 



while I stood with an empty gun, calling 

 myself a fool for having left camp with 

 only 5 shells. 



Dave wanted to follow the animal-, but I 

 could not see what we stood to gain by 

 that, our only available weapon being a 

 small hunting knife. I knew the moose 

 was badly wounded, and, if not disturbed, 

 would not go far. We decided to return 

 to camp and take up the trail in the morn- 

 ing. 



Neither of us slept much that night. I 

 did fall in a doze and was dreaming that 

 a big moose was carrying me off on a 

 marvelous rack of horns. What became 

 of me I don't know, for Dave called me to 

 breakfast. By the time that was finished 

 it was light enough to travel. We had no 



difficulty in picking up the trail, and, with- 

 in 50 yards of where he went down the 

 third time, we found the moose, stretched 

 at full length, and dead. He had run in all 

 about 150 yards after I first fired, but it 

 was in a circle, and he lay within 60 paces 

 of where we first saw him. 



One shot had hit the point of his shoul- 

 der, smashing it to pieces ; 2 had entered 

 the hips, reaching the lungs ; and another 

 had struck back of the shoulder, going 

 through and badly tearing the lungs. Evi- 

 dently he had run until he fell dead. I 

 used a .303 caliber Savage. 



Now what I should like to know is this : 

 Did the moose charge down the trail with 

 the intention of attacking, and knowing 

 what he was up against? 



A MUSHROOM BED. 



In July Recreation was an account of 

 some person at Akron growing mushrooms. 

 You printed also a photo of the beds. 

 Thinking another picture of mushrooms 

 might be interesting I mail you a photo 

 of the mushroom bed in our cellar. We 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY DR. J. W. MARSHALL. 



have mushrooms for ourselves every day 

 in the year. The accompanying photo 

 shows how they look now, and is an ama- 

 teur picture taken by my father, Dr. J. W. 

 Marshall. 



V. C. Marshall, 

 Owen Sound, Ont. 



THEY WILL RETURN. 



REV. F. C. COWPER. 



The days of the hunt are past and done, 

 The fun and the frolic are over ; 



I lounge by the fire ; high hangs my gun, 

 While curled on the hearth sleeps Rover. 



The crack of the log gives cheer to me, 

 I care not for blasts that are blowing : 



The smoke of my pipe floats lazily; 

 I stare at the embers glowing. 



Ho ! Rover ! Heigh ! Rover ! What's that ? 

 What troubles are wove with your 

 dreaming? 

 You quiver, you whine, my good hound 

 pup; 

 The scent must be lost, to all seeming. 



I, too, have regrets of hunting days, 



Though the pelts swing thick from the 

 rafter ; 



But the winsome weed my grief allays, 

 And I shed only tears of laughter. 



The winter will wane, the months slip by 

 Of the meadow hay and the clover ; 



Then, ho ! to the mountains will I fly, 

 With my gun, my pouch, and my Rover ! 



Professor: If a person in good health, 

 but who imagined himself sick, should 

 send for you, what would you do? 



Medical Student: Give him something 

 to make him sick, and then administer an 

 antidote. 



"Don't waste any more time here; hang 

 out your shingle."— New York Weekly. 



