250 



RECREATION. 



made the last jump I fancied I could 

 feel the hot breath of the bear on the 

 back of my neck, yet when my posi- 

 tion was firm enough so I could look 

 around she was some yards distant, 

 and had stopped. She was evidently 

 very hungry, for after a warning 

 growl she turned back to the meat, 

 took up a ham and commenced her 

 meal. After eating rapidly a while 

 she looked around at me, then ate 

 more leisurely, first from one piece, 

 then from another, until she was sat- 

 isfied. After that she came and sat 

 down in front of my shelf, licking her 

 paws, looking at me and, I suppose, 

 laughing at my predicament, while I 

 was getting madder every minute. My 

 position was extremely uncomforta- 

 ble, my fingers and knee having been 

 bruised in climbing. In fact, I had a 

 burning desire to go home and smoke 

 my pipe by the camp fire. There was 

 no such thing as getting up any 

 higher, so I had to grin and bear it. 



Finally my jailer started slowly away, 

 smelling at the gun as she passed it. 

 As soon as she turned the bend I 

 tumbled down, but both legs were 

 numb, so for a few moments I could 

 not walk. I managed to get to the 

 gun and buckle on the belt, and in a 

 short time reached the mouth of the 

 canyon. There, not more than 50 

 yards away, was Mrs. Bruin, drinking 

 from a little spring. I could not re- 

 press a shout of exultation, at which 

 she looked up, but before she could 

 move from her tracks a bullet from 

 my old Springfield went crashing 

 through her neck at the base of the 

 brain and her foraging days were 

 over. In skinning her I found a bul- 

 let embedded under the hide next to 

 the ribs on the right side. It was 

 from a carbine and but slightly bat- 

 tered. After looking her over when 

 dead she did not appear more than 

 half so large as on first view. I have 

 seen several much larger bears since. 



THE VALLEY OF FORGETFULNESS. 



E. H. BUTLER. 



Oft in the silence .of the midnight hour, 

 I dream of mystic vales that spread be- 

 tween 

 Our dusty journeys; or the pleasant green 

 Of little islands, fresh with shade and 



shower. 

 What of the weary ways, if in thy bower 

 With thee in solitude I lie unseen, 

 And dream of that which is, or ne'er has 



been; 

 Alike fantastic figments of thy power. 

 Love, let us hasten from the traveled ways 

 Which men call Life, across the dreamy dew 

 Of fields forgotten, where the robins sing; 

 Till in the breaths of sweet, narcotic haze 

 I find the Lethe, and forget with you 

 Our many weary miles of wandering. 



