192 



RECREATION. 



Jove! I must be careful of those birds. 

 They'll be picking up something injurious 

 if I don't keep 'em in paddock." 



For rugged grandeur and grotesque ef- 

 fects the scenery of Australia is unsurpassed, 

 but on account of the insect and reptile life, 

 and from the want of an assured water sup- 

 ply, it's an uncomfortable place of residence. 



Fishing is fairly good in the lakes and la- 

 goons, and cliff-fishing on the sea-shore, al- 

 though dangerous, is excellent sport. If one 



wants to make hard work of it, there's sport 

 in plenty in the interior; for the country is 

 only settled 200 miles inland, and the " back- 

 blocks " are as wild and primeval as when 

 Captain Cook first dropped his anchor at 

 Cooktown. Perhaps in as many years 

 again, there will be no game at all left. As 

 it is, Government has been obliged to put 

 a £5 fine on the killing of every lyre-bird or 

 pheasant, the noblest game-bird South of 

 the Line. 



THE COYOTE. 



HARRY H. DUXX. 



A weather worn shade on the wide rolling mesa, 

 A swift footed friar in vestments of gray, 



A bodiless voice in demoniac laughter — 

 Wild dog of the prairie, I answer your lay. 



Roaming at will round the ranch and the dug-out, 

 Brazenly flirting with dogs and with men, 



Nothing on earth can excel your endurance, 

 In long, loping gallop o'er mountain and glen. 



Little diversion is there in your story, 

 Your foes are too many for innocent play. 



To-day you are born, and to-morrow you're rustling 

 In search of jack rabbits, your natural prey. 



I see you in line with the sights of my rifle 

 As up to the crest of the hillock you go. 



The dust cloud puffs up a long yard behind you; 

 You look back, and cheerfully grin, " Adios! " 



" Why is it," they asked, " that you let 

 your husband have his own way in every- 

 thing? " 



" Because," she replied. " I like to have 

 some one to blame when things go wrong." 

 — Boston Journal. 



