138 



RECREATION. 



FIRST VENISON IN CAMP. ~> 



One morning in November, I met a friend 

 on the street and the conversation that en- 

 sued landed me, together with 4 others, in- 

 cluding a guide, on the shore of Moose- 

 head lake 3 days later; quick time consid- 

 ering the distance, nearly 1,000 miles. Of 

 course it took some hustling, but with such 

 an incentive as a hunt in the big woods of 

 the pine tree State, it gives much pleasure 

 to throw a pair of blankets, a hunting suit, 

 a rifle and other camp essentials into a 

 chest. This we did, telegraphing our guide 

 to meet our train on its arrival. The trip 

 itself is a pleasure not to be forgotten, be- 

 sides the varied scenery. 



Our tickets read via Cleveland, Buffalo, 

 Albany, Boston, Portland, Bangor and 

 Greenville, Maine, where we arrived at 8.30 

 p. m. 



We spent one night at a hotel in Green- 

 ville, on the shore of the lake. With day- 

 light came the work of provisioning the 

 camp. That accomplished, we boarded the 

 little boat and steamed, 25 miles ud the 

 smooth waters of Moosehead lake to our 

 camp. We landed by canoe, our cabin be- 

 ing but a dozen rods up the shore, and 

 soon had a fire crackling in the old stove 

 of which the cabin boasted. The cabin, 

 14x15, contained a table, a bench, and 3 

 wooden bunks, which we filled with fresh 

 pine boughs. Add 5 men, 3 chests and pro- 

 visions, and room was scarce ; but we 

 crowded a carload of fun into it besides. 



We were not on shore half an hour until 

 each man, armed with his favorite large or 

 small bore rifle and instructions from the 

 guide about the inadvisability' of shooting 

 one another, was slipping quietly up the old 

 tote road, 2 going one way and 2 the other. 

 My friend and I had reached the end of a 

 small road leading off the main tote, and 

 having arrived without making anv noise 

 were discussing the advisability of turning 

 back, when I suggested that we walk into 

 the forest a short distance either way. I 

 selected the left, picked my way carefully 

 to a log and mounted it when, to my sur- 

 prise, 2 deer jumped up from the other side, 

 sprang into the undergrowth and disap- 

 peared in an instant. I had not even time 

 to discharge my gun into the air. I yelled 

 for my companion and after I had made 

 several attempts to describe the enormous 

 size of the deer he diagnosed my case as 

 buck fever. 



That night, with no venison in camp, we 

 mapped out our trip, with the assistance of 

 the guide, for the morrow; but the morrow 

 came and went and we ate a bacon and 

 flapjack breakfast the third day. I lost all 

 hope of ever seeing another deer, much less 

 of killing one, and about 4 o'clock in the 

 afternoon I trained my gun on a ruffed 

 grouse, awakening the forest with the re- 

 port. I then started for camp a mile dis- 

 tant, securing another grouse on the way 

 in. We had potpie that night, but it was a 

 dejected crowd that climbed into those 

 bunks. Five men 3 days in the Maine 



woods and nothing but ruffed grouse for 

 the inner man ! The wonderful stories of 

 the wonderful numbers of deer to be found 

 in the wonderful forests of Maine began to 

 seem wonderful indeed. 



The morning of the fourth day we break- 

 fasted before daylight and each man went 

 his way alone. My route was the old tote 

 road. I walked slowly, making no noise, 

 for 2 hours, keeping at my work with grim 

 determination, when suddenly I heard a 

 queer, crackling noise in the forest off to 

 my left. Instantly I paused, breathless and 

 excited; my eyes followed the direction of 

 the disturbance, and I scarcely dared to 

 breathe for fear of frightening the game. 

 Presently I saw something moving through 

 the undergrowth, and was about to shoot, 

 when it occurred to me that it might be 

 one of my companions. I withheld my fire, 

 and the next instant a big buck stepped out 

 into full view not 60 yards distant. As I 

 drew my gun to my shoulder he scented me 

 and threw his head up in a graceful pose. 

 I fired, aiming at his right shoulder. He 

 dropped; unable to rise, and kept his head 

 swaying from side to side. I ran forward, 

 whipped out my hunting knife, approached 

 and struck the deer back of his shoulder. 

 He rose to his fore feet and swung toward 

 me. Strangely enough, I did not lose my 

 head, but managed to get out of the way, 

 and then I struck him again, that time in 

 the heart. As his beautiful eyes turned 

 skyward, remorse came over me, and I felt 

 like a murderer. The agonized look in the 

 innocent eyes of that animal will live in my 

 memory always. 



The venison was welcome in camp, for 

 it was the first, and though we stayed 2 

 weeks we got but one deer each. I shall 

 go again, but not for deer. The next time 

 I shall hunt for bear, moose or wildcats. 

 I can never again take the life of such a 

 beautiful and harmless creature as a deer. 

 C. C. Eckfeld, Marion, O. 



A CHANGE OF FACE. 

 (Dean Lefroy, in denouncing the devo- 

 tees of bridge, says "their faces grow hard 

 and expressionless.") 

 Her eyes that seemed twin stars to pierce 



The golden cloud that was her hair 

 Now turn upon me with a fierce 



Glare. 



The ripe red lips so finely cut, 



To look upon them was delight, 

 Are pallid now and always shut 



Tight. 



Where rose and lily once did dwell 



Her cheeks are now quite worn and thin ; 

 She looks, too, older since they fell 



In. 



Her brow is seamed with many a ridge, 



Her mien is sordid, grasping, base ; 

 In fact, she's suffering from bridge 



Face. 

 — Tatler. 



