ROUND THE CAMP FIRE. 



17 



occupying a stand; but about that time 

 the dogs jumped, the Squire's old hunter 

 pricked up her ears, lengthened her stride 

 and increased her pace. I attempted to 

 keep up gradually, but fell behind. Final- 

 ly I brought up in a tangle of grape 

 vine and brush. I tried to back out, 

 but I was also in a bed of green brier, 

 so my horse could not back. I was 

 obliged to dismount and cut my horse 

 loose with my sheath knife. When I 

 mounted again the Squire was out of 

 sight. I pulled my hat down over my 

 eyes, gave my horse the spur and leaning- 

 forward headed for the sound of the horn 

 at the best speed my horse could make. 

 Finally I came to an opening and dis- 

 covered the Squire alout half a mile away, 

 his old hunter standing still, with 4 or 5 

 of the other men and some of the boys 

 near him. An occasional blast on his 

 horn to recall the dogs warned the men 

 that the drive had been traversed and the 

 deer had escaped by a run which had not 

 been guarded. 



"You must have found following the 

 hounds even more rough than I expected, 

 but are you seriously hurt?" said the 

 Squire as I rode up. 



I had been intent on catching up with 

 him, but his question and a smarting sen- 



sation as I halted caused me to look at my 

 hands, then another twinge at my thigh, 

 and finally to make a general examination. 

 My hands were scratched and bleeding all 

 over; I had a gash in one thigh 3 inches 

 long and half an inch deep, probably made 

 by a thorn bush I had dashed through ; 

 and numerous other wounds. There were 

 many holes torn in my clothing, but my 

 face was all right, thanks to my heavy, 

 wide brimmed hat. The hat itself was 

 badly ventilated for winter weather. 



My wounds were rubbed with whiskey 

 and the largest were pressed together and 

 bound with a few strips of sticking plaster. 



The weather looked threatening and the 

 hunt was abandoned for that day. We 

 spent the evening cheerfully around the 

 great wood fire, and on retiring, a thor- 

 ough rubbing with whiskey left me in good 

 condition for the next day. However, 

 a long rain had set in and the drive was 

 over ; but not our holiday. A lot of young 

 people gathered and in the different homes 

 of the region, where we were always given 

 a royal Kentucky welcome, we spent the 

 remaining 3 days of our vacation most 

 joyously. Notwithstanding my somewhat 

 rough experience in the drive I shall 

 always remember the incidents of that 

 holiday week with greatest pleasure. 



ROUND THE CAMP FIRE 



A. L. VERMILYA. 



Pile the fagots high upon the roaring camp 

 fire, 

 While we tell the story of the wildwood's 

 joys; 

 Here the sky is clear, the air is soft and 

 balmy, 

 And we hear no echoes of the city's noise. 

 From the thicket's depths the whip- 

 poor-will is calling, 

 And the streamlet sings along its 

 cheerful way ; 

 While above us, in the breeze, 

 Sway the branches of the trees, 

 Where the birds await the coming of 

 the day. 



Pile the fagots high upon the gleaming 

 camp fire 

 While we smoke our pipes, and tell the 

 story o'er 

 Of the game we bagged upon the hills or 

 moorland, 

 Or the fish we landed on the pebbly shore. 

 Then we'll sleep, and dream of pleas- 

 ures for the morrow ; 

 Sleep and dream while lullabies the 

 cricket sings ; 

 Till the cool night wears away, 

 And the shadows dim and gray 

 Flee before the light the rosy morn- 

 ing brings. 



