202 



RECREATION. 



dense scrub on the way, Nellie made 

 3 staunch points, none of which gave 

 me a shot, however. 



We got home at noon with 5 birds, 

 enough for one day. Nellie had made 

 at least a dozen points and had held 

 nearly all of them well; not a bad day 

 for a pup of her age. When the sea- 

 son closed she was better than many 

 an old dog. She is now a big, strong 

 dog, perfect in obedience, and bids 



fair to rank among the best. I love 

 to work my dog and in doing so I find 

 double pleasure in hunting. I can kill 

 birds without a dog; yes, enough to 

 be a game hog ; but I prefer my dog's 

 help, and I get every bird I knock 

 down, which counts for a great deal 

 to my peace of mind. During the 

 past season not a single bird did I 

 lose that showed any signs of being 

 hit. 



A MONARCH'S FALL. 



P. Q. LORING. 



When sets the pale October sun 



Behind the forest hills, 

 When in the woods the day is done, 



And the forest concert stills; 

 Beside a pool of water fair, 



A doe stands quietly, 

 As if she had been stationed there 



By wizard sorcery. 



And when it seems that all is well, 



At this closing of the day, 

 There comes her mate, whose antlers swell 



Like roots of dead wood gray. 

 A vain and pompous creature he, 



But with a coward heart ; 

 And every sound from shore or tree 



Will make his lordship start. 



A domineering old poltroon, 



But loved by the gentle doe ; 

 So he sends her first to the long lagoon, 



While he waits the trees. below. 

 A cracking twig 'neath a careless foot, 



A gleam from the hunter's gun, 

 And quick, ere there comes a chance to 

 shoot, 



From his slender mate he'd run. 



The hunter crouches in the grass, 



With wildly beating heart; 

 And waits for the timid doe to> pass, 



Or her lagging lord to start. 

 Often he's watched at the twilight hour 



For this buck, but all in vain ! 

 And now by the pond where the hemlocks 

 tower, 



He is waiting once again. 



The doe glides softly to the pool, 



To drink the water clear ; 

 She stands within the water cool, 



Nor dreams of danger near. 

 Then comes the buck, with watchful air, 



And slowly moves along; 

 Oft lifting up his head to stare, 



And see that naught goes wrong. 



His fears subside as grows his thirst; 



He eyes the water dim ; 

 Since she is safe who went there first, 



No harm can happen him. 

 Then comes a crash, a deaf'ning sound ! 



A flash in the grass he sees. 

 He feels a pang, turns slowly round, 



And sinks upon his knees. 



Perchance, as swift he leaped away, 



He'd hear the rifle crack ; 

 And he'd smile again, in his deerish wav 



As a glance he darted back. 

 But no grief he d feel for her so true 



Whose blood the dead leaves wet ; 

 For one can live but one life through, 



And wives are easy to get. 



A ruddy stain on his silken coat, 



A tremor in every limb, 

 A gleaming blade at his swelling throat — 



Then his lustrous eyes grow dim. 

 Who walked but late with haughty tread, 



As fits a woodland king — 

 A monarch with a crowned head — 



Is now a lifeless thing. 



