500 



RECREATION 



scape, but even then we were getting 

 restless. We had accomplished the pur- 

 pose of our trip ; Christmas was at 

 hand and our thoughts began to turn 

 to those that waited so anxiously at 

 home for our return from the dreaded 

 Death Valley, whence some had feared 

 we never could come back alive. And 

 yet, after all, I have been in much 

 worse places than Death Valley — places 

 filled with more dangerous people — 

 and they right on the borders of that 

 civilization we are supposed to main- 

 tain and to uphold. At length we did 



turn back, and, beyond stopping to take 

 a few pictures, passed hurriedly over 

 the same trail we had followed coming 

 in, reaching Johannesburg and Rands- 

 burg almost exactly three months after 

 going in. The train that night bore us 

 to Los Angeles and home, bronzed and 

 happy from the outdoor life entailed by 

 the trip, and all elated over the hunting 

 grounds we had stumbled upon, all 

 promising to return "some time" and 

 have another chat with Morrison, an- 

 other try at the quail — but, as for me 

 at least, the time has not yet come. 



DAY -DREAMS 



By EDGAR KENNY 



There's a sharp little tang in the air to-day 



That carries me back to the hills ; 

 And the city's dull roar weaves a symphony 



Like the rush of the mountain rills. 



Yet it seems such a far cry from that life to this 



From the butt of a gun to a pen — 

 Was I really me when I trudged through those woods 



Or was I a changeling then ? 



Can this be the hand that would hew down a tree, 



Did that foot once wear a great boot? 

 And was that the knee that would kneel in the mud 



Awaiting the instant to shoot? 



Perhaps after all, one's a civilized man 



And built just to smile and to frown ; 

 But Nature, how strange and how sweet seem those days 



When one dreams of them here in the town. 



