June 13, 1908.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
929 
circled the bottom and back toward the stream 
again, and then around a tall sapling they bayed. 
Speedily the torches were again kindled, and 
i sharp eyes located the quarry huddled in the 
crotch of a branch, his eyes gleaming in the 
torchlight, and his fox-like muzzle and sharp 
teeth showing clearly as he snarled at the leap¬ 
ing dogs. 
' A well-thrown chunk dislodged him; another 
caught him as he sought shelter in a, bunch of 
gray moss higher up, injuring one of his legs. 
Struggling and clawing to retain his hold, he 
slid part way down the limb; then the injured 
foot slipped, he overbalanced and, toppling over, 
came down among the eager, yelping pack. 
Boys and dogs swarmed together. 
“Geet heem, Jupe. Whoop, whoop, Blue. 
Shake heem. Tres bien, vite, Victor, vite. 
Heet heem, Adolphe. Knock heem off, Jupe. 
Keeck heem—das eet, das eet. Hurrah foh 
Ole Blue! he dun throated dat taime.” And 
the kill was made. 
“Less try up teh de far cornah er de fiel’,” 
cried Claude. 
“Non, non. das teh neah de ha'nted pine.” 
“Listen teh dat now! W’at de ha’nted pine 
got teh do wid dis hunt? Adolphe, yell alles 
’fraid er de ghostes. Cum on, boys. Yeah, 
Blue, you. Jupe, yer Red—yeah.” 
“Say, Feez, les doant go up dar. We dun 
lose ouah luck, suah.” 
“Oah! gheet out—ain't no ha’nts dah.” 
“Heali dose dorgs. Dev dun jump sumfin 
dat’s tolein’ ’em rite up dah—vite, vite.” and 
away, broke the speaker, followed more or less 
reluctantly by the rest. 
But the game did not tree at the doubtful 
spot, for swinging at the fence row, they tore 
through the thicket down to the flat again. 
Then around by the deadening and back toward 
the sjream. and then the hounds bayed the 
quarry in an old hollow log. One of the fleets 
followed him in, only to come tumbling franti¬ 
cally backward with lacerated muzzle and torn 
scalp. The other dogs tore at the rotten wood 
with tooth and claw, yelping in mad excitement 
and expectancy. 
“Yer, Claude, help me maik er smoke: das 
rite, wet leaf, on dis dry bresh. You, ’Dolphe, 
heap das pine top at das eend.” 
“W'at you t’ink, Anse—burn heem out?” 
“Me, ah reccum putty warm in dar now.” 
“Heali, Blue, watch heem. Eh. w’at dat—luk 
out dar. W’at Red en Jupe er doin'? Yeah, 
yeah.” 
“Vic. yer fin’ er sofe place dar, eh? 
“Mais ouie, vite, vite; dat’s heem—yeah, 
Jupe, yeah, Red—seec heem. Le diable!” 
The smoking leaves piled over the opening 
of the log were suddenly scattered, as a badly 
singed ’coon came dashing forth. The dogs 
were mostly at the far end. where Victor, hav¬ 
ing found a doughty spot, was trying to gain 
entrance with a pole, while they, excited, 
scratched and tore at the bark and wood. 
Feez, down on his knees, stuffing the burning 
leaves into the opening and trying to peer in 
to where the fire further down the log bit into 
its recesses, was nearly overset as the scorched 
animal dashed almost in his face. 
Toward the branch he fled, the dogs close be¬ 
hind. Into the water he plunged, closely fol¬ 
lowed by Jupe, who, swimming fastest, over¬ 
hauled him. Promptly reversing himself, the 
"coon seized Jupe by the nose, and with slashing- 
sweeps of his hind legs, sought to disembowel 
him, while the weight of his body drew the 
dog's head beneath the water, and both sank 
out of reach of the other splashing and swim¬ 
ming hounds. 
“Eh! Mauvais, vite, vite, ’Dolphe, allez,” and 
Feez sprang waist-deep in the water. 
“He drown Ole Jupe, quick.” And dogs and 
boys splashed desperately as they vainly sought 
for ’coon or hound in the uncertain light cast 
by the hastily kindled pine knots. 
“Le diable! pauvre Jupe, geet heem; dah 
he is, is lieem.—geet heem—vite, vite.” 
“Non, das tan pup yeah got Adolphe. Allez, 
allez!” 
“Ouch! das my han’, mauvais. Eh, heah he 
ees,” as a great floundering and splashing told 
of their return to the surface. 
“Heah, you boy, hole dem torches so we alls 
kin see.” And Jupe, spent and gasping, was 
seized and dragged to the bank, while the other 
dogs seized on the swimming ’coon, who, game 
to the end, renewed the battle. 
“Eh. das Red he got now. Vite, boy. Alles 
done.” 
By PAULINA 
“The ancient river singing as he goes, 
New-mailed in morning to the ancient sea.” 
-—Henley, London Voluntaries. 
T HE song of a river is perhaps the oldest 
melody the world knows, and still it has 
never grown time-worn. Marshaled from 
over the hills of antiquity, as universal as the 
winds themselves, it remains strong and fresh 
and clear in the ears of man. We listen to it, 
knowing that what we hear is the voice of the 
past, and also of the future. And even as the 
music of mighty waters quickens an heroic pulse 
in our veins, the harmonies of lesser streams 
soothe and immerse us in repose, for in the 
vocalizing of a river we always find the mood 
accompanying the motive, and take our cue from 
the martial or Arcadian phrases that fall upon 
our ears. 
And yet it is not of a river’s song that I would 
speak most directly, but rather of the river it¬ 
self; of the color, life and influence that is in¬ 
variably drawn to its shores and make it what 
it is. Having lived by one the greater part of 
my years, I have become somewhat of a ripar¬ 
ian ; in fact, wherever I go the sight of a river, 
be it great or small, native or foreign, seldom 
fails to awaken a sense of pleasant exhilara¬ 
tion, and set floating some ornate barge of fancy. 
From whence has it come; whither is it going? 
These are questions that move our minds to 
adventurous channels, that are rich with sug¬ 
gestion and fragrant with an atmosphere of 
promise and romance. But best of all perhaps 
is the gratifying assurance of world-communica¬ 
tion it conveys to us, as though this indeed was 
the open road leading to the utmost corners of 
the earth. 
I recall a pleasing impression I once gained 
“Nom de nom, me ah got heem—watch out.” 
And Feez, dragging a struggling mass, waded 
to the bank. Other boys in the water now lent 
a hand, grasping here a leg, there a tail, so 
that dogs and ’coon were quickly on dry land, 
where a short struggle ended the fight. 
“Nom de nom, das wuz er ’coon fite rite. 
Dem mitey nigh finish Ole Jupe. We’ll ha’f teh 
pack heem home. 
“Say, ah bet das Ringtail. Look feh he 
cripple fut—betcher ’tis.” 
“Mais oui, reccum so. Dar heet ees. Yah; 
didn’t I dun tole yer?” 
“Wist he dun los’ he teef, foah he got hole 
er my han’. 
“Huh, my laig dun clawed tuh. Me. I go 
home now geet sum sleem, cum mornin’; moon 
set putty soon now.” 
“Ya’as reccum we alls go. Come on.” 
Smouldering torches were quickly doused in 
the stream, and Adolphe shouldered Ole Jupe, 
Feeze toted the wildcat and Claude and Gustave 
each packed a ’coon. The tired dogs gave over 
licking wounds to follow at heel as the wearied 
hunters skirted “san’ ridge fiel’ ” and took the 
trail for La Maison. 
BRANDRETH 
when one morning in August we steamed across 
the yellow-green waters of the North Sea, and 
entered the mouth of the River Scheldt. As the 
big liner toiled against the current it seemed 
that this craft-thronged waterway must in some 
way or other be connected with every part of 
the globe. Even as we approached the thorough¬ 
fare ahead was marked by the red and yellow 
sails of fishing boats bobbing along the emerald 
swell of the horizon. Then as the Dutch town 
of Flushing came in view, closely packed be¬ 
hind an old gray dyke, its roofs tumbling one 
upon another and its windmills twirling gaily in 
the sunshine, we* met the full tide of maritime 
activity. 
The very atmosphere seemed made up of 
variety and stimulating contrast; the procession 
of boats continually coming and going stirred 
an unknown delight in the breast of the be¬ 
holder. Yachts, newly painted and flag-decked, 
glided by with an almost piratical nonchalance; 
luggers and brigantines, the breath of tropic 
oceans still lingering in their topsails, laden per¬ 
haps with such Eastern exotics as perfume, silks 
or mandragora, slipped in beside the burly hulk 
of a Hamburg-American freighter, while smaller 
vessels of every conceivable kind plied reck¬ 
lessly under the shadows of g/eat three-tiered 
liners. 
Nor was the life and activity confined alone *0 
the river. As we advanced, the shores drew 
down to the water and the current wound 
through green lushy fields, where peasants toiled 
in bright blue blouses, and sleek cattle grazed 
under the rustling shade of Lombardy poplars. 
Over the salty meadowlands, troops of small 
snowy gulls dipped and soared, while still 
further away the spires of a Belgian hamlet. 
The Ancient RJver 
