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‘Ten Cents a Copy. § 


For Forest and Stream. 
HUBERT DHE HUNTER: 

ORD Hubert lived, long years ago, 
In good King Pepin’s reign, 
The lighest heart and heayiest hand 
Inall broad Aquitain. 
He loved his home, he loved his king, 
He loved a winsome face 
He loved right well his noble self— 
But better loved the chase. 
The foremost in the knightly joust, 
The first in hunting train; 
The bravest brand in all the land 
Was crossed with his in vain. 
Small favorites with Hubert boid 
Were bookish clerk and priest; 
And some he chafed when sport was barred, 
By frequent fast and feast. 
°T was in the blessed Lenten time, 
The holiest week of all; 
The silence of the Day of Woe 
Fell like a funeral pall. 
No joy-bell rang, no light ws there, 
Nor sight or sound of mirth; 
The sadness of the Sacrifice 
Was on the mourning earth. 
By holy men, in penance garb, 
The shrouded cross was borne, 
When o’er the hill rang loud and shrill 
A merry bugle horn. 
The baying of a hound boomed loud 
Along the distant road ; 
With bow and spear and hunting gear, 
Lord Hubert reckless strode. 
With mock obeisance, spoke the knight: 
*“Good father, ban me not; 
No saint nor Pharisee ain I, 
But sinful man, God wot. 
“But deeds of grace may wash out sin— 
I pledge a hunter’s word, 
The fattest buck in gloomy Hartz, 
This night shall grace thy board.”’ 
Then answered mild the holy man: 
‘‘Forbear the awful erime, 
Of him who sheddeth sinless blood, 
Tn holy Easter time. 
“An erring servant of the Lord, 
Nor ban nor curse may suy, 
But may the gentle Christ forgive 
Thy foul affront, I pray.”’ 
The town is passed; the forest deep, 
Is still and cold and gray: 
So silent, you might deem the brutes 
Reyered the sacred day. 
Now deeper, deeper grows the wood, 
And darker grows the gloom; 
And colder chills assault the heart, 
Like breezes from the tomb. 
The broken twig hangs motionless, 
The budding leaf is still; 
The sunless winter of the North, 
Is not more dark and chill. 
Lord Hubert bore the stoutest heart 
In all broad Aquitain, 
Yet, but for very shame, had wished 
Him fairly home again. 
So deadly calm the awful wood, 
The winding of his horn 
Was lostin space; nor echo e’en 
Was backward to him borne. 
“Good faith!” he cried; “the holy man 
Shall venison lack to-day,”; 
When lo! before his startled gaze 
A quarry stood at bay. 
Stout Hubert drew a deadly shaft, 
His aim was true and keen; 
And fairer mark a hunter's skill 
Had seldom found, I ween, 
{ Volume I, Number 14, 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, NOV. 43,1873. | RAS 

He drew the arrow to the head, 
His aim was keen and true; 
Then sudden fell the bowjand shaft, | 
And fell stout Hubert too. 
For mid the branching antlers there, 
Upon a forehead white, 
The symbol of the gentle Christ 
Was marked in dazzling light. 
At holy cross on beastly front, 
The huntsman pressed the sod, 
And heard, like him of Israel, 
The accents of a God. 
% * a * 4 u 
The joy-bells rang on Easter morn; 
The good folk held the feast, 
And watched the conscious rising sun 
Dance gladly in the East.* 
Lord Hubert knelt in humbled heart, 
And prayed for grace to teach 
The lesson taught by Heaven to him, 
Through brute’s inspired speech. 
That gentle sport in season meet, 
Awakes not Heaven’s wrath; 
But wo the wretch for sinless life, 
Who no compassion hath. 
That bird and beast are in His care, 
Whose lives are but a span, 
And he that wastes offendeth God, 
Who gave the breath to man. 
And honest sportsmen evermore, 
Are merciful indeed, 
For good Saint Hubert blesseth him 
Who heeds his gentle creed. 
J. J. RocweE. 
*It is an old tradition that the sun dances with joy on Easter Sunday 
Avid Life in Hlorida. 
CAMPING AMONG THE SEMINOLES. 
morning. 




NUMBER TWO. 
(2 Sees 
Tre Sranch ror LAkE OKEECHOBEE—LOsT IN THE Cy- 
PRESS SWAMPS—CaTTLE HERDERS—INDIAN PARKER’S 
Honesty—Myriabs OF GAME. 
AKE OKEECHOBEE is almost as little known now 
as it was one hundred years ago, when it rejoiced in 
the name of Mayaco. Then everything mysterious and 
inexplicable was referred to Lake Mayaco. The source of 
the river St. John’s, even now unsettled, was said to be 
there. Another river, the St. Lucie, had its rise there, and 
strange tales were told of the wonderful lake by a Spanish 
captive, who reached it by this river. The wonderful sa- 
cred vulture of Bartram, so vividly described by that nat- 
uralist, was said to be a resident of Okeechobee, and hasn’t 
been seen since its first description, a century ago. With 
a few rare exceptions, during the Seminole war, Lake 
Okeechobee has not been visited by white men. There is 
no portion of our great western domain of the same area 
so completely unknown to us. There the Seminole is said 
to have his best plantations and choicest hunting grounds. 
In the secure fastnesses of the Everglades he may bid de- 
fiance to our largest armies, and laugh at every effort to 
secure him, 
When I found myself within six miles of the great lake, 
I thought that I should soon penetrate the dark belt of cy- 
press that surrounded it and disclose some of the wonders 
locked within its mysterious shores. I had the promise 
from my Seminole guide that he would fetch me to its 
shores ere another sun had set. Making every preparation, 
the morning agreed upon I sought my guide. To my sur- 
prise, he refused to go, alleging, as his only reason, that 
Tiger wouldn’t let him. All my persuasions were useless. 
Offers of revolver, bowie knife, and money were alike un- 
availing. Tiger was chief in the head chief’s absence, and 
could not be disobeyed. The reason of Tiger’s veto, as I 

afterwards &certained, was that I had not counselled him 
first, and he felt affronted. At last a happy thought struck 
me. Would he go within a mile of the lake? Yes, he 
would do that; and we were soon on the trail leading west- 
ward. We passed through a small settlement of shanties, 
the inhabitants of which had gone ona hunt, leaving all 
their household goods stored away beneath the palmetto 
thatch. Over broad prairies we travelled without seeing 
an indication of life, and through pine barrens without a 
single animal visible; all had been killed, probably, by the 
Indians. Soon we left the dense swamp that circled the 
edge of the piney woods, and struck a wide stretch of prai- 
rie extending north and south as far as the eye could reach, 
West we could sce the tall cypress said to border the lake. 
Just as we reached a little clump of palmettos, about mid- 
way the prairie, a thunder storm—such as only Florida is 
capable of—burst upon us. For an hour the flood came 
down, and drenched us and our goods, although we were 
covered with the broad leaves of the palmetto. 
Soon it was over, and the sun came out, and there was a 
solemn hush, broken only by a low, sullen roar, like the 
roll of the sea, coming from the west. I knew without 
| other explanation what that was. It was the breaking of 
the surf upon the shore of Lake Okeechobee. So near, 
yet likely to remain as unseen as though I was a hundred 
miles away, for my Indian guide refused to go further, and 
to seek a trail was an almost hopeless task. No present 
would tempt him; no amount of persuasion move him. So 
we left him to return to his camp, and pursued our way to- 
ward the north. All that afternoon we hunted for a trail 
that would take us to the lake; but none was found, and 
so we made our fire beneath alone clump of pines at night, 
having accomplished nothing. Over thirty years before 
had the troopers, hunting the Seminoles, camped in this 
very place: There existed here but one trace of civiliza- 
tion, and that was the old wagon trail over which the sup- 
plies for Fort Van Swearengen and the lower forts were 
drawn. Though unused since the Indian war, except by 
some settler fleeing from the dread of conscription during 
the rebellion, it still showed to the experienced eye where 
the wheels had worn. Howstrange that impression should 
remain so long! Though at first unable to discover the 
slightest trace of it, IT could soon follow its course almost 
instinctively, as sometimes the evidence of its existence 
were so indefinite that I could hardly tell what it was that 
showed it. It might be a worn palmetto root, a different 
kind of grass, or a slight depression in the reicntive soil; 
sometimes, seeing it rods away, a close examination near 
would fail to reveal its presence. Next morning we fol- 
Jowed the trail till it lost itself in a swamp, and then we 
struck the piney woods, intending to swing around till we 
could fetch Fort Bassenger, on the Kissimer river. On and 
on we went, till our passage seemed stopped by a black, 
deep creek, overhung with dark cypress, and swarming 
with alligators. This creek was no doubt flowing directly 
into Okeechobee, but, as much as I wanted to go with it, 
I was powerless for the want of a boat. There was noth- 
ing for us but to cross it, though we were obliged to swim 
with the criticising gaze of dozens of alligators fixed upon 
us, and dodge fallen trees and tangled vines as best we 
could. Beyond was another swamp, and still beyond this 
a broad stretch of blessed prairie. Over this we cantered 
for miles, then through deep woods, now through swamps, 
belly deep in mud, and still no signs of the signal smokes 
that were to indicate the hunter’s camp at Fort Bassenger. 
Before night it dawned upon us that we were lost. Now, 
so long as a man will fight off the conviction that he is lost 
there is hope that he may eventually find his way out. But 
my guide, no sooner than this idea had dawned upon him, 
gave himself over to the most unreasonable of actions and 
doings. Heretofore I had trusted in him implicitly, but I 
now saw that his reason was gone for the time, and my 
heart sank. Yielding to my persuasions, he camped in a@ 
palmetto clump, and we ate our last biscuit and piece of 
