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Ten Cents a Copy. ‘ 
— 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JAN. 15, 1874. 

For Forest and Stream. 
THE FLOWER’S REVENGE, 
———— 
[FROM THB GERMAN. ] 
BY E. GC. @.- 
O } ecouch of downy pillows 
Lies a maiden, sleep beguiled, 
On her cheeks the color flushing, 
Veiling dreams beneath her eyelid. 
Poised upon its costly salver, 
Sways a chalice heaped with flowers, 
Wafting incense, dreams and perfume 
On the slowly passing hours. 
Laden with the fragrant message, 
Heavy hangs the air above her; 
Hardly stir her cloudy tresses 
In the summer winds that love her. 
Through the silence, dim and dreary, 
Suddenly a quaint voice calleth: 
Quick from flow’ret and from leaflet, 
Soft and low an answer falleth. 
From the white and gay corollas 
See the flower spirits springing, 
Wrapt in rolls of sheeny splendor 
Crowus and spears in order bringing. 
From the roses’ crimson bosom 
Shyly smiles a queenly maiden, 
_ Lightly float her airy tresses, 
. That with dewy pearls are laden. 
From the rare old helmet-blossom, 
With its leaves of sombre blue-green, 
Leaps a warrior, clad in armor, 
Face and name doth visor screen. 
Waves a long plume from his helmet, 
Rivaling the snow in whiteness; 
And the lily wafts his fair bride, 
With a veil of cobweb lightness 
From the tulip’s rainbow chalice 
Starts an Arab, garments flowing, 
And upon his swarthy features 
Fierce the desert strength is glowing. 
From the tiger-lily’s petals 
Steps a hunter of the wild chase; 
And the deep blue Iris blossom 
Yields up satyrs of the wood race. 
From the bed of the narcissus 
Wakes a youth with raven tresses, 
Swinging upward to the sleeper, 
Kisses her and wildly presses. 
Quickly haste, then, fauns and fairies, 
Each to kiss or clasp the sleeper. 
Yet their singing and their sighing 
Only makes her rest the deeper. 
“Maiden,” sing they, “earthly maiden, 
Rudely have you nipped our blooming; 
In this silver fretted prison 
All our beauty we’re entombing! 
Oh how happy in the brown earth 
Did we live thro’ early spring time! 
Then'the golden sunlight—starlight, 
Made the soul of leaf to leaf chime! 
“All the loving winas and zephyrs 
Swayed our blushing petais gladly; 
And at night in fairy circles 
Did we dance and warble madly; 
* Dews and rains withheld no blessing; 
Now we droop and pine in sorrow; 
Yet before we fade and perish, 
Strength for vengeance we will borrow!”’ 
Silence reigns among the fairies, 
As they light upon the sleeper; 
All the air is heavy perfume, 
Yet the maiden’s dreams grow deeper. 
What a rustling! what a sighing! 
How the maiden‘s cheeks are burning! 
How the spirits keep on breathing, 
Heedless of her restless turning! 
When the sun uprose in splendor 
Spirit and fairy faded slowly, 
On the couch they left the maiden 
Deeply sleeping, sleeping wholly! 
Like a withered blossom lying, 
With the color paling faintly— 
Did their vengeance eurse or bless her? 
For her rest ig deep and saintly! 
) Scanning objects critically, and watching for “‘signs.” After 
‘motions very slow after this. When I lifted a foot for- 
{ Volume I, Number 23. 
103 Fulton Street. 

ashort hasty circuit, and stole up to the place where I last 
saw her. She had entered a small patch of brush; 
and, after examining the ground beyond, I was satisfied my 
game was lying down in this brush, and not fifty paces dis- 
tant. My only hope rested now on a shot at her ‘‘on the 
fly.” Bringing my rifle to my shoulder, and whistling 
softly, the fawn, instead of raising up quickly to see what 
was up, had winded me, and with a mighty leap over brush, 
flag up, and really frightened, promised to distance all pur? 
suers. As she was in the air on her third leap, I spoke to 
her through my powder trumpet plainly, ‘‘stop.” She only 
partially obeyed. I had caught her on the point of a ball 
just under the right flank, the ball ranging forward, crash- 
ing through the left shoulder, entirely disabling it; and yet 
in this terrible predicament, she led me a race of a mile, 
dodging behind trees, lying down behind logs and peering 
over the top, always on her guard, and anticipating my 
approach before I eoulc sight her. But bleeding badly, she 
fiftally became weak, and at last turned on her course, came 
back to meet me, and within three paces, lay down nearly 
at my feet, tame and docile as a cosset lamb that has been 
wont to take its food from the hand. The destructive ele- 
ment yielded to one of pity. I walked up, put my hand on 
its head, patted its neck, and without an expres- 
sion of fear, it put its nose into the hand that had been 
raised against its life! Pitying its suffering condition, and 
as an act of charity, I passed a ball through its head, and 
she yielded up the life she had struggled so guardedly to 
protect. I drew her back, deposited her with her dead 
mates, and casting a satisfied look over my shoulder as I 
passed beyond the sight of my treasures, found my way 
back to town, after an absence of three hours and 
thirty minutes, a wiser and abler man. I offered to give 
odds over all competitors as against Old Probabilities. 
Be kind enough to thank him for me, and assure him that 
his counsel on the deer question is of paramount consider- 
Hunting Deer in linnesota. 
ONE DAY‘S SPORT. 
BRAINARD, Min., Dec. 24, 1878. 
EpiTor Forrest anp Stream:— 
A few days ago, feeling that the monotony of the office 
was wearing heavily upon me, I threw my trusty ‘‘Wesson” 
on my shoulder and started for a brushy marsh some three 
miles south-west of town. The snow lay full ten inches 
deep, with no crust. The barometer indicated a change in 
the weather, wind blowing from the south-west, the atmos- 
phere moderately temperate for a winter day, and clouds 
obscuring the sun. This being the second day after quite 
a storm of snow, with the thermometer above the freezing 
point, Old Probabilities suggested to me that this was a 
very favorable day to be in the woods. I-moved along 
against the wind leisurely, stopping every now and then, 











































about an hour’s walk, just on the edge of a little area of 
/brushy land, I discovered two fresh tracks. A careful ex- 
amination satisfied me, first, that these tracks were made 
by fawns; secondly, that they had been feeding on this 
brush, and thirdly, that the tracks being fresh, the deer 
could not be far away. I took a careful survey of the 
whole visible surroundings, but saw nothing. I made 
ward, backward, right or left, my body was erect, and 
swayed almost imperceptibly; in fact, getting along ata 
snail’s pace, ten rods in as many minutes, and leaving no 
possible depression or elevation of ground unexamined a! - 
each yard of advance, eager and still careful, active but 
slow, I moved along through the brush, and looking across 
a small marsh, on slightly rising ground, fifty paces away, 
I saw my game, head down, and as unconscious of danger 
as the wind itself. I was in no hurry. And what a splen- 
did mark! In a twinkling my rifle pointed at the attractive | @tion always. Brprorp. 
: ——_—_——<e___ 
shoulder of the fawn. I knew it, because I saw that DUCK SHOOTING IN NEW BRUNSWICK. 
shoulder through the sights; and, as I saw, my finger, re- 
sponsive to the sense, bore three pounds on the trigger, a BY J. NEWTON WILSON. 
report, and, as the smoke lifted, the fawn raised her flag, fees ee 
leaped twenty feet in a direct line forward, and was off 
like the wind, wild, free and unhurt. I spent no time, 
however, in mourning over this result. I ran up to the 
place where the fawn had stood, throwing in a cartridge as 
I ran, and looking across another marsh, 150 yards away, 
saw the one I had missed so handsomely and its mate, with 
heads erect, ears working back and forth, snuffiing the air 
for any stray tell-tale scent, looking as only deer can look 
when realizing impending danger, yet unconscious from 
whence it may come. With one glance I took in the situa- 
tion, and at the same instant a thrill of immense satisfac- 
tion appealed to my consciousness. Fun ahead ! thought 
I, as the sight played along the barrel, on a direct line with 
one of them, and the unerring ball sped on its urgent mis- 
sion. Down went the flag and down dropped the fawn on 
the feathery snow. ‘Ah, ha! my fine fellow. You dodge 
another ball at fifty paces, eh?” Then I threw in another 
cartridge, drawing a straight line, and resting the farthest 
projection on the shoulder aforesaid, I clattered away and 
down went fawn No. 2, and I knew by the way he fell, 
stone dead. At this report, fawn No. 1 jumped to her feet, 
cast one look at her fallen brother, came over towards me 
twenty paces; but her wound was a terrific One, and wear- 
ied with her efforts, she, too, dropped to mother earth, quite 
dead. Ah, a proud moment is such an occasion to the gen- 
uine hunter! No statesman, hero or warrier, ever felt a 
greater degree of the ennobling, exalted “‘influence” than 
I did at that particular time. If it could but abide with 
me ! ; 
I continued my hunt for about 200 yards and struck 
another fresh track. The other deers were hung up safely 
in trees. Within five minutes I discovered a deer walking 
leisurely along—some 300 yards in advance. I did not like 
to risk a shot this distance, while the chances were favor. 
able to my getting nearer. She was moving with the wind, 
and to avoid permitting her to get the wind of me, I made 
M* London friend had been for some days coaxing me 
to go shooting with him. He wanted to see if our 
style of bagging game was like that of the old country. IT 
told him I was a poor companion for a person of his gun- 
ning qualities to go with, but he insisted, and we went. A 
delightful day in early September found us drawing near 
the landing, close by which was located the pretty little 
village of Jemseg. We were soon on shore with our traps 
and dogs, yearning to catch sight of a duck or a blackbird, 
or anything that had feathers and two legs and which no 
body owned. We were both fully armed and equipped, 
provided with an ample store of eatables, ete. The house 
we intended to make our headquarters.was situated about 
three miles from the landing. It was one of those bright 
and clear days peculiar to the early fall, and my friend 
Snobby acknowledged that our scenery was nearly as fine 
as in some parts of England. The shining waters of the 
Grand Lake lay before us, its mirror-like surface reflecting 
the shadows of spruce trees and the snowy sails of wood- 
boats. Farmers mowed their grass, whetted their scythes, 
laughed at us sportsmen, and chewed their soggy tobacco. 
Snobby and I jogged smartly along, carrying as many of 
our goods with us as convenient. After some warm walk- 
ing we were directed to the house we wanted. A tap at 
the front door brought forth a maiden of say fifty sum- 
mers, winters thrown in. of course. Her face indicated 
that she was one whom Nature had endowed with pleasant 
smiles, so essential to females of her tender years. I at 
once bowed low, and produced my letter of credit. She 
read it, and handed it back in a regular business-like way, 
saying, ‘‘We’ve got the scarlet fever here,” and shut the 
door. Snobby was very indignant, and swore. We were 
tired, and felt like dining; besides, our traps were heavy. 
We sat for a while on the roadside and rested our limbs. 
nobby London declared I was not posted in sporting, or 
else I would have had things differently arranged. A. 
