Then ye'd better git yer trapping's in the proper kind o' fix,

And go and hear the music when yer reel a-spinnin' clicks;

For he rushes through the water at a pace that's fit ter kill

When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!

[Pg 47]

[Pg 47]

THE SERENADE.

The winds were hushed, and thin and high

The fleecy clouds were drifting,

And through them as she sailed the sky

The moon's soft light was sifting.

Beneath her pale and tender ray,

Its silvery kiss imprinting,

All dew-bedecked each flower and spray

Like myriad jewels glinting.

Across the lawn there floats the sound

Of music sweet—entrancing—

'Neath a latticed casement, ivy-bound,

Where love-lit eyes were glancing.

The flute and harp and mandolin

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