, however, I mustered courage, and advanced to the spot. There lay
the victim of my first shot! It was one of my father's sheep! Poor
creature! She was sick, I believe, and went into a thicket, near a stream
of water, where she could die in peace.

I don't know whether I hit her or not. I didn't look to see, but ran home
as fast as my legs would carry me. Thus ended the first hunting excursion
in which I ever engaged, and, though I was a mere boy then, and am somewhat
advanced now, it proved to be my last.

SATURDAY IN WINTER.

I.

Our tasks are all done, come away! come away!
For a right merry time--for a Saturday play.
See! the bright sun is shining right bravely on high;
Make haste, or he'll soon be half over the sky.
Come! first with our sleds down the glassy hill side,
And then on our skates o'er the river we'll glide.

II.

Now, Harry! sit firm on your sled--here we go!
Swift--swift as an arrow let fly from a bow!
Hurrah! downward rushing, how gayly we speed,
Like an Arab away on his fleet-going steed.
Hurrah! bravely done! Down the icy hill side,
Swift--swift as an arrow, again let us glide.

III.

And now for the river! How smooth and how bright,
Like a mirror it sleeps in the flashing sunlight.
Be sure, brother Harry, to strap your skates well;
Last time you remember how heavy you fell.
Now away! swift away! why, Harry! not down?
Are you hurt? You must take better care of your
crown.

IV.

Up, up, my good brother! now steady! start fair!
Away we go! swift through the keen, frosty air.
Down again! Bless me, Harry! your skates can't be
right--
Just wait till I see--no--but now they are tight.
Here we go again! merry as school-boys can be,
From books, pens, and pencils, and black board, set free.

V.

Tired, at last, of our sport, home to dinner we run,
And find that, two hours ago, dinner was done.
But our meat and potatoes we relish quite well,
Though cold--and the reason we scarcely need tell.
Five hours spent in scudding and skating, I ween,
'Twould give to such lads as we, appetites keen.

VI.

At last the dim twilight succeeds to the day;
Our week's work is ended, and ended our play.
'Tis Saturday night, and we know with the morn,
Another dear Sabbath of rest will be born.
O'er wearied, we sink into slumber profound,
Assured that God's angels are watching around.