The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1908-12-20

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We were kept cool by the current of
air so common of Chipola. / have
tried many kinds of water for fresh
water fishing, and have found none
that excelled Chibola river in these
points
|; After giving away all we could to
any neighbor we could see, our fish
boxes, made especially to take care
of the catch. were too crowded, and
we converted one of our boats into a
prison for our live fish, by mailing
boards across the top and sinking
same in the cool shade.
The Little Fisher Maiden.
There was nothing which added
more genuine pleasure on this trip
than the merry presence of the happy
girl or eleven. She was the sunshine
of the camp; her little voice of song,
when rambling among the flowers,
seemed recognized and echoed by the
song birds of the forest 1t seemed as
IL the squirrels, with their laugh of
chatter, came running down the tim
Der to greet her as she passed. You
would imagine all nature here sought
10 make her queen of the forest.
None of the party became tired, for
the ladies and the little fisher-maiden.
selves in various ways, taking the
small creek for bathing headquarters
The party was really sad when teams
drove up to camp the last day to
carry us home. OF course, we iced
down the remaining fish to bring
home for neighbors and friends. We
had lots of friends, too, on our re-
turn, for friends are always numerous
when there's something to be given
away to them.
This weeks outing, venture to say
is today registered in the memory of
each one, as some of the pleasantest
days of their lives
A Later Visit.
Some years afterward I had occa-
sion to be in these parts hunting
was somewhat out of my way. In
order to get located ! Travelled toward
the river which, by chance, brought
me suddenly up to the bank at this
very spot There stood the old
cedar with its head bowed down as il
in grief. Then. too, noticed some
of the stobs which had formed some
of the legs off, our table. The same oil
log on which We sat at night by the
camp fire. A little further the sandy
landing was clean and white; with its
no one had been there since we left.
/ remembered, too, what a change. for
the last time saw this spot the sand
was full of tracks made by the feet
of the little fisher-maiden. remem-
bered how she xaeslld rash up the
bank to tell mama Of her success in
the days fishing; and as j watched
the stream gliding slowly downward
the waters seemed to mourn to my
soul. Going a little further down 4 |
recognized the sound Of the voice OF
the same gurgling creek, but its tone
was changed. for then the waters
seemed to laugh; now, it was "a
though it were shedding tears. The
note of the red bird reminded me or
the days spent there hast, and my
heart was thrilled with pain and grief,
for all these spoke to me of our little
fisher-maiden, who loved them all SO
we'll. She could return no more to
drink of the brooks cool water, or
mingle her song with that of the birds |
or bless all nature here, for 49,
The light of her young life went down |
AS sinks behind the nil,
The glory of setting star,
Clear, suddenly and still.
AS pure and bright, her fair brow
seemed,
Eternal as the sky;
And like the brooks low song, her |
voice,
A sound which could not die.
There seemed q shadow on the day,
Her smile no longer cheers;
A dimness on the stars at night,
Like eyes that look through tears.
Alone unto our Fathers will
3 One thought hath reconciled,
That He whose love excefleth ours
Hath taken home His child.
And So it is in this life of ours,
A calm may be on the present hours,
But the calmest hour of festive glee
May turn the mother OF woe to thee. |
Don't Kick.
Johnny-What did you lick me for? |
H. L.