Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 June 1884 — Shooting Deer in Summer. [ARTICLE]

Shooting Deer in Summer.

It was a delightful evening of May, 1870. I had been to listen to an able discourse on the probable immoitaLty of human and animal life. The faithful dog, the patient and long-suffering horse, and shy wild animals, were ably and mte estingly discussed. I returned home, and, aB my wife was away on a visit and I,was alone, I called my faithful hunting dog into the house w;th me.. Retir ng to 1 est, I fell into a fitful slumber, when I distinctly heard myname called. R sing up, i saw a nnst-like foxm, with beautiful, expressive eyes and a sweet, quiet voice said: “Come with me.” An irresistible power seemed to cont ol me, and we passed up into mid-air, above my dwelling, when, with a seemingly familiar voice, my

companion asked me if I would like to visit the Adirondacks. “Oh, yes," said L and, twining its transparent drapery about me, we flew along rapidly. As we passed along, I recognized the lake and the very place where, a year before, I shot by torchlight at a large doe, wounding her so severely that she was just able to get away out of the water and up into the woods. As 1 spoke to my companion she seemed to sigh, while a a shudder passed through her frame. Slowly we turned from the lake?- and passing up the side, we came to a beautiful glade, and, descending, here alighted where the tall, woody grass and ferns formed a natural bower. Looking around I saw two little fawns emaciated and starving. Their unkempt faces showed the want of the toilet of their mother’s tongue. Their little weeping eyes were glossy and deathstricken. I could only just hear a plaintive whispering bleat of the little dying infant deer. And, as 1 stood there, one, leaning forward, fell prone upon the grass dead. The other settled down on his little knees and closed his eyes in death. Near them lay the festering form of their dead mother. Turning away from the cruel, sickening sight, I spoke to my companion. She sighingly said, “It is the deer you shot at on the lake. Ah I” says she, “the Augel of Mercy passeth by on the other side and hath no tears to shed when the cruel man dies.” Heartsick, I asked to return home, and, as we neared my house, I asked my companion who she was. She replied, “I am the spirit of that deer you shot at, the mother of those dead fawns. —Forest and Stream.