“That he who fights and runs away,
   May live to fight another day.”

[Illustration:  RODERICK’S FIRST SHOT.]

That was good logic.  But Carlo went farther than this, even.  He was for running away before he fought at all; and so he always did, except when the enemy ran away first, in which case he ran after him, as every chivalrous dog should.  In the case of the animal which I shot at, Carlo bounded to his side when the gun was discharged, as I said before.  For myself, I did not venture quite so soon, remembering that caution is the parent of safety.  By and by, 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.