_The American Naturalist_ draws attention to the well-known fact, that the larger game of the Far West has been long diminishing in numbers. This, it goes on to say, is especially true of the bison, an animal which is unable to escape from its pursuers, and which can hardly be called a game animal. The once huge southern herd has been reduced to a few individuals in North-western Texas. The Dakota herd numbers only some seventy-five thousand head, a number which will soon be reduced to zero if the present rate of extermination continues. The Montana herd is now the object of relentless slaughter, and will soon follow the course of the other two herds. When scattered individuals represent these herds, a few hunters will one day pick them off, and the species will be extinct. Let the government place a small herd in each of the national parks, and let the number be maintained at a definite figure. Let the excess escape into the surrounding country, so as to preserve the species for the hunters. Let herds of moose, elk, bighorn, black and white-tailed deer, and antelope, be maintained in the same way. Let the Carnivora roam at will; and in a word, protect nature from the destructive outlawry of men whose prehistoric instincts are not yet dead. Let the newer instinct of admiration for nature’s wonders have scope. Let the desire for knowledge of nature’s greatest mystery—life—have some opportunity. Let there be kept a source of supply for zoological societies and museums, so that science may ever have material for its investigations. By securing the preservation of these noblest of nature’s works, Congress will be but extending the work it has so grandly sustained in the past, in the support of scientific research and the education of the people. MICHAELMAS. The brief September days are waning fast, And a soft mellow fragrance fills the air With Autumn’s sweetest incense; now the leaves Begin to colour, and the varied hues Of scarlet, amber, russet, crimson, dun, Hang over wood and forest. The bright stars Of the chrysanthemums dot everywhere The cottage gardens; the sweet mignonette Still sheds her perfume ’neath the fuchsia-bells; Scarlet geraniums and lobelias Are in their fullest glory; here and there A rose late-lingering shows her crimson cup, Though gone her beauteous fellows; and aloft The dahlia holds high her queenly head, The sovereign absolute of all the band. The swallows, gathering for departure, twit Their shrill farewell; the dormouse and the bat Go into winter-quarters; short the days, And chill the lengthening nights: For comes apace Mellow October, last of the three months That own the Autumn’s reign; then fogs and wet, And snow and ice and wind-storms close the scene. * * * * *