But what I wished specially to relate about my poor father was the lesson of truthfulness which he inculcated upon me at an early age. He and I (I was then but a lad of twelve) had been hunting the ferocious Pilsener gemsbock through the wild Lagerland in which he makes his home. It happened one morning that we had parted company. To me was assigned the duty of beating through the Bier-Wald, the dense forest which stretches mile upon mile in unbroken gloom to the confines of the Boose-See. The Fates were propitious. Wherever I turned I saw a victim, and one after another I brought down with unerring aim twenty-four (as I thought) of these noble animals, whose horns are now worth a king's ransom, and might, even in those distant days, have rescued a minor German Prince from captivity. Hastening home with my booty loaded upon my back--I was a strong boy for my age, but of course nothing to what I have since become--I met my dear father just as I reached the door of the hut which served us for hunting quarters. Joyously I cast down my burden, and sprang to his side. But my father wore an expression of annoyance, and I soon discovered that the luck had been against him. He had indeed seen ten bocks, but for some reason his aim had lacked its accustomed deadliness, and he had come back empty-handed. I condoled with him in a boy's artless fashion, and proceeded to tell him how fortunate I had been. "How many have you shot?" he asked me. "Twenty-four," was my reply. "Count them," said my father. I did so, and you may judge of my astonishment when I found that twenty-six had fallen to my gun. I counted again and again. Yes, there were twenty-six of them. With one of my shots I must have brought down three. In the agitation of the moment I had overlooked this. I told my father that I had made a slight mistake, and endeavoured to explain how it had arisen. But my father was inexorable. "A lie," he said, "is a lie. You said you had shot twenty-four, you have actually killed twenty-six. You must suffer." Over the rest of the painful scene I draw a veil. The shrieks of my mother, who implored pardon for me on her bended knees, still seem to ring in my ears. Since that time I have always respected not only the strict truth, but also the leather thongs which are in use in the Lagerland for the droves of untameable cattle that roam the prairies. This was my lesson, and I have never, never forgotten it. * * * * * TO AN OLD FLAME.--(TWENTY YEARS AFTER.) A little girl, a charming tiny tot, I well remember you with many a curl, Although I recollect you said, "I'm not A _little_ girl." We parted. Mid the worry and the whirl Of life, again, alas! I saw you not. I kept you in my memory as a pearl Of winsome childhood. So imagine what A shock it was this morning to unfurl My morning paper, there to see you've got A little girl! * * * * *