A KENTUCKIAN'S ACCOUNT OF A

PANTHER-FIGHT.

BY JAMES H. HACKETT.

I NEVER was down-hearted but once in my life, and that was on seeing the death of a faithful friend, who lost his life in trying to save mine. The fact is, I was one day making tracks homeward, after a long tramp through one of our forests-my rifle carelessly resting on my shoulder-when my favorite dog Sport, who was trotting quietly ahead of me, suddenly stopped stock still, gazed into a big oak tree, bristled up his back, and fetched a loud growl. I looked up and saw, upon a quivering limb, a halfgrown panther, crouching down close, and in the very act of springing upon him. With a motion quicker than chain-lightning I levelled my rifle, blazed away, and shot him clean through and through the heart. The varmint, with teeth all set, and claws spread, pitched sprawling head fore

most to the ground, as dead as Julyus Cæsar! That was all fair enough; but mark! afore I had hardly dropped my rifle, I found myself thrown down flat on my profile by the old she-panther, who that minute sprung from an opposite tree, and lit upon my shoulders, heavier than all creation! I feel the print of her devilish teeth and nails there now! My dog grew mighty loving-he jumped a-top and seized her by the neck; so we all rolled and clawed, and a pretty considerable tight scratch we had of it. I began to think my right arm was about chawed up; when the varmint, finding the dog's teeth rayther hurt her feelings, let me go altogether, and clenched him. Seeing at once that the dog was undermost, and there was no two ways about a chance of a choke-off or let up about her, I just out jack-knife, and with one slash, prehaps I didn't cut the panther's throat deep enough for her to breathe the rest of her life without nostrils! I did feel mighty savagerous, and, big as she was, I laid hold of her hide by the back with an alligatorgrip, and slung her against the nearest tree hard enough to make every bone in her flash fire. "There," says I; "you infernal varmint, root and branch, you are what I call used up!"

But I turned around to look for my dog, andand-tears gushed smack into my eyes, as I see the poor affectionate cretur-all of a gore of bloodhalf raised on his fore legs, and trying to drag his mangled body toward me; down he dropped-I VOL. II.

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run up to him, whistled loud, and gave him a friendly shake of the paws-(for I loved my dog!)-but he was too far gone; he had just strength enough to wag his tail feebly-fixed his closing eyes upon me wishfully--then gave a gasp or two, and-all was over!

'Twas in the flush of the summer's prime,

Two hundred years ago,
When a ship into an unknown bay

Came gliding-soft and slow.

The hoarse north wind had sunk down behind,
The weltering waves were past,

And the gentle gales just toy'd with the sails,
And hove them from the mast.

Up, and still up, the stream she bore,

As well I ween she might;

For her hardy crew might roam the world through, Nor mate that goodly sight.

Earth, water, and air, and the glorious sky

With a holy calm were imprest;

And each island that lay in that sheltering bay
Seemed a paradise of rest.

All, all was still, on river and hill,

At the dawn of that summer's day;

There was not a sound, save the ripple around
The ship, as she cut her way.

Then the sails flapp'd back, for the wind was slack,
And the vessel lay sleeping there;

And even the Dutchmen exclaim'd, "Mein Got!"
As they gazed on a scene so fair.

For the sun was glancing on mountain and plain-
Was glancing on forest and stream—

And the bright young isles (fair Nature's smiles)
Lay basking in his beam.

Anon-the land breeze, that among the trees
Had been loitering since break of day,

First kiss'd the night-showers from the forest flowers,
Then came out on the waves to play.*

And the birds that had press'd until then their nest,
Sprang forth the fresh leaves among;

And with thrilling voice, bade the woods rejoice
In the melody of song.

'Neath the grateful shades, in the forest glades,
The fawn play'd wild and free;

And the branches rung, as the squirrel sprung
Lightly from tree to tree.

'Twas a scene of joy, without alloy,

Nought marr'd mild Nature's plan ;
Sigh, miscreant, sigh at the reason why-
There was not a trace of man!

Not a trace of man, till a light canoe
Shot o'er the nameless river;
And in the far wood an Indian stood,

With arrow, bow, and quiver.

* "Hast thou been out upon the waves at play ?"-Ahem! Bryant.