y accord to actors of great deeds.

We remained on the beach four weeks, and had many pleasant days. We
have now returned to our respective homes, wearied in body but
refreshed in mind, well pleased with our trip, with each other, and
with a decided inclination for a repetition of the jaunt.

[Illustration: JOE CREED.]

We cannot leave the subject without paying tribute to our friend and
companion, Joe Creed. Joe is a large resolute dog of an amiable
disposition, a dirty yellow coat, and a small bright eye of the same
color. He has a keen sense of duty, but never leaves the blind until
he sees the game falling, when he proceeds to bring it in. He was
undoubtedly born for it. If two birds fall, with almost human
intelligence he gets both. Taking the farthest first, stopping on his
way in to pick up the other, he comes in with one swinging on each
side of his great shaggy head. They tell of him that he has been
caught stealing sheep. We do not believe it--it is a mistake; he may
have been in bad company, that is all. Joe was the property of a
gentleman on Long Island, and we trusted his exploits in the North
might vie with his achievements in the South.

"When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been;
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend;
Whose heart is still his master's own,
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls."

But Joe came to an untimely end; he was found shot to death. The
following was placed over his grave:

"Near this spot
Are deposited the remains of one
Who possessed beauty without vanity,
Strength without insolence,
Courage without ferocity,
And all the virtues of man without his vices."

_Born in North Carolina, March, 1875._
_Died at Jamaica, Long Island, March, 1876._

* * * * *

THE HAUNTED ISLAND.

"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old,
But something ails it now; the place is curst."

Far up the Potomac, in the shadow of the mountains, among the hundreds
of small islands which dot the river in that picturesque region, is
one which has the reputation of being haunted. It is but