left hand trail to take in Half Moon Cave on our way through a rocky cañon. Nearly there, I felt a weight on my head, and reached my hand to the crown of my hat. Something tapped my fingers, and was gone, and a blackbird flew away in our advance. The thought struck us that familiarity on the part of a blackbird was in nursery days considered an ill omen. "Ha! ha!" I laughed, with a glance at my shadow, my sole companion, "we are neither as young as when we listened to ghost-stories with wide-open eyes and ears, nor as superstitious." We moved on; we would neither harm our black friend, if we could, nor await anything more from him; he only wanted to salute us in welcome to the hills. We stepped to the entrance of the cave, the rendezvous of owls and bats. Its opening was a low, broad, and well-formed arch in the solid rock, with wild gooseberry bushes nearly concealing it. The floor within was a soft, level bed of sand-the fillings in of many years' sandstorms. We eagerly scanned the old Indian pictures of warriors, animals, suns, and nondescripts, drawn in red, blue, and yellow over the entire smooth vault of the low ceiling. Our eyes were soon accustomed to the darkness within, and, discovering a smaller entrance leading beyond from the front room, we suddenly were impressed with an unpleasant suggestion. Sheep and goats might not sympathize with us in our distress at that moment, but horses and mules who have been stampeded on the plains by a prowling coyote, or something uncanny, while grazing at night around the sleeping camp, know what the feeling is. My shadow and I were stampeded, yet we had neither seen a coyote nor anything else likely to open hostilities with us. Of course we would not acknowledge that a spark of superstition clung to us (we would not so violate an American boast), yet we thought uneasily of the blackbird. We could almost see wriggling serpents, and grinning, bewhiskered catamounts peering at us from the darkness of the inner chamber as we moved about in their light. A terror seized us in a twinkling, and we beat a preVOL. V.-31. cipitate retreat to the open air, and away up out of the gloomy cañon, struggling for breath on the elevation, and feeling as if we had had a narrow escape from destruction. Again under way, we set the grasshoppers bounding to right and left apprehensively before our feet. A baby hare started up from behind a bush, stared at us a moment, twitched its nose and worked its ears, and with a hop, hop, vanished, in just a little doubt of our harmlessness. We crossed rocky ridges and dry wastes-which were just then somewhat wet with murky little streams running through them, from the thawing snows on the higher altitude-on down to the plain beyond. These difficulties were soon overcome by a rattling of steppingstones into line. My shadow and I were having a holiday. Every flower, every bursting bud, was for our benefit; the whole wilderness of smoke-pure air was there for us to breathe, if we could; every note issuing from the throat of a wild songster was uttered for our ears; and every winged bug that flew in our faces with a buzz and a hum of his own added to the whole. We After a weary scramble up a steep acclivity, we reached the realm of the pines. were nearly half way up the mountain side, furrowed and scarred by the elementary blasts and torrents of ages. We had reached our goal, and halted, gasping for breath, like fish out of water. "Chip, chip (Be seated)," called out a cricket from below, who had ventured almost above his altitude. We obeyed, took a quick, searching glance all around us, and, hidden by a copse, we were settled for a rest. Above we could see through the odorous pines the naked, gray, and craggy points of rock, standing tier upon tier in bold relief against the clear sapphire sky. Turning from the heights, we gazed upon the wild formations of the landscape before us—a succession of cañons, gutters, ridges terminating in "hog-backs," all spread out until they ended in a valley of scarcely perceptible undulations, and, beginning again, all was hemmed in by the foothills of the opposite range. Thin, fleecy clouds went sailing off into the sweeping, celestial sphere, and, barred, lay in translucent sheets on the precipitous sides of Guardian Peak. Down on our left we could see, shining in the sunlight, the tum bling, thick, yellow liquid of Mud Falls, and the thunder of the plunging water came creeping up the mountain side to our ears. Below the falls, on the course of the murky stream, we could look into Daisy Valley, with its bluff walls standing in a semicircle on either side of the grassy level, and its creepers struggling with little success to clamber up the perpendicular mass of rock. Daisy Valley, nature's little foothill parlor, gave no admittance to us. Its entrance is from below, up through the narrow cleft which is the outlet of the stream. The larger four-footed animals may use the bed of the creek for a trail, as no doubt they do, and reach the cozy nook, with its fresh, green grasses. Down among the scrubby cedars on the ridge straight below us were two deer, leisurely browsing. A moment later we discovered a wee little fawn gamboling about and playing with its frisky shadow. They were a family of three, happy in freedom, happy in each other. My heart warmed toward the buck, as I marked his notice and gallantry to the little one. I set him down in my notebook as a gentleman. The fawn-its every start, its every hop on its tiny hoofs, its large liquid eyes, expressed all contained in its nature: innocence, playfulness, confidence, and love for its dear mamma. The mother-her responsibility the heaviest, her heart the largest, with due regard and love for her mate, and devotion and an ever-present concern for her pretty little one. I began to philosophize. "The mother love is divine the world over," I wrote in my book. "Have we not, in spite of all our inattention to animals' domestic affairs, constantly proof of its strength brought before our unwilling eyes and understanding? In Africa the elephant, when hunted by the natives, shelters her calf with her own huge body, never wavering for a moment, until she bristles with the spears, and falls and expires from their many punc tures. She could herself easily flee unharmed, but she harbors no such thought while the calf would thereby be endangered. A human mother could not do more. Whalers in the lagoons where the young are nursed wound the calf first, knowing that the mother, in her attention to it in its distress, will fall an easy prey thereafter. She makes no effort to leave it while it has life, no matter how much attacked. Bears will face any danger for their cubs. One at the East tried to enter a farmhouse where her cubs were imprisoned. Alone they are shy, and retreat from human kind, if not aggravated by attack. (Near Inskip, said the 'Chico Record' a year and a half ago, a three-year-old girl, daughter of Henry Flynn, was kidnaped by a bear, who carried her away, and treated her with the greatest kindness the twenty-four hours she was in its possession, until, closely pursued, it was forced to drop its burden on a log in crossing water to make its escape. The child said she slept in its arms all night, and it made constant efforts to pacify her. This proves that the bear wanted her for adoption; that it felt a longing for something to care for and center its affections upon; that the ferociousness connected with its kind in general opinion is a myth. And a man who by accident ran across a bear in the Sierras, unarmed and where retreat was inconvenient, concluded to put on a bold face. Dropping on all fours, he slowly met Bruin half way. The result was a friendly salute. They touched noses and passed on, mutually satisfied with. respect shown. Had the bear had cubs, in her concern for their safety, she might have acted less kindly, or even had the man taken to flight or shown defiance, there might have been a different issue.) A stork near Hamburg, when the house on which was her nest and young brood took fire, stood still to perish in the flames, in her helplessness to remove her charges, and was so burned and crippled that she barely survived her injuries through the kind attention of a pitying doctor. Cats particularly dislike to wet their feet, yet we know of an instance where the kitten cast into the middle of a pond at dusk was found cuddled up to its mamma in its old quarters the next morning, both as dry as if they knew nothing about water. And are there not innumerable authentic cases where, with danger to their young as an incentive, birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles have faced death in many ways, their will and courage ready to obey any promise of rescue, however shadowy? Every cow thinks her own calf the handsomest, every tabby thinks her own kittens the cunningest, every mother raven thinks her own brood the whitest and so it is through all animal life, the little ones are worth facing danger for." The picture of the contented family of deer below me had sent my imagination to all parts of the world. When the spell was broken, I closed my book and looked again to see if the trio were in view. Yes, they had scarcely changed positions since I looked at them last. What a dear, happy little one! Full of play: how it reared up at the dumb and unappreciative bushes, and then gave a sideling start, challenging them to a race! I almost envied the family their peace and care-free days. How royally the buck poised his crowned head in the air! He had taken alarm at something among the thickets down in the ravine. Then the graceful attitude of the doe, as she approached and stood beside her mate, both staring down the gulch. A rabbit, perhaps, had startled them, we thought.-Bang! bang! Mercy! What a cruel deed! How unjust! O, the cruel tyranny of mankind! A Bengal tiger, or the lion of Africa, the king of all ferocious beasts, would do no worse! The buck had flown like a bird over the ridge. The doe, with a bound toward her little one, uttered one loud, despairing bleat, which smote upon our ears with a ring of murder in it, and then she fell prostrate upon the earth. One mighty effort she made to regain her feet; but no: her head swung around for a look to her fawn, then at her side, and sank helplessly. Her tongue protruded and her limbs were still, but for a slight twitching movement of their muscles. The huntsman came helter skelter up the hillside. His lamb-like face belied him. Good looking and of pleasant appearance in his jaunty suit. His movement was nimble, and his strides told that he felt himself a victorious hero, that he believed he had vanquished some terrible enemy. Blinded by conceit he did not see that he had furtively and treacherously taken an inoffensive life. The pained and pleading look in the victim's dimming eyes touched no tender fiber within his breast. The sign of remaining life only made him pull the keen-edged knife from his belt. A wicked thrust of its point in her throat, one heavy slash, and it was all over, and the hunter's heart beat loud with exultation over business transacted. The young fawn was easily taken prisoner while tugging for nourishment at the lifeless body of its mother. Roughly the hunter dragged it after him, with a strap to the handkerchief tied about its neck. How the little thing struggled for freedom! "Poor pet!" we said, "your happy play has come to an abrupt and permanent end! You will be cooped up in a little cage, where you will have more than you can eat one day and less the next; where your world will be about four feet square, and boys and even grown people will amuse themselves poking sticks through the bars at you; where the pain of your misfortune will have no sympathetic response. It were kinder did your captor confine your suffering to a moment." The sun was getting low. The hunter and his captive were lost to view. All for miles around was as still as if nothing had happened. My shadow started from her seat, and we hurried home, thinking and wishing, but saying nothing. Dagmar Mariager. LITTLE JETHRO. him to talk more freely of that home and its life. WHILE making a short sojourn in the city of B, during the year 1866, I found among the household servants of "C hostess my Mammy, she allus called me Jethroa little contraband, who had been "fotched des like Aunt Marty does now-but Marse up," as he termed it, "down Souf, on de Hiram, he mos'ly called me little Trip-toes plantation of King Hiram." He was an ebon- -kase why, does yo' say, Miss Kate?" hued, woolly-headed little specimen, of no "Yes, 'kase why' Jethro ?" earthly use in the domestic economy save as a holdfast on an excellent cook, who claimed to be his aunt and under no consideration would consent to be parted from him. From being at first merely tolerated as a necessary evil, he had become a favorite with the various members of the household, who were wont to amuse themselves with his oddities and ready flow of quaint talk. Furthermore, he was a soft-hearted, grateful little creature, ever ready and willing to serve you, especially if in so doing he could linger in the bright sitting-room, where the cheerful, open fire, the deep windows, with their wide, cushioned seats, over which the golden sunshine streamed, and the many soft rugs, which were his delight as resting-places, all appealed to his indolent, warmth-loving Afri can nature. "Why do you always call your old master King Hiram?" I one day asked of him, as he lingered chatting beside me, after performing some slight service, evidently luxuriating in the glow and warmth of the room. "Co'se, Miss Kate, dat ar am on'y dés a make-up, fo' he shore nuff name am Marse Hiram Partee. Yo' see, Miss Kate, he was powerful rich, en he owned mighty nigh all de kentry roun' dar; en he had swarms pon' swarms uv niggers workin' fo' him ev'ywhars, so de pore white folksy des tuk ter callin' him 'King Hiram.' But arter de war he went away fum dar wif all he fambly-you know whar Memphis am, Miss Kate? Well, dar am whar he lives now." "And you, my boy, what did they call you in your old home?" I asked, desiring to lead "Well, I 'spicion, Miss Kate, 'twas fo' de reason I usen sometimes to lie down on de mat des outside de doah of de gre't house, to wait fo' mammy when she staid late wif de chil'en en Mis' Mosella, kase I'se lonely sittin' in de dark down to de cabin. En yo' see, Miss Kate, two, th'ee times, Marse, he fell over me dar when he was coming outen de doah, long uv me bein' fas' 'sleep dar. Co'se, he bark he shins, en dat make him mighty mad, like it do mos'ly ev'y gen'l'm ; en at last, I 'lows, he patience gev out altogedder, fo' one night, I membunce, he got fur'ous, en des picked me up, he did, en th'oed me way off inter de grass, des like I'se a hopper-toad, en said: 'Lie, dar, yo' good-fer-nuffiin little Trip-toes! En min', ef I ever kotch yo' yere ergin, sleepin' on dis yer doah mat, trippin' up people's heels ter break der bones en crack der heads, I'll give yo' such er shakin' up ez'll make ev'y bone jingle in yo' little midnight skin!' But Marse Hiram didn't mean dat, Miss Kate, he was on'y mad des fo' dat minnit, en I know'd it. So I say, sort o' peart like, 'Oh, Lor'! Marse, don' go fo' ter do dat, kase I 'lows ter grow inter a t'ousan' dollar niggah some day fo' yo'!' Den he larf, des like I made shore he would, he was dat humorsome, Marse Hiram was, en he tho'ed a fip away off inter de grass, en said: 'Go hunt dat twel yo' mammy comes, yo' little humbug but don't fo'get wha' I tells yo' 'bouten des yer doah steps, kase dars no telling un yo' fum night itself atter dark.' Yo' see dat Ise oncommon brack, don' yo', Miss Kate?" "Yes, Jethro, your complexion is somewhat dark, I must confess, even for a full blooded little African. But what became of your mammy? Where is she now, that you are here without her?" "Oh, Miss Kate, suffen dreffle came to her w'at I kin't bar to think on, en yet I kin never, never fo'get it w'iles I live," he answered, the tears filling his soft, shining eyes. "When Marse Hiram went ter de big city ter live, he tuk mammy en me 'long, kase she was like to bre'k her heart at bein' parted fum Miss Mosella en de chil'en. Yo' see, mammy was gettin' a leetle ole, en warn't ve'y strong, so Marse Hiram, he planned fo' ter tek Becky, who was a young gal, in her place fo' ter min' de chil'en. But Mis' Mosella, she say she ruther hev mammy ef she was growin' ole, kase she was usen to her ways, en was so patient wif de chil'en w'at all loved her mos' 'mazingly. "Well, we warn't dar mo'n one week when pore mammy, she was dead-en in such a 'stressful way, too. She was crossin' de street one day, when, 'long uv not bein' usen ter de noise en confusion uv de carts en de cayages, en folkses gwine eve'y way ter onct, she got 'stracted like en fell down, en de hosses' feet trompled her, en killed her right dar, afore she could help herse'f. "Mis' Mosella felt so bad when dey fotched her home, she cried en cried; en she tol' Marse Hiram he mus' send her back to de ole home fo' ter be buried long side uv her chil'ens, kase she allus was faithful en tender ter dey own little uns, en ter dersel's. So Marse, he sont her, en me, too, back ter daddy; and he buried mammy down in one corner uv de brackberry patch, long wif my little brudders en sister. "Den right away, daddy, he tuk a new mammy fo' me; but 'pears like she didn't love me like my own pore mammy usen; fo' I'se mos' times hongry, en cold, en mis'ble; and I usen ter feel so sore en ache so at night-time, 'long uv totin' her babies all day, I couldn't sleep, kase how, she had th'ee chil'en 'sides me. En dat ar leetlest baby uv hern, Miss Kate, was des de mos' cryingest baby yo' ever hearn 'bout. 'Pears like it never could keep still one minute 'thouten I tote it all de time-it des wore me cl'ar out, it did. "But one night dat ar mammy en daddy, dey went off atter dark wif a heap uv other brack folks, fo' ter tend a 'stracted meetin' w'at was holdin' in de woods roun' Bell's Depot; en dey lef' me fo' ter tend de chil'en, des like dey usen ter do mos'ly eve'y night, kase dey's powerful fond uv visitin' en gwine 'bout eve'ywhars. Atter dey was gone a spell en de chil'en was fas' 'sleep, I began fo' ter feel lonely, en like I wanted ter see my own mammy onct mo'; en 'peared like 'twould take de ache all outen my bones, ef I could des lie down in her arms en hev her sing ter me des like she usen ter do atter her wuk was done. I was sittin' on de groun' dar, des like I tells yo', outside de cabin doah— kase 'twas so dark en fearsome inside-cryin', all still, ter myse'f, so ez not ter wake dat ar baby, en wonderin' ef mammy know'd I'se dar, en how hongry, en cold, en mis'ble I felt, when-what yo' t'ink, Miss Kate?—'long come Aunt Marty, en cotched me up in her arms en toted me off ter her own cabin on Marse Clopton's place-fo' shore, she did, Miss Kate!-en she kep' me dar all night; en in de mo'nin', des ez soon ez we could see, she woke me up en gev me some bre❜kfas', des ez much ez ever I could eat, en den she say: "Now, Jethro, we mus' be gwine outen dis yer 'fore yo' daddy comes huntin' un yo', fo' ter tek yo' back to be a nigger ter dat ar' shif'less woman Ca'line, w'at he calls he wife, en w'at he done tuk up wif afore de sun ever shone on yo' pore mudder's grave. I'clare, chile, it do 'pear like yo's nuffin' but skin en bones 'long uv luggin' roun' dem gre't yaller pickanninies uv hern!-en yere am gre't welts on yer back en legs, bigger'n my finger, whar dat woman hev paddled yo'. I 'lows yer fader's heart mus' be harder'n ole Pharaoh's ever was, fo' ter stan' dat ar.' "En den Aunt Marty, she 'lowed, she did, I mus' 'a' been e'enamos' starved ter def; kase how, I e't des' like a young b'ar. But yo' mus' come 'long now,' she said; 'yo' kin bring de hoe-cake wif yo' fo' ter eat on de road, en I'se got more on't in my bundle yere, |