BEAR WITH SPECTACLES. 125 



But that moon and that mighty sword 

 of silver in the air, the silence, the large 

 solemnity, the queer line of black heads 

 barely visible above the sea of weeds! I 

 was not right certain that I had lost any 

 bear as we came to the edge of the moss- 

 swept cypress woods, for here the negroes 

 all suddenly huddled up and muttered and 

 prayed with one voice. Aye, how they 

 prayed in their piteous monotone! How 

 sad it all was! 



The dogs had sat down a few rods back, 

 a line of black dots along the path through 

 the tall weeds, and did not seem to care 

 for anything at all. I had to lay my hand 

 on the preacher's shoulder and ask him 

 to please get on; then they all started on 

 together, and oh, the moon, through the 

 swaying cypress moss, the mighty river 

 above! 



It was with great effort that I got them 

 to cross a foot-log that lay across a lagoon 

 only a little way in the moss-hung woods, 

 the brave dogs all the time only a short 



