family Amblystomidac. They are from 

 six to nine inches in length and have the 

 appearance of gigantic tadpoles about to 

 turn into frogs. These lizard-like crea- 

 tures have four legs, a long flat tail, gill- 

 tufts on each side of the neck, and an 

 obtuse, flattened head. They are of a 

 brownish color, semi-transparent, and 

 are slimy, uncanny looking things. 



The story that certain varieties of these 

 Water-dogs or Mud-puppies are market- 

 able in Mexico and are considered great 

 delicacies, seems incredible. Surely you 

 or I would as soon eat the lively little 

 chameleon that darts across our path as 

 we climb the mountain side ; or the harm- 

 less horned-toad that should have its 

 place in every returning tourist's collec- 

 tion of California curios. 



These little Water-dogs were placed 

 in a small tub of water where they could 

 be watched every day. It was found 

 that, whether or not a delicacy for 

 epicures, they were considered palatable 

 by hens and cats, — and to save their lives, 

 a board was placed partly over the tub. 

 For more than a week they thrived, — 

 though on what it would be hard to say, 

 as the crumbs thrown in to them re- 

 mained untouched. 



One day a hen was seen running 

 around in the yard, — the other fowls in 

 hot pursuit. This hen, like many another 



bi-ped farther advanced in the scale of 

 civilization, was so selfish that she had 

 no intention of sharing this choice tit-bit 

 with her companions. 



A cry of consternation went up when 

 it was found that this commotion was 

 being made over a poor, helpless Water- 

 dog. It was finally rescued from the hen, 

 but was found in a dried condition much 

 resembling glue, and was supposed to be 

 dead. When taken in the hand and bent 

 to one side, it remained as it was bent. 



I admit that it is with some trepidation 

 that I tell this story, for I realize that 

 many of the stories told in innocence and 

 truthfulness by the Californian are so 

 wonderful and strange to the eastern 

 reader, that they are not believed but 

 rather put down as very clever California 

 yarns. 



And so when I tell you that the little 

 Mud-puppy, when placed in the water, 

 revived and came to life again, evidently 

 none the worse for this experience, J 

 hardly expect you to believe it. Indeed, 

 I would not believe it myself had I not 

 seen it with my own eyes. 



There is not much more to tell about 

 the Water-dogs. They lived in the tub 

 for some weeks and finally, becoming an 

 old story, no one paid much attention to 

 them, and what eventually became of 

 them I cannot say. 



Harriet Williams Myers. 



THE OLD STONE-PILE, 



Year after year the old brown stone-pile stands, 

 Heaped long ago by patient, horny hands ; 

 Around its feet the cooling fern leaves grow, 

 'Tis here the largest, reddest berries show ; 

 The moss and lichens creep across the stones, 

 The drowsy bee o'er hidden honey drones. 

 The goldenrod its gleaming beauty flaunts, 

 The silk-weed sets its sails for distant haunts. 

 The woodchuck finds safe shelter down below 

 And here the last red rays of sunset glow. 



— Cora A. Matson Dolson. 



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