ROSS AND THE CINNAMON. 



0. FRODUL. 



Our friend Ross, near Three Rivers, 

 thought last year that the bears were too 

 familiar with his mountain home, so not 

 far from his house he set a No. 6 New- 

 house 42-pound bear trap, with a 10-gallon 

 honey keg nearly empty in front of it, set- 

 ting it so the bears could reach the trap 

 only from one side. The next day Ross 

 visited his trap, but found no bear nor any 

 bear sign. Two days later he visited it 

 again, and when getting near the trap he 

 heard some suspicious noise. Going softly 

 to a spot where he could see the trap with- 

 out showing himself, he saw a 300-pound 

 cinnamon bear sniffing and smelling around 

 to locate the honey perfume. He finally 

 succeeded, and licking his nose and mouth 

 with great gusto he went toward the trap 

 and honey kegr. When he was in front of 

 the trap he looked at the spot with great 

 distrust. He was evidently suspicious. He 

 did not seem to understand why anyone 

 should leave an open keg containing sage 

 honey in the woods ; but the honey was 

 there and smelt tempting. He went closer, 

 carefully avoiding the trap, as if he knew 

 there was something wrong. Finally one 

 more step, right beyond the trap, and he 



could reach the honey. He put his head 

 into the keg. Surely, it was fine honey; 

 not much of it, but it was good, natural 

 unadulterated sage honey, of California 

 bees. Licking his mouth and his nose, he 

 was so satisfied that he forgot the whole 

 world, and putting his head again into the 

 keg, he sat down right on top of the 42- 

 pound No. 6 Newhouse bear tamer. 



With a terrible growl the bear sprang 

 high into the air, with the honey keg over 

 his head and the big trap fastened to his 

 hindquarters. With a loud yell Ross also 

 sprang up, forgetting all precautions. How- 

 ever, none seemed necessary. The bear al- 

 ready had the top of the keg broken to pieces 

 and the body of it was hanging on his neck 

 like a large collar. He had also torn him- 

 self loose from the trap, which was fast- 

 ened with a chain to a tree, sacrificing a 

 valuable part of his hindauarters. He did 

 not wait for Ross. Bleeding freelv he dis- 

 appeared in the brush, and all Ross can 

 show for his adventure is the part of him- 

 self which the bear left as a memory. That 

 bear never showed up again. He was 

 branded and could be easily recognized 

 among thousands. 



A DOG'S STORY. 



LAURENCE MOTT. 



I wondered why my master went a-walking 

 every day, 



Down in a certain shady lane, not very far 

 away, 



But now I know. He waited there a maid- 

 en fair to meet, 



And last eve as she tripped along, with 

 footsteps light and fleet, 



There came with her a noble dog — a grey- 

 hound, tall and slim; 



We made friends, and he was so nice I 

 grew quite fond of him. 



"Comrade," the greyhound said, "where is 



your pleasant master bound?" 

 "Just here, good friend," said I ; "he comes 



to wait upon this ground 

 Your mistress fair and young to meet, I 



am not certain why, 

 But think he loves her very much, for I 



have heard him sigh 



When he has failed to meet her. But my 



friend can you tell me, 

 Does your fair mistress care for him, or 



does she strive to see 

 How many hearts' her smiles can break, 



how fill men's souls with pain, 

 By casting their true love aside with cool 



and proud disdain?" 

 "Just look!" the greyhound said; the scene 



that met my eyes 

 Accorded well, it seemed to me, with June 



and summer skies. 

 My master's arms about the maid, her soft 



cheek on his breast, 

 Uoon his face a happy smile ; on hers, a 



look of rest. 

 "Let's go," said I, "it is not meet that e'en 



our eyes should see 

 The kisses that these lovers give beneath 



the maple tree." 



357 



