A BEAR FIGHT IN THE YELLOWSTONE PARK. 



87 



gnawing the bones within 10 feet of 

 the gallant Kentucky colonel, to the 

 latter's great amusement. 



Although nearly all the men pres- 

 ent had cameras, only women and 

 children took advantage of the sun- 

 light and clear sky to photograph the 

 scrapping bears. The sport-loving 

 men stood around in a semicircle, 

 with pleased grins on their faces, too 

 much engaged in applauding the 

 hairy gladiators to waste a thought 

 on the black boxes under their arms. 



Scarcely had the women and chil- 

 dren time to wind up their films when 

 the brown bear, elated over his former 

 success, made another attempt to slip 

 up unobserved to the garbage pile. 

 To the casual onlooker it would ap- 

 pear that the black bears were all too 

 busy seeking their own dinner to 

 heed the brown's approach ; but a 

 close observer could not fail to no- 

 tice that the beadlike eyes of the 

 blacks were keenly alert. No sooner 

 did Brownie come within reach than 

 biff! biff! biff! came the great black 



paws on his unprotected head. An 

 elderly spinster, who seemed deeply 

 interested in the zoological show, 

 stood within 15 feet of the feeding 

 brutes and directly in front of the cin- 

 namon bear, when, with open mouth, 

 it made a dash for safety. With a 

 quick movement the frightened spin- 

 ster gathered up her skirts, there was 

 a flash of white petticoats, a twin- 

 kling of feet, and she was gone, never 

 once looking back until she slammed 

 the hotel door behind her. 



The astonishingly rapid gait at 

 which the terror stricken lady made 

 her 100 yard dash called forth the 

 wildest enthusiasm from the specta- 

 tors, and the colonel pushed the but- 

 ton of his pocket camera 3 times 

 without once winding up the film. 



Of course the brown bear turned 

 aside into the woods the moment he 

 was out of reach of the powerful 

 blows of his relatives, but it was of 

 no use telling that to the spinster. 

 She will always believe that the brute 

 followed her to the hotel door. 



A LULLABY OF THE SOUND. 



MRS. JEAN LE MUNYON. 



The restless waves, with murmurings low, 

 Are crooning a lullaby soft and sweet; 

 And the ebbing tide, with its steady flow 

 To'rd that mystic realm where the 

 surges meet, 

 Is bearing the ships that sail away, 

 And rocking my anchored barque to- 

 day. 



Rocking so softly upon the tide, 



I pleasantly, peacefully dream and sleep ; 

 The gray gulls noiselessly o'er me glide, 

 And lightly skim o'er the ruffled deep 

 As they circle and dip in the foaming 



waves, 

 Then speed away to their sheltered 

 caves. 



As I gently rock on the heaving bay, 



Watching the ships speed merrily on, 

 The falling wind and the shadows gray 

 Proclaim that the day is nearly gone ; 

 But the deep sings on, through its 



smiles and tears, 

 The song it has murmured for count- 

 less years. 



