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the bear as a spectator, and went on with what I had begun.
While I was writing, a large fly alighted on the bleeding ear of my spectator. He slowly raised his right paw, and passed it over his ear with a cat-like movement. The fly took itself off. He looked after it as it went; then, when it had disappeared, he seized his two fore-paws, and as if satisfied with this classical attitude, he resumed his contemplation. I assure you I watched his movements with interest.
I was beginning to get accustomed to his presence, when an unexpected incident occurred. A noise of hasty steps was heard on the high-road, and all at once I saw turning the corner another bear, a large black bear. The first was brown. This black bear arrived at full trot, and eiving the brown bear, gracefully rolled himself on the ground by his side. The brown bear did not condescend to look at the black bear, and the black bear did not condescend to look at me.
I confess that at sight of this new arrival, which redoubled my perplexity, my hand shook. Two bears! This time it was too much. What did it all mean? Judging from the direction from which the black bear had come, both of them must have set out from Paris, a place where bears are few, especially wild ones.
I was all but petrified—the brown bear had at last joined in the gambols of the other, and by dint of rolling in the dust, both of them had become gray. Meanwhile I had risen, and was considering whether I should pick up my stick, which had fallen into the ditch at my feet, when a third bear made his appearance—a reddish, diminutive, deformed bear, still more torn and bloody than the first; then a fourth, then a fifth, and a sixth, the two
trotting in company. The last four bears crossed the road without looking at anything, almost running and as if they were pursued. This became too puzzling. I could not but be near the explanation. I heard barkings and shoutings; ten or twelve bull-dogs, seven or eight men armed with iron-shod sticks, and with muzzles in their hands, ran up at the heels of the fugitive bears. One of these men paused while the others were bringing back the muzzled beasts, and he explained to me this strange riddle. The proprietor of a circus was taking advantage of the Easter holidays to send his bears and his dogs to give some performances in the country. The whole party travelled on foot; at the last resting-place the bears had been loosed, and while their keepers were dining at the neighbouring tavern, they had taken advantage of their liberty to proceed merrily and alone on their journey.
They were bears out for a holiday.
THE REA PE R.
Yon solitary Highland lass !
Stop here, or gently pass !
And sings a melancholy strain ;
Is overflowing with the sound.
2. No nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,
3. Will no one tell me what she sings
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago :
Familiar matter of to-day?
As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending; I listened till I had my fill;
And as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.
1. Amid the rushes green and slight,
Beneath the willows tall and strong, Wave after wave so fast and bright,
The river runs along.
2. The winter comes with icy blast,
The summer brings her scorching suns, Day after day has come and passed,
And still the river runs.
3. I see it flow : away, away,
Along the same broad even track, The waves sweep onward night and day,
But never one comes back.
4. And thus it is, time passes by,
Nor ever stops for joy or pain; Thus years, and days, and moments ily,
But never come again.
5. The shadows on the river fall,
The wave reflects them every one, The bending rush, the poplar tall,
But carries with it none.
6. And every virtue, every crime,
Our thoughts, our deeds, our feelings, cast A shadow on the stream of time,
As it goes rushing past.
7. The wave reflecteth sky and tree,
Yet takes no colour, blue or green ; But things we've done can never be,
As though they had not been.
8. 'Twas good or bad, 'twas right or wrong ;
And He who notes our every deed, Has caught it as it swept along,
And marked it for its meed.
9. Then, as we watch the river flow,
Think we how time doth ever glide, And
may throw, Bright shadows on the tide.
pray we that