BEARS IN COLORADO. "It is well," replied his master; "you have said the truth; it is finished. Now take my head into your hands and support me so, for I love to sit with my face turned towards the little chapel where I used to pray; and although I can no longer kneel, I may sit and call on my Father." 66 They did as he desired them, and with a faint voice he sang, Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost!" till, as he named the last holy name, he breathed his soul away and passed into eternal life. At the west end of the cathedral church of Durham, overlooking the river Wear, stands a chapel of exceeding beauty, called the Galilee. If we entered its walls, we should find a slab of blue marble, telling that beneath it are laid the bones of the Venerable Bede, by which name he is always known. When we think of this good man, whose latest task was to translate God's Word into the language of his countrymen, we surely feel that he being dead yet speaketh, bidding us prize dearly our precious English Bible. BEARS IN COLORADO. THE mountain ranges of Colorado are very well supplied with bears, and during the fall of the year, when the plums and grapes are ripe, it is nothing unusual to stumble upon a dozen or so of the brutes in half-an-hour's walk. There are three distinct species -the common brown or black bear, which still maintains a precarious foothold in many of the Eastern States, and is hunted with much ceremony; the cinnamon; and the genuine grizzly. The cinnamon chap is about the colour of brick-dust, and his fighting weight ranges all the way from 800 to 1,000 pounds. He is a supple, active brute, and inclined to be a genuine coward. Meet him in a secluded place, and he will skulk off with his tail between his legs, like a coyote; but he is apt to prove a dangerous customer when wounded and brought to bay. Then he assumes the offensive, and a true rifle and steady nerve are required on the part of the sportsman, or his bearship will proceed to form an acquaintance more close than agreeable. If a good tree is at hand, and the hunter can climb it, so much the better, as the cinnamons do not climb; and a knowledge of this fact tends to restore confidence. The majority of men I have conversed with prefer to hunt them in this way. In some instances the cinnamon, after being badly hit, rushes at the tree up which his antagonist has climbed BEARS IN COLORADO. for dear life, seizes it with his teeth, and claws and attempts to tear it down. At this critical juncture it is best for the hunter to preserve his composure, and not lose his hold. The bear may keep him imprisoned an hour or so, but bruin has a small stock of patience, and when he ascertains that the position is impregnable, he gives up the job in disgust, and retires in good order. No The grizzly, however, stands at the head of the bear family, and is more feared and respected than all others. He is a treacherous, sullen, malicious, desperate, ill-mannered, uncouth, shaggy brute; one which stubbornly resists all advances towards friendship, and is ready at any time to die in the last ditch. Like the immortal "Old Guard" of Napoleon, your genuine grizzly never surrenders, but is game to the last. The grizzly has a lordly independent bearing, and on his native mountain sides, or in the forests, will hardly deign to make room for man himself. If you meet one in the road, the chances are that he will not budge an inch, unless he happens to be in an accommodating mood, and then he will trot on one side a few yards, rear himself upon his enormous haunches, and graciously wait for you to pass. matter whether you are armed with a breech-loading Ballard, needle-gun, Winchester or Sharpe, never attack a grizzly alone, or out in the open country. The only safe position is on the back of a good horse, or in the limbs of a cotton-wood tree. Many persons, disregarding this advice, have paid for their temerity with their lives; for no matter where you shoot a grizzly, whether through the heart or brain-box, he never gives up the ghost without a struggle, and will fight as long as he can lift a paw. Practical illustrations of the fighting powers of the grizzly are to be seen in these mountainous regions nearly every day. other morning your correspondent encountered a miner from Fairplay, who had come down to the valley region for supplies. His personal appearance was, to say the least, peculiar. He carried his right arm in a sling; one eye was twisted upwards; his face was scratched and torn, and indented with ridges; while his head was as guiltless of hair as a billiard ball. At first I supposed that he had been invited by some of the friendly Indians to a scalping picnic as chief performer; but in conversation it turned out that he had received each and all these grievous wounds from the claws of a grizzly. The At The grizzly bear obtains his full growth in four years. six years he is in his prime, and able to cope with any animal in existence. The majestic lion may be considered the king of beasts, so far as looks are concerned; but he would stand very poor show in the hug of a grizzly. The average weight of a grizzly KID GLOVE MAKING IN FRANCE. is 1,300 pounds, but quite a number have been killed in this locality who kicked the beam at 1,800. Old Griffin, of Canon, one of the early settlers, and reputed to be the sharpest and most courageous bear hunter in these parts, knocked over a grizzly last fall that weighed 1,600 pounds after being dressed. The claws of this fellow were large enough to anchor a good-sized sloop, being nine inches in length. He fought to the last, and with three balls square through the heart, charged upon the enemy, and dropped down stone dead so close to the old man that he could touch him with his paw. KID GLOVE MAKING IN FRANCE. THERE are three departments in glove making in France-cutting out, sewing, and finishing, that is to say, embroidering the back, making the button-hole, and setting on the button. It is the work of men to cut out the glove; but women place it on the iron hand which forms the measure, strike it with a stamp, and prepare it for the cutter. This is not difficult work; it is done by the piece, and they receive tenpence for five dozen. The sewers are less favoured; the price paid for a dozen pairs of lady's gloves with one button is 3s. 9d.; out of this they have to pay 50 per cent. to their employer, and 40 per cent. goes in silk, which they find; so that it only leaves about threepence halfpenny a pair. If it be asked how many pairs a good workwoman can complete in one day, the answer will be, that working twelve hours without interruption, she may manage to get through four pairs; but most of the hands only do two pairs and a half. This arises from the attention they must pay to household work. Glove making requires the most perfect cleanliness; not only are soiled gloves returned to the sewer, but she is obliged to pay for the leather. Four pairs will be thus paid at the rate of elevenpence, from which a deduction must be made for lights of twopence halfpenny, leaving eightpence half-penny. These wages are still lower in Aveyron and Haute-Marne; but in the department of Isere this occupies no less than twelve thousand women, representing a value of sixteen million francs. The manufactory at Grenoble employs twelve hundred cutters out, making five hundred and forty thousand dozen. Those who work the back of the glove and finish it off are better paid; 7s. 6d. is given for a dozen, but then the silk is not found. It requires six or seven hours to make a pair of embroidered gloves; supposing she does a pair and a half a THE COLOUR OF FLOWERS. day, she will not earn that sum in a week. At this work a woman must sew regularly, and have neither children nor many household duties to distract her attention, as it requires great nicety and skill. In Paris the work is done at the workshop of the maker, where it can be better performed, and the highest class of embroiderers obtain there about twelve shillings a dozen. THE COLOUR OF FLOWERS. THE prevailing colours of flowers are yellow, orange, white, pink, scarlet, red, blue, and purple, and many are variegated, or composed of different tints. Proper culture, with pure air and sunshine, increases the brilliancy of the tints, and gives massiveness to the corollas. Plants of a kindred species may likewise be improved by hybridising or crossing, the general principle of which is the application of the pollen of one plant to another. By this means some of the most beautiful plants have been originated. Change of soil and climate, however, are the great means of improvement. As long as it is confined to its native place, the corolla of the plant and all its other appurtenances are meagre, and generally unattractive; but when nourished in a cultivated soil, and all its wants supplied, the whole plant strengthens and expands, and a new brilliancy of colour is imparted. The changes thus effected on the daisy, the rose, and the violet, are familiar to all. A blue flower will change to. white or red, but not to bright yellow; a bright yellow flower will become white or red, but never blue. Thus the hyacinth, of which the primitive colour is blue, produces abundance of white and red varieties, but nothing that can be compared to bright yellow-the yellow hyacinth, as it is called, being a sort of pale yellow ochre colour, verging to green. The ranunculus also, which is originally of an intense yellow, sports into scarlet, red, purple, and almost any colour but blue. White flowers, which have a tendency to produce red, will never sport to blue, although they will to yellow; as, for instance, the rose and the chrysanthemum. Improvement in the brilliancy or change of colour is not effected without a certain loss to the odorous properties of the plant. It is remarked that cultivation generally renders the odour less intense, and sometimes altogether destroys it. Thus the fragrance of the wild violet is not to be found in the heartsease. POETRY. Poetry. CHICKENS. "I DIDN'T!" says Chip. "You did!" says Peep. Stretching my legs like anything, That drops down on you and makes you squeal.” "Well! swallow Rooster's tales, I beg! I tell you I heard the old shell break, And the first small noise you ever could make; And Mammy croodled, and puffed her breast, "You did!" says Peep. "I didn't!" says Chip. With that he gave a horrid nip, And Peep began to dance and peck, And Chip stuck out his wings and necks. They pranced, and struck, and capered about, Their toes turned in and their wings spread out, As angry as two small chicks could be, Till Mother Dorking turned to see. She cackled and clucked, and called in vain— At it they went with might and main Till at last the old hen used her beak, And Peep and Chick, with many a squeak, With a very funny skip and stride. |