To-night as the tender gloaming Was sinking in evening's gloom, And only the glow of the firelight Brightened the dark'ning room, I laughed with the gay heart-gladness That only to mothers is known, For the beautiful brown-eyed baby Took his first step alone!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Baby's First Step.]

Hurriedly running to meet him Came trooping the household band, Joyous, loving and eager To reach him a helping hand, To watch him with silent rapture, To cheer him with happy noise, My one little fair-faced daughter And four brown romping boys.

Leaving the sheltering arms That fain would bid him rest Close to the love and the longing, Near to the mother's breast; Wild with laughter and daring, Looking askance at me, He stumbled across through the shadows To rest at his father's knee.

Baby, my dainty darling, Stepping so brave and bright With flutter of lace and ribbon Out of my arms to-night, Helped in thy pretty ambition With tenderness blessed to see, Sheltered, upheld, and protected-- How will the last step be?

See, we are all beside you Urging and beckoning on, Watching lest aught betide you Till the safe near goal is won, Guiding the faltering footsteps That tremble and fear to fall-- How will it be, my darling, With the last sad step of all?

Nay! Shall I dare to question, Knowing that One more fond Than all our tenderest loving Will guide the weak feet beyond!

And knowing beside, my dearest, That whenever the summons, 'twill be But a stumbling step through the shadows, Then rest--at the Father's knee!

M.E.B.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

A Soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him while his life-blood ebbed away, And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say.

The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said, "I never more shall see my own, my native land; Take a message, and a token to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my brothers and companions when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun; And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, The death-wound on their gallant b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the last of many scars; And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, And one had come from Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age; For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage.

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; And when he died and left us to divide his scanty h.o.a.rd I let them take whate'er they would, but I kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine On the cottage wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name, To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, And to hang the old sword in its place, my father's sword and mine; For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine.

"There's another, not a sister, in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, O, friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning.

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine, On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; I heard, or seemed to hear, The German songs we used to sing in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river and up the slanting hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we pa.s.sed, with friendly talk Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, But we'll meet no more at Bingen, loved Bingen on the Rhine."

His trembling voice grew faint and hoa.r.s.e, his grasp was childish weak, His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed, and ceased to speak; His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled-- The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead; And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field with b.l.o.o.d.y corses strewn; Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.

CAROLINE E.S. NORTON.

OSITO.

On the lofty mountain that faced the captain's cabin the frost had already made an insidious approach, and the slender thickets of quaking ash that marked the course of each tiny torrent, now stood out in resplendent hues and shone afar off like gay ribbons running through the dark-green pines. Gorgeously, too, with scarlet, crimson and gold, gleamed the lower spurs, where the oak-brush grew in dense ma.s.ses and bore beneath a blaze of color, a goodly harvest of acorns, now ripe and loosened in their cups.

It was where one of these spurs joined the parent mountain, where the oak-brush grew thickest, and, as a consequence, the acorns were most abundant, that the captain, well versed in wood-craft mysteries, had built his bear trap. For two days he had been engaged upon it, and now, as the evening drew on, he sat contemplating it with satisfaction, as a work finished and perfected.

From his station there, on the breast of the lofty mountain, the captain could scan many an acre of sombre pine forest with pleasant little parks interspersed, and here and there long slopes brown with bunch gra.s.s. He was the lord of this wild domain. And yet his sway there was not undisputed. Behind an intervening spur to the westward ran an old Indian trail long traveled by the Southern Utes in their migrations north for trading and hunting purposes. And even now, a light smoke wafted upward on the evening air, told of a band encamped on the trail on their homeward journey to the Southwest.

The captain needed not this visual token of their proximity. He had been aware of it for several days. Their calls at his cabin in the lonely little park below had been frequent, and they had been specially solicitous of his coffee, his sugar, his biscuit and other delicacies, insomuch that once or twice during his absence these ingenuous children of Nature had with primitive simplicity, entered his cabin and helped themselves without leave or stint.

However, as he knew their stay would be short, the captain bore these neighborly attentions with mild forbearance. It was guests more graceless than these who had roused his wrath.

From their secret haunts far back towards the Snowy Range the bears had come down to feast upon the ripened acorns, and so doing, had scented the captain's bacon and sugar afar off and had prowled by night about the cabin. Nay, more, three days before, the captain, having gone hurriedly away and left the door loosely fastened, upon his return had found all in confusion. Many of his eatables had vanished, his flour sack was ripped open, and, unkindest cut of all, his beloved books lay scattered about. At the first indignant glance the captain had cried out, "Utes again!" But on looking around he saw a tell-tale trail left by floury bear paws.

Hence this bear trap.

It was but a strong log pen floored with rough-hewn slabs and fitted with a ponderous movable lid made of other slabs pinned on stout cross pieces. But, satisfied with his handiwork, the captain now arose, and, prying up one end of the lid with a lever, set the trigger and baited it with a huge piece of bacon. He then piled a great quant.i.ty of rock upon the already heavy lid to further guard against the escape of any bear so unfortunate as to enter, and shouldering his axe and rifle walked homewards.

Whatever vengeful visions of captive bears he was indulging in were, however, wholly dispelled as he drew near the cabin. Before the door stood the Ute chief accompanied by two squaws. "How!" said the chieftain, with a conciliatory smile, laying one hand on his breast of bronze and extending the other as the captain approached.

"How!" returned the captain bluffly, disdaining the hand with a recollection of sundry petty thefts.

"Has the great captain seen a pappoose about his wigwam?" asked the chief, nowise abashed, in Spanish--a language which many of the Southern Utes speak as fluently as their own.

The great captain had expected a request for a biscuit; he, therefore, was naturally surprised at being asked for a baby. With an effort he mustered together his Spanish phrases and managed to reply that he had seen no pappoose.

"Me pappoose lost," said one of the squaws brokenly. And there was so much distress in her voice that the captain, forgetting instantly all about the slight depredations of his dusky neighbors, volunteered to aid them in their search for the missing child.

All that night, for it was by this time nearly dark, the hills flared with pine torches and resounded with the shrill cries of the squaws, the whoops of the warriors, the shouts of the captain; but the search was fruitless.

This adventure drove the bear-trap from its builder's mind, and it was two days before it occurred to him to go there in quest of captive bears.

Coming in view of it he immediately saw the lid was down. Hastily he approached, bent over, and peeped in. And certainly, in the whole of his adventurous life the captain was never more taken by surprise; for there, crouched in one corner, was that precious Indian infant.

Yes, true it was, that all those ma.s.sive timbers, all that ponderous ma.s.s of rock, had only availed to capture one very small Ute pappoose.

At the thought of it, the builder of the trap was astounded. He laughed aloud at the absurdity. In silence he threw off the rock and lid and seated himself on the edge of the open trap. Captor and captive then gazed at each other with gravity. The errant infant's attire consisted of a calico shirt of gaudy hues, a pair of little moccasins, much frayed, and a red flannel string. This last was tied about his straggling hair, which fell over his forehead like the s.h.a.ggy mane of a _bronco_ colt and veiled, but could not obscure, the brightness of his black eyes.

He did not cry; in fact, this small stoic never even whimpered, but he held the bacon, or what remained of it, clasped tightly to his breast and gazed at his captor in silence. Glancing at the bacon, the captain saw it all. Hunger had induced this wee wanderer to enter the trap, and in detaching the bait, he had sprung the trigger and was caught.

"What are you called, little one?" asked the captain at length, in a rea.s.suring voice, speaking Spanish very slowly and distinctly.

"Osito," replied the wanderer in a small piping voice, but with the dignity of a warrior.

"Little Bear!" the captain repeated, and burst into a hearty laugh, immediately checked, however by the thought that now he had caught him, what was he to do with him? The first thing, evidently, was to feed him.

So he conducted him to the cabin and there, observing the celerity with which the lumps of sugar vanished, he saw at once that Little Bear was most aptly named. Then, sometimes leading, and sometimes carrying him, for Osito was very small, he set out for the Ute encampment.

Their approach was the signal for a mighty shout. Warriors, squaws and the younger confreres of Osito, crowded about him. A few words from the captain explained all, and Osito himself, clinging to his mother, was borne away in triumph--the hero of the hour. Yet, no--the captain was that, I believe. For as he stood in their midst with a very pleased look on his sunburnt face, the chief quieting the hubbub with a wave of his hand, advanced and stood before him. "The great captain has a good heart," he said in tones of conviction. "What can his Ute friends do to show their grat.i.tude?"

"Nothing," said the captain, looking more pleased than ever.