though our species (in Maine) differs considerably from that found in Massachusetts, and is much larger and swifter of foot.

Our northern hare is about two feet from the nose to the hind feet. Its head is short, eye full, and forehead receding. The ears are long, large, and rather open; tail very short. The hind legs are long with but four toes, the fore legs are short, with five toes. The feet are well covered with long coarse hair, which makes a good brush, when dry, for many purposes. The hair on the body is also long and loose, always whiter under the body; and in the winter white all over. But in summer it is of a yellowish-brown, varying to a red-brown. Next to the body there is a soft, loose fur of a silky texture, and leaden colored on the back. This fur keeps its color constant. It is only the long hair that changes when the snows come. The weight of the northern hare is from five to seven pounds; though I once caught one in a snare that weighed ten pounds and a half; but this was up near Moosehead Lake, where they are much larger than in the southern part of the State. And, generally speaking, the higher up we go above the sea level in this State, at least the larger we find the hare. It is rare that one finds a hare in good condition. I never yet saw one that could be termed "fat."

Two years ago, while three of us boys were camping out at Seeboomook Meadows, we were obliged, from scarcity of game, to live on hare venison for a week; and a pretty lean time we had of it too. We found the meat quite destitute of flavor, and, judging from our feelings, of nutrition as well. It is very light-colored, and looks as poor as it tastes.

Hares multiply very fast. I never saw less than three in one litter; often

there are five, and I once found six of the little fellows, cuddled in a nest. Commonly there are four; and I know of no more amusing sight than one of these families, when the leverets are about a week old. The old hares are then very attentive and watchful, and will rise on their hind legs to look around, at the slightest sound. They rear two litters in a season.

Our northern hare does not often burrow in the ground, but makes a nest of soft, dry grass and moss under a brush-heap, or beneath the thick foliage of low evergreens. The young nurse for about three weeks, when they gradually leave the nest and mother to take care of themselves. I have often picked them up in the woods; and when you find one, you may be almost sure that the rest of the litter are within a few rods of you. They are born with a good dress of brown hair, eyes open, and teeth well cut through.

Hares live chiefly on the buds and tender twigs of small bushes and annual plants. They are especially fond of yellow-birch twigs.

If any of the boys should desire to trap a few of them in an easy way, let them go into some neighboring wood or swamp, and chop down a shrubby birch. "Limb" it down and scatter the browse about; then set your traps among it. Ten to one you will have a rabbit by morning.

The voice of the hare, when frightened or hurt, is a shrill, high note, uttered rapidly on the same key. It has a very sad, plaintive sound. Some have compared it to the filing of a saw in a saw-mill. They also emit a low, peculiar grunt when near each other, which seems to be a sort of language by means of which they make known their wishes and wants.

A camp-fire always attracts them. While camping out, we used frequently to shoot them in the evening, after we had lain down and everything was still. They would then come up in sight of the fire. They stamp with the feet like sheep, the sound of which, when they are jumping about a camp, often resembles the steps of a heavy animal. One night I recollect that we all got a great fright from one that came into our camp and leaped plump upon one of the boys while asleep. He sprang up with a shout, which waked us all in a twinkling. It was some minutes before we found out that it was only a rabbit that had charged upon us.

Hunters depend almost wholly on the hare for bait for their traps, when trapping the larger game.

While at our old camp at Seeboomook Meadows I remember that one evening we wanted to set a trap for a wildcat that had been hanging round for several nights. To bait it we needed a hare; and as there were plenty of them all about us, I caught up a pole and ran out to knock one over. But I had to go farther than I had expected to find one.

It was growing dusk and I was about turning back, when I happened to espy one, “budding" from a low bush several rods ahead. Between me and him there were a couple of largish stones. I crouched down and crept up, keeping out of sight behind them. Reaching the stones I peeped over; there sat the hare not a rod off, browsing leisurely. He had n't heard me. I was just raising my pole to hit him, when from behind a little shrub spruce

there bounded out a big Canada lynx with an eager, raspy growl. The hare doubled about and then dived into a hole under some old roots close beside the stones behind which I was hiding.

The Lynx tore and dug at the roots a moment, then finding he could n't get at the hare, stood up and fairly screeched with rage. He was a savagelooking chap, I assure you. Better believe I kept still as a mouse, and was very glad to see the creature walk off.

C. A. Stephens.

TOBE'S MONUMENT.

THE

with white, still faces upturned to the sky on the slopes of Malvern Hill, or moaned away their lives in the marshes along the Chickahominy. The worn, battered remnants of the "grand army of the Potomac " were encamped at Harrison's Landing, on the James, waiting for transports to take them back to Washington. Here, on this desolate sand-plain, without a single tree for shelter from the July sun that blazed down in torrid fierceness; with no green thing, not even a blade of grass, in sight; behind them the enemy, before them the river; it seemed as if all the horrors of the Peninsular campaign were eclipsed by this.

It was "after taps," -a sultry, southern summer night. No sound broke the stillness save the measured tread of the sentinels, the lapping of the river against the bank, or the shrill cry of some night bird from the marshes. On the extreme edge of the encampment, on the side nearest the enemy, a sentinel paused in his walk and peered curiously out into the darkness, where, just beyond the limits of his beat, rose a huge rock overgrown with

gray moss. "Certain sure," he said to himself, "something moved out yonder. If the Johnnies are at their tricks again, it's time I gave the alarm. But that rock could n't hide many of 'em, either. I guess I'll wait a bit, and maybe there it is again now!" A dark object moved out from behind the rock, then suddenly disappeared, as if the earth had opened and swallowed it up.

"Well, now, that's cur'ous," soliloquized the soldier. "I don't believe in sperits that'll vanish into air while you're looking at 'em; but there hain't been no airthquake to open the ground and swaller up that, whatever it is; and what's become on 't? That's what I'd like to know."

His desire for knowledge seemed likely to be gratified, for the object appeared again, slowly moving towards him. He raised his musket to his shoulder, taking careful aim, then lowered it again. "Pshaw!" he said, "it's nothing but a dog." He was resuming his walk, when the supposed quadruped rose suddenly, and walked along on two feet, in a manner so unmistakably human, that the sentinel levelled his musket once more, and shouted "Halt!" The apparition dropped again, and rolled itself into a ball. “Advance and give the countersign! There was neither sound nor movement, and the order was repeated. The ball unrolled itself and crept a little nearer; and a faint, childish voice said, "Ain't got none, Massa." "Well, there now," said the sentinel. "If it ain't just a little darkey, and I guess I've frightened him half to death. Come here, Snowball!" The child crept up, and said, tremblingly, "'Deed, Massa, I ain't got nuffin ter gib yer."

"Well, who asked you to give me anything?"

"Yer done ax me fer gib yer suffin jes' now; and I ain't got nuffin 'cep' my clo'es what I got on."

"Well, you need n't fret; I don't want 'em. They would n't fit, even if there was anything to 'em but holes. But just tell me where you went to, after you came out from behind that rock."

"Went down in de hole, Massa."

"What hole?"

"Dar's a big hole down un'erneaf de rock, an' I 'se hidin' in dar all de day, waitin' fer de dark, so 's ter come in ter de Unions."

"Oh! that's the game is it? Now I'll have to hand you over to the corporal. Corporal of the guard! Post two."

The call rang out through the still night, and hundreds of sleepers started to their feet and seized their arms; for all day the rebels had been shelling them from the other side of the river, and the probabilities of a night attack had been freely discussed. The corporal hastened to "post two," and found the sentinel with his hand on the shoulder of a little black boy, who between fear, fatigue, and hunger was unable to give any account of himself. "I'll take him to Captain Leigh," the corporal said; "he's officer of the day. Maybe he'll be able to get something out of him."

The Captain stood in front of his tent, looking out into the night, when the corporal and his charge approached.

Captain," said he; "here's a boy just come into the lines. Either he never had any wits or they 've all been scared out of him, for he can't seem to tell anything about himself."

"Very well, you can leave him here. I'll talk to him in the morning." At the first sound of the Captain's voice the boy drew nearer to him, as knowing instinctively that here he had found a friend. "You can go into the tent," said the Captain; "and go to sleep till morning."

Captain Leigh's untasted supper stood where it had been placed hours before. His thoughts were in his Northern home that night, and he had no heart to eat. The boy looked wistfully at the food, and the Captain said,

"Eat that if you like."
"De hull on't, Mass Cap'n?"

"Yes, if you want it."

He ate like some starved wild animal; then dropped on the ground, curled himself up like a little dog, with his arms across his face, and slept. The hundreds who had been wakened so suddenly, finding that there was no further alarm, also lay down to sleep again; and the camp once more lay quiet under the starlight.

"What is your name?" was Captain Leigh's first question the next morning. "Name Tobe."

"Is that all?”

"Dat's all, Mass Cap'n."

"How old are you?"

"Dunno, Mass Cap'n. Nobody nebber done tole me dat ar."

"Where have you come from?”

"Come f'um de back o' Richmon', Mass Cap'n."

"What did you come here for ?"

"All de res' ob 'em runned away; an' ole Mass he wer so mad, I wor jes' feared o' my life. 'Sides I t'ought I mought fin' my mammy ef I got 'mong der Unions."

"Where is your mother?"

"Dunno, Mass Cap'n. Ole Mass done sol' her down in Georgy las' cornshuckin', an' I ain't nebber heerd ob her sence. But I t'ought mebbe she mought ha' runned 'way too, an' I 'd fin' her wid der Unions."

"Well, now what are you going to do?"

"Dunno, Mass Cap'n. I'd like ter stay 'long wid you."

"Kin wait on yer, Mass Cap'n; kin shine up boots; an' -"brightening up, as his eyes, wandering round, caught sight of the horses-"kin clean de hosses right smart."

"You are not big enough to take care of a horse."

"Deed I is, Mass Cap'n; an' I ain't feared o' no hoss. Ole Mass allus sot me ter 'tend ter de hosses dat nobody else could n't manage. Dey allus lets me handle 'em ef dey's eber so debblesome. Jes' yer try me, Mass Cap'n, an' see ef I ain't telled yer de troof."

"If I keep you with me, you must be a good boy, and do as I tell you."