“You were a dragonfly, while I was a butterfly. It is needless to say that we loved. One spring day we floated down along the canyon from a mountain a thousand miles afar. Our path was suddenly barred by a dense bush. We couldn’t attain to the Garden of Life without adventuring in it. So, then, you stole in from one place, I from another. Alas! We got parted forever. “Isn’t that a terrible indication? “Do you know any spell to turn it good? I am awfully agitated by it. “Oh, kiss! “Kiss me, my dear! “I have to ascertain your love in it. “Your “MORNING GLORY” 19th—A little “chui chui” was building a nest under the roof, by my door. Dear jovial toiler! I must help him in some way. I unravelled one of my stockings, hoping it might be serviceable in bettering his home. I stood me on a chair, raising up my arms with my gift. The poor sparrow was scared. He cast a gray “honourableness” on my hand. O naughty “chui chui!” He winged away, twittering, “chui, chui, chui!” 20th—The squirrel by my window shows a great fancy for me. He honoured me three times already this morning. He bore a somewhat scholarly air. A retired professor, I reckon. Is he regular with his diary? Possibly he is idle with a pen, like any other professor. Let me scribble for him to-day! My one bottle of ink has some time to dry up yet. I will name it “The Cave Journal.” I will leave it to the Professor for a souvenir upon my sayonara to this hill. A Where are my spectacles? B Upon my soul, I believe that some mischief is raging. I can never trust even the poet abode. Who stole my two-cent stamp? God bless you, my precious daughter at Sierra Nevada! By and by I will erect my private telegraph between us. C The idea of an idiotic spider tying his net across my front gate! How ever could he be so ambitious as even to incline to arrest me! He may very likely be a detective. A railroad brigand is hiding in these Heights, I suppose. The world is running worse every day. How shocking! It was a fundamental error of God, to create that adventuress Eve. The offspring of a crow can’t be other than a crow. Our squirrel history is not blotted by any criminal. I feel a bit conceited in speaking about it. How can I help it? The trouble with God is that he was awfully vain to express his own ability by so many useless things. Rifle, for instance. My poor wife! D To-day is the anniversary of my beloved. She was shot by one two-legged barbarian. I appealed to the police. American police are rotten, through and through. The murderer bribed them, I fancy. I found my wife, but she was only a skin. How often did I tell her that she was risking too much in sporting around! But she didn’t mind me, insisting that sight-seeing was a better education. I carried her skin into my home.