ittle bear cub would say, "that is my picture. I am a native
of the State of California. I don't remember distinctly where I was
born, but it was up in the Sierras, where the snow lies in great banks,
and the giant trees stand like sentinels, and where you might travel for
days and weeks and meet no one but bears.

"The first thing I recollect was finding myself in a big burrow covered
with snow, then my mother broke the way out and led us (I had a brother)
down the mountain. We soon left the snow; and I remember one day, at
sunset, we stood on an overhanging rock, and my mother showed us the
green valleys and nice dark forests where we could hide, and far off was
the gleaming sea. Mother did not care very much for the water, I think.

"My mother was hungry, after the long winter fast, and every day took us
lower and lower, until one night she led us into a sheep ranch. Then our
troubles began, for she left us to catch a lamb, and never came back. We
heard all about it afterward. Some ranchers had seen her, and rode out
on horseback to enjoy the cruel sport of 'roping a bear'. As they rode
around her, one threw his lariat about her neck; another caught her
forefoot as she stood up, another her hind leg; and then they dragged
her away to the ranch-house--and so we became orphans.

"It was not long before the dogs found us, and a man carried me home in
a basket to his wife, who treated me very kindly. I did not like it, but
pretended I did, and ate all I could, always watching and hoping for a
chance to run away to my mountain home. My mistress, however, soon
thought I was too knowing, and put a chain about my neck. Finally, when
I was about four months old, they sent me to a friend in San Francisco.
I shall never forget how people looked at me and laughed when I stood on
my hind legs, as if there was anything laughable in that! But they gave
me sugar and other good things, and I fared well.

"My new master was a butcher, and most of the time I stayed in his shop.
But some days, when I was very homesick, and longed for my mother, and
the little cub who had been carried off, I did not know where, the
butcher's wife would take me into her room back of the shop, and then I
would go to sleep, cuddled up close upon a rug, with my paws on her
hand, and dream that I was back in my mountain home.

"One day I heard my master say I was to be pho-to-graphed, and I thought
my time had come. You see, I had never heard the word befo