FROM the top of the highest peak, the adjoining mountains look much alike, but it will not do to climb one hill and then judge of the whole range. This may suffice for some purposes, as those of a physical geographer, but will never satisfy the whims of a rambler bent on close acquaintance with each hill-side's unconsidered trifles.

It has been asked, What is the distinguishing whim of a professional rambler? It is, I take it, to gather pleasure rather than profit from the world about him. He is supposed to be one free of all definiteness of purpose other than that mentioned. Whether some projecting rock is diorite or dolerite is to him of little moment, but whether it is dull or glistening, bare or covered, becomes a matter of importance. Upon it may depend the measure of his joy as he scans the landscape. How vividly I recall one long, bare ledge of pale-gray rock, capping the precipitous wall of a deep ravine! As at first seen, it was mere Titanic masonry, but soon I caught a glimpse of one trembling fern fluttering in the fitful breeze. The rocks were changed; they were no longer grand by reason of their desolation, but glorious because of the little fern that clung to them. A fig for the name of the species! That it grew at such a dizzy height and brightened the grim gray wall was fact enough for the rambler. It is sometimes well not to be a botanist. Whether ignoble or not, I always yield to the temptations of aimlessness.

And now let us to the mountain: the hill is not high, but the path is very rough. Whether man was or was not once a creeping animal, it is well that at times he can go upon all-fours; otherwise many a chance to see goodly sights would be lost to him. It was so to-day. Loose rocks could not have been better arranged to prevent our progress, — there were three of us, — and so our satisfaction was increased as we gained, from time to time, a promising outlook. But there were dangers that could not be overlooked. There is nothing funny in facing a rattlesnake, and to put your hand upon a centipede may stay farther climbing for that day. Even to have a tarantula comb your eyebrows is somewhat of a shock. None of these things happened, but the climb was by no means stupid; and when a great bare rock was reached, whereon we rested, each was eager to narrate his own little adventure. He who first spoke uttered the opinion of all, that probably no one had ever been so foolhardy before as to climb this hill, and the pleasant feelings of the discoverer filled our silly breasts; but only to receive a shock. A clatter as of rolling stones was heard. We looked down the hill, and there was a Mexican walking at his ease, his patient burro following. Conversation ceased and I turned my thoughts into new channels. These Mexican wood-gatherers and their little donkeys or burros did not prove vastly entertaining. They moved along with less animation than the ore-buckets on the tram-way, and recalled the sluggish “Gila monsters," that will wait a week for a rock to roll away rather than go round it. In one case the donkey proved the more polite of the two, for my salutation, “Good-morning," was met by silence on the part of the man, but the donkey's fifteen inches of ears waved gracefully as the animal passed. Still, sitting on the great flat rock, I watched the man and his donkey as they walked towards the woods above us. Their trained eyes made out a path to which we were blind, and the sole merit of the Mexican was his ease in stepping from stone to stone without pausing to look at the loose rocks before him. Soon he passed out of sight and out of mind, leaving us to the hill-side, which we had fondly supposed no others would be rash enough to visit. It is something to have neighbors, even if the mere knowledge of their existence meets every need.

Except a solitary bird, at long intervals, or butterflies that we brushed from blooming cacti, there was no evidence of animal life upon this rugged hill-side; but when we were quietly perched upon the roomy rock and made no pronounced demonstration, many a creature that had been startled by our strange appearance as we scrambled upward, came one by one in view. It was the old story. We had been watched at every step, as is every noisy rambler in Eastern woods when he fancies himself alone. As an illustration: our presence was held not unsafe to them by a. pair of huge gray squirrels, after some consultation upon their part, and, while in full view, they warned every creature not to come too near, by barking as loudly and as lustily as a peevish terrier. It became tiresome at last, and I innocently threw a stone at them. Here my ignorance cropped out again. The stone fell so far short of the squirrels that they were not aware of my murderous design. They were quite a quarter of a mile away, perhaps farther, and yet their every movement was plainly seen, and I fancied I could hear their chattering, meant for themselves only. It is not strange, in such an atmosphere, that timid animals should be rarely seen. A man's approach would be signalled by his footsteps when almost a mile away, and every unfamiliar sound would put an animal on the alert. Certainly many a one could discriminate, too, between clumsy Easterners like ourselves and that machine-like Mexican that just passed.

It was here that I saw my first centipede, a shiny, brown creature, that rested in a crevice of the rock. It did not suggest “melancholy ferocity," — I quote the “Encyclopaedia Britannica," — and if possessed of such poisonous fangs, why should it be so cowardly? A slight movement on my part, after I had discovered it, caused it to disappear instantly. No animal, I take it, ever moved more rapidly, not even a humming-bird. Here is the puzzling feature of this uncanny beast. For long it had been resting in this sunny crevice, and had, of course, seen us, and — may I add? — saw that we did not see it. If this startling suggestion is true, it ascribes a deal of wit to a centipede; and the longer I take note of the creatures about me, the more I am inclined to exalt their mental status. We often see such actions on the part of birds and mammals, and, too, of snakes. They are swayed by conflicting emotions, — curiosity and fear, — and while the latter usually gets the upper hand in time, it is not always so. Why a centipede, several inches long, feared by all creatures, even by man, should be so extremely shy, is a difficult problem to solve. If they have wit enough to act as I hold did this one to-day, they need scarcely trouble themselves about possible enemies before an attack is made.

There was more upon this hill to attract a botanist than upon those previously climbed. One sprawling, prickly weed was very common, and conspicuous by reason of its handsome blossoms. These were snowy white, with a deep golden centre, and contrasted admirably with the light-green leaves of the plant. Again, there were tangled mats of vine-like growth, bearing numerous narrow leaves, and many a huge trumpet-shaped flower, also purely white, but with a rich purple throat. These, with other less conspicuous bloom, relieved the monotony of bare rocks and brown earth; but a far more striking feature was the growth of mistletoe on the mountain-oaks. I had long been familiar with this parasite on the gum-trees of Southern New Jersey, and in Kentucky, along the Ohio River, but nowhere does it grow in greater luxuriance than in this corner of Arizona. Nor does it seem to have the same blighting effect that marks its progress on our Eastern trees. Upon one oak, well down in the valley, I counted eleven bunches, each as large as a bushel-basket, yet the tree showed no symptoms of decay.

Having rested long enough to forget our several aches and pains, it was without misgiving that the descent was undertaken; but as the upward climb was laborious, it followed, in our fancy, that the downward progress would be very easy. Not a bit of it. There was no stone that did not threaten to roll as we touched it, and many carried out their threats at the most inopportune moment. How quickly and how often I sat down! And then, when well-nigh discouraged, we heard footsteps behind us, and, looking backward, saw that morose Mexican with his burro. How deftly they picked their way; how stately the tread of that swarthy mountaineer! He did not deign to glance at us; and even if we had been helpless, would doubtless have passed us by. But that little burro! His ears alone were plainly visible, and by them we knew him. His burden made him not less polite, and again the long ears waved gracefully as he passed. That this animal could bear up under two great bundles of crooked sticks, each as large as the creature's body, and, withal, walk down a steep hill covered with loose stones, — this was the most marvellous of the many strange sights I witnessed. But I was in part on the same errand, and strove to learn a lesson from this patient donkey. I followed closely at his heels, watching every movement. Unfortunately, I have but two legs and the donkey rejoiced in four, and that I should imitate successfully with two limbs the movements of a quadruped was not to be expected. How, when, where, and why I threw my legs about I cannot now recall, but at last my antics caused both the Mexican and his burro to halt, and I sat down upon a jagged rock utterly bewildered. After that it was a matter of careful climbing, with but here and there an occasional step upon some kindly level ledge; and so, without serious mishap, the valley road was reached, with, I trust, a proper feeling of thankfulness. I have said, “without serious mishap," but this bears reference to my body only. I was still in distress. Into what strange shapes my clothes had been converted, and how freely the passing breeze swept through them! Now that I was upon level ground, I recalled that I had been stoutly shod at the outset; but now the soles of my shoes were as loose box-lids. Was it strange, as I entered the village, that many miners laughed?