the Rocky Mountains and the lone wastes of California, yet there can not be a doubt that a solitary specimen has occasionally reached the Atlantic coast. A tradition existed among the New York Indians that some three hundred years ago a huge monster, which they termed the "Naked Bear," most horrible to behold, and possessed of naked claws as large as a man's finger, established himself somewhere among the head-waters of the Hudson, and occasionally falling upon an unprotected town, would destroy with impunity women and children. The hunters who pursued this monster invariably fell victims to their temerity, unless there was a river or lake at hand, when they could escape by swimming. So long as game was plentiful the scourge was comparatively harmless, but as soon as that failed him he made war upon the people; and the "warriors" finally met and consulted for his destruction. After a severe battle, in which a number of persons were sacrificed, he was slain; his head was cut off, and carried in great pomp through the principal villages, and many warriors of the neighboring tribes came to view the trophy and admire the conquerors. The claws being naked, and as large as an Indian's finger, show that this traditionary creature was undoubtedly a grizzly bear, which having wandered from its native haunts, had, to the terror of the surrounding country, settled in the peaceful vicinity where it created so much havoc, and by its destruction there caused so much glory to be shed over the now-forgotten tribe of Mahicanna Indians.

In the first settling of the New England States bears were quite numerous, and they still exist in great abundance in the northern parts of Maine; but we hear very little said of them in the chronicles of the times. It would seem that the sturdy old Puritans found no leisure for the amusements of the chase, and having their attention so exclusively occupied by a more savage foe, the Indian, they must have slaughtered the bear without deeming the exploit worthy of any particular mention.

The country bordering on the Ohio, about the Guyandotte and Big Sandy, at the commencement of the present century was more remarkable than any other locality for all kinds of game, and was really the paradise of bears. At these points were seen, by the early voyagers, the first indications of the approach of a Southern clime. The tall reed displayed itself, gradually growing more dense until it became matted into extensive "brakes" that almost rivaled their congeners of the alluvium of the Mississippi. Some of the streams that here poured their waters into the Ohio, started from amid the wildest

scenery of the Cumberland Mountains, winding among gorges and ravines that fill the spectator with awe, and yet are blessed with the richest of vegetation. It was in these then inaccessible solitudes that Bruin flourished, increased, and grew fat; but after Wayne conquered the Indians of the West, and Kentucky ceased to be struggled for by its original inhabitants, the early pioneers, who retained a taste for adventure, turned their deadly rifles upon the game in the forests, and thus kept alive the excitement that had become a second nature by their long experience upon the "bloody path.” The demands of commerce also encouraged the pursuit; for Napoleon borrowed from the shaggy covering of the bear the wherewithal to give additional ferocity to the grizzly front of war, and the trophies of the skill of the American hunter were in time wrought into the towering caps that waved along the lines of the "Old Guard," and were afterward scattered over the fields of Jena, Austerlitz, and Waterloo.

The more the habits of any wild animal are known, the greater is our admiration called forth; for we see traits of character developed and intellectuality exhibited that are ever hidden from the superficial observer. No one can sit down and listen to a hunter without being interested. The trees and stones to him have language, and the living things are sublime in their sagacity and varied powers in providing for themselves. The bear is no exception to the rule; he was made in wisdom, and he constantly, yet silently, declares the glory of the handiwork of his Creator.

The female, in providing herself with a retreat, seeks for one on the top of some tall tree, that she may the better be able to defend her young from the attacks of enemies. The male, on the contrary, having no paternal solicitude, makes his bed beneath some gigantic root or in a protecting cave. The bear is unsocial, and seems to be most contented when buried deepest in the cane-brakes, or among the wrecks of forest-trees blown down by the wind. The power they possess of remaining for months in a semi-torpid state is most remarkable, and peculiar to them over all other warm-blooded animals. Therefore, as might be supposed, they are fond of sleep, shun the day-light, and are seldom known to move about until the sun goes down, unless the faithful dog rouse them in their bed; and even then they will grunt, like the sluggard, for a little more sleep and a little more slumber, and a little more folding of the paws to rest; and they continue to do this until the fierce and impatient bark gives too fearful indications of proximity.

Bruin does not confine himself to one kind of food; he with judicious care selects not only from the varied products of the vegetable kingdom, but has a fine idea of meats. In the South he will fatten upon the leaves of young cane, upon the pecan, and sweet acorn. He is industrious everywhere in his pursuit of fruit, and his vegetable luxuries are persimmons and green corn. The decayed log has treasures for him as well as for the woodpecker and wild turkey; for he will tear it in pieces, and daintily pick up the grub-worm and wood-beetle, or any other insect inhabitant that may come in his way. Of meats, he prefers young pig; but "roasters" not always being in season, he contents himself with full-grown porkers. The fondness of the animal for hogs proves one of the greatest evils to the farmer who is just opening a home in the wilderness; and if the bear could only overcome the desire to gratify his swinish propensities, he would much longer escape the avenging rifle. The bear also has a sweet tooth; and if rich and civilized, would expend large sums for confectionery. As it is, he confines himself to robbing the industrious bees; for once let him get track of wild honey, and he seldom deserts the treasure until he has appropriated it to his own use. Reckless, from his protecting hair, of the fury of the enraged insects he is robbing, he will thrust his huge paws into the hollow of the tree and pull them out, reeking in sweets, and then lick them off with a philosophical indifference wonderful to behold. But if one of the victims of his thefts happens to plant a sting effectively in a tender place, he will roll down from his perch and take to his heels, the very impersonation of terror; but learning nothing from experience, will never abandon the treasure until the robbery is complete.

The young cub of the familiar black bear is exceedingly attractive; a couple of these mischievous creatures confined together form a source of inexhaustible amusement. Some years since we were for days confined to a Western steamer, and it was rarely that the cubs, which were among the "deck passengers," did not have an admiring audience witnessing their playful antics, wrestlings, and superb "ground and lofty tumblings." In a wild state, if in distress, they can sometimes be heard giving utterance to the most pitiful cries. In one of the frequent overflows that inundate portions of Louisiana, a community was once alarmed with the fearful wailings, as was supposed, of children suffering in "the swamp." Torches were obtained and a careful search commenced, and after innumerable adventures, "by flood," of the humanely-disposed, two little cubs were discovered buried up in the hollow of a tree, and locked

in each other's arms-real abandoned "babes of the wood." The old mother had either been drowned or shot, and her sooty orphans, finally overcoming their instinctive fears, poured forth their sorrows upon the evening air.

One of the most remarkable peculiarities of the bear is his love of order. In going to and from his retreat to drink, he always pursues the same path, places his feet in the same prints; and, if the season be dry, you can mark the course by a double row of parallel toemarks in the ground; for the bear, like the pacing horse, moves one side at a time. Again, the animal will enter a piece of woods, cross a stream, or invade a corn-field, always at the same places, and continues so to do until interfered with by the hunter, or driven off to seek more favorable places for food.

We have alluded to the unsociability of the bear; but it should be stated that there are occasionally times when they have their friendly gatherings, and assemble from all the surrounding country to exchange ideas, cultivate short-lived friendships, and have one grand jubilee. The Indians describe these meetings with becoming gravity, and ascribe to them all the intellectual character and importance which they give to their own "talks." The antics of the bear on these occasions are represented as exceedingly amusing; the young cubs are displayed before the visitors with due ceremony,

their anxious mothers evidently very proud of their shining coats of black hair and promising strength. They are taken up and dandled with all care, and rocked to and fro, and also, for waywardness, have their ears severely boxed, and are otherwise disciplined into juvenile obedience. On the occasions of the grand dances, an obscure thicket is selected, the grass is beaten down, and protruding roots torn away. The old bears then form a circle, generally sitting upon their haunches, assuming most solemn and critical expressions. The performer meanwhile goes through his pantomime of bowing and prancing, evidently anxious to secure applause; presently a partner volunteers, and an old-fashioned minuet follows. The spectators the while keep time with their paws, and give no mean imitations of "patting Juba;" and warming with the excitement, they will all suddenly spring up and join in a general double-shuffle, the award of superiority being given to the last who, from inclination or positive exhaustion, quits the field. It is from these "backwoods assemblies" that the Indians profess to have learned their most difficult steps and most complicated dances; and to be able to perform like a bear is with them a compliment always desired, but one they seldom have the vanity to believe they truly deserve.

One

The home of the polar bear is the solitary waste that flanks the Northern seas. Its prey is the seal and the walrus. Its home is caverns formed in the snow. Mr. Wood, in his "Homes Without Hands," gives an interesting description of his snow-houses. Travelers tell us that nobody need be frozen to death in the snow. has simply to choose some spot where the snow lies deepest, such as the side of a bank or a tree, scoop out a hollow with his hands in which he can lie, and wherein he is protected from the cold winds. Wrapping himself in his garments he lies quietly, allowing the snow to fall upon him unheeded. The merits of this extempore cell are soon apparent. The snow is an imperfect conductor of heat, the caloric exhaled from the body is no longer swept off by the wind, and restores warmth and sensation to the limbs. As the body becomes warmer the hollow enlarges. The warmth of the breath keeps a small passage open, around which collects a mass of glittering hoar-frost, caused by the congelation of the breath. This passage supplies the traveler with air. The cell is soon rather too hot than too cold, and the occupant can sleep as warmly, if not as composedly, as in his bed at home.

The white bear forms just such a cell as this in which to reside during the period of her accouchement. Within this strange nursery