. ia THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
The bear was in his bed when the dogs first came 
up with him, and did not leave it until the pack sur- 
rounded him; then finding things rather too warm, he 
broke off with a “ whew ” that was awful to hear. 
His course was towards us on the left, and as he 
went by, the cane cracked and smashed as if rode over 
by an insane locomotive. Bob Herring gave the dogs 
a salute as they passed close at the beast’s heels, and 
the noise increased, until he said, “it sounded as if all 
h-l were pounding bark.” 
The bear was commented on as he rushed by; one 
said he was a “buster;” “a regular-built eight year 
old” said another; “fat as a candle,” shouted a third; 
—‘‘he’s the beauty of Satan’s Summer Retreat, with a 
band of music after him,” sang Bob Herring. 
Out of his lair the bear plunged so swiftly, that our 
greatest exertions scarcely enabled us to keep within 
hearing distance; his course carried him towards those 
at the stands, he turned and exactly retraced his course, 
but not with the same speed; want of breath had several 
times brought him to a stand, and a fight with the dogs. 
He passed us the second time within two hundred yards, 
and coming against a fallen tree, backed up against it, 
showing a determination, if necessary, there to die. 
We made our way towards the spot as fastas the 
obstacles in our way would let us; the hunters anxious 
to dispatch him, that few dogs as possible might be 
sacrificed. The few minutes necessary to accomplish 
