A BEAR-HUNT. 171 



re-enforcement, all armed with most formidable fire-arms, 

 from the Spencer rifle to the old smooth-bore, and accom- 

 panied by a well-tried bear-dog, we sallied forth. For miles 

 we tracked Madam Bruin by the broken fragments of de- 

 cayed timber and the numerous logs she had disturbed from 

 their original resting-place. Finally, we thought she could 

 not be far distant, and the dog was untied ; off he went like 

 a thunderbolt, and in a quarter of an hour we heard him 

 baying vociferously. Guns were looked to, the men most 

 energetic previously now dropped behind, doubtless to ex- 

 amine their trusty rifles, and see that the powder was up in 

 the nipples; but when we reached Watch, what was our 

 disgust to find that he had treed a covey of Canadian 

 grouse? Unwillingly we went to work and decimated 

 this unhappy and unconscious brood, nor could all our 

 efforts afterward -induce the unfailing bear-dog to take up 

 the desired track. 



The scene of the subsequent narrative was between Lake 

 St. John and Mud Lake, near the most northern extremity 

 of Lake Simcoe, Canada West, in which my efforts for 

 Bruin's destruction were more successful. 



In following a flight of ruffled grouse, which had risen 

 so far beyond range as to have prevented my getting a shot 

 at them, I came across a perfect brake of wild grape-vines 

 loaded with fruit. I could not withstand the temptation 

 of halting for a feed, for they had been touched with frost, 

 which changes them from the most unpalatable to the most 

 delightfully flavored fruit. The day had been warm for 

 the end of autumn, and I suppose the fatigue of my tramp, 

 together with the delightful shade afforded, induced me 

 to lie down, and, as might be expected under the circum- 

 stances, I fell asleep. How long I might have been in a 

 state of oblivion I can not say, but I was awaked by my 

 companion, a mongrel English terrier, barking vociferously 



