BEN’S RUSSIAN COUSIN. 
BARON PAUL TCHERKASSOV, 
Photo by the Author. 
Herewith I send you a photograph of 
Forester Yakhimoévitch and his bear cub, 
as a pendant to Ben’s likenesses, adorning 
the july issue of RecrEATION. Yakhimo- 
vich’s cub rejoiced in the name _ of 
Mishka, Mikey, as male bears generally are 
styled, the female ones being usually called 
Mashka, Molly. Mishka is_ represented 
begging for sugar, for which he had a 
weakness. He had the run of the house 
and of all the premises in Bobrovka, Dis- 
trict of Altai, Western Siberia. It was 
rare fun to see him, during meals, rear up 
on his hind legs and beg for something to 
eat, emphasizing his begging attitudes with 
a droll kind of mumbling, his little, yel- 
lowish eyes glistening like sparks. What 
his subsequent fate may have been, I do 
not know, but am afraid it has been sad, 
like that of almost all bear cubs kept in 
captivity, of which I have heard, or which 
have come under my personal observation. 
Some 6 or 7 years ago a country neigh- 
bor presented a bear cub to my children 
in my absence. I should have declined the 
present, on the strength of my unsatisfac- 
tory experience with cubs of wild beasts 
kept as pets; but as my family spend the 
summer and autumn on our estate in the 
Province of Yaroslav, while my sojourn 
rarely exceeds one month, I did not know 
anything about this addition to the family 
circle until I went for my holiday. 
One evening in July I reached home, 
after a drive of 45 or 50 miles over most 
disgusting roads, thoroughly broken up, 
having had to make the journey in a rough 
and primitive vehicle, besides being in 
poor health. It is only fair to say that 
things have greatly improved since then; 
I2 or 13 miles to the nearest railway 
station, roads fair and health ditto. Not 
feeling up to much after my journey, I 
took my evening meal with the family, and 
went to bed early, enjoying the prospect 
of a good night’s rest. In this I was, how- 
ever, disappointed. My sleep is always 
light, especially the first few nights after 
a radical change of surroundings. Soon 
after dawn, that is, about 4 a. m., it was 
broken by a short, bleating sound near the 
house. I sat up in bed, annoyed by 
tthis disturbance and unable to account for 
it, as I knew there were no sheep on the 
estate. From that time on I got no rest, 
those confounded bleatings making sleep 
impossible and ceasing only toward 7 a. m. 
» When my wife awoke and inquired how 
I had slept, I unfolded my tale of woe. 

“Oh, it must have been Mishka, calling 
for food!” she said. 
“Who is Mishka?” I asked. 
“Such a dear little bear cub! 
presented him to the children.” 
I am fond of animals and of infants of 
all kinds in particular, but | mentally con- 
signed Mishka to a certain warm place, and 
Mr. A. too. 
However, I made Mishka’s acquaintance, 
and we soon became good friends. He was 
a “nat-rally amoosin’ cuss,” like Artemus 
Mr. A. 
Ward’s kangaroo, and we got no end of 
It was not always unal- 
fun out of him. 
THE FORESTER AND MISHKA, 
loyed fun, though. Once he managed to 
pull his collar over his ears, and go on 
a reconnoitring tour. He got into the 
room of one of the maid servants, opened 
her chest of drawers, pulled out all her 
dresses and spread them out on the floor. 
Then some jars of preserves attracted his 
attention. He cleared them in a short time, 
getting the whole of his muzzle sticky, as 
well as his paws. He started cleaning 
them on the unfortunate dresses spread out 
on the floor, and there is no saying where 
his mischief would have ended, if the girl 
