BEAK HUNTING. 
269 
Captain Lloyd, the celebrated English Bear huntei, who for 
many years passed every winter in Norway, in pursuit of his 
favorite game, which is there hunted on snow shoes, and who 
has published two very elaborate and agreeable volumes, on 
the habits of the animal and the methods of killing him in Scan¬ 
dinavia. By his researches, it has. been found that during this 
hibernation of the Bear, his intestines are absolutely sealed up 
by a species of resinous fatty matter, and that no secretions, 
either by the pores or the bowels, passing from the animal du¬ 
ring this singular lethargy, he is supported by his internal fat. 
The Bear is in the best condition when he is on the point of 
lying up for the winter, in the worst when he issues forth in 
spring, lean, lank, and hungry, after his four or five months’ 
fast. This habit has led. to a mode of taking him in these 
regions, perilous apparently and exciting in the extreme, which 
is nevertheless not un frequently resorted to when a den is dis¬ 
covered, and which, strange as it may seem, is almost invariably 
successful. Indeed, I never heard of an accident taking place 
of a fatal nature in one of these desperate adventures. 
Several years since I wrote for the “American Turf Register,” 
a sketch of an occurrence of this kind, which occurred on a 
favorite sporting ground of my own, the scene of which is per¬ 
fectly familiar to me, and for the facts of which I can vouch, 
although I did not see the feat performed—that having occurred 
previous to my visiting this country, and indeed the principal 
actor being at that time dead. The brother, however, who is 
mentioned in the tale, still I am happy to say, survives, and from 
him I heard, what, as it has never been republished, I shall 
proceed to quote, the incidents of the death of 
The Last Bear on the Hills of Warwick. 
It was a hot and breathless afternoon, toward the last days 
of July—one of those days of fiery, scorching heat, that drive 
the care-worn citizens from their great red-hot oven, into those 
calm and peaceful shades of the sweet unsophisticated country, 
