THE
MONTHLY SCRAP BOOK.
THE BEAR.
There through the piny forest half absorpt,
Rough tenant of those shades, the shapeless bear,
With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn:
Slow-pac'd, and sourer as the storms increase,
He makes his bed beneath th' inclement drift;
And, with stern patience, scorning weak complaint,
Hardens his heart against assailing want.
The annals of the North are filled with accounts of the most perilous and fatal conflicts with the Polar bear. The first, and one of the most tragical, was sustained by Barentz and Heemskerh in 1596, during their voyage for the discovery of the north-east passage. Having anchored at an island near the strait of Weygatz, two of the sailors landed, and were walking on shore, when one of them felt himself closely hugged from behind. Thinking this a frolic of one of his companions, he called out, in a corresponding tone, 'Who's there? pray stand off.' His comrade looked, and screamed out, 'A bear! a bear.' then running to the ship, alarmed the crew with loud cries. The sailors ran to the spot, armed with pikes and muskets. On their approach, the bear very coolly quitted the mangled corpse, sprang upon another sailor, carried him off, and plunging his teeth into his body, began drinking his blood at long draughts. Hereupon, the whole of that stout crew, struck with terror;
