deceived Basil; and instead of hitting her in the head, as he had intended, his bullet glanced from her snout, doing her but little harm. Now, the snout of a bear is its most precious and tender organ; and a blow upon that will rouse even the most timid species of them to fury. So it was with this one. She saw whence the shot came; and as soon as she had given her head a few shakes, she came in a shuffling gallop towards the boys.

Basil now saw how rashly he had acted; but there was no time for expressing regrets. There was not even time to get to their horses. Before they could reach there and unfasten them, the bear would overtake them; and some one of them would become a victim.

"Take to the trees!" shouted Lucien; "if it be a grisly bear, she cannot climb." As Lucien said this, he levelled his short rifle, and fired at the advancing animal. The bullet seemed to strike her on the flank, as she turned with a growl and bit the part. This delayed her for a moment, and allowed Lucien time to swing himself into a tree. Basil had thrown away his rifle, not having time to reload. Francis, when he saw the great monster so near, dropped his gun without firing.

ALL three, in their haste, climbed separate trees. It was a grove of white oaks; and these trees have usually great limbs growing low down and spreading out horizontally. These limbs are often as many feet in length as the tree itself is in height.

It was upon these that they had climbed, Basil having taken to that one under which they had slept, and which was much larger than the others around. At the foot of this tree the bear stopped. The robes and blankets drew her attention for the moment. She tossed them over with her great paws, and

then left them, and walked round the trunk, looking upwards, at intervals uttering loud sniffs, that sounded like the escape of a steam pipe.

By this time, Basil had reached the third or fourth branch from the ground. He might have gone much higher; but from what Lucien had suggested, he believed the animal to be a grisly bear. Her color, which was a dark-brown, confirmed him in that belief, as he knew that grisly bears are met with of a great variety of colors. He had nothing to fear, then, even on the lowest branch, and he thought it was no use going higher. So he stopped and looked down.

He had a good view of the animal below; and to his consternation, he saw at a glance that it was not a grisly, but a different species. Her shape, as well as general appearance, convinced him it was the "cinnamon " bear, a variety of the black, and one of the best tree climbers of the kind. This was soon put beyond dispute, as Basil saw the animal throw her great paws around the trunk, and commence crawling upward.

It was a fearful moment. Lucien and Francis both leaped back to the ground, uttering shouts of warning and despair. Francis picked up his gun, and without hesitating a moment, ran to the foot of the tree, and fired both barrels into the hips of the bear. The small shot could hardly have penetrated her thick, shaggy hide. It only served to irritate her afresh, causing her to growl fiercely; and she paused for some moments, as if considering whether she should descend and punish the enemy in the rear, or keep on after Basil. The rattling of the latter among the branches above decided her, and on she crawled upwards.

Basil was almost as active among the branches of a tree as a monkey or a squirrel. When about sixty feet from the ground, he crawled out upon a long limb that grew horizontally. He chose this one because he saw another growing above it, which, he thought, he might reach as soon as the bear followed him out upon the first, and by this means get back to

the main trunk before the bear, and down to the ground again.

After getting out upon the limb, however, he saw that he had miscalculated. The branch upon which he was, bending down under his weight, so widened the distance between it and the one above, that he could not reach the latter, even with the tips of his fingers. He turned to go back. To his horror, the bear was at the other end, in the fork, and preparing to follow him along the limb.

He could not go back without meeting the fierce brute in the teeth. There was no branch below within his reach, and none above; and he was fifty feet from the ground. To leap down appeared the only alternative to escape the clutches of the bear, and that alternative was certain death.

The bear advanced along the limb. Francis and Lucien screamed below, loading their pieces as rapidly as they could; but they feared they would be too late.

It was a terrible situation; but it was in such emergencies that the strong mind of Basil best displayed itself; and instead of yielding to despair, he appeared cool and collected. His mind was busy examining every chance that offered.

All at once a thought struck him; and obedient to its impulse, he called to his brothers below, "A rope! a rope! Fling me a rope! Haste! for Heaven's sake, haste! a rope, or I am lost!"

Fortunately, there lay a rope under the tree. It was a lasso* of raw hide. Lucien dropped his half-loaded rifle, and sprang towards it, coiling it as he took it up. He ran under the tree, twirled the lasso round his head, and launched it upwards.

Basil, to gain time, had crept out upon the limb as far as it would bear him, while his fierce pursuer followed after. The branch, under their united weight, bent downward like a bow. Fortunately, it was oak, and did not break.

* The lasso is a rope, or cord, with a noose, used in various parts of North and South America for capturing animals.

Basil was astride, his face turned to the tree and towards his pursuer. The long snout of the latter was within three feet of his head, and he could feel her warm breath, as, with open jaws, she stretched forward, snorting fiercely.

At this moment, the ring end of the lasso struck the branch directly between them, passing a few feet over it. Before it could slip back again, and fall off, the young hunter had grasped it, and double knotted it around the limb. The next moment, and just as the great claws of the bear were stretched forth to clutch him, he slipped off the branch, and glided down the lasso.

The rope did not reach the ground by at least twenty feet. Lucien and Francis had observed this as soon as it first hung down, and prepared themselves accordingly; so that when Basil reached the end of the rope, he saw his brothers standing below, and holding a large buffalo skin stretched out between them. Into this he dropped, and, the next moment, stood upon the ground unhurt.

And now came the moment of triumph. The tough limb, that had been held stretched down by Basil's weight, becoming so suddenly released, flew upward with a jerk.

The unexpected violence of that jerk was too much for the bear. Her hold gave way: she was shot into the air several feet upwards, and falling with a dull, heavy sound to the earth, lay for a moment motionless. She was only stunned, however, and would soon have struggled up again to renew the attack; but before she could regain her feet, Basil had laid hold of Francis's half-loaded gun, and hurriedly pouring down a handful of bullets, ran forward and fired them into her head, killing her upon the spot.

The cubs, by this time, had arrived upon the ground, and Marengo * attacked them with fury. The little creatures fought fiercely, and together would have been more than a match for the dog; but the rifles of his masters came to his assistance, and put an end to the contest.

*This was the name of a hound the youths had with them.

XXII. TO THE CUCKOO.

LOGAN.

[The cuckoo is a bird frequently mentioned in English poetry, because it arrives in that country in early spring, and thus its coming is a sign that winter is over. By the first of July it takes its departure. The American cuckoo is a different bird from the English. John Logan, the author of this poem, was born in Scotland in 1748, and died in 1788.]

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove,

Thou messenger of spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And birds thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear:
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The school boy, wandering through the wood,

To pull the primrose gay,

Starts the new voice of spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fly'st the vocal vale;

An annual guest, in other lands,

Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year.