Moodie fired.  The bear retreated up the clearing, with a low growl.  Moodie and Jenny pursued him some way, but it was too dark to discern any object at a distance.  I, for my part, stood at the open door, laughing until the tears ran down my cheeks, at the glaring eyes of the oxen, their ears erect, and their tails carried gracefully on a level with their backs, as they stared at me and the light, in blank astonishment.  The noise of the gun had just roused John E—–­ from his slumbers.  He was no less amused than myself, until he saw that a fine yearling heifer was bleeding, and found, upon examination, that the poor animal, having been in the claws of the bear, was dangerously, if not mortally hurt.

“I hope,” he cried, “that the brute has not touched my foal!” I pointed to the black face of the filly peeping over the back of an elderly cow.

“You see, John, that Bruin preferred veal; there’s your ‘horsey,’ as Dunbar calls her, safe, and laughing at you.”

Moodie and Jenny now returned from the pursuit of the bear.  E—–­ fastened all the cattle into the back yard, close to the house.  By daylight he and Moodie had started in chase of Bruin, whom they tracked by his blood some way into the bush; but here he entirely escaped their search.

THE BEARS OF CANADA

  Oh!  Bear me from this savage land of bears,
    For ’tis indeed unbearable to me: 
  I’d rather cope with vilest worldly cares,
    Or writhe with cruel sickness of the sea. 
  Oh!  Bear me to my own bear land of hills,[1]
    Where I’d be sure brave bear-legg’d lads to see—­
  bear cakes, bear rocks, and whiskey stills,
    And bear-legg’d nymphs, to smile once more on me.

  I’d bear the heat, I’d bear the freezing air
    Of equatorial realm or Arctic sea,
  I’d sit all bear at night, and watch the Northern bear,
    And bless my soul that he was far from me. 
  I’d bear the poor-rates, tithes, and all the ills
    John Bull must bear, (who takes them all, poor sinner! 
  As patients do, when forced to gulp down pills,
    And water-gruel drink in lieu of dinner).

  I’d bear the bareness of all barren lands
    Before I’d bear the bearishness of this;
  bare head, bear feet, bear legs, bear hands,
    bear everything, but want of social bliss. 
  But should I die in this drear land of bears,
    Oh! ship me off, my friends, discharge the sable wearers,
  For if you don’t, in spite of priests and prayers,
    The bears will come, and eat up corpse and bearers.

J.W.D.M.

[1] The Orkney Isles.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE OUTBREAK