capture than to slay the supposed bear. Meanwhile the
Canadian, harnessed to the sleigh of the D'Egvilles,
roared out with all his lungs for the two parties to
hasten to the assistance of the drowning British officer.
In the confusion produced by their own voices, however,
they did not appear to hear or understand him; yet all
pursued the aim they had in view. Cranstoun's body was
so doubled up that it was impossible for any one, who
had not witnessed the accident, to imagine it any thing
in nature but a bear; and this impression, the strange
moaning he continued to make, tended to confirm.

"The party of Canadians, favored by the nature of their
floating ice-bridges, were the first to come up to him.
A desperate effort of his cramped muscles had enabled
Cranstoun to extend one of his legs, at the moment when
they were about to throw a noose round his neck, and this
was the first intimation the astonished peasantry had of
their supposed prize being a human being, instead of the
fat bear they bad expected. Poor Cranstoun was of course
liberated from his 'durance vile,' but so chilled from
long immersion, that he could not stand without assistance,
and it was not until one of their companions had approached
with a sleigh that he could be removed. He kept his bed
three days, as much I believe from vexation as illness,
and has never worn his unlucky bear skin since; neither
has he forgiven Julia D'Egville the laugh she enjoyed at
his expense. Cranstoun," he concluded, "you may turn
now, the story is told."