better than Estella, and that the plain honest
working life to which I was born, had nothing
in it to be ashamed of, but offered me sufficient
means of self-respect and happiness. At
those times, I would decide conclusively that
my disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge
was gone, and that I was growing up in a fair
way to be partners with Joe and to keep
company with Biddy—when all in a moment some
confounding remembrance of the Havisham days
would fall upon me, like a destructive missile,
and scatter my wits again. Scattered wits take
a long time picking up; and often, before I
had got them well together, they would be
dispersed in all directions by one stray thought,
that perhaps after all Miss Havisham was going
to make my fortune when my time was out.

If my time had run out, it would have left
me still at the height of my perplexities, I dare
say. It never did run out, however, but was
brought to a premature end, as I proceed to
relate.

IN PRAISE OF BEARS.

"WHY do your dogs bark so? Be there
bears i' the town?" asks simple Slender of
sweet Anne Page; and, the damsel, with a sly
glance, replies, "I think they are, sir; I
heard them talked of." Upon which, Master
Shallow's shallower cousin dilates on the sport
of bear-baiting, and, when he thinks he has
sufficiently terrified his fair listener by the
boastful avowal of having taken Sackerson by
the chain, he apologises for woman's fear by
saying that bears are "very ill-favoured rough
things," and that her sex, indeed, "cannot abide
'em." Master Slender's statement is not
altogether true. Rough they are—there is no
doubt of it; ill-favoured—well, that is a matter
of opinion, for there are many uglier creatures
that ladies admire; and as for being held by
womankind in such extreme aversion, it will be
shown, by-and-by, that, at all events, the rule
has its exceptions.

We will first exhibit our Bear in a state of
nature; and, although we shall have many things
to record of him which seem to indicate an
inborn ferocity, it will nevertheless be found that
if he gets fair play—that is, plenty to eat, and
is let alone—your Bear is not a bit worse than
any other irritable gentleman of your acquaintance.
Keep an alderman on bread-and-water
for a week, and then prog him frequently with a
pointed stick; depend upon it, the word "Bear"
will be but a mild epithet by which to characterise
him. All the authorities agree in declaring that
nearly the whole of the Ursidæ—in fact, the
Grizzly Bear ("Ursus ferox" and, therefore,
well named) is the only exception—refrain
from attacking man, or even the lower animals,
unless impelled to do so by excess of hunger,
to show fight when provoked being quite
another thing. "The Brown Bear," says the Rev.
Mr. Wood, "is not so formidable a foe to cattle
and flocks as might be supposed from the
strength, courage, and voracity of the animal, as
it has been often known to live for years in the
near vicinity of farms without making any
inroads upon the live stock. Fortunately for the
farmers and cattle owners of Northern Europe,
the Brown Bear is chiefly indebted for his food
to roots and vegetable substances, or the sheds
and folds would soon be depopulated. As a
general fact, the Bear does not trouble itself to
pursue the cattle, and in many cases owes its
taste for blood to the absurd conduct of the
cattle, which are apt to bellow and charge at
the Bear as soon as it makes its appearance."
(Who amongst ourselves submits to be bellowed
at, except a candidate on the hustings? Who
likes to be charged—or over-charged?) "The
Bear is then provoked to retaliation, and in so
doing, learns a taste for blood, which never
afterwards deserts it." So that, you see, it is
not naturally the inclination of the Bear to eat
even beef, much less to behave like a cannibal;
whereas, we mankind hunt up and devour
everything that is edible, without the slightest
provocation on the part of the food, and Bears,
themselves are included amongst our articles of
diet; witness the following, one of many statements
of the same kind illustrative of the fact:
"The flesh of the Bear is held in high esteem
among the colonists and native hunters, and
when properly prepared is considered a great
delicacy by the denizens of civilised localities.
The hams, when cured after the approved
recipe, are greatly esteemed by epicures. The
Brown Bear of Europe is also famed for the
excellent quality of the meat which it
furnishes." To show the voracity of man, as a
set-off against that of the Bear, no time nor
season avails with the former to keep him from
bear's flesh, if he be so minded. Hearne, in his
Journey to the Northern Ocean (1769-1772),
says that, the flesh of the brown bear is "abominable"
during the period when fruit is scarce,
and they are obliged to feed on insects; yet,
even though it taste like carrion, men are found
to relish it. Hearne, who evidently spoke from
personal experience, immediately adds, that "in
the middle of July, when the fruit is ripe, they
are excellent eating." And in another place he
remarks of the Polar Bear, who, at the worst,
is only a fish-eater, having no choice but
to be one, that their flesh "is not unpleasant
eating, and the young cubs in the spring are
rather delicate than otherwise." Of the Black
Bear, too, we learn from another northern
traveller, that "the liver is said to be a peculiar
luxury when dressed on skewers, kibob fashion,
with alternate slices of fat." Bear's liver,
however, though it may rival in flavour the liver of
Strasburg geese, cannot always be eaten with
impunity. One of the old Arctic voyagers
relates: "Having killed a Beare we drest her
liver and eate it, which in the taste liked us
well, but it made us all sicke, specially three
that were exceedingly sicke, and we verily
thought we should have lost them, for all
their skins came off, from the foot to the head,
but yet they recovered againe." Bears, then, in