stayed twenty-four hours in any place in Norway
vitliont having at least one invitation to go
after a bear. Once, but only once, was I fool
enough to accept it, for after having lain flat on
my stomach all night in close proximity to the
putrid carcase of a horse, and getting nearly
devoured by mosquitoes, and, of course, seeing
nothing, I made a vow never to go bear hunting
any more. There are, however, several bears in
Finmarken, and large numbers are annually
slaughtered by the Lapps, mostly in the winter-
time or early spring. The account a merchant
in Hammerfest gave me of a bear hunt put me
much in mind of rabbiting at home.

When the ground is covered with snow, the
hunter repairs to the bear-den, whither Bruin
has been previously tracked. He generally
takes with him three or four companions. All
of them go on "skie," the Norwegian snow-
shoe, whereby they can skim over the
surface of the snow at railroad speed. They are
armed with rifles, axes, and bear-spears, long
poles about eight to ten feet in length, furnished
at one end with a sharp iron head. On arriving
at the entrance to the den, which much
resembles a fox-earth, they range themselves round
it. One of their number now tries to arouse
Bruin from his profound slumber by " stirring
him up with a long pole." This generally has
the desired effect, for presently the bear comes
sleepily to the hole and puts his head out to
see what all the fuss is about. Down comes
an axe upon his "devoted head," which is
quickly drawn in again. Again the pole is
inserted, and at last Bruin gets so savage that
he determines to make a bolt. Gathering
himself up, he makes a dart out, like a rabbit
with a ferret behind him. The dogs are
then slipped, and set off in full chase. Bruin
is easily caught up, for his heavy weight sinks
deep into the snow. Squatting on his haunches
to secure his most vulnerable parts against the
attacks of his nimble assailants, he deals out
tremendous blows right and left with his powerful
paws. Woe to the luckless dog if he comes
in for one of them. Meanwhile the hunter
comes up and calls his dogs off. He then takes
his cap off and throws it in Bruin's face, and
defies him to the contest. If the bear accepts
it, he rears himself on his hind legs and rushes
at the hunter, who now, for the first time, uses
his rifle, and generally Bruin succumbs to his
bullet; for the Lapps are unerring marksmen.

But even though mortally wounded, the beast
will not "throw up the sponge" in token of
defeat, but dashes against his adversary, who
keeps him at a respectful distance with his
bear-spear, till the others come up and
administer the  "coup de grace." On one such
occasion, it happened that the hunter's spear
broke short off. The bear, though mortally
wounded, was still dangerous. It managed to
reach the hunter, and gave him such a hug in
his paws as nearly to squeeze the life out of his
diminutive body. "But I knew," said the
plucky little Lapp, "that his strength would
soon fail, and that my 'pels' (reindeer skin)
would protect me against his claws; so watching
a good opportunity, I plunged my knife
into his heart."

But it is not the men only that are good hunters.
One day a Lapp woman vent out to fish on a
lake, accompanied by her son, who was fourteen
years old. When they had caught a sufficient
supply, they landed on a part of the shore, which
was thickly overgrown with fir and underwood.
Presently the woman's quick eye fell on a large
heap of boughs, reeds, moss, &c., and, on nearer
inspection, she found a large hole underneath
the mass of rubbish, and felt convinced it was
the entrance to a bear's "Hi," or cave. She
was a courageous and resolute little body, and,
nothing daunted by the discovery, nor reflecting
that she was alone, hastened back to the boat
to fetch her axe and rifle (for a Lapp woman
generally goes armed, and is usually an expert
shot). Now, her sisters in other parts of the
civilised world would most probably have been
frightened out of their wits, and have beat
a speedy retreat under such circumstances.
Her only anxiety was lest the bear should get
off.

On returning, she proceeded to cut down a
small fir sapling, which she pointed at one end,
and gave it the boy to braddle about in the hole
to ascertain whether it was occupied or not,
while she stood with uplifted axe a little on one
side. No sooner was the pole inserted than out
came the head of a monstrous she bear, and
down came the axe on her skull with such force
that it remained sticking fast in the wound, and
accompanied Bruin as she retreated to the
furthest end of the cave. Time being up for
round number two, and her opponent not putting
in an appearance, she determined to try the
effect of a shot. No sooner had she fired down
the hole, than out bolted a cub about the size
of a sheep dog, which her son cleverly managed
to catch hold of by the hind leg. But it was
too strong for the little fellow, and, after
dragging him for some distance, managed to
get away. Determined, however, not to lose
him, mother and son went in pursuit, and
speedily overtook the animal, which had taken
to the water. A few well-administered taps
with the end of the oar soon rendered him
hors de combat.

Having secured him, the courageous little
woman went back again to the "Hi," and gave
it another stirring up. But all was still. Next
she fired a second shot, but nothing moved.
Concluding that the bear must be dead, or else
have escaped during her absence, she determined
to dig her out, a work of no small
labour. Success, however, attended her exertions,
for at length she found the bear lying
quite dead, with the axe still sticking in her
cleft skull, and, by her side, another cub as big
as the first, with a bullet wound through his
neck, also dead.

No mean achievement for a woman and her
boy!

I think the midnight sun is to be seen in
fuller perfection from the deck of a steamer