One half the year the settler's cabin was inaccessible; and it was not easy to find the path to it during the other half. Imagine then his lonely life, in such a solemn solitary place. If he had not had great courage he would not have stayed there; but yet he felt timorous sometimes. One night he was very much afraid; he had fastened his door early, and laid down to rest, when he heard a moaning under his window, and a forcible rubbing. Trembling, he lay all night awake, hearing these sounds at short intervals. He took care not to get up till the sun was pretty high. Then he peeped cautiously about, but saw nothing particular. When he went forth you may be sure it was with his axe and gun. He saw that the ground had been slightly disturbed. Next night came the same unaccountable noise; and night by night it continued to come, until at last the settler ventured to open a part of his narrow window, one fine moonlight night, and beheld, rubbing himself very composedly, a fine large bear, who looked up affectionately at him, with a melancholy growl. Bruin one night had found

some article of food that the settler had thrown out of the window, and he came to see if any more was to be had. As for his rubbing against the rough logs of the cabin, that was to get rid of mosquitoes; it was his custom; he also wished to let the settler know that he was there, and hungry. Davenport threw him some salt pork, which was most gratefully received; and every night after that, about nine o'clock, all the summer and autumn, the bear came for his supper of bread, meat, milk, potatoes, or whatever else could be spared by the owner of the log castle, who left the food for him on the ground under the window. The old settler contracted quite an intimacy with the bear, whom he called his brother. They spent many hours together,—but with the stout log wall betwixt them.

When the long severe Canadian winter sets in the bears lay themselves up to sleep; then the settler lost sight of his brother, who never came again.

Sir Richard Bonnycastle, whose book on Canada contains this incident, asked Davenport if

he ever ventured forth to look for his brother. He shook his head, and replied,

"My brudder might have hugged me too hard, perhaps."

Sir Richard says "the poor old fellow is very cheerful, and regrets his brother's absence daily."

WILLIAM PATERSON.

In the year 1658, in the county of Dumfries, Scotland, was born one of the most remarkable men that Scotland has produced. He was educated for the church, and went out as a missionary to the West India Islands. Missions offer a glorious field for adventurous minds such as Paterson's. But at this time his passion for adventure was not under the control of reason or of conscience; he mingled with the buccaneers who performed so many romantic exploits in that age, and, we may add, committed so many crimes. But a life of crime was not the life for Paterson. He acquainted himself with the Isthmus of Darien, better known as the Isthmus of Panama, and returned to Scotland, to raise

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a new expedition, for a peaceful and honourable settlement of Emigrants at the Isthmus. A thousand difficulties interposed. How was so much money to be raised as the undertaking required? How was he to win over a sufficient number of Emigrants? But every difficulty vanished before his determined will and untiring energy.

He unfolded his scheme to the famous Fletcher of Saltoun, and through his influence half the money in Scotland, four hundred thousand pounds, was subscribed. To this England added three hundred thousand, and Hamburgh and Holland, two hundred thousand. Three hundred men of high birth and influence joined the adventurer, and on the 26th of July, 1698, twelve hundred persons embarked at Leith, in five stout vessels, for the Isthmus of Darien. The entire population of Edinburgh crowded to bid them farewell, praising their courage, praying for their safety, and fully hoping for their success. Many were refused who wished to go, for the ships were full; but so great was their eagerness, that they hid themselves, and clung to the