urt him."

"Well, I'm beat now!" remarked Mr. Beamish, as with both hands buried
in the coarse hair by which he had dragged the bear to the surface,
for it had gone under when the ice-cake had been broken against the jam
of logs which had stopped it, he looked up at his little daughter's
pale face.

"You and the bear made friends, and said your prayers together, and he
can't be hurt, you say?"

"Yes, father. Oh, please don't hurt him!"

"We might take him home and keep him chained up for a sort of a pet, if
he will behave decent," suggested Jake, a little doubtfully.

"Well!--I suppose we could," replied the father, very slowly and
reluctantly. "He seems peaceable enough now."

"And see how good he is to me," said Roxie, eagerly, as she patted the
head of her strange new friend, who blinked amicably in reply. "Oh,
Jake, do go and get Rob and the sled, and carry him home, wont you?"

"Why, yes, if father says so, and the critter will let me tie his
legs."

The ox-sled was close at hand, for the father and brother had brought
it to the river before they began their weary search up and down its
banks, not knowing what mournful burden they might have to carry home
to the almost frantic mother.

And Bruin, a most intelligent beast, seemed to understand so well that
the handling, and ride, were all for his own good, that he bore the
humiliation of having his legs tied with considerable equanimity, and
in a short time developed so gentle and gentlemanly a character as to
become a valued and honored member of the family, remaining with it for
about a year, when, wishing, probably, to set up housekeeping on his
own account, he quietly snapped his chain one day and walked off into
the woods, where he was occasionally seen for several years, generally
near the checkerberry patch.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

BY CHARLES W. SQUIRES.

I have no doubt that most of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS have heard of
the grand old Abbey of Westminster, in London, and that they would be
glad to visit this famous historical place. I had often been there in
my thoughts and dreams, and had often wished that I might really walk
through its quiet aisles and chapels, when, at last, I should make a
trip to Europe. And my wish was granted.

It was on a November morning--one of those dark, gloomy mornings,
peculiar to London, that I started from my lodgings to walk to the
Abbey. As I said before, I had often been there in my imagination, a