About 8 o'clock, however, things changed for the worse. The thermometer dropped and it began to blow and snow. It snowed more or less all night, and having no blankets or overcoat with me, I was employed the best part of the night in keeping the fire burning. The long night came to an end at last. The wind dropped and the snow ceased falling. Soon the sun appeared above the tree tops, looking warm and big. I was then enabled to get my bearings. I took out my watch and pointed the hour hand towards the sun. Midway between the hour hand and twelve o'clock I knew was south. It does not matter what hour of the day one does this, the result is the same. By this means I was enabled to get my bearings, and knowing that I had been travelling in a more or less northeasterly direction the day previous I took a southwesterly course. After travelling for six hours through thick bush, climbing over dead falls and crossing many creeks, I struck the lake where I had left my canoe and found it a little over a mile from where I came out to the lake. Ice was forming on the lake and the country was white with a blanket of snow. Having no mitts, my fingers got numbed from time to time. I soon launched the canoe and made for home. At last the post came in sight, and I can assure you that I received a great welcome. It was not long before I had a moose steak put before me. This, washed down with several cups of hot coffee, soon made me forget my experience of the night. ========== The Lure of the North By CATHERINE L. NASON _Poets tell of the sunny climes And speak in beautiful lines Of the flowers, the birds and song Of Summer's rapturous throng._ _They liken it to the freshness of the dew, They speak of smiling skies of blue. The awakening bud--the breath of June Is ever the same old poet's tune._ _But I would speak of the dazzling snows That only our great Northland knows. There is a beauty yet untold A majestic power a poet cannot unfold._ _There is a rapture in plains of virgin-white In the snow-clad mountain height, And a solemnity so deep--austere That one feels a God-like presence near._ _There is a wonder in the deep, deep silence, And the mighty wind's defiance Mingled with the Spirit of Unconquered Might And the undefined mystery of the night._ _The call of the North I cannot define, It has a lure of the great--sublime. Man is a being as yet too small To explain or resist the Northland's call._ ========== Explorations by Adventurers of the H.B.C. (_Continued from December Number_) Arranged by J. PREST Sometimes more dangerous game than buffalo was encountered. On September 17, Hendry writes, "Two men were miserably wounded by a grizzly bear that they were hunting today. One may recover but the other never can. His arm is torn from his body, one eye gouged out and his stomach ripped open." The next day the Indian died.