Shortly before hibernating she becomes enormously fat, and the new fur which she puts on is quite half as long again as that of the summer raiment. Hunters, therefore, are naturally anxious to kill the bear just before hibernating. In the first place, a fully developed winter fur, taken before it has been injured by use, will sell for twice as much money as the fur of the same animal when taken in summer or after hibernating. In the next place, the fat, which is so well-known as “bear’s-grease,” always commands a ready sale. Lastly, as bear’s meat, prepared either by freezing or smoking, forms the greatest part of winter food in many a family, it is a matter of the greatest consequence to have that meat in the best condition. How valuable it is under such circumstances may be realized by reading the life of the old American hunter, Daniel Boone, and seeing how, when his wife and children were nearly dying of hunger and cold, he forced his way across the half-frozen river, succeeded in killing a bear, and by almost superhuman exertions transported all the meat across the river to his hut. Supposing that the bear is not interrupted in her work, she retires to the den just before winter, and closes the entrance as well as she can. In this place of refuge the young are born. They are at first scarcely larger than rats, but increase in size, drawing the whole of their nourishment from their mother, who takes no food during the whole of the winter and early spring. In consequence, when she and her young emerge, the latter are fat and strong, while the mother is but the shadow of her former self. Here again is a wonderful example of the many ways in which God “giveth meat to all flesh.” When a male or young female hibernates it comes out of its refuge as fat as it was on entering it. The hibernation is so perfect that there is scarcely any waste of tissue, as is the case with the mother bear, whose young practically subsist on the store of fat which she laid up in the autumn. The polar bear when about to become a mother is obliged to find a very different kind of refuge, as there are neither caves, hollow trees, or branches, and often there is nothing but ice as a resting-place and snow as a covering. So she depends for shelter upon the snow. After selecting a convenient snow-drift, she scrapes a hole in it, and suffers the snow to fall upon her as it will. In that country, where even the human inhabitants are obliged to make their houses out of snow or perish, she is soon buried under many feet of snow. Her thick fur keeps the snow from contact with the skin, while the heat of her body gradually melts the snow away from around her, so that she lies in a sort of tent.