d three hundred francs for a female wolf. Now a
brace a night, four hundred francs, or sixteen pounds, is not a bad
night's earning: in Spa it would keep a half-pay officer for three
months. There is a curious story here, proving the sagacity of a wolf
which came down an hour before dusk into the town, and made off with a
child of two years old in her mouth. The cry was raised, and the
pursuit immediate. After following her track for many miles, she gained
upon them, it became quite dark, and the people returned homewards,
melancholy at the fate of the poor child. When they were about half way
back, they heard the wail of an infant, and, guided by it, they arrived
at a thick bush, where they found the child alive and unhurt. The wolf,
finding that her pursuers gained upon her, had deposited the child
there, intending to return and make a meal of it upon a more favourable
opportunity.

We have had nothing to excite us within these last few days but the
death and burial of an old curate. He died in all the odour of sanctity
three days ago, and was buried yesterday. He was not loved or even
liked, for he wanted that greatest of all gifts--charity. His situation
was worth, with offerings, six thousand francs a year,--a large sum in
this country: but he did not give to the poor; he exacted from them, and
they religiously obeyed him, no one killing a pig or anything else
without a present of part of it to the curate. When the old man was
told that he could not live, the ruling passion still governed him. He
sent for a person to dispose of for him the sundry pieces of pork which
he had gathered as presents, then took the extreme unction, and died.
His will is not known, but he is supposed to be very rich, and whether
he leaves his wealth to some nephews, or to support a hospital here
which is at present without funds, is a question of some interest. He
was buried in great parade and procession, followed by hundreds holding
candles. He was dressed in his best, and every one said that he never
looked so clean or so well in his life. He was carried on an open
_brancard_, with his canonical hat on his head, the snow fell fast and
settled on his face and clothes, but he felt it not. The funeral was as
cold as his charity, the thermometer being exactly 130 below the
freezing point. Except the procession of the dead curate and of a dead
wolf, we have had nothing to interest us for the last ten days.

But I promised t