sportsmen open their
fire. The first volley puts the wolves to flight, and they retire to a
short distance. But again all is silent, they soon return to the
carcases they cannot make up their minds to desert; other wolves also,
that have been in the rear, attracted by the cries and smell of their
wounded companions, and the blood of the calves, arrive and take part in
the strife, so that during several hours the forest echoes with repeated
volleys. At length the calves are fairly eaten up, when the fortunate
survivors of the fray, gorged and satiated, take to flight, and
disappear like a band of black demons into the recesses of the forest.
It is then the sportsmen leave their hut, stretch their limbs, count the
dead, dispatch their wounded enemies, and, clothed in thick fur cloaks,
sit as if at the bivouac round a large fire, passing the remaining hours
of the night in emptying more bottles, excavating more pies, drinking
more punch, and telling better stories than those which I have had the
pleasure of laying before the reader.

The morning has scarcely dawned and the party is on the road home, when
a crowd of peasants arrive with their dogs, who, following the bloody
traces of the wolves in the snow, dispatch those which, though wounded,
have been able to leave the spot--for the sight of a dead wolf is to a
Morvinian as delightful as the possession of one is profitable. Having
killed his ferocious enemy, the peasant cuts off his head and his four
feet, which he fastens crosswise at the end of his staff; then arraying
himself in his best and most showy clothes, his hat ornamented with
flowers and ribbons streaming in the breeze, like those in the cap of an
English recruit, he is off, the left foot foremost, to the mayor of his
parish to receive the reward offered by the government. But his road to
his worship is anything but direct; he performs what he terms the grand
tour, visits every village in his way, makes his bow to the women, calls
at the sheep-farms and the _chateaux_, showing, with no little pride and
exultation, his wolf's head, and receives at each some acknowledgment
for the service he has rendered the community,--money, a dozen of eggs,
a pound of lard, a bit of pork, bread, flour, flax, or salt, &c. He who
kills the wolf, and carries the spoils as a trophy in this manner, is
accompanied by the musician of the neighbourhood, who marches before him
blowing his bagpipe with the force of an ox; behind him i