lan of the trapper." It was a clever trick, no doubt--a
real Yankee shave; but one for which the sternest moralist can scarcely
get up an effective lecture.

The Canadian wolf is not nearly so ferocious as the European animal,
nor I believe quite so large. I have heard of very few well-
authenticated accounts of persons having been destroyed by these
creatures, though I must say I should not like again to be in their
vicinity in a dark night, as more than once I have been. I was
returning from Whitby after dark, and had just entered the woods,
through which my path lay for a full mile and a half. The night being
dark, and the road not particularly good, I gave Prince the rein, and
allowed him to choose his own pace. Presently, I thought I heard a
pattering on the leaves, like the tread of animals, at which sound my
horse pricked up his ears, snorted, and shied nearly across the road,
so suddenly that I was nearly thrown out of the saddle. Well for me was
it, however, that I kept my seat; for instantly such an infernal
howling was raised all round me as made my heart leap up to my mouth,
and I must candidly own I felt horribly afraid I should fall into the
clutches of devouring wolves. My good steed Prince, I fancy, was as
scared as myself, for he galloped off, followed by the pack, who fairly
made the woods ring with their unearthly yells. They did not chase us
far, and ceased howling, having seemingly lost the scent; but in a few
minutes a fresh burst in the direction of the lake-shore plainly told
me they had regained it, and were on the track of a deer, which most
probably had crossed the road at the time when I first heard their
chorus. It is not very easy to describe one's feelings on such
occasions.

There is something particularly appalling in the full cry of a pack of
wolves, especially when alone in the woods, and at night. I have
frequently heard them at such times, when camped out on hunting
expeditions. However, we mustered strong and were well armed, so we
cared little for them or their yells.

The only instance of any one being killed by wolves, to which I can
speak with certainty, occurred a few years back in the township of
Douro. A young lad of the name of M'Ewen was sent by his father to a
shoemaker, one George Disney, for his shoes. The distance was not more
than a mile by a path through the woods, and the boy was well
acquainted with the road. It appears, he went to Disney's, and waited
for his s