ive of punishment, and throw themselves
into attitudes strongly resembling those of a wolf when caught in a
trap.

Foxes are frequently taken in the pitfalls set for wolves, and seem to
possess more cunning. An odd incident is related by Mr. Lloyd: A fox was
lying at the bottom of a pitfall, apparently helpless, when a very stout
peasant, having placed a ladder, began to descend with cautious and
creaking steps to destroy the vermin. Reynard, however, thought he might
benefit by the ladder, as well as his corpulent visitor, and, just as
the latter reached the ground, jumped, first, on his stern, then, on his
shoulder, skipped out of the pit, and was off in a moment, leaving the
man staring and swearing at his impudent escape!

Captain Lyon mentions an instance of the sagacity of the fox: he had
caught and tamed one of these animals, which he kept on deck, in a
small hutch, with a scope of chain. Finding himself repeatedly drawn out
of his hutch by this, the sagacious little fellow, whenever he retreated
within his castle, took the chain in his mouth, and drew it so
completely in after him, that no one, who valued his fingers, would
endeavor to take hold of the end attached to the staple.

Mr. Lloyd mentions a curious contest that took place in the vicinity of
Uddeholm. A peasant had just got into bed, when his ears were assailed
by a tremendous uproar in his cattle-shed. On hearing this noise, he
jumped up, and, though almost in a state of nudity, rushed into the
building to see what was the matter: here he found an immense wolf,
which he gallantly seized by the ears, and called out most lustily for
assistance. His wife--the gallant Trulla--came to his aid, armed with a
hatchet, with which she severely wounded the wolf's head; but it was not
until she had driven the handle of the hatchet down the animal's throat,
that she succeeded in dispatching him. During the conflict, the man's
hands and wrists were bitten through and through; and, when seen by Mr.
Lloyd, the wounds were not healed.

Like dogs, wolves are capable of strong attachment; but such instances
are comparatively rare: the most striking, perhaps, was that recorded by
M. Frederick Cuvier, as having come under his notice at the Menagerie du
Roi at Paris. The wolf in question was brought up as a young dog, became
familiar with persons he was in the habit of seeing, and, in particular,
followed his master every where, evincing chagrin at his absence,
obeying