the wild things that roamed among them in the day of
old, are there still, and the same species of birds that sported in
their branches thousands of years ago, are there still. We heard the
howl of the wolf at night; we heard the scream of the panther; we saw
the tracks of the moose, and where he had fed on the pastures along
the shore; we saw the footprints of a huge bear in the sand on the
beach, and the deer-paths were like those that lead to a sheep-fold.
It was a pleasant thing to row along the shore, into the bays, around
the islands, and into the creeks that came in from other little lakes
deeper in the wilderness. The banks are mostly bold and bluff, the
rocks standing up four or eight feet from the water, or broken and
fallen like an ancient wall. Here and there is a long stretch of
beautiful sandy beach, on which the tiny waves break with a rippling
song, and from which bars go out with a gentle slope into the water.

We intended to remain here quietly for a few days, taking things easy,
rowing, and fishing, and hunting enough for exercise only. There is
plenty of deer, and trout, and duck, and partridge here, to be taken
with small labor; there are bears, and wolves, and panthers, in the
woods around. But these are fewer and harder to be come at than the
other game; there is an occasional moose too. We saw the tracks of all
these animals hereabouts, and we hoped to get a shot at some or all of
them before leaving the woods.

Reader, did you ever hear the wolves howl in the old woods of a Still
night! No? Then you have not heard _all_ the music of the forest. Some
deep-mouthed old forester will open his jaws, and send forth a volume
of sound so deep, so loud, so changeful, so undulating and variable in
its character, that, as it rolls along the forest, and comes back in
quavering echoes from the mountains, you will almost swear that his
single voice is an agglomerate of a thousand, all mixed, and mingled,
and rolled up into one. May be, away in the distance, possibly on the
other side of the lake, or across a broad valley, another will open
his mouth and answer, with a howl as deep, and wild, and variable, as
the first; and possibly a third and fourth, one on the right, and
another on the left, will join in the chorus, until the whole forest
seems to be fall of howling and noise; and yet not one of these
animals may be within a mile of you. To a timid man, there is something
terrific in the howl of the wolves