ousekeeping department.

About eleven or twelve years since, I lost in one season a flock of
sheep by the wolves. This misfortune occurred, unluckily for me, in the
hottest month of the Canadian year, July. I had not housed my sheep,
because I found that, in very sultry weather, during the fly-season,
they would not feed in the day-time, but would creep under the fences
and into the Bush for shade. I, therefore, thought it best to risk
losing some, than to spoil the whole flock; for I knew the only time
they would graze was during the night, or very early in the morning.
Consequently, for three or four years previously, I had allowed them to
run at large during the summer months.

One morning, I observed from the veranda in front of my house, a sheep,
which was standing on the opposite bank of the river. As I knew there
was no farm within two or three miles of the river in that direction, I
thought I would go over in a canoe, and see what brought it there. I
had not gone half way to the river when I discovered the mangled
carcass of one of my own sheep, and on further search found ten more,
lying, half-devoured, in different directions--the murder was now out.
The sheep I had seen on the opposite shore was one of my own, which had
taken to the water, and had thus escaped the fangs of the wolves. I saw
two more of my luckless flock on a shoal more than a mile down the
river, which--less fortunate than their companion--had been swept down
by the current and drowned. Exactly a week afterwards, I had a similar
number destroyed by the wolves. As far as I was personally concerned, I
may say that they were a total loss; for the weather was too hot to
keep the meat any length of time, so I gave the greater part of the
mutton to my neighbours. Since that time, I have had better luck, not
having lost any part of my flock, although I have invariably left my
sheep abroad during the night.

Notwithstanding his ravenous propensities and cruel disposition, the
wolf is a very cowardly animal in his solitary state. Indeed, it is
only when he hunts in a pack, that he becomes formidable to man. Nature
has, in some measure, checked his evil disposition, by rendering him
timid. If he falls into a snare, he never attempts to get out of the
scrape; but crouches in a corner, awaiting his fate, without the least
intention of displaying any pluck to the trapper.

That the cowardice of the wolf is very great, the following anecdote
will suffi