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 sufficiently prove.

My wife's youngest sister had a pet-sheep that she had brought up from
a lamb, and to which she was much attached. One afternoon she was going
down to the spring for a pitcher of water, when she saw a large dog--as
she thought--worrying her sheep, upon which, being naturally
courageous, she picked up a large stick and struck the beast two or
three strokes with all her strength, thus compelling him to drop her
favorite. This, however, he did very reluctantly, turning his head at
the same time, and showing his teeth with a most diabolical snarl. She
saw at once, when he faced her, by his pricked ears, high cheek-bones,