110 WOLF. DAYS IN PENNSYLVANIA. 



along a path frequented by the animals. When a wolf 

 stopped and licked the fat, the blade would cut his 

 tongue. The sight of the blood would infuriate the 

 pack, causing them to fight among themselves until 

 sometimes half the pack would be slain. That there is 

 some connection between the "wolf-notes," those wild, 

 inexplicable variants sometimes struck on a vioHn, and 

 wolves, is attested to by the following anecdote of 

 Lewis Dorman, the famous hunter of the Seven 

 Mountains, who died in 1905, and is buried in St. 

 Paul's Churchyard, near Woodward, Centre County. 

 As is well known, Dorman was a violinist of note. 

 One summer evening, when camped in High Valley, 

 he was tuning an old' fiddle belonging to Jacob 

 Riter, when accidentally a sharp "wolf note" was 

 struck on the strings. It was answered by a wolf on 

 the summit of the Red Top. Dorman repeated the 

 "wolf notes" as best he could, eventually drawing the 

 wolf off the mountain and bringing it to the edge of 

 the clearing. The next night the hunter played some 

 good music on his own violin, but the wolf paid no 

 attention to it. But when again he drew the bow 

 across the weakest part of the old, imperfect violin, 

 the wolf was quick to respond from his mountain re- 

 treat. John Jones, a Pennsylvania poet, thus alludes 

 to the wolves in his magnificent poem of pioneer days, 

 "The Retrospect" : 



"When nights were long and winters cold, 

 The wolves would prowl In hunger near — 

 Around the house — while in the fold 

 The frightened lambs all cringed with fear." 



