40 WOLF'S WILD ANIMALS. 



period of the year, when all the flowers have drooped and died, and nature, bereft 

 of her summer beauty, awaits the joyful resurrection of the spring-time. And they 

 are suitable inhabitants of the gloomy scene, flitting over the pure snow, their black 

 forms casting still blacker shadows, as with harsh cries and laboured effort, they 

 wing their way over the land. Quick of eye they are too, and cunning withal ; 

 nothing escapes their piercing gaze, and well indeed must that object be hidden, 

 which they pass by unnoticed. No poor wearied creature, sinking under the fierce 

 blast, wounded perhaps, need hope to escape these pilferers ; for quickly spying it 

 out they stoop around it, only delaying their attacks until the evidence of all active 

 life is gone. And so they seem unsuited for the bright summer, when all nature 

 is smiling in her cheerful dress, bringing their black robes amid the gay flowers ; 

 but more in consonance with bleak December. 



Night is drawing slowly on, the sun is setting in clouds and thick mist, 

 and the wind moans sadly over the cheerless landscape. The trees, holding their 

 uncovered arms towards the wintery sky, are rocking in the blast, earth is clad in 

 a winding-sheet of white, and all nature lies lifeless beneath the tread of the 

 storm-king who holds in his hands the ice-treasures of the north. Swiftly, as 

 though hurrying to some appointed trysting-place, the clouds fly across the heavens, 

 jostling each other in their rapid course, as if anxious to reach their goal ; the biishes 

 bend beneath their snowy load, while from numberless swaying twigs the transparent 

 icicles hang in long, glittering lances. 



At such a time, one would suppose, every animal would keep under shelter, 

 and that nothing but the pangs of hunger could induce any of the wild dwellers 

 of the woods to brave the chill blast that is sweeping over the face of the land. 

 But yonder, moving slowly, evidently in pain, one small limb hanging useless, struck 

 perhaps by the pellets from some sportsman's gun, a wounded hare is seeking some 

 friendly shelter to hide herself from the cutting wind, and her no less relentless 

 pursuer. How she must long for the warm form, from which she was so suddenly 

 startled but a short time since, by the dog which had discovered her retreat, and 

 where she had sat thinking perhaps of the moon-light night in the pleasant summer- 

 time, when she had played upon the soft green sward — and then, as the snow went 

 whirling by, nestled all the closer in her warm nest. 



But the spot she is accustomed, to regard as home (for .even the lower 

 animals have such to which they constantly resort) is far away now, and weary 



