SKATER CHASED BY WOLVES. 457 



"With their long gallop, which can tire 

 The deer-hound's hate, the hunter's ire," 



they pursue their prey — never straying from the track of 

 their victim — and as the wearied hunter thinks that he has 

 at last outstripped them, he finds that they but waited for 

 the evening to seize their prey, and falls a prize to the tireless 

 animals. 



The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the 

 velocity of lightning, as I dashed on in my flight to pass 

 the narrow opening. The outlet was nearly gained ; one 

 second more and I would be comparatively safe, when my 

 pursuers appeared on the bank above me, which here rose 

 to the height of ten feet. There was no time for thought, so 

 I bent my head and dashed madly forward. The wolves 

 sprang, but miscalculating my speed, fell behind, while their 

 intended prey glided out upon the river. 



Nature turned me towards home. The light flakes of 

 snow spun from the iron of my skates, and I was some 

 distance from my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me 

 I was still their fugitive. I did not look back, I did not 

 feel afraid, or sorry, or glad; one thought of home, of the 

 bright faces awaiting my return, and of their tears if they 

 never should see me, and then every energy of body and 

 mind were exerted for escape. I was perfectly at home on 

 the ice. Many were the days that I spent on my good 

 skates, never thinking that at one time they would be my 

 only means of safety. Every half minute an alternate yelp 

 from my fierce attendants made me but too certain that they 

 were in close pursuit. Nearer and nearer they came ; I 

 heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still, until I 

 could feel their breath and hear their snuffing scent. Every 

 nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost 

 tension. 



The trees along the shore seemed to dance in an uncertain 

 light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed, 



