WOLVES. 
211 
tods (foxes) ; for each house nurses a young tod certain days, 
and mengis (mixes) the flesh thereof, after it be slain, with such 
meat as they give to their fowls or other small beasts, and so 
many as eat of this meat are preserved two months after from 
any damage of tods ; for tods will eat no flesh that gusts of 
their own kind.’ The last wolf killed in Scotland is said to 
have fallen by the hand of Sir Ewen Cameron, about 1680 ; 
and, singular to say, the skin of this venerable quadruped may 
yet be in existence : in a catalogue of Mr. Donovan’s sale of 
the London Museum, in April, 1818, there occurs the follow- 
ing item: — ‘Lot 832. Wolf, a noble animal in a large glass 
case. The last wolf killed in Scotland, by Sir E. Cameron.’ It 
would be interesting to know what became of this lot. 
“ The pairing time is January, when, after many battles with 
rivals, the strongest males attach themselves to the females. 
The female wolf prepares a warm nest for her young, of soft 
moss and her own hair, carefully blended together. The cubs 
are watched by the parents with tender solicitude, and gradually 
accustomed to flesh, and when sufficiently strong their educa- 
tion begins, and they are taken to join in the chase. Not the 
least curious part is the discipline by which they are inured to 
suffering and taught to bear pain without complaint : their 
parents are said to bite, maltreat, and drag them by the tail, 
punishing them if they utter a cry, until they have learned to be 
mute. To this quality Macaulay alludes when speaking of a 
wolf in his ‘ Prophecy of Capys 
‘ When all the pack, loud baying, 
Her bloody lair surrounds, 
She dies in silence, biting hard, 
Amidst the dying hounds.’ 
“ It is curious to observe the cunning acquired by wolves in 
well inhabited districts, where they are eagerly sought for de- 
struction; they then never quit cover to windward : they trot 
along just within the edges of the wood until they meet the 
wind from the open country, and are assured by their keen scent 
that no danger awaits them in that quarter — then they advance, 
keeping under cover of hedgerows as much as possible, moving 
in single file and treading in each other’s track ; narrow roads 
they bound across, without leaving a footprint. When a wolf 
contemplates a visit to a farm yard, he first carefully reconnoitres 
the ground, listening, snuffing up the air, and smelling the earth ; 
he then springs over the threshold without touching it, and 
seizes on his prey. In retreat his head is low, turned obliquely, 
with one ear forward the other back, and the eyes glaring. He 
trots crouching, his brush obliterating the track of his feet till at 
some distance from the scene of his depredation ; then, feeling 
