wild beasts; but I had never before heard them alone, and when one dear to me was abroad amid their haunts.  They were directly in the track that Moodie and Monaghan must have taken; and I now made no doubt that they had been attacked and killed on their return through the woods with the cow, and I wept and sobbed until the cold grey dawn peered in upon me through the small dim window.  I have passed many a long cheerless night, when my dear husband was away from me during the rebellion, and I was left in my forest home with five little children, and only an old Irish woman to draw and cut wood for my fire, and attend to the wants of the family, but that was the saddest and longest night I ever remember.

Just as the day broke, my friends the wolves set up a parting benediction, so loud, and wild, and near to the house, that I was afraid lest they should break through the frail window, or come down the low wide chimney, and rob me of my child.  But their detestable howls died away in the distance, and the bright sun rose up and dispersed the wild horrors of the night, and I looked once more timidly around me.  The sight of the table spread, and the uneaten supper, renewed my grief, for I could not divest myself of the idea that Moodie was dead.  I opened the door, and stepped forth into the pure air of the early day.  A solemn and beautiful repose still hung like a veil over the face of Nature.  The mists of night still rested upon the majestic woods, and not a sound but the flowing of the waters went up in the vast stillness.  The earth had not yet raised her matin hymn to the throne of the Creator.  Sad at heart, and weary and worn in spirit, I went down to the spring and washed my face and head, and drank a deep draught of its icy waters.  On returning to the house I met, near the door, old Brian the hunter, with a large fox dangling across his shoulder, and the dogs following at his heels.

“Good God!  Mrs. Moodie, what is the matter?  You are early abroad this morning, and look dreadful ill.  Is anything wrong at home?  Is the baby or your husband sick?”

“Oh!” I cried, bursting into tears, “I fear he is killed by the wolves.”

The man stared at me, as if he doubted the evidence of his senses, and well he might; but this one idea had taken such strong possession of my mind that I could admit no other.  I then told him, as well as I could find words, the cause of my alarm, to which he listened very kindly and patiently.

“Set your heart at rest; your husband is safe.  It is a long journey on foot to Mollineux, to one unacquainted with a blazed path in a bush road.  They have stayed all night at the black man’s shanty, and you will see them back at noon.”

I shook my head and continued to weep.

“Well, now, in order to satisfy you, I will saddle my mare, and ride over to the nigger’s, and bring you word as fast as I can.”

I thanked him sincerely for his kindness, and returned, in somewhat better spirits, to the house.  At ten o’clock my good messenger returned with the glad tidings that all was well.