1.DURING the winter of 1844，being in the northern part of Maine，I had much leisure for the sports of a new country.To none was I more passionately addicted than to skating.The sequestered lakes，frozen by intense cold，offer a wide plain to the lovers of this pastime.Often would I bind on my skates，and glide away up the glittering river，threading every mazy streamlet that flowed on toward the parent ocean，and feeling every pulse bound with the joyous exercise.It was during one of these excursions that an adventure befell me，that I can rarely think upon，even now，without a certain thrill of astonishment.
2.I had left a friend’s house one evening，just before dusk，with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebec，which，under its icy crust，flowed directly before the door.The air was clear，calm，and bracing.The new moon silvered the lofty pines，and the stars twinkled with rare brilliancy from their dark-blue depths.In the stillness，the solitude，and magnificence of the scene，there was an effect almost preternatural upon the mind.I had gone up the river nearly two miles，when，coming to a little stream which emptied into a larger，I turned in to explore its course.Fir and hemlock trees of a century‘s growth met overhead，and formed an evergreen archway，radiant with frost-work.
3.All was dark within；but I was young and fearless，and，as I peered into the unbroken forests，I laughed in very joyousness.My wild hurrah rang through the woods，and I stood listening to the echo that reverberated again and again，until all was hushed.Occasionallyfrom some tall oak a night-bird would flap its wings.I watched the owls as they fluttered by，and I held my breath to listen to their distant hooting.
4.All of a sudden，a sound arose，which seemed to proceed from the very ice beneath my feet.It was loud and tremendous at first，and ended in a long yell.I was appalled.Coming on the ear amid such an unbroken solitude，it sounded like a blast from an infernal trumpet.Presently I heard the twigs on the shore snap as if from the tread of some animal.The blood rushed to my forehead with abound that made my skin burn；but I felt a strange relief that I had to contend with things of earthly and not spiritual mold.My energies returned.The moon shone through the opening by which I had entered the forest，and，considering this the best direction for escape，I shot toward it like an arrow.
5.The opening was hardly a hundred yards distant，and the swallow could not have skimmed them more swiftly；yet，as I turned my eyes to the shore，I could see two dark objects dashing through the underbrush at a pace nearly double that of my own.By theirgreat speed，and the short yells which they gave，I knew at once that they were of the much-dreaded species known as the gray wolf.The untamable fierceness and untiring strength of this animal，“With its long gallop，that can tireThe hound’s deep hate，the hunter‘s fire，” render it an object of dread to benighted travelers.The bushes that skirted the shore now seemed to rush by me with the velocity of light，as I dashed on in my flight.
6.The outlet was nearly gained；one second more，and I would be comparatively safe；but my pursuers suddenly appeared on the bank directly above me，which rose to the hight of some ten feet.There was no time for thought；I bent my head and darted wildly forward.The wolves sprang，but，miscalculating my speed，sprang behind，while their intended prey glided out upon the river.Instinct turned me toward home.How my skates made the light，icy mist spin from the glassy surface！The fierce howl of my pursuers again rang in my ears.I did not look back；I thought of the dear ones awaiting my return，and I put in play every faculty of mind and body for my escape.I was perfectly at home on the ice；and many were the days I had spent on my skates.
