These incidents occurred some years before the date of which I speak, but the same kind of adventures were happening still. It did not take long to get away from the three or four concessions that stretched along the bay and lakes, and outside of civilization. I remember going with my father and mother, about 1835, on a visit to an uncle who had settled in the bush [Footnote: This was in the oldest settled part of the Province--the Bay of Quinte.] just ten miles away, and in that distance, we travelled a wood road for more than five miles. The snow was deep and the day cold. We came out upon the clearing of a few acres, and drove up to the door of the small log house, the only one then to be seen. The tall trees which environed the few acres carved out of the heart of the bush waved their naked branches as if mocking at the attempt to put them away. The stumps thrust their heads up through the snow on every hand, and wore their winter caps with a jaunty look, as if they too did not intend to give up possession without a struggle. The horses were put in the log stable, and after warming ourselves we had supper, and then gathered round the cheerful fire. When bed-time came, we ascended to our sleeping room by a ladder, my father carrying me up in his arms. We had not been long in bed when a pack of wolves gathered round the place and began to howl, making through all the night a most dismal and frightful noise. Sleep was out of the question, and for many a night after that I was haunted by packs of howling wolves. On our return the next day I expected every moment to see them come dashing down upon us until we got clear of the woods. This neighbourhood is now one of the finest in the Province, and for miles fine houses and spacious well-kept barns and outhouses are to be seen on every farm.