In the summer of 1892 I was wheeling through that part of Ontario which lies immediately south of the Georgian Bay. It was on this tour that I was "held up" for the only time in all my 'cycling experience.

      The weather had been tropical for the last few days, and, as the roads were fairly good, I was accustomed to devote most of the day to the arduous duty of keeping cool, riding from 5 a.m. to 9, and from 6 to 10 in the evening. But on this particular evening I was especially anxious to reach the next town in my route, and half-past 10 found me on the road, my lantern glaring in front, and throwing a stream of light on the road a few feet before me, through which stones and clods rushed like the objects in a magic-lantern slide. The night was dark and perfectly still, and I was making good time, when, on slowing up to round a corner, I espied a pair of pale-green orbs following me along the fence.

      I naturally supposed it to be some farmhouse tabby on a nocturnal excursion, and, seized with the idea of giving her a fright, I detached the lantern from the bracket and flashed it full on the eyes. To my unspeakable amazement, no cat stood revealed, but a large, greyish animal, whose tasseled ears and generally ferocious make-up proclaimed it a Canadian lynx. When the light struck it, it was so much astonished that it tumbled miscellaneously off the fence (not on my side) and disappeared from view. The idea then occurred to me that I should be getting on, and I remounted and continued my journey.

      I was not exactly frightened, but I was considerably astonished. I had no weapons more formidable than a pocket-knife and a bicycle wrench, experience having taught me the superior value of a peach policy. But I knew that lynxes seldom attacked man, and I hoped that he would be sufficiently startled to give up the pursuit, if he was pursuing me, and not merely engaged on private business. Nevertheless, I put on my best speed.

      In the course of a mile I came to a hill of uncomfortable steepness, and, on dismounting to walk up, and looking around I again beheld the greenish-yellow eyes. Again I flashed the lantern, and the animal halted. I kept the light turned on it till I reached the top of the hill, and there put my best foot (or, rather, pedal) foremost, only, on looking back, to see the eyes of the great cat.

      For a mile did that horrible beast pursue me, following my best pace with apparent ease, and keeping about twenty yards behind. But at last, to my infinite delight, on looking back, the eyes had disappeared, and I rode for a mile and a half without again seeing them.

      I was now within two miles of my destination, and, arriving at the top of a long, gradual descent, I resolved to indulge in a coast. Accordingly, I placed my feet on the coasters, and, keeping a hand on the brake, started off. The hill proved a little steeper than I had anticipated, and I was unable to check the speed by means of the brake. However, I had almost reached the bottom of the hill when, horrors! in the light of the lantern ten feet ahead, sat the lynx, in the very centre of the road. It was too late to stop. I dashed past the animal, and, as I passed, evidently imagining man and wheel to be some fabulous monster about to attack him, he sprang with a snarl upon the front wheel.

      Of course he was immediately thrown off; but the shock was too much for me. I executed a frenzied wabble, and then had to spring to avoid a tumble. I wheeled as I did so to face my assailant, and turned the bicycle to let the light on him. There he stood in the road, evidently disconcerted by his failure, growling savagely, and every hair standing on end. He flinched a little but held his ground as the light flashed on him; and there we stood for several minutes, he resolved to hold his ground, and I not daring to turn and re-mount lest he should spring upon my back. Thus we stood glaring at one another. I turned up the lamp to have more light on the subject, and as I did so a sudden idea struck me. I rummaged my pockets, and, to my great joy, discovered a cylindrical object, which proved to be a large cannon cracker. I had been amusing myself the day before with it, in a manner which, if somewhat puerile, is always delightful to me, and my disturber was to assist in the conclusion.

      Opening the side of the lantern, I lighted the fuse, and, tossing it high in the air, it fell unobserved, but, alas! too far beyond the animal. But, on my advancing a few feet, the lynx retreated, till he stood directly over the cracker. I was in terror lest he should smell the burning fuse, and to create a diversion flashed the light rapidly across his eyes, a performance which he greeted with loud growlings. The time seemed interminable till the fuse should be burned through, and I found myself in a state of nervous excitement awaiting the climax.

      At last, at a moment when I least expected it, there was a loud explosion under the belly of the cat, and a bright flash of flame.

      You should have heard the yell that lynx gave! He sprang fully four feet in the air, eyes wide open and paws outstretched; then with a couple of tremendous bounds cleared the fence and dashed across the fields, emitting the most terrific yawlings. I could hear him for a long distance

      When the sounds at length died away I re-mounted my wheel, much impressed with the superiority of man over the beasts of the field, and bubbling with laughter at the discomfiture of my amateur highwayman.

      I reached my destination in safety, and the next morning told my adventure which was listened to with great amusement. In return I was informed that lynxes were not uncommon, but that this one had often been known to follow a belated farmer's waggon for a mile or two, and been dubbed "Old Jeremiah." It had often been shot at but never killed, and as no particular fear was felt of it it was usually unmolested.

      I may add that, on passing through the same place last summer, I was informed that "Old Jeremiah" had neither been seen nor heard of since the night of my adventure.

FRANK POLLOCK      

      St. Mary's, Aug. 6.