8i6 



THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY. 



f| 





Arctic Fox. 



second visit, lie coolly recrossed the road to the turf, squatted on 

 his haunches there, and looked over at the yard, and the game hens 



used for hatching out the 

 ^ / pheasants' eggs. It was too 

 much for the. keeper to put 

 up with. Slipping a cart- 

 ridge into his gun, he swung 



it up to his shoulder and let 

 drive at the fox, saying, 

 ' There's notice to quit, you 

 thund'rin' sweep ! " Then 

 did Master Reynard play 

 some extraordinary antics. 

 First he jumped off the 

 ground several times in the 

 most lively manner, then he 

 cuffed his ears vigorously 

 with his fore feet, gave a bit of a yelp, and bolted at top speed. 

 His skin is thick, and what would knock other things over would 

 not cripple him. 



When the hunters and the hounds chevy him across the fields 

 honest farmer Giles complains most bitterly. " Dash my old 

 gaiters, if I doan't wish as every warmint of a fox as ever run 

 was cold and stiff ; that I do ; an' 'tis a pity as some folks ain't 

 got better work for their bosses than ridin' over other people's 

 craps an' breakin' fences an' gates. 'Tis wonderful what a likin' 

 most of 'em have fur blunderin' thru a fence an' knockin' the pad- 

 lock off a gate. Why doan't they jump over 'em ? ef their hearts 

 was as big as their hosses hap they wud. That there field of tur- 

 mits will be punched inter sheep feed, they wunt want to go inter 

 no cuttin' machine. Cuss all fox-huntin'! I sez ; 'tis ruin for 

 farmers ! " 



It was wonderful how quickly farmer Giles was brought to 

 modify these strong opinions on fox-hunting by the appearance of 

 a two-gallon bottle labeled Old Irish, "with the Hunt's compli- 

 ments." He uncorked the bottle, smelt and tasted it more than 

 once, with and without sugar, ejaculating between each sip, 

 "Massy, oh alive!' 1 Then he walked to those fields again over 

 which they had ridden. Could it have been the softening influ- 

 ence of the Old Irish, or had he been making mountains out of 

 molehills ? for when he got back he told his " missus," with a 

 beaming smile of benevolence on his face, that, " raly, considerin' 

 the lot o' gentlemen as 'ad rid over the craps, the little harm as 

 he cum across waunt wuth speekin' on." Cornhill Magazine. 





