OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 177 



the fence-dodge ; but no go, for Haidee finds where he struck 

 ground, and off the pack go, now back to Warr's old field 

 where the start was made. Here he makes several circuits. 

 ^NTow we see him again, badly worn and his tail hangs low ; he 

 is runnin£^ for his life; the dogs ])ass us tired but confident; 

 now he makes for the fish-trap once more, but turns as we meet 

 him again. We see his time is almost up ; his efforts are labored, 

 his tongue is lolling from his mouth, and the fog is rising from 

 his thick fur; the dogs are fast closing the' distance between 

 them ; we follow close behind, and now old Bailey's nose is 

 almost on his tail ; he turns to avoid the dog, and falls into 

 Rattler's jaws, then a bunching of dogs, a scramble, a death 

 squall, and all is over. Bale Maxwell gets the tail, the fun is 

 over, the hunters are happy, the dogs are happy, and poor rey- 

 nard, if not happy, is at rest. The dogs rest, loll their tongues 

 and pant, we blow our horses and talk over the chase, and the 

 splendid performance of each dog is commented upon. Now 

 we wind our horns again, hunters and dogs separate and seek 

 our several homes to sleep, and dream happy dreams, and as 

 we write up this old time fox chase, after the changes and 

 tribulations of time, the whole of life seems to us but a fitful 

 dream. 



We are aware that some men are soulless as to the music of 

 a fox chase, for we remember Bob Jarrett, of Tugaloo, onec 

 called out an infidel to listen to the glorious melodies of a fox 

 chase. The dogs were in full cry up the river bank. Bob 

 asked him again, " Dont you hear the glorious music V when 

 he, the idiot replied, he could not hear a thing for the barking 

 of those confounded dogs down about the river. Bob left the 

 man in unutterable disgust, and sprang out after the dogs. 



