OBSERVATIONS ON SCENT 109 



I have not half the pleasure now in killing a fox 

 that I had before." 



As you ask my opinion of scent, I think I had better 

 give it you before we begin on the subject of hunting. 

 I must, at the same time, take the liberty of telling 

 you, that you have puzzled me exceedingly ; for scent 

 is, I believe, what we sportsmen know least about ; 

 and, to use the words of a great classic writer : — 



Hoc sum contentus, quod etiajn si quo quidquc fiat ignorem, quid 

 fiat intelligo." — ClC. de Div. 



Somerville, who, as I have before observed, is the 

 only one that I know of who has thrown any light on 

 the subject of hunting, says, I think, but little about 

 scent. I send you his words : I shall afterwards add 

 a few of my own. 



Should some more curious sportsmen here inquire, 



Whence this sagacity, this wond'rous power 



Of tracing step by step or man or brute ? 



What guide invisible points out their way 



O'er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain ? 



The courteous Muse shall the dark cause reveal. 



The blood that from the heart incessant rolls 



In many a crimson tide, then here and there 



In smaller rills disparted, as it flows 



Propell'd, the serous particles evade, 



Thro' th' open pores, and with the ambient air 



Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise, 



And hang upon the gently-purling brook, 



There, by the incumbent atmosphere compress'd. 



The panting chase grows warmer as he flies, 



And thro' the net-work of the skin perspires ; 



Leaves a long — steaming — trail behind ; which by 



The cooler air condens'd, remains, unless 



By some rude storm dispers'd, or rarefied 



By the meridian sun's intenser heat. 



To every shrub the warm effluvia cling, 



Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies. 



