WINTER PICTURES. 249 



Snow, snow, everywhere, for weeks and for months, 

 and intense cold, and no hen-roost accessible, and no 

 carcass of sheep or pig in the neighborhood. The 

 hunter , tramping miles and leagues through his 

 haunts, rarely sees any sign of his having caught 

 anything. Rarely, though, in the course of many 

 winters he may have seen evidence of his having 

 surprised a rabbit or a partridge, in the woods. He 

 no doubt at this season lives largely upon the mem- 

 ory (or the fat) of the many good dinners he had in 

 the plentiful summer and fall. 



As we crossed the mountain on our return, we saw 

 at one point blood-stains upon the snow, and as the 

 fox-tracks were very thick on and about it, we con- 

 cluded that a couple of males had had an encounter 

 there, and a pretty sharp one. Reynard goes a-woo- 

 ing in. February, and it is to be presumed that, like 

 other dogs, he is a jealous lover. A crow had alighted 

 and examined the blood-stains, and now if he will 

 look a little farther along, upon a flat rock he will 

 find the flesh he was looking for. Our hound's nose 

 was so blunted now, speaking without metaphor, that 

 he would not look at another trail, but hurried home 

 to rest upon his laurels. 



