88 FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND 



case for Reynard has fairly baffled you, has run 

 his course and reached his goal in safety. 



Sometimes an old fox, when he hears the first 

 note of the hounds on the trail he made when he 

 was mousing under the paling stars, will arise 

 from his bed and make off at once over dry ledges, 

 ploughed fields, and sheep pastures, leaving for 

 the dogs nothing but a cold, puzzling scent, which, 

 growing fainter as the day advances and the mois- 

 ture exhales, they are obliged, imwillingly, to aban- 

 don at last, after hours of slow and painstaking 

 work. A wise old hound will often, in such cases, 

 give over trying to work up the uncertain trail, 

 and guessing at the direction the fox has taken, 

 push on, running mute, at the top of his speed to 

 the hkeliest piece of woodland, a mile away, per- 

 haps, and there with loud rejoicings pick up the 

 trail. When after a whole day's chase, during 

 which hope and disappointment have often and 

 rapidly succeeded each other in the hunter's 

 breast, having followed the fox with untiring zeal 

 through all the crooks and turns of his devious 

 course, and unraveled with faultless nose and 

 the sagacity born of thought and experience his 

 every trick — the good dogs bring him at the last 

 moment of the gloaming within range, and by the 

 shot, taken darkling, Reynard is tumbled dead 

 among the brown leaves, great is the exultation of 

 hunter and hound, and great the happiness that 



