88 THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 



ing me, * * as the philosophy of scent ; and yet, 

 forsooth, we are to be told by a babbling 

 puppy that " 



"Well, well! " said I, interrupting his 

 irate speech, ** don't get in a passion about 

 a trifle." 



" Right," replied my friend, smoothing 

 the bristling hackles on his back. ^* Quite 

 right. Life is made up of trifles, as the hours 

 are of seconds, days of hours, years of days, 

 and ages of years. Life's trifles are the 

 atoms in unity, forming the whole." 



Not wishing to enter into a discussion of 

 this sort, I led Trimbush back to the original 

 subject by saying, " I should like to hear a 

 little more about the philosophy of scent." 



' ' There is little more to add, ' ' returned he, 

 " as far as I know. Depending, as I have 

 before said, on the weather, which changes 

 sometimes three or four times in a day, and 

 the state of the ground, the rule is, that it is 

 invariably uncertain. In windy weather we 

 are often accused of being wild and flashy; 

 but the fact is, that the particles of scent 

 being widely spread and wafted about, one 

 hits it here, another there, and we fly from one 

 to the other, each thinking that some are on 



