THE RACCOON 



Away go the hounds, their course only 

 indicated by the rustling of the corn 

 leaves, as they range through the field, 

 until one old truth-teller gives tongue 

 on the track of a coon who perhaps has 

 brought his whole family out on a noc- 

 turnal picnic. The hounds sweep straight 

 away, in full cry, on the hot scent to hill 

 or swamp, where their steadfast baying 

 proclaims that the game is treed. 



Then follows a pell-mell scramble to- 

 ward the musical uproar. Stones, cra- 

 dle knolls, logs, stumps, mud holes, 

 brambles and all the inanimate enemies 

 that lie in wait for man when he has- 

 tens in the dark, combine to trip, bump, 

 bruise, sprain, scratch, and bemire the 

 hurrying hunters. 



Then when all have gathered at the 

 centre of attraction, where the excited 

 hounds are raving about the boll of some 

 great tree, the best and boldest climber 

 volunteers to go aloft into the upper 

 darkness and shake the quarry down or 

 shoot him if may be. If he succeeds 

 in accomplishing the difficult task, what 

 a melee ensues when the coon crashes 

 through the branches to the ground and 

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