To Mountain Tarn 



A spade would bring them forth, and a shot do 

 the rest. Soon would they be abroad, foraging 

 for themselves. Still they would grow, nor would 

 any check be placed upon their depredations till 

 the cub hunting, at the back end, when the 

 mischief had been done, and partridge shooting 

 had passed its hey-day. The excuse for donning 

 a red coat, the meet by the leafless wood, and 

 the warm gallop over the winter fields cover a 

 multitude of sins. 



In the absence of other food an exceptional 

 condition, perhaps, in a countryside like this the 

 vixen might take a lamb. Perhaps no wildling 

 naturally takes tame animals, except as the sur- 

 vival of instincts dating from the time when 

 both were wild. The fox which raids the flock 

 is a rascal, and if many do, it only shows that 

 they are demoralized by their semi-artificial life. 

 The master of the hounds pays the damages; with 

 a shrug of the shoulders when too many lambs are 

 killed, but without reflecting on the character of 

 the thief, or the honesty of the account. 



The scene is not always so lifeless. The raider 

 slips in with the supper in his mouth. Half an 

 hour after, when appetites are appeased, the 

 family appear through the opening. All work 

 is not good even for foxes. Evening is the play- 

 time, the break in a strenuous life, the one hour of 

 innocence. So it is through the range of wild life. 

 The vixen puts aside her cunning and her gravity. 



s 



