From Fox's Earth 



have vanished furnished with cover, and almost 

 fed like the lowland fox. It has a domain, 

 furnishes its own larder, finds its own holt, and 

 passes its life partly in the shade. Otter-hunting 

 is an undeveloped art, amid many that are played 

 out. It leaves some things yet to be learned and 

 achieved ; which is the spell of all pursuits. 



The game is played in a sympathetic arena. 

 There is the charm of the stream, and the 

 mystery of the depths ; the low ripple, and the 

 long shadows, as in trout and salmon fishing. 

 There is also the interest in the pursuit of a 

 perfectly wild creature in its native haunts, with 

 all its inherited instincts in full play. It is not 

 the contemplative, but the active man's sport. It 

 is all that a sport should be, with a quite peculiar 

 spell, an exceeding freshness. To its votaries it 

 comes as a revelation, opens up a virgin world. 

 Later, we may see the faces of those who look on. 



As yet it is not popular in the worse sense. 

 One fervently wishes it may never become so 

 that the blight of the pseudo-sportsman, who kills 

 everything he touches, may never rest upon it. 

 He would want to rear the otters in tanks, to put 

 in tame fish for them to feed on, and not be satis- 

 fied unless he bagged three or four each day. 

 But it has all the elements of a saner popularity. 



Fox-hunting is for the few, and among the 

 few is a mighty sprinkling of pseudo-sportsmen, 

 with suggestions of a promenade and music. Not 



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