From Fox's Earth 



truding roots, the path wound in and out 

 among the trees. Through the foliage, the field 

 looked down upon the hunt. To know the full 

 meaning of that, one needed to be there. The 

 leaves trembled in the fresh breeze, which found 

 a free passage down the avenued stream path. 

 Filtering from above, the pure September sun- 

 light edged each leaf with the brilliance which 

 margins a cloud. All together moved on the face 

 of the waters, chasing the still pool into light and 

 shadow, and making the current doubly charming, 

 in its double ripple. 



And in this fairyland which, happily, one 

 does not need to go from earth to see, but only 

 out of the highway the drama was being en- 

 acted. In these still, yet trembling pools, in 

 the currents which pass along under the trees 

 with a double motion, the hounds swam, start- 

 ling the water-hen amid the glorified sedges ; 

 while the red-coated huntsman stood knee-deep, 

 or to the gilt buttons on his back, sometimes toot- 

 ing the horn, with its strange sporting note. 



Some of the groupings in this environment 

 were pictures. All of them, in fact, since the 

 scenes made them so. Common indeed must 

 that have been which did not seem uncommon. 

 Little knots of interested lookers-on, from the 

 rude woodland pathway, peered through leaves 

 at the light and shadow playing on pool and 

 current, over the hounds. I care not what 



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