THE SNOW-WALKERS. 57 



mountains. 1 I go out in the morning, after a fresh 

 full of snow, and see at all points where he has 

 crossed the road. Here he has leisurely passed 

 within rifle-range of the house, evidently reconnoi 

 tring the premises, with an eye to the hen-roost. 

 That clear, sharp track, there is no mistaking it 

 for the clumsy foot-print of a little dog. All his 

 wildness and agility are photographed in it. Here 

 he has taken fright, or suddenly recollected an en- 

 gagement, and in long, graceful leaps, barely touch- 

 ing the fence, has gone careering up the hill as fleet 

 as the wind. 



The wild, buoyant creature, how beautiful he is ! 

 I had often seen his dead carcass, and, at a distance, 

 had witnessed the hounds drive him across the upper 

 fields ; but the thrill and excitement of meeting him 

 in his wild freedom in the woods were unknown to 

 me, till, one cold winter day, drawn thither by the 

 baying of a hound, I stood near the summit of the 

 mountain, waiting a renewal of the sound, that I 

 might determine the course of the dog and choose 

 my position, stimulated by the ambition of all 

 young Nimrods, to bag some notable game. Long I 

 waited, and patiently, till, chilled and benumbed, I 

 was about to turn back, when, hearing a slight noise, 

 I looked up and beheld a most superb fox, loping 

 along with inimitable grace and ease, evidently dis- 

 turbed, but not pursued by the hound, and so ab- 

 BOibed in his private meditations that he failed to see 

 l A spur of the Catskills. 



