46 WINTEE SUNSHINE 



dark legs, and massive tail tipped with white, — a 

 most magnificent creature; but so astonished and 

 fascinated was I by this sudden appearance and 

 matchless beauty, that not till I had caught the last 

 glimpse of him, as he disappeared over a knoll, did 

 I awake to my duty as a sportsman, and realize 

 what an opportunity to distinguish myself I had 

 unconsciously let slip. I clutched my gun, half 

 angrily, as if it was to blame, and went home out 

 of humor with myself and all fox-kind. But I 

 have since thought better of the experience, and 

 concluded that I bagged the game after all, the best 

 part of it, and fleeced Eeynard of something more 

 valuable than his fur, without his knowledge. 



This is thoroughly a winter sound, — this voice 

 of the hound upon the mountain, — and one that is 

 music to many ears. The long trumpet-like bay, 

 heard for a mile or more, — now faintly back to the 

 deep recesses of the mountain, — now distinct, but 

 still faint, as the hound comes over some prominent 

 point and the wind favors, — anon entirely lost in 

 the gully, — then breaking out again much nearer, 

 and growing more and more pronounced as the dog 

 approaches, till, when he comes around the brow of 

 the mountain, directly above you, the barking is 

 loud and sharp. On he goes along the northern 

 spur, his voice rising and sinking as the wind and 

 lay of the ground modify it, till lost to hearing. 



The fox usually keeps half a mile ahead, regulat- 

 ing his speed by that of the hound, occasionally 

 pausing a moment to divert himself with a mouse, 



