“PossUM PLAYING.” 255 
dence that the game is up. The race, though , 
rapid, is a long one, through the deep swamp, 
crossing the muddy branch into the pine lands, 
where the dogs come to a halt, unite in conclave, 
and set up an incessant barking at the fet of a 
pine. “A coon, a coon! din’t I tell you,” says 
Monday, “that if Pincher come across a coon, 
he would do he work?” An additional piece of 
split light wood is added to the torch, and the 
coon is seen doubled up in the form of a hornet’s 
nest in the very top of the long-leaved pine, (P. 
palustris). The tree is without a branch for 
forty feet or upwards, and it is at once decided 
that it must be cut down: the axe is soon at 
work, and the tree felled. The glorious battle 
that ensues, the prowess of the dogs, and the 
capture of the coon, follow as a matter of course. 
Another trail is soon struck, and the dogs all 
open upon it at once: in an instant they rush, 
pell-mell, with a loud burst of mingled tongues, 
upon some animal along the edge of an old field 
destitute of trees. It proves to be an opos- 
sum, detected in its nightly prowling expedi- 
tion. At first, it feigns death, and rolling 
itself into a ball, lies still on the ground; 
but the dogs are up to this “’possum play- 
“ing,” and seize upon it at once. It now feels 
that they are in earnest, and are not to be 
deceived. It utters a low growl or two, shows 
