A ROADSIDE NATURALIST. 



the hole in the hedge or the break in the park- 

 palings is wide enough for his body to pass through, 

 let the night be ever so dark and gloomy. There 

 he sits, upright, without thought of danger, on his 

 powerful hind-quarters, busily washing his face. He 

 has almost finished his toilet, and is just giving the 

 last gentle strokings to his whiskers, when, with a 

 bound and a rush, something crosses over to him. 

 There is a momentary scuffle, and a whirl of sand, 

 then one long shriek of Aunt ! Aunt ! and all is over, 

 far more quickly than one can write about it. Rey- 

 nard carries his quarry up the opposite bank, and 

 into cover, with as much ease and in the same fash- 

 ion that the i-etriever chained to his kennel at the 

 keeper's cottage close at hand would carry a rabbit. 

 I have often seen his earth with the tokens of what 

 he has taken scattered about, but I have not often 

 seen him there. When the cubs begin to eat flesh, 

 one may have a chance of seeing them really at 

 home. 



So far as the sagacity of the fox is concerned, it 

 has been overrated. There exist in the popular 

 mind two very distinct ideas of the fox, the one of 

 verse and tradition — Master Reynard and Reineke 



