THE NATURALIST DEVELOPING. 67 
great deal, for the sluggish ’possum does not care to trust its 
heels much on the ground to run away, and we shall be apt 
to find it where it has come to feed on the persimmons, or 
overtake it on the way. With many a shrill whoop and yell 
we cheer the dogs on to greater : ctivity, now that the forage- 
grounds are gained, and the game must be at hand. 
Hark, a low, wary yelp, quick, short, half-smothered with 
hesitation and eagerness! There it goes, the gathering cry! 
yelp, screech, quaver, whine! They are bursting to let go 
their voices. Hurrah! the shrill yell rises from every throat 
at once, curs, boys, darkies screeching all together in one 
sharp, sudden cry of savage exultation; then all is silent. 
“Tree’d!”” “tree’d!’’ Yes, a short, sullen bark is followed 
by another and another, as each dog comes up, and smelling 
at the tree, satisfies himself that all is right; now we plunge, 
tearing through the brush, regardless of briars and thorns, in 
the direction of these sounds, and soon we hear the eager 
whining of the dogs, through all the noise of their barking. 
We are very close now; and bursting through the thicket, 
come upon them, all leaping up against a fence-corner of the 
plantation; there, showing plain against the moon, and hang- 
ing by the tail from a.limb of that bare persimmon over the 
fence, we see the great grey ‘possum savagely grinning at the 
acene below, with his long, white teeth full bared! 
Hah! hah! hah! what yells of merry laughter greet the 
grotesque sight! Some point their fingers at his shame-faced 
grins, some pelt him with rotten boughs caught up from the 
dry leaves at our feet; while the dogs yell louder still, and 
leaping against the tree and fence fall back in scrambles 
between our legs. 
“Ha, yah! ole boy! what do dar, grinnin’ at dat moon? 
steal more ole hen, suck more eggs, ’nudder night, will 
yer?” 
“ Come out dat! dat curl-tail no hold whar dis child climb!” 
and up starts a young darkie to shake him out. 
