58 



THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



ment and admiration, not ten yards distant. I took 

 his measure at a glance, — a large male, with dark legs, 

 and massive tail tipped with white, — a most magnifi- 

 cent 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 distin- 

 guish 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 con- 

 cluded that I bagged the game after all, the best part 

 of it, and fleeced Reynard 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 break- 

 ing 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 hear- 

 ing. 



