82 



THE FOX. 



ing no nook or by-way of them unexplored, was enough 

 to drive and scare every fox from the country. But 

 not so. Indeed, I am almost tempted to say, the more 

 hounds, the more foxes. 



I recently spent a summer month in a mountainous 

 district in the State of New York, where, from its ear- 

 liest settlement, the red fox has been the standing 

 prize for skill in the use of the trap and gun. At the 

 house where I was stopping were two fox-hounds, and 

 a neighbor, half a mile distant, had a third. There 

 were many others in the township, and in season they 

 were well employed, too ; but the three spoken of, at- 

 tended by their owners, held high carnival on the 

 mountains in the immediate vicinity. And many were 

 the foxes that, winter after winter, fell before them, 

 twenty-five having been shot the season before my 

 visit, on one small range alone. And yet the foxes 

 were apparently never more abundant than they were 

 that summer, and never more bold, coming at night 

 within a few rods of the house, and of the unchained 

 alert hounds, and making havoc among the poultry. 



One morning a large fat goose was found minus her 

 head and otherwise mangled. Both hounds had dis- 

 appeared, and as they did not come back till near 

 night, it was inferred that they had cut short Rey- 

 nard's repast, and given him a good chase into the bar- 

 gain. But next night he was back again, and this time 

 got safely off with the goose. A couple of nights 

 after he must have come with recruits, for next morn- 



