d by that of
the hound, occasionally pausing a moment to divert himself with a mouse,
or to contemplate the landscape, or to listen for his pursuer. If the
hound press him too closely, he leads off from mountain to mountain, and
so generally escapes the hunter; but if the pursuit be slow, he plays
about some ridge or peak, and falls a prey, though not an easy one, to
the experienced sportsman.

A most spirited and exciting chase occurs when the farm-dog gets close
upon one in the open field, as sometimes happens in the early morning.
The fox relies so confidently upon his superior speed, that I imagine he
half tempts the dog to the race. But if the dog be a smart one, and
their course lies down hill, over smooth ground, Reynard must put his
best foot forward; and then, sometimes, suffer the ignominy of being run
over by his pursuer, who, however, is quite unable to pick him up, owing
to the speed. But when they mount the hill, or enter the woods, the
superior nimbleness and agility of the fox tell at once, and he easily
leaves the dog far in his rear. For a cur less than his own size he
manifests little fear, especially if the two meet alone, remote from the
house. In such cases, I have seen first one turn tail, then the other.

A novel spectacle often occurs in summer, when the female has young. You
are rambling on the mountain, accompanied by your dog, when you are
startled by that wild, half-threatening squall, and in a moment perceive
your dog, with inverted tail and shame and confusion in his looks,
sneaking toward you, the old fox but a few rods in his rear. You speak
to him sharply, when he bristles up, turns about, and, barking, starts
off vigorously, as if to wipe out the dishonor; but in a moment comes
sneaking back more abashed than ever, and owns himself unworthy to be
called a dog. The fox fairly shames him out of the woods. The secret of
the matter is her sex, though her conduct, for the honor of the fox be
it said, seems to be prompted only by solicitude for the safety of her
young.

One of the most notable features of the fox is his large and massive
tail. Seen running on the snow, at a distance, his tail is quite as
conspicuous as his body; and, so far from appearing a burden, seems to
contribute to his lightness and buoyancy. It softens the outline of his
movements, and repeats or continues to the eye the ease and poise of his
carriage. But, pursued by the hound on a wet, thawy day, it often
becomes