ready
capering about in eager merriment, throwing their heads into the air
occasionally to utter a long and musical bay. This wakes up the
curs about the negro-yard, and their barking stirs up the geese, the
combined chorus rousing all the cocks in the various poultry-houses,
so that we ride off amid a hub-bub of howling, cackling, neighing and
crowing which would awaken the Seven Sleepers. We are first at the
meet, and the old woods ring with the mellow, winding notes of
our horns--no twanging brass reeds in the mouth-pieces, but honest
cow-horn bugles, which none but a true hunter can blow. The hounds
grow wild at the cheering sound, and howl through every note of the
canine gamut; the echoes catch the strain and fling it from brake to
bay; the dying cadence strengthens into an answering blast, and the
party is soon increased to half a dozen bold riders and twenty eager
dogs. Venus, the beautiful "flag-star of heaven," is just toning her
brilliancy into harmony with the pale light which creeps slowly up
from the eastern horizon, and some wakeful crow in the pine-thicket
gives an answering caw to the goblin laugh of the barred owl in the
cypress, as we leap our horses into a field of sedge and cheer on the
dogs to their work. For half an hour we ride in silence save the
words of encouragement to the hounds, which are snuffing about
unsuccessfully and whipping the hoar-frost with their tails from the
dry yellow stems of the grass. Now and then some eager young dog opens
on the trail of a rabbit which has started from its form, but the
crack of a whip restrains him, and the other hounds pay no attention
to him. Suddenly a sharp, quick yelp comes from the farthest corner of
the field, and the older dogs stop instantly and raise their heads
to listen. Hark to old Blucher! There he is again, and the whole pack
give tongue and dash off to the call which never deceives them. We
catch a glimpse of the old fellow's white throat as he trots about in
a zigzag course, poking his tan muzzle into every clump of tall grass
and giving tongue occasionally as he sniffs the cold trail. Presently
a long, quavering cry comes from old Firefly; again and again Blucher
opens more and more eagerly; another and another dog takes it up, and
the trot quickens into a lope. The trail grows warmer as they follow
the line of fence, and just as we settle ourselves in the saddle for
a run it all stops and the dogs are at fault. But Blucher is hard to
p