Then the chief, sore afraid, brought the lily-white maid And they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft, But amain in their path, in a whirlwind of wrath Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son; With a great voice he cried, while the echoes replied: "Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon!" III. "Hark ye, Norsemen, hear great tidings: Odin, Thor and Frey are dead, "See the Cross in splendor gleaming far and wide o'er pine-clad heath, Now at Yule-tide sat he feasting on the shore of Drontheim fjord, With her maids sat gentle Swanwhite 'neath a roof of gleaming shields, And the scalds with nimble fingers o'er the sounding harp-strings swept ; Bolder beat the breasts of Norsemen,-when amid the tuneful din Straight the Jarl his voice uplifted: "Hail to thee, my guest austere! Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her eyes with fear grew bright, "If my lord would hold me worthy," low she spake, "then grant me leave, 66 Strange, O guest, are women's council, still their folly is the staff Upon which our wisdom leaneth," and he laughed a burly laugh; Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender pride, * The high-seat (accent on first syllable), the Icelander hasceto, was the seat reserved for the master of the house. It was always situated in the middle of the north wall, facing south. But the guest stood pale and quivered, where the red flames roofward rose, Quoth the merry Jarl with fervor, "Courteous is thy speech and free, Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck the Jarl unclasped, For he sang in tones impassioned, of the death of Æsir* bright, And anon with bodeful glamour fraught, the hurrying rhymes sped on, But he shook a shower of music, rippling from the silver strings, But the guest sat dumb and hearkened, staring at the brimming bowl, As the host his rhyme had ended with a last resounding twang, And within the harp's dumb chamber, murmurous echoes faintly rang; Up then sprang the guest, and straightway downward rolled his garment dunThere stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's undaunted son. High he loomed above the feasters in the torch-light dim and weird, Swift he bared his blade of battle, flung it quivering on the board, "With three hundred men I landed in the gloaming at thy shore, * Æsir is the collective name for all the Scandinavian gods. "But I knew not of the new-born king, who holds the earth in sway, Touched as by an angel's glory, strangely shone Jarl Sigurd's face, And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn with gold bedight: FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND. manlike to hunt before hounds an animal of such self-possession and such varied cunning, that it is continually putting its pursuers at fault, when it is sportsmanlike to hunt in like manner animals who have each, speed failing, only a trick apiece,the hare depending on its doublings to elude the dogs, the deer on running to water. The reason for this nice distinction lies, perhaps, in that deference to English usage which still exists among us. In this case it is most senseless, for even if foxhunting in English fashion were practicable IN New here, it would not be tolerated by our England farmers, who would never endure the tramand some pling of their cultivated fields and the deof the northern and middle states, the fox is hunted or three hounds, or oftener with only one, the hunter going on foot and armed with a shot-gun or rifle, his method being to shoot the fox as it runs before the hounds. The sport is exciting, invigorating and manly, and by its votaries is esteemed the chief of field sports. The fox is proverbially the most cunning of beasts, often eluding by his tricks the most expert hunter and the truest hounds. Long walks are required, which take one over many miles of woods, hills and fields, and this in fall and winter when the air is always pure and bracing. I have noticed that many who delight to shoot the hare or the deer before the hounds, are accustomed to scoff at this sport, which indeed is generally held in contempt by those who arrogate to themselves the title of "true sportsmen." It is difficult to see wherein it is more unsports struction of their fences by a score or more hard-riding horsemen. But it is not practicable, for no horse could possibly follow the course of the hounds and fox among our hills and mountains, where the chase often leads up declivities to be surmounted only by the stanchest and most active hounds, and through thick forests and almost impassable swamps. In New England the hunt is for the red fox and his varieties, the silver and cross foxes, the gray fox of the south and west being almost, if not quite, unknown. From the tip of his nose to the root of his tail, the red fox measures about twenty-eight or thirty inches, his tail sixteen to eighteen inches including hair, and his height at the shoulder thirteen inches. His long fur and thick, bushy tail make him look larger and heavier than he is. Of several specimens which I have weighed, the largest tipped the beam at twelve pounds; the least at seven pounds. The general color is yellowish red, the outsides of the ears and the fronts of the legs and feet are black; the chin and usually the tip of the tail, white; and the tail darker than the body, most of its hairs by Thompson: "A blackish stripe passing from the neck down the back and another crossing it at right angles over the shoulders; sides, ferruginous, running into gray on the back; the chin, legs and under parts of the body black, with a few hairs tipped with white; upper side of the tail, gray; under side and parts of the body adjacent, pale yellow; tail tipped with white. The cross upon the shoulders is not always apparent, even in specimens which, from the fineness of the fur, are acknowledged to be cross foxes. Size the same as the common fox." The black or silver fox is so rare in New England that to see one is the event of a life-time. The variety is as beautiful and valuable as rare. Its color is sometimes entirely of a shining black, except the white tip of the tail, but oftener of a silvery hue, owing to an intermixture of hairs tipped with white. It has probably always been uncommon here, for it is said to have been held in such estimation by the Indians of this region, that a silver fox skin was equal in value to forty beaver-skins, and the gift of one was considered a sacred pledge. One often hears of silver foxes being seen, but, like the big fish so often lost by anglers, they almost invariably get away. Foxes are less rare in settled countries and on the borders of civilization, than in the wilderness, for, though they find no fewer enemies, they find more abundant food in the open fields than in the forest. The common field-mouse is a favorite in their bill-of-fare; and the farmer's lambs and the goodwife's geese and turkeys never come amiss therein. These are all more easily got than hares or grouse. In justice to Reynard it must be said, however, that when mice are plenty lambs and poultry are seldom molested. In times of scarcity, he takes kindly to beech-nuts in the fall, and fills himself with grasshoppers and such small deer in the summer. When these fail, why, what would you? An honest fox must live. When not running before the hounds, he is seldom seen in day-time, except it may be by some early riser whose sharp eye dis cerns him in the dim dawn, moving in meadow or pasture, or picking his stealthy way across lots to his home woods. In AFTER A BREAKFAST. his burrows except in great stress of weather | and during the breeding season, or when driven to earth by relentless pursuit. For the most part, he takes his hours of ease curled up on some knoll, rock or stump, his dense fur defying northern blasts and the "nipping and eager air" of the coldest winter night. Shelter from rain or snowstorms he undoubtedly will take, for he is not overfond of being bedraggled, though it is certain he will sometimes take to the water and cross a stream without being driven to it. Reynard goes wooing in February, and travels far and wide in search of sweethearts, toying with every vixen he meets, but faithful to none, for his love is more fleeting than the tracks he leaves in the drifting snow. In April, the vixen having set her house in order by clearing it of rubbish, brings forth her young,-from three to six or more at a litter. This house is sometimes a burrow in sandy soil with several entrances; sometimes a den in the rocks, and sometimes, in old woods, a hollow log. In four or five weeks the queer little pug-nosed cubs begin to play about the entrance. The mother hunts faithfully to provide them food, and may sometimes be the existence of this provision for the safety of the young foxes I have had ocular proof, confirmed by the statements of persons whom I believe. In June, 1868, an old vixen was making sad havoc with one of my neighbors' lambs, and an an old foxhunter was requested to take the field in their defense. He proceeded with his hounds (tolerably good ones) to the woods where her burrow was known to be, and put the dogs out. They soon started her and ran her out of the woods, but greatly to the surprise of the hunter they returned in a few moments, looking as shamefaced as whipped curs, with the old fox following them. Disgusted with the behavior of his own dogs, he sought the assistance of an old hound of celebrated qualities, belonging to a neighbor. She was put out with the other dogs, with just the same result. The vixen was, at last, shot while she was chasing the hounds, who then turned upon her, biting and shaking her as is their wont when a fox is killed before them; but my friend, the hunter, told me they were as sick and distressed as ever dogs were after an encounter with a skunk. About the last of May, 1875, I witnessed a like incident. A stanch old hound of my own |