The daily morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven, Conn.) 1894-1907, 1902-12-15

tongue, and the music of the hunt rolls
through the woodland aisles.
Now he circles toward you, and now
he starts straight away at pace which
demands that you follow.
Straight into the bIackness beyond
you plunge. The yellow CLEANS of the
lantern hardly show the way 10 feet
ahead. Down through the swamp and
the laurel tangles leads the chase; OF
times, so thick becomes the laurel that
hands and knees seem the only method
of progress. A ruffed grouse, aroused
from its slumber, springs up, with
rush of wings, in your very face. Start
ling enough by daylight are these swift
winged flyers, but when, without warn
ing, out the blackness, brushing your
very face, they speed into the night, It
gives the stoutest heart mighty jump.
Fainter sounds the music Of the dog. 1t
is mad race now, over moldering tree
trunks, through swampy patches, up
over the ridges, through the old chest
nut grove and down into the hollow be-
yOnd. 1t is each one for himself, for
each would fain be first in when the
game is freed. Listen! From over
yonder hill comes a new note. There Is
less of music in it, but there is a
steady purpose which tells its own
story. The game is freed. What will
it be-a veteran old chestnut rotted at
the top which will necessitate the
smoking out of Mr.. Coon; a big pine
without limb for fifty feet, which will
necessitate a good nerve and proper
use of the climbing-irons; or will it be
an easy tree, from which Mr.. Coon can
be shaken without difficulty?
1t was exciting before; it is doubly
so now. You forget the lack of breath,
the scratches from the brambles, the
tumbles over hidden roots, Listen!
Steadily, increasingly, the dog barks.
No danger of Mr.. Coon slipping out
now. He is freed, and old Bob proposes
to set that he stays freed. There he is
at the foot of yOnder chestnut, looking
up into the towering branches and i'm
patiently scratching at the base of the
tree A flash from the lantern on the
rough bark shows the claw marks
which proclaim that old Bob has made
no mistake. Now for the climbing
irons and long string to lower for the
lantern. That tree would be "phaser"
by daylight; in the dark there is no
thought of its height or size. Up you
go, looking along each branch as you
come to it. Somewhere, unless per-
chance the willy animal has leaped to
a neighboring tree. he is hiding close
against the rough bark. There, clear
at the top, you see him in the flash
of the lantern. Now for the revolver
and a good eye. Old Bob, at the foot
of the tree knows as well as you what
that sharp ringing shot in the tree
top means, and alert and ready, he
pounces on the heavy body that falls
at his feet
So the night wanes. Now coon Is
lost on the ridges. Again, one is
startled at his fishing or jumping in a
bordering apple orfard. 1t Is rough
work, vigorous work, at times exciting
work. and always the game is worth
the candle. It means long tramping, it
means barled shins and scratched
faces, torn clothes and broken shoes,
but it is an experience not soon for"
gotten: and last, but by no means the
least, there is a supper at which a king
might dine.-Country Life in Amer
ina