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world. Up the steep side of the hill, he
takes his way, the young dog following, and
both giving tongue from time to time. They
slowljr work the trail to the top of an over-
hangmg ledge and, now, there is a hush.
but, almost before the echo of their last
notes has died, forth bursts a wild storm of
canine music. Reynard is afoot ; or, as we
Yankees say, "The fox is started,** and
the reeking scent of his recent footsteps
steams hot in the nostrils of his pursuers.
The hounds are now out of sight, but you
hear every note of their jubilant song as
they describe a small circle beyond the
ledge, and then go northward along the .
crest of the hill. Their baying grows fainter I



id fainter as they bear away to the further
de, till at last it is almost drowned by the
iirgle of the brook.

Now, get with all speed to " the Notch,"
hich divides the north from the south
ill, for this the fox will pretty surely cross
hen he comes back, if back he comes,
[iter making a turn or two or three at the

north end. On this habit of his, of running
in circles, and in certain run- ways as he goes
from hill to hill, or from wood to wood, is
founded our method of hunting him. If he
" plays " in small circles, encompassing an
acre or so, as he often will for half an hour
at a time before a slow dog, you cautiously
work up to leeward of him and try your
chances for a shot.


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of a downy woodpecker are the only sounds
the strained ear catches. All about rise the
gray tree-trunks; overhead, against the
blue-gray sky is spread their net of branches,
with here and there a tuft of russet and
golden and scarlet leaves caught in its
meshes. At your feet on every side lie the
fading and faded leaves, but bearing still a
hundred hues ; and through them rise tufts
of green fern, brown stems of infant trees
and withered plants ; frost-blackened beech-
drops, spikes of the dull aziu*e berries of the
blue cohosh, and milk-white ones, crimson-
stemmed, of the white cohosh; scarlet
clusters of wild turnip berries ; pale asters
and slender golden-rod, but all so har-
moniously blended that no one object stands
forth conspicuously. So kindly does Nature
screen her children, that in this pervading
gray and russet, beast and bird, blossom
and gaudy leaf may lurk unnoticed, almost
at your feet. The rising sun begins to glorify
the tree-tops. And now, a red squirrel startles
you, rustling noisily through the leaves. He
scrambles up a tree, and with nervous
twitches of feet and tail, snickers and
scolds till you feel almost wicked enough
to end his clatter with a charge of shot A


trunks and branches


most within arm's length, satisfying curioaty
and hunger together.

At last, above the voices of these garrulous
visitors, your ear discerns the baying of the
hounds, faint and far away, swelling* dying,
swelling, but surely drawing nearer. Louder
rings the *' musical confusion of hounds and
echo in conjunction," as the dogs break
over the hill-top. Now, eyes and ears, look
and listen your sharpest. Bring the butt of
your gun to your shoulder and be motion-
less and noiseless as death, for if at two
gun-shots off Reynard sees even the
movement of a hand or a turn of the head,
he will put a tree-trunk between you and
him, and vanish altogether and " leave you
there lamenting."

Is that the patter of feet in the dry leaves
or did the sleeping air awake enough to
stir them ? Is that the fox ? Pshaw! no —
only a red squirrel scurrying along a fallen
tree. Is that quick, muffled thud the drum
of a partridge ? No, it never reaches the
final roll of his performance* It is only the
beating of your own heart. But now yon
hear the unmistakable nervous rustle xA

Reynard's footstej,s^ ^^^e^^^

vcs : now



bounding with long leaps, now picking his
way; now unheard for an instant as he
halts to listen. A yellow-red spot grows
out of the russet leaves, and that is he, com-
ing straight toward you. A gun-shot and a
hair away, he stops on a knoll and turns
half-way round to listen for the dogs. In
awful suspense you wonder if he will come
right on or sheer oflf and baffle you. But a
louder sounding of the charge by his pur-
suers sends him onward right toward you.
His face is a study as he gallops leisurely
along listening and plotting. He picks his
way for a few yards along the outcropping
stones in the bed of the brook, and then
begins to climb the slope diagonally toward
you. He is only fifty yards off when you
raise the muzzle of your gun, drop your
cheek to the stock, and aim a little forward
of his nose ; your finger presses the trigger
aai idiile the loud report is rebounding
from wood to hill, you peer anxiously
thmai^ the hanging smoke to learn
whettor you have
cation. Ah! there
despite his speed
dog follows his e
where he lies, stop
surprise as he
comes upon
him, then seizes
him by the back,
shaking him
savagely, and
biting him from
shoulders to
hips. Let him
mouth his fallen
foe to his heart's
content, no mat-
ter how he rum-
ples the sleek
fur, it is his only
recompense for
tlie faithful ser-
vice he has so
well performed.
And now the
young dog
comes up and
claims his re-
ward, and be
sure this morn-
ing's work will

go far toward making him as stanch and
true as his chase-worn leader.

The shade of sadness for a moment in-
dulged over the vigorous life so suddenly
ended by your shot, is but a passing cloud

on the serene happiness you feel at having
acquitted yourself so well If you had
missed him, it would have been but small
consolation to think the fox was safe. The
hounds having had their just dues in mouth-
ing and shaking, you strip off Reynard's
furry coat, — for if English lords may, without
disgrace, sell the game they kill in their
battues, surely a humble Yankee fox-hunter
may save and sell the pelt of his fox with-
out incurring the stigma of " pot-hunter."
At least he may bear home th^ brush with
skin attached, as a trophy.

But think not thus early nor with such
successful issue is every chase to close.
This was ended before the fox had used any
other trick for baffling the hounds, but his
simplest one of running in circles. An hour
or two later, an old fox finding the dogs still
holding persistently to all the windings of
his trail, would have sped away to another
hill or wood a mile or so off, and would
have crossed

and then have sprung off at right
angles with it to the ground, ten feet away ;
and then, perhaps, have run through a flock
of sheep, the strong odor of whose feet blots
out the scent of his. These artifices quite
bewilder and baffle the young dog, but only



delay the elder who knows of old the tricks
of foxes. Nothing can be more admirable
than the manner of his working, as he comes
to the edge of the plowed field. He wastes
no time in useless

a litde, finds the trail on the other side an
follows it to the hill, but more slowly no\
for the fox has been gone some time ; th
frost has melted, the moisture is exha
ing and the scei

And now comes Hhe puzzhng bit of fence.
The old dog thinks the fox has gone through
it ; he goes through it himself, but finds no
scent there ; puzzles about rapidly, now try-
ing this side, now that ; at last he bethinks
himself of the top, to which he clambers and
there finds the missing trail. 'But his big
feet cannot tread the " giddy footing " of the
rail'as could Reynard's dainty pads, so down
he goes and tries on either side for the point
where the fox left the fence. Ranging up
and down, too near it, to hit the spot where
Reynard struck the ground he fails to recover
the scent, stops — raises his nose and utters
a long, mournful howl, half vexation, half
despair. Now he climbs to the top rail
further on and siiuflfe it there. "No taint
of a fox's foot is here," so he reasons, " and
he must have jumped firom the fence be-
tween here and the place where I found it,"
and acting on this logical conclusion, he
circles widely till he has picked up the trail
once more, and goes merrily on to the sheep-
pastuVe. Here, satisfying himself of the
character of this trick, he adopts the same
employed at the plowed field, and after

always alert and listening while the dogi
draw slowly on, now almost losing the trai
on a dry ledge, now catching it in J
moist, propitious hollow, till at last a nearei
burst warns poor sly-boots that he mu^
again up and away. He may circle aboul
or " play," as we term it, on this hill, til
you have reached a run-way on it when
you may get a shot; or, when you hav<
toiled painfully up the steep western pitd
and have just reached the top, blown
leg- weary, but expectant, he will, probably,
utterly disappoint and exasperate you b)
leaving this hill and returning to the one he
and you have so lately quitted, — ^yea, he will
even intensify the bitterness of your heart by
taking in his way, one or two or three pointi
where you were standing half an hour ago!
What is to be done ? He may run for hours^
now, on the hill where he was started, (»
he may be back here again before the hunter
can have regained that. To hesitate may
be to lose, may be to gain, the coveted
shot. One must choose as soon as may be
^d take [ifiSizeS%^@©Ogkt'^^ P^*^^



re hunting in company,

ne should keep to this hill,

le other to that, or while

n the same hill, or in the

Mne wood, each to his

hosen run-way, thus dou-

ling the chances of a

At last the hounds may

le heard baying continu-

rtisly ill one place, and by

his and their peculiar in-

onation, one may know

hat the fox, finding his

ricks unavailing, has run

o earth, or,:jisr we have

t, "- has holed;" Guided

to his retreat by the

roices of the hounds, you find them there,

>y turns, baying angrily and impatiently

md tearing away, tooth and nail, the

ing roots and earth. If in a sandy

imy bank, the fox may, with pick and

be dug ignominiously forth, but

savors strongly of pot-hunting. If he

taken sanctuary in a rocky den, where

and spade avail not, there is nothing

it but to call the dogs off and •try for


another fox, to-day, or for this one to-
morrow, when he shall have come forth
again. This is the manlier part, in either
case, for Reynard has fairly baffled you, has
run his course and reached his goal in

Sometimes an old fox, when he hears the
first note of the hounds on the trail he
made when he was mousing under the
paling stars, will arise fix)m his bed, and


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make off at once over dry ledges, plowed
fields and sheep-pastures, leaving for the
dogs nothing but a cold, puzzling scent,
which, growing fainter as the day advances
and the moisture exhales, they are obliged,
unwillingly, to abandon at last, after hours
of slow and painstaking work. A wise old
hound will often, in such cases, give over
trying to work up the uncertain trail, and
guessing at the direction the fox has taken,
push on, running mute, at the top of his

speed, to the likeliest piece of woodland, a
mile away perhaps, and there with loud
rejoicings pick up the trail. When after a
whole day's chase, during which hope and
disappointment have often and rapidly suc-
ceeded each other in the hunter's breast,
having followed the fox with untiring zeal
through all the crooks and turns of his
devious course, and unraveled with faultless
nose and the sagacity bom of thought and
experience his every trick, — the good dogs
bring him at the last moment of the gloam-


Digitized by





WTien one sees in the snow the intricate
rindings and crossings and recrossings of
be trail of a mousing fox, he can but won-
ter how any dog by his nose alone can un-
tngle such a knotted thread till it shall
ad him to the place where the fox has
tid up for the day; yet this a good hound
^ unerringly do, if the scent has not be-
CRue too cold. To see him do this and to
)Ilow all his careful, sagacious work, are in
o wise the least of the pleasures of this

It is a favorite season for fox-hunting
iien the first snows have fallen, for though
He walking is not so good, and hounds are
ften much inclined to follow the track by
tght as well as by smell, die tell-tale foot-
rints show pretty plainly which way the
>x has gone, how long he has been gone,
nd whether it is worth your while to allow
ac dogs to follow his trail ; and you are
nabled to help the h oiimb in puzzling
laces, though a do^ ^* '*■ 'n and expe-
icncc seldom nee<' )t for the

Vol. XV.— 20.

saving of time. A calm day is always best,
and if warm enough for the snow to pack
without being at all " sposhy," so much the
better. Though it is difficult to " start " a
fox during a heavy snow-fall, if you do start
him, he is pretty certain to " play " beauti-
fully, seeming to reckon much on the oblit-
eration of his track by the faUing snow.
At such times he will often circle an hour
in the compass of two or three acres. Glare
ice holds scent scarcely more than water.
This, no one knows better than the fox, and
you may be sure he will now profit by this
knowledge if naked ice can be found. He
will also run in the paths of the hare, pick
his way carefully along rocky ridges, swept
bare of snow by the wind, leaving no visi-
ble trace of his passage, and, at times, take
to traveled highways. If the snow is deep
and light so that he sinks into it, he will
soon, through fatigue or fear of being
caught, take refiige in den or burrow. If
the snow has a crust which bears him, but
through which the heavier hounds break



In winter as in autumn, the sport is in-
vigorating and exciting, and Nature has,
now as ever, her endless beauties and secrets
for him who hath eyes to behold them.
To such, they are manifold in all seasons
and he is feasted full, whether fh)m the
bald hill-top he looks forth over a wide
expanse of gorgeous woods and fields,
still green under October skies, or sees
them brown and sere through the dim
November haze, or spread white and far
with December snows. The truest sports-
man is not a mere skillful butcher, who is
quite unsatisfied if he returns from the chase
without blood upon his garments, but he
who bears home from field and forest

Digitized by





bring the running comments on the objects
found into hannony with his later views.
The result is at times more amusing than in-
structive; and as a whole, the book is as
destitute of scientific method as it is of literary
form. Indeed, Dr. Schliemann is himself,
though unconsciously, one of the most curi-
ous relics of the mythical world which he ex-
hibits. He lives in a critical age, but is not
of it. Though master of many languages, he
has never learned the word doubt. Having
been possessed from childhood by an un-
questioning faith in Homer, as an historical
authority, he went to the Troad in 1871,
and dug into the hill of Hissarlik, with an
enthusiastic hope of finding there traces of a
civilization which was destroyed when gods
and men united to punish a prince (who had
been the arbiter of the prize of beauty
among three great goddesses of heaven), for
stealing the daughter of Olympian Zeus.
Scholars in vain pointed out to him that, if



after the searches were finished, and some
eflbrt has been made, though imperfectly, to

* For convenience, the plates are here numbered
«i m Dr. Sdilienuum's volnme.


there ever was a Troy outside of the flncy of
the bards, it must be sought where the bards
placed it; and not where the local pride
and superstition of the people of New Ilion,
in defiance oi them, had claimed its site.
But Dr. Schliemann, with Homer for his
events and heroes, and with ** tradition " for
his geography, went resolutely to work ; and
his earnestness found a rich reward. He
discovered more than he had dared to
dream of. Destitute of the critical faculty ;
intolerant of doubt, more even in himself
than in others; not enduring to bold his
judgment in suspense, — for every new dis-
covery his mind finds a place in some pre-

t ** Mycenae : a Narrative of Researches and Discov-
eries at Mycenae and Tiryns." By Dr. Henry Schlie-
mann, dtizen of the United States of*America, author
of " Troy and its Remains," etc With a preface by
the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, M. P. With plans,
views and cuts, representing more than 700 types of
the objects found, etc. New York: Scribner, Ann«
strong & Ca Digitized by VjOC



conceived theory, or at once frames a new
and more marvelous one to fit and hold it
His report of facts is shaped and colored
tfarouehout by bis imaginative convictions ;
and his readers find themselves taken out of
the world of history and chronology into a
realm of wonders, hardly nearer to experi-
ence than the fairy-land of Spenser, the
spiritual battle-plain of Milton's angels, or
the misty field of Tennyson's Lyonnesse.
He found the walls which Apollo and
Poseidon built ; he found the streets through
which the pious son of Aphrodite bore his
old father from their burning home; he
found the Scaean gate, at which the sons of
the gods sat wondering at the beauty of


Helen, as a theme worthy of a world in
arms ; he found the royal treasure of King
Priam, the diadems and jewels which had
been the ornaments of beauty and the pride
of power, in the days when the sons of God
and the daughters of men were in daily and
intimate association.

The critical woiid, while it could not ac-
cept Dr. Schliemann's interpretation of these
discoveries, was startled and puzzled by the
wonderful facts which he had brought to

• The numbers within the parentheses refer to
^lepth m meters at which the object was found.

light The doubt which some strove t

throw on his good faith was speedily dii

pelled ; the objects which he described ai

certainly in existence, and were found \

Hissariik ; and his descriptions, when strij

ped of the inferences and beliefe with whic

his fancy had mingled and wrapped then

proved to be in substance correct Nai

more, even those who quarreled most bi

terly with his explanations failed to fiimii

an equally interesting theory of their owl

or even to agree upon any, Meanwhili

Dr. Schliemann himself, regarding the resu

rection of Troy as a demonstration of h

cherished views, his enthusiasm rekindle

for Homeric research, sought other ficl<

for simflar exploits. " For n

part," he says, " I have alwa]

firmly believed in the Trojan wai

my full faith in Homer and in tl

tradition has never been shak^

by modem criticism, and to tfa

faith of mine I am indebted for tl

discovery of Troy and its treasury

(page 334). He has spent sev<

months of severe personal labc

and has made an immense outl^

of money, in excavating the at

cient city of Mycenae, the royi

seat of the Homeric Agamemnon

and has met here witib a succei

far greater even than at HissarlS

Under these circumstances, til

most skeptical reader may reasoi

ably be asked to sympathize wi^

the enthusiasm of the writer, I

admire the courage and pers^

verance with which he has carri^

out his plans, and to thank him f^

the great contributions which li

has made to otur means of knowiij

the past Perhaps, indeed, tli

best way to enjoy his book, \

least on a first reading, is to la

aside all critical weapons, acce|

the guidance of the author, enter into h

credulous spirit, and live awhile with him i

the heroic age.

The book has charms enough of its ow
in spite of the defects we have noted. 1
contains himdreds of illustrations, which zx
not only complete and seemingly accural
representations of the objects found, but ai
so interesting in themselves and so admirabi
executed as to place it far above nearly ^
others of its class in beauty and attractive
ness. As the discoveries are among the mck
ciuious ever reached by archaeological n
search and are sure to be for many years tfa



crater of a discussion in-
Tolving some important
questions in the history of
dvilizatioD, the work will
be eagerly read, not only
by the general reader, to
whom it is addressed, but
e^)ecially by the classical
scholar.the historical critic,
and the antiquarian expert,
each of whom will find
matter for prolonged study
in the well-attested facts
here presented, however
fetlc he may value the
mtcrprctations of the ex-
plorer. The business of
this article is merely to
caD attention to some of
the most remarkable of
these facts, apart from all
zttempts to explain them.
The architectural re-
mains at Mycenae, the
Cyclopean walls, the gate of lions, and the
nbterranean treasuries, have been objects
of wonder to at least seventy generations of
men. The Greeks of history knew no more
of their origin than we. Mycenae has no
history. That eighty of its men were found in
the Greek army at Thermopylae, b. c. 480, and
ictieated when Leonidas and his Spartans
chose to remain and die ; that four hundred
loen of Mycenae and Tiryns followed Pau-
anias the next year to Plataea; and that
dcvcn years afterward, both cities were
«teriy destroyed by the Argives, — these are
the only facts concerning Mycenae for which
there is any historical evidence. But in
dassic legend and poetry it occupies an
important place. The Homeric songs repre-
sent it as a rich, well-built city, " with broad

**• So" >Anrm> vas*. gxopnd ysllow, ukbs black,



Streets ;" the seat of a powerful dynasty of
heroes; and the popular mythology made
them the actors and sufferers in a series of
tragic events, which have been impressed on
the world's imagination and memory forever
by the genius of ^schylus and Euripides.
How far were these myths the growth of a
germ of fact preserved by a national tra-
dition ? How far were they the product of
credulous and imaginative minds, striving to
account for the great walls and works of
earlier days ? These are questions the dis-
cussion of which is closely linked with whole
systems of thought, and will be fully set at
rest only with the settlement of far more
momentous controversies.

The scene of the principal excavations is
the acropolis of Mycenae. This has often been
described by travelers; and students who
wish to examine and judge Dr. Schliemaim's
discoveries in detail must be referred to the
admirable plans of his engineers, appended
to this book ; and to the minute accounts of
the topography given by Gell and Curtius in
their well-known works. The massive "Cyclo-
pean " walls which surround this acropolis,
the great " gate of the lions " which forms its
main entrance, and the huge subterranean
chambers or treasuries, have hitherto been
the chief wonders of the place. To what
was already known of these, however, our
author adds little ; except that he has cleared
out the gate of the lions to its base, removing
a mass of debris which has obstructed it for
many centuries, and has " brought to light its



enormous threshold," a hard block of breccia
fifteen feet long and eight feet broad. ItTias
commonly been believed, on the testimony
of travelers, that this threshold has been be-
fore cleared and examined in modem times.

Macedonian period, and that Diodoms s
therefore wrong in asserting that Mycena
remained uninhabited from its destruction b]
the Argives to his own time, he dismissei
this " comparatively modem Hellenic city,'

No. 1x4. (6 m.)

No. 115. (3 M.)

No. zx6. (4 M.)

No. 117. (7 M.)

No. ii8. (s»M.)


No. XI9. (6 M.)

So high an authority as C. O. Miiller says :
" The gate-way of Mycenae, cleared awa^ in
1842, is five paces in breadth, and proportion-
ately long ; there are wheel-tracks within the

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