powever, that the wary mother would remove the litter o other quarters before sunrise, and with his intimate knowledge of the country, backed by an instinct almost akin to that of the fox herself, he was never in the slightest doubt as to where she would take them. There were not many suitable nurseries in the district, and he was convinced that her choice would fall upon an old rabbit-warren a mile or so down the valley. Being anxious to locate them as quickly as possible, he did not allow the grass to grow under his feet, and dawn found him at the place, posted well to leeward of the burrows and waiting anxiously for daylight. The sun came up, a light wind, rolling back the mist, gave him a clear view of the sand-bank where he believed the foxes to be, but nothing was to be seen save the twinkle of white scuts here and there where the rabbits hopped, and as these one by one disappeared into their burrows, he began to fear that his instinct for once had played him false. A dilapidated wall of loose granite blocks nominally enclosed the warren, and alongside this there straggled a few wind-warped firs, among which some magpies were chattering. He was endeavouring to locate the birds for lack of other interest, when movement on a lower level caught his eye. From a corner where the firs grew thickest the light, stealing form of the vixen slid forth like a shadow, halted for a moment with one paw lifted, pointer fashion, while she flaired the air and looked cautiously about, then, turning again, was lost to view among the trees. A few seconds later she reappeared, this time with three little dark objects trickling along behind her. Straight down a sheep-path came the interesting procession, heading for the sand-bank where, doubtless, a new home had already been selected. The watcher waited his time, then, when the cubs were passing over some shallow burrows, sprang from his cover with a shout. The surprise proved too much even for the vixen, who turned tail, leaving the little ones to take care of themselves. Thus abandoned, they merely dived headlong into the nearest hole. The man, coming up, stopped them in-with stones, not earth, for fear of suffocating them and returning later in the day with tools and an assistant, secured them without difficulty. de s Like most beasts of prey, the fox is very methodical in his habits, but he is bound by no rule and hunts when and where the fancy takes him. One occasionally sees him prowling about on dark December afternoons, but t this is unusual, and in the dead of winter his voice is rarely heard until the stars are bright. During the long summer evenings he is always astir, but seldom hunts seriously while daylight lasts. It is easy to tell whether he means business or not by the behaviour of the rabbits. In late afternoon, or an hour or two after sunrise in midsummer, they scarcely trouble to avoid him, nor does t he attempt to touch them as a rule, beyond, perhaps, a playful jump or two at any who practically invite capture. The same man who caught the three cubs has told me that once he watched a fox for upwards of an hour 'having a fine caper' in a little hollow with rabbits all round him. The fox was frisking and tumbling about, pirouetting round and round after his brush, and executing every imaginable antic for no apparent reason. Having heard about foxes fascinating rabbits by similar means, the man naturally thought that such was the game. He waited, thinking, as he naïvely expressed it, that if he catched one I could have 'un.' The game continued so long, however, that his patience was exhausted, and he went away leaving the fox to reap the full reward of his labours should success attend them. In this case the rabbits appeared to be quite unmoved, merely hopping out of the performer's way if he came too near, and it is usually so while daylight lasts. When dusk falls, however, when the will-o'-the-wisps light up and nightjars are in full chorus, there is a very different story. Then his activities really commence, and the small wild life of the fields and woods has good cause to know it. The normal fox is always a hunter of fur rather than feather. Rabbits and small rodents generally constitute his ordinary bill of fare, and, as a general rule, his living comes easy to him. How mountain foxes at times contrive to exist is a problem which has puzzled many naturalists. Upon Dartmoor, for example, rabbits occur only in certain localities; bird life is negligible; hares are scarce; and, all considered, the case presents a strong argument against the prevailing idea that no fox can live save at the agriculturist's expense. According to the sheep-farmer, he subsists entirely on lambs. But as mountain lambs do not arrive till the worst of the winter is over, the solution obviously does not lie in that direction. Many sheep and cattle, it must be remembered, die on the uplands, and a good solid carcase might conceivably keep a hungry fox going for some time, but there can be no doubt that his diet is largely T insectivorous. He unearths all the moles he can find, and hunts the marshes assiduously for frogs and voles, but these sources of supply becoming exhausted, he has to 'fill up the chinks' with even lighter fare. Study will show that, like the carrion crow, he will scour the newly swaled lands for 'roasted snails,' those being the big black slugs which are destroyed in great numbers when the heather is burned. Black beetles, too, and sundry grubs are not despised, and to find these he turns over loose turf, wisps of badger hay, stones, or anything under which insects might lurk. He also snaps up any number of moths and chafers' on the wing, springing sometimes several feet from the ground to catch them when in flight. He has a sweet tooth, too, differing not at all in that respect from his representative of Solomon's days, and during the brief period when wild fruits are ripe he eats little else. I once observed a fox executing some curious antics among some bramble bushes, and found upon investigation that he was blackberrying, balancing himself on his hind legs the better to reach the higher and riper fruit. Concerning lambs again, many curious tales are told. An old Throwleigh shepherd, going the round one wild March morning, when driving mist and frequent snow showers shrouded the uplands, saw something, which at first glance he mistook for a collie dog, stealing away from the vicinity of the flock. But a clearer view, as the mist lifted somewhat, dispelled the illusion, and he saw that the stranger was none other than a large mountain fox, and that it carried something in its jaws. Suspecting the case, he set his dog on, and the robber, taking alarm, dropped his load, and made off with the dog in full chase. He saw no more of the fox, for at that moment a bank of fog came rolling down from Cosdon Beacon, and enfolded the hillside like a curtain. Vol. 245.-No. 485. But the object it had been carrying lay there in full view, and proved to be a lamb, newborn and still living -little the worse, indeed, for the experience. WE The story is true, I have no doubt. There is no justification for discrediting this or other instances of a similar nature which have occurred within my knowledge, nor can it be denied that crippled or mangy foxes occasionally develop into lamb-killers, even as the big carnivores, when old or maimed, are liable to become man-eaters. Incidentally, in all cases where doubt exists as to whether a fox or a dog is doing the damage, the ravager's identity may easily be established by his I methods. A fox invariably begins the gruesome feast with the tongue, which he eats out, as often as not leaving the remainder of the carcase untouched. A dog, on the other hand, attacks the entrails, while ravens, crows, and all rapacious birds without exception make for the eyes. Foxes, of course, like dogs, pick up as many dead lambs as may happen to be lying about. It is nothing unusual to find remains and even entire carcases upon earths where cubs are lodged, and when a vixen has occasion to shift the litter to other quarters she removes the larder also. Authenticated cases of actual killing are so rare, however, that in common fairness they may only be treated as exceptions which prove the rule. The following lines from 'Dartmoor Days' contain the most convincing argument I have ever heard upon this point: "Think you," said he, "in this wild spot, Where shelter in the fern and rocks Is shared alike by lambs and fox, If once a fox by hunger led, The blood of lambs had fiercely shed, Ah no! The beast would soon be found 999 DOUGLAS GORDON. Art. 5.-OMAR KHAYYÁM. [T was in the year 1859 that Edward FitzGerald published anonymously what purported to be renderings of verses by a Persian writer, up to that time, in Europe at least, almost quite unknown. The little book in paper covers and containing not more than thirty-four pages in all, presented to the English reader seventy-five four-lined stanzas of the poet, under the title, 'Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the astronomer-poet of Persia.' Although the price was gradually reduced until it reached the sum of one penny, it entirely failed to find readers. Some years later, in 1867, encouraged by the high esteem in which the verses of Omar Khayyám were held at the Persian Court, the interpreter to the French Embassy there, J. B. Nicolas, printed with a literal translation a text lithographed in Teheran. FitzGerald then in the following year issued a second enlarged edition of his rendering, containing one hundred and one stanzas. This edition was, Mr John Payne says, utterly neglected.' But now the tide began to turn. FitzGerald began to be discovered.' A third edition was required in 1872, and four years later was commanding a steady sale at 7s. 6d. a copy. Copies of the first edition, which the author had regarded as waste paper, were sought for and fetched any sum up to 60l. and over; and even the second, of which Mr Payne picked up a copy for a few pence, did not lag far behind the first. In America they were richly bound in sumptuous covers, and treated as though they had been copies of the Bible or the Korán. The Omar Khayyám Club was founded, and Omar in his English dress became the object of a cult which would have astonished no one more than FitzGerald-or Omar himself. Meanwhile other translators entered the field. Nicolas has been already mentioned. His version runs to 464 stanzas. It has been recently done into English. One of the most reliable is the German version of F. Bodenstedt, in several editions. In English the best known are those of E. H. Whinfield (508 stanzas with the Persian text), J. Payne (845 stanzas without text), and E. Heron-Allen. The last has a facsimile of the oldest manuscript with a printed transcription and literal |