The interest connected frith the animal whose natural history we are now about to sketch, is of a very different order from that which we have discovered in the the horse and the dog. The fox is not the friend, but the enemy of man; as such we inquire into his history, to know his habits, detect his wiles, and to destroy him. In another respect, however, he is peculiarly interesting to the sportsman.

The fox, which, in numerous varieties of colour, and differences in size, inhabits all the northern and temperate regions of the globe, has a broad head, a sharp snout, a flat forehead, eyes obliquely seated, ears sharp and erect, a body well covered with hair, and a straight, bushy, and somewhat pointed tail. Its predominant colour is yellowish-red, or yellowish-brown; a little mixed with white or ash-colour on the forehead, shoulders, hind part of the back, and outside of the hind legs. The breast and belly are cinereous-gray, or whitish-gray; the tips of the ears and the feet are black; the head is larger than that of the dog, in proportion to the size of the body; the ears are shorted, the tail much larger, the hair longer, and the eyes are more oblique. The intestines, too, particularly the coecum, are more capacious; and the cutting teeth of the upper jaw have no lines or furrows, like those of the dog and wolf. Another mark of distinction is its smell, which is very strong and offensive. It utters a yelping kind of bark, consisting in a succession of similar sounds, concluding with an elevation of the voice. In disposition it differs greatly from the dog; for it is tamed with difficulty, is never completely reclaimed, and is a stranger to the exercise of generosity and kindness. Yet, notwithstanding these points of discrepancy, it is a well-established fact, that the two species have been known to breed together under certain circumstances, and produce a mongrel race, (see Godman's Amer. Nat. Hist) The females of this species produce only once a year and have from three to six young at a time. They are brought forth blind, and continue growing for about eighteen months. In its first year the fox is called a cub, in the second a fox, and afterwards an old fox. If the dam perceives that her place of retreat has been discovered, she carries off her cubs, one by one, to a more secure habitation.

The fox sleeps much during the day, lying like the dog, in a round form. Indeed, he may in some degree be considered a nocturnal animal; for in a strong light the pupil of the eye contracts, like those of the cat. In clear and very warm weather, he may sometimes be seen basking in the sun, or amusing himself with his fine bushy tail. Crows and other birds, that justly consider him as their common enemy, will often give notice of his presence by the most clamorous notes, and follow him a long way from tree to tree, repeating their outcries. The fox lives upon an average thirteen or fourteen years.

This animal, we need scarcely mention, is proverbially celebrated for his cunning; and, although this feature in his character has given rise to much exaggeration and fable, his proceedings are certainly more under the guidance of craft and subtlety than of courage, or a spirit of enterprise. He chooses his habitation amongst brambles, woods, and thick underwood, preparing his bed under hard ground, the roots of trees, or similar situations, where he can contrive .proper outlets to escape from danger. He does not always take the trouble of making a hole for himself, but often procures accommodation by dispossessing the cleanly badger, which he is said to do by injecting his foetid urine into this animal's burrow. His lodge is seldom remote from the habitations of man, and often in the neighbourhood of some farmyard. He listens to the crowing of the cocks, and the cries of the poultry, scents them at a distance, selects his time with judgment, conceals his road as well as his purposes, slips forward with caution, sometimes even trailing his body, and seldom makes a fruitless expedition. If he can either leap over the walls, or creep in underneath, he ravaged the yard, puts all to death, and retires softly with his prey, which he conceals under leaves, or carries off to his kennel. In painting the confusion of a farmyard, when a fox had seized a favourite cock, Chaucer, with much humour, says:

"------after him they ran,

And eke with stavis, many another man Ran call our dogge Talbot and eke Garlond; And Malkin with her distaffe in her hond, Ran cowe and calfe and eke the very hogges. The duckies cryed as men would tham kill, The geese for fear flewin over the trees; Out of the hives came the swarme of bees."

In a few minutes be returns for more, which he bears away or conceals in the same manner, but in a different place. In this way he proceeds systematically, till the progress of the sun, or some movement perceived in the house gives him warning that it is time to suspend his operation, and to retire to his resting-place for the day. He digs out rabbits from their warren, detects the nests of quails and partridges, seizes the mothers on their eggs, and thus destroys a great quantity of game. In procuring young rabbits from their burrows, he follows their scent above ground, till he comes to the end where they lie, and there scratching up the earth, descends and despatches them. In default of other victims, he makes war on rats, serpents, lizards, toads, and moles, of which he consumes a great number, and with which, like the cat, he plays before he devours them. When urged by hunger, he will also eat insects or roots; his drag is often struck upon at the root of the persimmon, where he goes to feed on the fallen fruit; if near the coast, he will seize on crabs, oysters, and other shell-fish. He manifests a predilection for grapes, and has been a destroyer of vineyards from the earliest times: "take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines," it is said in the Song of Solomon. He is fond of sweet things, and will boldly attack wild bees to get at their stores. Assailed by swarms that fasten on him with their stings, he retires, but only for a few minutes, rids himself of his opponents by rolling on the ground and crushing all that stick to him, and then returns to the charge, and devours both wax and honey. Though sated with food, his active foresight will often prompt him to prolong his researches, less with the intention of discovering fresh booty than of exploring the details of his future resources. Thus he frequently returns to the various holes which he had at first cleaned, surveys them with much precaution, enters into them, and slily examines their different issues. With cautious slowness he approaches objects that are new to him, and which, on account of their novelty, excite his suspicion and distrust. A favourite lure will ensnare him " in the days of his inexperience," but, when apprised of its nature, the same expedient becomes unavailing. He seems to; smell the very iron of the trap, and carefully shuns it. If he perceive that the means of ambush are multiplying around him, he quits his place of residence, and retires into some more secure quarters. Man, with all his reasoning and machines, requires, himself, much experience, not to be over-reached by the prudence and stratagems of this wily quadruped. If all the issues of the kennel are beset with snares, the occupant scents and recognises them, and, rather than fall into them, exposes himself to the most cruel and protracted privation of food. This state of alarm in confinement is neither mechanical nor passive; for in the mean while, he leaves nothing untried to escape from dangers. If he has been taken by one leg, in the trap, he will break it with great resolution, and never cease his exertions to regain his liberty. Somerville thus notices the fact,:

"------ by the indented steel

With gripe tenacious held, the felon grieves, And struggles, but in vain; yet oft 'tis known, When every art has failed, the captive fox Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb Compounded for his life,"

In the fox, in short, as in the wolf, we cannot but, remark an aptitude to acquire habits, and to be regulated by his reflections on existing circumstances. Where no war is waged against him, he is comparatively ignorant and careless of his conduct; but when the apprehension of pain or death, exhibited under various forms, has produced multiplied sensations, which become fixed in his memory, and give rise to comparisons, judgments, and inductions, he acquires skill, penetration, and cunning: If the imprudence and thoughtlessness of youth frequently make him deviate from the right path, the experience of age corrects his wanderings, and teaches him how to discriminate true from false appearances.

From the character which we have thus been led to ascribe to the fox, it is not much a matter of wonder that he should be persecuted by man; and that to avoid this persecution he should have recourse to all sorts of stratagem. But experienced huntsmen alone can know the various shifts to which he has recourse for salvation when hard pressed in the chase - how he will run his foil; leave his course to pass through a flock of sheep, or herd of cattle; or swim the water-course, and walk the top rails of the fence for many panels, to put at fault and confound his pursuers, often occasioning loss and perplexing difficulties, that nothing but the most sagacious old hound can unravel and "hit off." It is these stratagems, however, that create; intense anxiety to the sportsman, and give variety and interest to the chase, the most manly, healthful, and at the same time useful sport, in which a gentleman can engage.