The Foxes form a very distinct group of _Canidæ_, differing far more from the Dog, Wolf, and Jackal than those animals do from one another. The most characteristic and important difference between them lies in the fact that in the Foxes the pupil of the eye contracts under the influence of strong light to a vertical slit, dilating and becoming circular again as the light diminishes. This is the case, as will be remembered, in the Common Cat, and many other members of the same family; it is, in fact, very usual in animals of nocturnal habits, which, being used under ordinary circumstances to make shift with the smallest quantity of light obtainable, are advantaged by being able to exclude all superfluous rays when the illumination becomes stronger than they can comfortably bear. Moreover, the muzzle of Foxes is much sharper than that of Dogs, the head more rounded, the ears erect and triangular, the limbs short, and the tail or “brush” long, thick, and bushy. On account of these differences, many naturalists prefer to separate the Foxes altogether from Dogs, Wolves, and Jackals, and make them constitute a new genus--_Vulpes_--the Common Fox being called _Vulpes vulgaris_. [Illustration: COMMON FOX.] The habits and appearance of the Fox are thoroughly well known, especially in Great Britain, where the life of this, the greatest marauder of the farmyard, is held in such high esteem, that in many places vulpicide is a crime of almost equal magnitude with homicide, and of far greater magnitude than uxoricide: at any rate, if the latter operation be only fairly conducted, _secundum artem_, with boots. In many counties, even now, the farmer who kills the pillager of his poultry-yard, instead of leaving him to come by his death in the hunting-field, is promptly “sent to Coventry,” and often obliged to pack up, bag and baggage, and try his fortune in another locality. The Fox, indeed, must be brought to justice for no crime he may commit, however great; but when his time is up, he must be hunted to death with an army of Dogs, each one twice his own size, and his dying struggles witnessed by scores of horsemen and horsewomen, who are considered to have done great things if they are “in at the death” of the insignificant little thing, which ought to have been knocked on the head long ago. The cunning of the Fox is proverbial. When hunted, he “makes a thousand shifts to get away,” and often succeeds in baffling the whole pack of well-trained Hounds. His stealthy tread, as he winds along the hill sides and valley slopes to seek his prey or to reach his lair, is altogether characteristic of one thoroughly well up to his work. Numberless tales are told of his sagacity, but we will content ourselves with one which forms almost as good an example of animal reason as any we have met with, even in the Dog:--