Later it was thought that the hounds were resorting to trickery themselves when several were seen lifting objects from their back pockets to their faces. At first a reporter from The New York Times thought the hounds were peering through telescopes in order to spot the hares. Then he concluded that the objects were "not telescopes, but something better suited to the festive character of the day."
The hounds probably needed a nip or two by the time Vosburgh and Banham were through with them. They crossed a swamp covered with thin ice that cracked beneath each step and ended by covering a dozen miles in one hour and 45 minutes. The hounds pursued across the weakened ice and finished, cold and wet, nearly half an hour behind their quarry.
A year later, with Banham on the other side as the Master of the Hunt, the results were different. The race took place in the general vicinity of Bayonne, N.J., where the entire juvenile population took off after the hares. After passing a group of shooters from the New York Gun Club and following the tracks of the Jersey Central Railroad for several hundred yards, the hares, confident of victory, arrogantly pinned a sign to a fence and started back in the direction of Bayonne. The note read—"Dear Hounds: Goodbye. We are on our journey home. The smell of the dinner has acted exhilaratingly on our gait."
Shortly thereafter they were dismayed to see Banham less than 100 yards behind. After tagging W.I.K. Kendrick, Banham took off after the second hare, Harry Drake. An exciting chase concluded with the hounds' first win.
The high-water mark of paper chasing had been reached. The growing popularity of the less chaotic cross-country racing no doubt contributed to the demise of the sport, and by the 1890s it had been relegated to a child's game that survives today as Hare and Hounds and its variations.
Perhaps it was just as well. Considering the amount of litter the 20th century has produced, it would be preposterous to suppose modern hares could leave a recognizable scent.