18 THE LIFE OF A FOX.

loss of blood. “ Ponto!—curse that dog; he’s
after him,” cried a voice, when the dog turned
back, or else he must certainly have caught me,
as I had only power to run a short distance into
some thick bushes, where I lay down and listened
to the following rebuke.

“You young rascal, how dared you to shoot at
a fox—here, too, above all places? Don’t you
know that this is the very centre of the hunt?
Had you killed him, you would have been a lost
man, an outcast from the society of all good peo-
ple, a branded vulpecide. Who do you think,
that has the slightest regard for his own character,
would have received you after that?” “I really,”
_ replied the offending youth, “mistook him for
a hare.” “ Yes, and if you had killed such a
hare, you should have eaten him, and without
currant jelly too.”

Now, if an humble individual of a fox may
venture to give an opinion upon such a moment-
ous question, I will say that the practice of
destroying our breed, for the purpose of preserv-
ing the quantity of game, is, where it prevails,