THE LIFE OF A FOX. 19

equally selfish and short-sighted. For every fox
thus destroyed, hundreds of men are deprived of
a day’s sport, and sometimes more than that ; and
if none of us were spared, those hundreds of hunt-
ers would become so many keen shooters,—how
could the game-preserver then keep up his stock
as he did before? and where would the wealthy
capitalist rent his manor? After this unlucky
adventure, I resolved in future to sleep with one
eye open, and not without reason. I had scarcely
recovered from the injuries which I had suffered,
and had just settled in my kennel one morning
about day break, coiling myself up for the usual
snoose all day, and sticking my nose into the
upper part of the root of my brush—the rea-
son by the bye why the hairs there are gene-
rally seen to be standing on end or turned back-
wards—when I was startled by the voice of John
Foster, whose name has been mentioned before ;
“ Kloo in; e-dhoick, e-dhoick—in-hoick, in-hoick.”
Disturbed by the unaccustomed sounds, I rose
upon my fore legs, and pricking up my ears

listened for a moment. or two, when I heard the