32 THE LIFE OF A FOX.

February than in any other three months of the
year, ‘Two dog-foxes, which had come from a
great distance, were killed by the hounds that day.
I had had reason to be jealous of them, as they
had for the last week or two been tracing and
retracing the woods, in pursuit of a female, inces-
santly each night, until daylight appeared, when
they were obliged, through fatigue, to retire to
their kennels.

I recollect hearing, as I lay that day in a piece
of thick gorse, the following proof of the patience
and good temper of Sawyer, the whipper-in. The
hounds had followed a fox into a wood close by,
haying hunted him some time in close pursuit,
when a jovial sort of person, who constantly rode
after these hounds, saw a fresh fox,—being no
other than myself,—and began hallooing to the
full extent of his voice. Sawyer immediately rode
up to him, and addressed him thus: “ Now, pray
Mr. W——, don’t ye holloa so, don’t ye holloa;
‘tis a fresh fox!” But still the person continued
as loud as ever. The same entreaty was repeated

again and again, and still he would halloo, At