THE LIFE OF A FOx. 43

gone on longer, if not killed me. The pace they
obliged me to go, when hunting me over the
hills, was terribly fast, and very probably the
cause of their not making so much cry when in
pursuit. Indeed they ran almost mute, and at
times got very near to me before I was aware of
their approach.

This I found was too dangerous a country
for me to remain in; and so when on another
occasion they found me, I ran into the Ham-
bledon country, not far from Stanstead Forest,
where I fortunately escaped, and finding myself
in a wild part near Highdown Wood, did -not
venture to return, feeling sure: that with the
Colonel’s quick pack and blood-like horses, if
they found me on a good scenting day, I must be
beaten by them. However, here was in store for
me as great a trial of my powers; for it seemed
that Mr. Osbaldiston’s hounds were just come
for this part of the season to hunt the country.
One morning I heard Sebright’s voice cheering
on his pack, which, with a burning scent, were

running a fox like lightning. Suddenly there