THE LIFE OF A FOX. 63

useless. The sound of the gun and the barking
of the dogs frightened me so much, that I always
ran away into the nearest hedge or wood to hide
myself; and I felt that my fate was sealed when
I heard the old feeder say to my master one day,
“ Now Sir I am sure that this here ‘ vulp’” (for
so I was called) “will never be no use at all; for
he is as wild and timorous now he is two years
old as ever he was. We can’t get un to do any-
thing like the terriers; he frisks about like an
eel, so as we can’t touch un at times.” Finding
that I had no friend to say a good word for me I
absconded, and when seen at a distance, have often
been mistaken for a fox, and scared by the cry of
Tally-o, Tally-o, and the hounds following me.
That they never caught me, I suppose may be
attributed to my not having the fox’s strong scent.

“Thy story is marvellous; but I must doubt
its truth, until I see thy mother. I fear that
thou art like other vain creatures, who, knowing
their own unworthiness, would fain connect them-
selves with those who are in any way excellent—

but beware of betraying us.”