72

PYTCHLY’S STORY.

RECOLLECT, that when the pace is good, it cannot
last long; and so with my story, for I remember
but little of my very early days. I have had the
good luck to escape from several packs of hounds
which have hunted my country, and am now ar-
rived at a venerable age; indeed, so far advanced —
in my teens, that I began to believe myself to be
the oldest fox in the country, until I saw one
who is fastened up by a chain in the back yard
of the Peacock Inn, at Kettering. Having been
there ever since he was a cub, he is known to
be eighteen years old, and he is now full one
fourth shorter than when in his prime of life.
It is not likely that foxes often attain to such an
age, as before that they become infirm; and in