80 THE LIFE OF A FOX.

And now, my friends, I have done.

“Done! Tell us first what has become of
our friend old King Stumpy. There is a rumour
that he is dead, and I do not perceive any one
here without a brush.”

Alas! he is no more. He was captured, and
massacred, and died an ignominious death. It
happened, last autumn, that he was found as
usual in Grafton Park one morning, as soon
as it was light, by this new pack, when he had
imprudently glutted himself, and was thinking
again to save his life by immediately running
into a drain, in which he had so often saved
himself before, after a severe day’s hunting. He
who had been king of the forest, and had for
so many years fairly beaten his enemies, was
now dug out, and devoured by the hounds on
the spot. Oh! the ruthless and unfeeling beasts!
Yet, be it confessed, that we ourselves do some-
times dig out a mouse or so, but it is to eat
him kindly, you know.

Here I intended to finish my story; but as
I am expected to explain how I have escaped