DORSET’S STORY.

I was born in Cranborne Chace, which is in Mr.
Farquharson’s hunt, and it was here that I first
heard the sound of a huntsman’s voice, the voice
of old Ben Jennings; and melodious as it might
have been considered by others, it was any thing
but agreeable to my ear, when he used it to
cheer on his hounds, which appeared so well to
understand it. It frequently was the cause of
my leaving this large covert. I returned to it
because the hounds were apt to get on the scent
of another fox. The voice became at last so
familiar to me, that I heeded it not, but rather
found amusement in it, taking little trouble to
be out of hearing of it when the hounds were

hunting me; but another season came, and great