THE LIFE OF A FOX. 105

escape, for I was nearly beaten, and it appeared
that the pack which I found such difficulty in
shaking off and defeating, by turning so short
as I had done during the run, was that which
belonged to the late Mr. Codrington. It. is
stated that they killed every fox that they hunted
during eight following weeks. They are said
not to be compared for beauty to the former
pack, which is reported to have been a magni-
ficent one; but “handsome is that handsome
does.” .

Now, my friends, I will tell you why I prefer
hedge-rows and out of the way places to fix on
for a kennel. Listen to a matter of fact, but a
melancholy story of what took place in a part
of the country where I was bred. It happened
when in a favourite little covert near Namptwich,
that I was attracted by the scent of a bait which
was placed under a large iron trap, carefully
covered over with some light grass and moss;
on attempting to remove these, I unfortunately
struck the trap, which went off and caught me
by the foot. Need I describe the agony I en-

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