THE FOX. 221 



rences most sad and mortifying. Thus Charles XII., the courageous 

 King of Sweden, fell by a?i unknown hand. 



" His fall was destined to a foreign strand, 

 A petty fortress, and a dubious hand." 



And Nelson, too, the bravest of the brave, was slain by an ignoble 

 musket-ball. And, latterly, no one will ever know what fatal hand 

 deprived us of our valiant General Cathcart, in the Crimean desolat- 

 ing conflict. " Sic transit gloria mundi" If our Nimrod-earl had 

 carried in his hand a battle-axe and not a hunting-whip, I saw by his 

 ungovernable rage at what had happened that nothing could have 

 saved the butcher's dog (which, with its master, had regained in haste 

 the king's highway) from utter extermination. 



I am, and always have been, a staunch advocate for protecting the 

 breed of foxes, and I trust that our sportsmen will allow, that when 

 they draw my covers they very seldom meet with disappointment. 

 I consider that the diversion of fox-hunting does signal service to the 

 nation at large. The very nature of it precludes the commission of 

 those disorders which too often prevail in other amusements. Who 

 is there, in these days, that can point to any recreation of a public 

 nature free from crime aye, from systematic crime ? Horse-racing, 

 to wit, where we observe knavery and cheating in superlative refine- 

 ment. How many of the craft are virtually robbed before the race- 

 horse leaves the stable ? how many of these noble animals have 

 actually been poisoned by designing bettors ? What bolts, and locks, 

 and vigils are required to guard against and shut out mischief of the 

 blackest dye ? And when the day of starting comes, say what 

 hordes of pickpockets swarm in every quarter ! These are watched 

 by policemen, whose main hope of preferment depends upon the 

 number of rascals they detect, and upon the valour which they show 

 in capturing their prey. No thieves no good doings for policemen. 

 A sorry state of things, forsooth ! and lately rendered worse by what 

 is called a rural police, useless and expensive. Our thieves here in 

 Yorkshire are quite knowing enough to dog the policeman into one 

 village, and then to plunder us in another. Not so with fox-hunting, 

 the very nature of which sets gambling and all its pernicious tricks 

 at absolute defiance. It is not confined to one particular spot of 



