THE DEATH OF THE FOX 81 



high road at such a time as this, when the tenderest-nosed hound can 

 hardly own the scent! Another fault! That man at work, then, has 

 headed back the fox. Huntsman ! cast not your hounds now; you see 

 they have over-run the scent : have a little patience, and let them, for once, 

 try back. 



We now must give them time. See where they bend towards yonder 

 furze brake ! I wish he may have stopped there ! Mind that old hound, 

 how he dashes o'er the furze ; I think he winds him. Now for a fresh 

 entapis ! Hark ! They halloo ! Aye, there he goes ! 



It is nearly over with him : had the hounds caught view, he must have 

 died. He will hardly reach the cover. See how they gain upon him at 

 every stroke ! It is an admirable race ! yet the cover saves him. 



Now be quiet, and he cannot escape us : we have the wind of the 

 hounds, and cannot be better placed. How short he runs ! He is now 

 in the very strongest part of the cover. What a crash ! every hound 

 is in, and every hound is running for him. That was a quick turn ! 

 Again another ! he's put to his last shifts. Now Mischief is at his heels, 

 and death is not far off. Ha ! they all stop at once : all silent, and yet 

 no earth is open. Listen ! now they are at him again ! Did you hear that 

 hound catch view ? They over-ran the scent, and the fox had laid 

 down behind them. Now, Reynard, look to yourself ! How quick they 

 all give their tongues ! Little Dreadnought, how he works him ! The 

 terriers, too, they now are squeaking at him. How close Vengeance 

 pursues ! how terribly she presses ! It is just up with him ! 

 Gods ! what a crash they make ! the whole wood resounds ! That turn 

 was very short ! There ! now aye, now they have him ! Who-hoop ! 



11 



