THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 21 



puppy, that a dying fox stood before ye, 

 instead of not having so much as found one. ' ' 



But I was in no humour to be dictated to; 

 and in spite of lacerating the corners of my 

 eyes, ears and stern, I flew right and left 

 through the furze, in the hope of being the 

 first to challenge. In pressing through a 

 thick patch, I scented that which I instantly 

 concluded must be a fox; and, immediately 

 afterwards catching a glimpse of something 

 spring across a ride, I threw up my head, 

 and made the cover echo as I dashed along the 

 line. I was much surprised, however, that 

 none of the old hounds joined me, and that, 

 with the exception of three or four of the 

 same age as myself, who merely gave tongue 

 because I did, no response or cheer was given 

 to my efforts. 



In a few seconds we found ourselves 

 through the brake at the farthest corner up 

 wind, and in close proximity to the dreaded 

 presence of Ned Adams. 



" War hare, puppy! " hallooed he, riding 

 at me, and cracking his heavy whip. *' War 

 hare ! war hare ! Hark back ! hark back ! ' ' 



Learning that I had committed an error, I 

 was not slow to obey the caution, by getting 



