56 THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 



** Listen," returned the old hound, check- 

 ing my impetuosity, ** and you shall hear. I 

 was not bred in this kennel, but came from the 

 west at the end of my first season. It so 

 happened that about the middle of this season, 

 and when all of us were full of fire and 

 devilry, our regular whipper-in died, and his 

 place became filled by a perfect stranger to 

 us. His cottage being within a short distance, 

 he could hear any quarrel or disturbance, and 

 was ready to quell it at a moment's notice. 

 Trifles light as air, I've heard, will frequently 

 cause the most vital consequences; and such 

 was the case that I am alluding to. A ray of 

 the moon, streaming through a chink in the 

 door of our lodging-house, occasioned a 

 hound of the name of Restless to bay it. This 

 broke the sleep of all ; and in a few minutes a 

 regular fight began, each running a-muck and 

 attacking friend and foe with equal want of 

 consideration. In order to quell the row, the 

 whipper-in made his appearance amongst us, 

 as he quitted his bed, undressed ; but scarcely 

 had he lifted the latch of the entrance, when 

 — not recognising his voice or his person — 

 he was seized by the throat; and, before 

 the morning light, there was nothing left 



