THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 107 



the old hound spent most of his time in a sort 

 of dreaming, winking, blinking state in the 

 kennel, and was excessively out of temper if 

 disturbed, " I heard a man say when we 

 were out last," repeated I, " that he liked to 

 see a flying hound, and would hang every line- 

 hunter that was ever bred." 



*' He must have known a great deal about 

 fox-hunting," replied Trimbush, with a 

 sarcastic grin, " a very great deal indeed. I 

 should like to have his name and address." 



** Of course he was wrong," observed I, 

 with a slight touch of the interrogative in the 

 remark. 



" Wrong? " repeated Trimbush. '* Ha, 

 ha, ha ! It makes my old sides ache again. 

 What would the flying, flashy devils do when 

 the scent fails at head if it was not for the 

 line-hunters ? By a line-hunter, I don't mean 

 one of those old pottering fools who stick 

 their noses to the ground as if they intended 

 them to take root there; but a hound, that 

 when he has stopped long enough to satisfy 

 himself that he is on the line, holds forward, 

 and occasionally feels for the scent. That is 

 what I call a killing line-hunter, and is a 

 guide and pilot for the pack. Often will you 



