THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 153 



Twang, twang, twang, twang, went Will's 

 horn. 



" For'ard, for'ard !" hallooed Ned Adams : 

 " get to him hounds, get to himl For'ard! 

 for'ard! " 



For fifteen minutes we flew along at our 

 best pace, over a country, without even a bush 

 strong enough to hold him. The scent being 

 breast high, we cut out some of the sharpest 

 work for the best and boldest to ride to us. 



" His point's the main earth at the Curby 

 brake," said Trimbush; " but old ' fox-fix ' 

 has been there with his spade and pickaxe, 

 I'll be bound." 



The cover spoken of by my companion was 

 quickly gained, and on the slope of a steep 

 bank, thickly twined with the stubborn roots 

 of some neighbouring oaks, we ran straight 

 to the mouth of a closed earth. 



'' Ha, ha! " laughed Trimbush, " I said 

 so. If he had poked his nose underground 

 here, they might have dug for a week to no 

 purpose." 



We now carried it through the brake, and, 

 sinking some rising ground, entered Bushford 

 Woodlands. Here the small enclosures and 

 thick fences began to tell both upon us and the 



