SOME DEPREDATIONS 291 



Then when the storm became prolonged, foxes, 

 driven, perhaps, by hunger, began to eat the dead 

 sheep, for my friend avowed that he had seen one 

 of them at work. But he had never seen a fox 

 attack one of his sheep, nor would he, though no 

 doubt a hungry vixen will occasionally pick up a 

 newly-dropped lamb. However, at last he was 

 persuaded that the foxes had not done him such 

 grievous damage, and his bill was paid in this 

 fashion. One day after the storm broke up, 

 hounds met within a mile of his house, and we 

 had a capital day's sport, killing a brace of foxes, 

 each of them after a good run. In the second run 

 there was a good deal of jealous riding, for most 

 of it was over a good country, and they killed their 

 fox in the field adjoining our friend's house. " It 



is Miss 's brush," shouted the Master, before 



any one could lay claim to it, and it was hard to 

 tell whether father or daughter was the more 

 delighted with the compliment. " You must send 



in your bill for the poultry, Miss ," said the 



Master. But the lady shook her head, and her 

 father would not hear of such a thing as making a 

 charge for a few hens, and he produced a formid- 

 able stone bottle, and entertained all those who 

 would be entertained in liberal fashion. And that 

 was how his bill for the sheep was paid. 



"Oh! Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson, 

 oh ! " said Lord Byron once, when he was criticis- 

 ing, and not without cause, the author of The 

 Seasons, and the words of the noble poet might 

 well be used by a fox, if he could speak. For the 

 line in which the genial bard speaks of the fox as 

 " the nightly robber of the fold," is just about as 

 great a stretch upon the imagination as any that 



