252 



THE FOX. 



a gaunt and over-fattened cur without a tail, flew at 

 poor Keynard, and killed him outright : — the 

 hounds coming up just in time to snarl and 

 quarrel for his bleeding carcass, which they 

 devoured, before the huntsman had made his 

 appearance. 



Thus ended this day's sport : — most certainly, 

 its termination was humiliating. A greasy 

 butcher's dog, the lowest of its race, came up, 

 just in the nick of time to give the death blow : — 

 aye, to accomplish which, the best-bred hounds 

 in Christendom, had spent the long-live day. 

 " Ea turba, cupidine prsedoe, 

 Per rupes, scopulosque, adituque carentia saxa, 

 Qua via difficilis, quaque est via nulla, feruntur." 

 But, so it sometimes happens. In our ow T n 

 ranks, we have occurrences most sad and mor- 

 tifying. Thus, Charles XII., — the courageous 

 king of Sweden, fell by an unknown hand. 



u His fall was destined to a foreign strand 5 

 A petty fortress^ and a dubious hand." 



And Nelson too, the bravest of the brave, was slain 

 by an ignoble musket-ball. And latterly, no one 

 will ever know what fatal hand deprived us of our 

 valiant General Cathcart, in the Crimean desolating 

 conflict. — " Sic transit gloria mundi." 



If our Nimrod-earl had carried in his hand a 



