and towards the termination of it, when the fox
was in view, another fox was seen, to the astonishment of the forward
riders, running in the middle of the pack of hounds, perfectly
unnoticed by them. It is supposed that the dogs ran over this fox,
who, finding himself in the midst of them, probably thought it the
safest and wisest plan he could pursue to continue with them till he
had an opportunity of making his escape.

In relating anecdotes of foxhounds it is almost unavoidable not to
mention fox-hunters, and we know not how we can give to our readers a
better notion of the stirring spirit and devotion to their sport,
distinguishing them beyond all other sportsmen, than by offering some
extracts from the pen of the late Colonel Cook, a master of hounds,
beloved by all who knew him, and venerated by those who hunted with
him.

Hounds will not work through difficulties, nor will they exert
themselves in that killing sort of manner when they are out of blood.
If after all you should, owing to ill-luck and bad weather, be in want
of it, the best way is to leave an earth open in a country where you
can spare a fox, and where you can without much trouble dig him, give
him to the hounds on the earth, and go home. But whatever you do,
never turn out a bag-fox; it is injurious to your hounds, and makes
them wild and unsteady: besides, nothing is more despicable, or held
in greater contempt by real sportsmen, than the practice of hunting
bag-foxes. It encourages a set of rascals to steal from other hunts;
therefore keep in mind, that if there were no receivers there would be
no thieves. What chiefly contributes to make fox-hunting so very far
superior to other sports is the wildness of the animal you hunt, and
the difficulty in catching him. It is rather extraordinary, but
nevertheless a well-known fact, that a pack of hounds, which are in
sport and blood, will not eat a bag-fox. I remember hearing an
anecdote (when I was in Shropshire many years ago) of the late Lord
Stamford's hounds, which I will relate to you as I heard it. Lord
Forester, and his brother, Mr. Frank Forester, then boys, were at
their uncle's for the holidays. A farmer came to inform them a fox had
just been seen in a tree. All the nets about the premises were
collected, and the fox was caught; but the Squire of Wiley, a
sportsman himself, and a strict preserver of foxes, sent the fox
immediately to Lord Stamford by one of his tenants, that he might be
i