THE REV. JOHN RUSSELL. 183 



Torrs northwards, when Russell, keeping his 

 eye on Memory, held up his hand and exclaimed, 

 " Do, pray, give her time. There I — she has it, 

 I tell you, and will fling her tongue in half a 

 minute if you'll let her alone." 



But Phillipps icoiild make his cast, while 

 Russell and Mr. Pomerov Gilbert remained 

 stationary, intent only upon Memory, as she 

 still persevered steadily on the road. At length, 

 a patch of wet soil giving her a chance, she 

 dropped her stern, and at the same time throw- 

 ing her tongue, dashed over the heather-bank 

 on to Temple Moor and away. Russell's scream 

 was too thrilling, too rapturous, to describe. 

 Away, away, over that grand waste of heather 

 — a thorough wilderness ; not a vestige of man ; 

 not a solitary patch of gorse ; not even a twig 

 to shelter a wild animal for leagues. 



Racing him to the boundary fence of the 

 moor above Trebartha the hounds caught a view, 

 and instantly as if by a stroke of magic they 

 and the fox vanished from the scene. It seemed 

 to the foremost riders, Mr. Charles Trelawny 

 on Oswestry, Mr. Phillipps on Foster, Mr. 

 Harris, Mr. Coryton, and Mr. Tom Hext, who 

 was the first to view him, that the earth had 

 opened her jaws and swallowed them alive ; and 

 such was the case ; the shaft of an old mine 

 lay open, and they had fallen 



" Into utter darkness, deep engulphed." 



