Notable Runs 57 



far as ever he can, lands on Crasher's reins, of 

 which the latter never lets go, and drives them 

 into the turf. 



" Line, sir, line ! " expostulates the Honourable, 

 not knowing who it is. " Oh ! it's you, is it ? " he 

 adds, picking himself up and remounting. " All 

 right ! Go along, old fellow ! The hounds are 

 running like smoke ! " 



Mr. Sawyer apologises freely as they gallop on. 

 In his heart he thinks Crasher the best fellow he 

 ever met, and contrasts his behaviour with that of 

 Sir Samuel Stuffy in the Old Country, on whom 

 he once played the same trick, and whose language 

 in return was more Pagan than Parliamentary. 

 The Master and Struggles get over also, the latter 

 not without a scramble. Those who are not in 

 the first flight wisely diverge towards a bridge. For 

 five minutes and more there are but half-a-dozen 

 men with the hounds. These run harder than ever 

 for another mile, then throw their heads up and 

 come to an untoward check. 



" What a pity ! " observes Mr. Sawyer. Not 

 that he thinks so exactly, for Hotspur wants a pufF 

 of wind sadly. 



" Turned by them sheep ! " says Charles, and casts 

 his hounds rapidly forward and down wind. No ; 

 he has not been turned by the sheep ; he has been 

 coursed by a dog. Charles wishes every dog in 

 the country was with Cerberus, except the nineteen 

 couple now at fault. " Pliant has it," observes 

 the Master, as Pliant, feathering down the side 

 of a hedge, makes sure she is right, and then flings 

 a note or two off her silvery tongue, to apprise her 

 gossips of the fact. They corroborate her forth- 

 with, and the chorus of female voices could scarce 

 be outdone at a christening. Nevertheless, they 



