i8o The Chase 



And unless at that warning I raise up my head, 

 My lads, you may fairly conclude I am dead." 

 Honest Tom was obeyed, and the shout rent the 



sky, 

 For ev'ry voice joined in th' enlivening cry 

 With tally-ho, forward ! tally-ho ! tally-ho ! 



Anon, 



Sir Thomas Mostyn and Big Stephen 



Goodall, with their Mute Hounds 



SIR THOMAS MOSTYN, who hunted Ox- 

 fordshire, had a splendid pack — perhaps as 

 powerful a one as ever hunted ; they had, however, 

 very little sport, and were the victims of uncon- 

 querable prejudice. Sir Thomas seldom saw any 

 hounds except his own, and had a great dread of 

 tongue ; the consequence was that they were nearly 

 mute. He had a bitch called Lady, a draft from 

 Lord Lonsdale, from whom sprang most of his 

 pack : she bred them nearly mute, and notwith- 

 standing, he continued to breed from her blood 

 almost entirely. They would go hopping on a 

 scent two or three fields together without speaking, 

 so that a person who was not accustomed to them 

 would hardly know whether they were on scent 

 or not. They could not hold the line, solely from 

 want of tongue ; and unless they got away close 

 to him and had a burning scent, they could never 

 catch him : the moment they came to hunting the 

 game was up. Stephen Goodall, the huntsman, 

 was a clever man, and knew hunting thoroughly. 

 He must have been fully aware of their great defect, 

 but he had nothing to do with the breeding, as Sir 

 Thomas, we believe, managed that department 

 entirely himself. Stephen weighed upwards of 



