516 



FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



bounces not ten yards away — bis tongue lolling, his broad antlers 

 laid back, and every spot on his dappled red jacket showing 

 vividly in the sunlight. The leading hounds are almost at his 

 quarters, and chase him in view down the moorland. Now he 

 bends along the bogside ; now he meets the body of his pursuers ; 

 now he turns to bay in the open, beats them off once, twice. 









^*op ^. rA^sm>\ p^/n' n>. 



But the third time they pin and hold him — three couple on his 

 quarters, as many more on his neck and shoulders — till the knife 

 goes in, and the gallant old buck goes down upon the turf. 



No such fun have I seen for many a month — and never a 

 truer, cheerier sport. It was all over by one o'clock ; and the 

 world shone bright for that day at least. These are the glimpses 

 of sunlight that silver a clouded sky. Such are the touches of 

 gladness that make life as a sparkling rill, rather than as a 

 gloomy current in monotone. 



It is difficult — nay not possible — for me, a stranger, to add 

 who shared in the sport of Monday. But I know that, besides Mr. 

 Lovell, Mrs. Francis, and the Misses Lovell, there were at least 

 Major and Miss Talbot, Messrs. Arden, Bathurst, Heseltine, 

 Matchem, Newman, Waldo, and perhaps a dozen more. 



