THE ART ITSELF 173 



Away on the ridge to the right there is a 

 hammering of iron-shod hoofs on the road, and 

 you catch a glimpse of the crowd hurrying on to 

 some point. There is a wood of twenty acres in 

 that direction, and according to all precedent it 

 is for there a fox should make, but to-day the 

 calculations of the knowing ones will be upset. 



We have thus far been galloping over a sort of 

 flat table-land, which now begins to descend gradu- 

 ally and ends, as far as you can see, in a narrow 

 vale — a strip of green with a grey church-tower In 

 the middle. Up to now you have met nothing 

 which your horse could not cover with ease in his 

 stride, but what is this thicket in front ? It is the 

 boundary hedge that divides two parishes, a huge 

 wall of thorn and young trees that shut out the 

 landscape beyond, with a yawning ditch on either 

 side. The autumn leaves have not yet fallen, and you 

 must guess what lies behind the screen, but from 

 the lie of the land you feel certain there is a drop. 

 The field, after a moment's hesitation, have dashed 

 off to follow one of their number who turned away 

 directly he recognised the obstacle. Hounds 

 have already disappeared through the leafy barrier, 

 and you mean to be with them. At present you 



