THE ART ITSELF i8i 



there is a kind of evil genius attending all that 

 they do ; and though they may seem to hunt as 

 well as ever, they do not get forward ; while a 

 pack of foxhounds well in blood, like troops 

 flushed with conquest, are not easily withstood.' 

 This is an indisputable fact now, and was pro- 

 bably equally true when these words were first 

 written more than a hundred years ago. 



At the finish of the gallop, which we have just 

 brought to a successful conclusion, you lifted 

 hounds to meet the fox. In this operation you 

 were running a certain amount of risk, and it 

 would be as well you remembered this for future 

 occasions. You had no whip with you, and if 

 the fox had heard or seen you coming, and had 

 laid down in the fence, the pack would probably 

 have run heel, and you would have lost your fox. 

 A tired fox often escapes at the moment when 

 the huntsman thinks he is going to handle him, 

 and it is generally the result of too much halloa- 

 ing or the man losing his head. A fox never 

 gives up a chance of saving his life, and until he 

 is dead he is always liable to defeat you. Never 

 halloa in such a manner as to excite hounds or 

 get their heads up, unless you are certain of being 



