HEROES OF THE HUNTING-FIELD 149 



liim get up again there was reason to believe that he 

 had received a serious injury. I told one of my 

 neighbours of it, but he did not seem io hear me. 

 The fox-hunting men do not stop for such trifles. 



' As the ground on which we now found ourselves 

 was a large level plain, I gave more liberty to my 

 horse, which started like an arrow, and rejoined the 

 group of other horses, with which it seemed anxious 

 to measure its strength. The country thus seen on 

 the back of a galloping hunter assumes a singular 

 aspect, with the large bare trees that pass before 

 you like phantoms, the groups of gipsies calling to 

 each other from the heights, and pointing out the 

 direction of the fox ; then every now and then a 

 landlord running to the side of the road with a 

 radiant face, as if he hoped that the fox would be 

 killed in his neighbourhood (which would cause a 

 demand for his ale and spirits), or else that one of 

 the hunters would break a rib in the adjacent ravine 

 — after all, as well there as elsewhere. His hopes 

 passed away with the cavalcade. 



' *' Forward ! forward ! " I heard shouted close to 

 my ear ; " the fox will be lucky this time if he 

 escapes, for the dogs have him. Courage, hounds, 

 courage ! " The pack, in fact, seemed to redouble 

 its vigour and resolution ; it might be said that 

 it felt the destruction of its foe. The hunters, on 

 their side, pressed the flanks of their steeds, whips 

 clacked, the horses perspired and panted, leaving 



