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a hedgerow where our hunted one had turned short, 

 although anyone half asleep might have seen the differ- 

 ence in them ; and thus he got up the heads of my 

 companions, and lost us our reward of blood, which was 

 nearly earned after a cold hunting run of over an hour- 

 and-a-half. Then I had a fellow throw down the end 

 of a stinking cigar just as I was feathering on the line 

 past him up a lane, and the vile smell so affected me, 

 that I could not hunt a yard for the rest of the day. 

 I beheve I could have killed our fox had it not been for 

 him. Another — and, I believe, he wrote as an authority 

 on hunting— said that my poor old sister Eeckless ought to 

 be hung when she got home, because she stuck persistently 

 to the line of her hunted fox when all the rest had given it 

 up, and he wanted to go and find another. However, 

 as I told you before, there are real good men who 

 understand us, our instincts, and our ways; such, for 

 instance, as M or T , but they want elbow- 

 room on the grass. Now, here you have small fields, 

 and, as far as I can see, every man who goes to meet 

 hounds is a sportsman. Our huntsman, it is true, does 

 not ride so hard as Will, and I have seen him get off 

 at a big bank, or make for a gate, when a little more 

 quickness on his part, and the sound of the horn on the 

 right sj>ot, at the right moment, would have put us on 

 better terms with our fox (for he never deceives 

 us, and when he does tootle, it is always a saving 

 of time to fly to the sound at once) ; but then 

 these are sins of omission, and he never loses 

 a fox for us by unnecessary interference. Then, 

 look at our master ; his object is neither to jump 

 the biggest fences or race for twenty minutes ; but he 

 likes to see his fox well found, well hunted, and 

 handsomely killed. He knows where and how to draw 



