FOX-HUNTING 



looking fresh ; but only fourteen men out of the 

 two hundred are to be counted ; all the rest are 

 coming. At one blast of the horn the hounds are back 

 to the point at which the scent has failed, Jack Stevens 

 being in his place to turn them. ^^Yo doit ! Pastime T^ 

 says the Squire, as she feathers her stern down the 

 hedge-row, looking more beautiful than ever. She 

 speaks ! ** Worth a thousand, by Jupiter ! " cries John 

 White, looking over his left shoulder as he sends both 

 spurs into Euxton, delighted to see only four more of 

 the field are up. Our Snob, however, is amongst them. 

 **He has gone a good one," and his countenance is 

 expressive of delight, as he urges his horse to his 

 speed to get again into a front place. 



* The pencil of the painter is now wanting ; and 

 unless the painter should be a sportsman, even his 

 pencil would be worth little. What a country is 

 before him ! — what a panorama does it represent ! 

 not a field of less than forty — some a hundred acres — 

 and no more signs of the plough than in the wilds of 

 Siberia. See the hounds in a body that might be covered 

 by a damask table-cloth — every stern down, and every 

 head up, for there is no need of stooping, the scent 

 lying breast-high. But the crash ! — the music ! — how 

 to describe these ? Reader, there is no crash now, 

 and not much music. It is the tinker that makes 

 great noise over a little work, but at the pace these 

 hounds are going there is no time for babbling. Per- 

 chance one hound in five may throw his tongue as he 



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