THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 31 



matter : 'tis the pace now that's wanted, and 

 will be had. If we can't hunt, we must race; 

 and the moment we're at fault you'll hear a 

 dozen tongues holloa : — ' Lift 'em hard. Will. 

 That's your time o' day. Chink-wink 'em 

 along!'" 



" There's no time given, then ? " said I. 



** Time !" repeated Trimbush with a sneer. 

 " I'll just give ye an instance of what may be 

 deemed a fair sample of the patience of 

 sportsmen of the age we live in. One day last 

 season we had been running a merry bat, for 

 about twenty minutes, as hard as we could 

 split, and leading the field over enough 

 yawners to satisfy the greatest glutton or 

 steeple-chase rider that ever crammed at a 

 rasper. The fox was dying, and, heading 

 short on his foil up wind, brought us to a 

 momentary check. * Hold hard, gentlemen ! ' 

 hallooed Will Sykes; 'pray hold hard! ' 

 * Consume me ! ' exclaimed one who had been 

 jamming his horse close to our sterns; * what 

 sport one might have, if it wasn't for these 

 d d hounds! ' " 



** A pretty kind of a foxhunter, truly ! " I 

 remarked. 



** A faithful description of the majority, I 



