THE NOBLE SCIENCE. 165 



tioD of the fox's head, he is galloping, stealthily, to the 

 corner by the gate-post, whence he can rely upon a view 

 away. Heaven grant that no blundering idiot be out- 

 side. Here come the pack, they have cleared the high 

 wood ; look at them flying through the stubs ; see how 

 they fling, how quick they turn, and how maintain the 

 cry — now one, and then another, like a chime of bells ; 

 and helter-skelter, down the muddy ride, come flounder- 

 ing on " the field." 



" Cigars are thrown down in a hurry, 

 And bridle-reins gather 'd up tiglit, 

 See each is prepar'd for a scurry, 

 And all ai-e resolv'd to be right. 

 Tally-ho ! cries a clod from a tree — 



Now I'll give you all leave to come on, 

 And a terrible burst it will be, 



For right o'er a fine country he's gone." 



Hunting Song. 



The fox has not hung an instant, he has threaded only 

 the quarter of the covert where he was found, where he 

 was well found, and so well pressed, that it is too hot to 

 hold him. Like a gallant fellow he has faced the open ; 

 without a turn he has resolved upon a run for his life ; 

 the field have behaved well, and like sportsmen, as they 

 always will, with a little tact and management ; he has 

 not been headed ; he has broken between the gateway, to 

 which the whipper-in has ridden, and the opposite corner, 

 where the horn of the master gives assurance that he is 

 fairly away. It is a signal as well known to the hounds 



