]66 THE NOBLE SCIENCE. 



With redoubled energy he flies — he feels the press, the 

 persevering stanchness, which galls more than the fleet- 

 ness of the burst distressed him. He seems to know that 

 every instant is of vital consequence. 



We are now streaming on, across the fallows and old 

 clover lay, in a manner which elicits exclamations of 

 delight. " What care we for grass, if we can run thus 

 over plough ?" '' What a beautiful thing 1" exclaims an- 

 other. — " The run of the season," cries a third. — " They 

 deserve him, any how," says the huntsman, " for they 

 are all doing their best for him." " We will kill him, as 

 sure as he has a brush," shouts the master, in ecstasy of 

 confidence ; " only pray give them room, gentlemen ; 

 don't crowd upon them, if they slacken." " Luton Park 

 is his point, depend on't," adds one who knows the line 

 of every fox (and would be credited if he did not almost 

 invariably jDredict the reverse of the one taken) ; " but, 

 • no, confound the ploughs ! he must have been headed by 

 those infernal plough-teams." " What business have 

 they to plough on hunting days ?" exclaims young Kapid, 

 with a blessing upon the causes of a check, just as he 

 had got a lead, and had determined to keep it : sure 

 enough, they have thrown up under the noses of the 

 clod-breaking cattle. It is a moment of doubt, of no 

 little confusion, for people will talk ; the ploughboys can 

 scarcely manage their excited Dobbins ; the hounds are all 

 sixes and sevens, and, amidst the general cry of " headed 

 back to a certainty," and the unrestrained opinion as to 

 the exact direction in which each man thinks he has infal- 



