GEORGE CARTER AND THE MOULSOE EOX. 141 



heads up, crash went every mouth at once, and away 

 they flew, like pigeons, for Broinham. George shook 

 himself in the saddle, and flew away with them, and, 

 with scarcely a check, the burst lasted to the river at 

 Clapham turnpike. No hesitation there, George saw 

 the water fly, as the leading hounds jumped as far in 

 as they could spring, and, speaking to it as they 

 swam, the pack scrambled up the opposite bank, and, 

 with no time to shake themselves, flew over the road, 

 and up the rise to Clapham Park, like receding mops. 

 George was at Clapham Park well with them, his 

 heart in his mouth again, in dread of a change of 

 foxes ; but every quarter of the cover was sought in 

 vain, so away the fox went, to look for a change in the 

 Twin Woods. Here he sought to shift the work, as 

 usual ; but these woods also were free from change, 

 and George knew that the hounds were running to 

 kill, for the old hounds pressed forward, and flashed 

 into the rides, as they endeavoured to head the cry for a 

 view at him, he turned so short. Every instant George 

 thou2:ht the fox was his own : the fox found he must 

 die, if he stayed in cover ; so, as a last effort, he broke 

 again, with the hounds at his brush, and tumbled into 

 a little drain under a gateway a few fields from the 

 wood, and close to a farm-yard. George pulled off 

 his cap, wiped his face, and called for spade and pick- 

 axe. A man unused to fox-hunting would have 

 thouo;ht that these aids were sent for to burv the 

 animal, for every one deemed him as good as dead ; 

 the pick-axe and shovel came, and a little hole Avas 

 opened mid-way between the mouths of the drain. 

 George resolved in his own mind to do as I had often 

 done in these short drains, to let the hounds, in the 

 full tide of their eagerness, draw him. He stood, there- 



