NATURE AND SPORT IN BRITAIN 



in front of them, yard by yard, rod by rod. The 

 master leaves them entirely alone, and his confidence 

 is well repaid. Here the hare has evidently put in 

 some masterly work, weaving a cunning foil, as these 

 creatures will do. But hounds are not to be denied. 

 They piece it all out magnificently. Now it is Cham- 

 pion, the black-and-tan hound ; now Harebell, that 

 beautiful pied bitch, flings her mellow note ; now 

 Stormer and old Wonder ; now Ranji, that somewhat 

 throaty hound — a throaty hound has always a good 

 nose, mark you — leads the van. 



Steadily our troubles are surmounted, the worst of 

 the plough is past, scent improves, and once more 

 away we go again. Another fold of the down is past ; 

 we descend a valley, away up the other side hounds 

 stream through some gorse covert and push on furi- 

 ously in straight, tail-on-end chase. We climb this 

 hill, and see the pack below us, running with immense 

 fire and freedom over the wide vale between Friston 

 Place and Jevington. Up they go, and away we toil 

 after them. Followers there are few. As we climb the 

 steep down and look over towards Alfriston, Firle, and 

 Wilmington, only the master, on his grey, is with the 

 hounds. The foot-people have well-nigh vanished. 

 There remain, still faithful followersof the fleeing pack, 

 but the two whips, two men, and a single lady, the lady 

 who viewed our hunted hare at that critical moment 

 now long since. The spectators, the schoolboys, the 

 schoolmasters, all, all have vanished. A countryman 

 standing near us ejaculates, as we gaze over the wide 

 vista of the hills, '' I reckon they got on a fox in that 

 there gorse ; they be going so straight." And, in truth, 

 if it is a hare we are still hunting, it is a rare straight- 

 necked one. But a hare, our hunted hare, in very 

 sooth it is. 



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