LETTER xxiir. 249 



and the flow of soul," all would go merry as a marriage 

 bell. Thus much at present on this subject, which I 

 leave for the consideration of masters of hounds. 



I will now change the venue to ©hanging foxes, which 

 is about as unpleasant a contretemps as can occur to an 

 ardent huntsman or an eager pack of hounds. You have 

 been running your fox, found late in the day, perhaps, 

 for an hour with a holding scent, when, on reaching 

 Hazlewood, the scent becomes wonderfully improved, 

 and the hounds are in full cry, ringing merrily round the 

 covert. Now we shall have him — how close they stick 

 to him— it will soon be all up with Mr. Reynolds. Such 

 thoughts as these pass quickly and excitingly throuo-h 

 the huntsman's head ; when, over the drive, instead of a 

 beaten fox, with his brush draggling on the ground, 

 another light and airy form bounds across at a sprint, 

 with all his blushing honours thick upon him. Your 

 heart sickens at the sight of this unexpected vision, at 

 least mine has often upon such an occasion. It is a 

 regular damper. For a second or two I have sat upon 

 my horse as if entranced. You see at once that your 

 hunted fox has gone on, and you are left the pleasant 

 alternative of perhaps fruitlessly attempting to recover a 

 good fox, with a worse scent than you had ten minutes 

 ago, even supposing you can stop the hounds— which is 

 very doubtful— or the agreeable prospect of being beaten 

 by the gay gentleman who is now dancing before your 

 half-tired pack, and appears strong enough to run till 

 midnight. Perhaps, whilst you are deliberating how to 

 proceed, and racking your brains to little purpose, a view 

 halloa from the further end of the covert settles this 

 knotty point for you at once, and you are obliged to 



