MEET OF THE PYTCHLEY HOUNDS. 147 



in his red coat, &c., on his exalted lawn, with sundry 

 small scratches (from bull-finches) on his face, with some- 

 thing now and then smoking a little from his mouth, 

 and with that placid and easy manner which in every 

 situation of life distinguishes him, says to any friend in 

 pink that happens to pass him, " Won't ye go IN for a 

 moment?" But, without invitation, most of the aristo- 

 crats, leaving their horses with their grooms, to ascend 

 a flight of ladder steps which raises them to the lawn, walk 

 slowly and majestically across it, adjusting their hair, 

 "just to make their bow." When that compliment has 

 been paid, they pause for a second or two in the hall, 

 and then recross the lawn, indolently munching, and 

 with perfumed handkerchiefs carefully wiping lips or 

 mustachios (as the case may be), which, if they were 

 very; closely approached, might possibly smell partly of 

 cherries,- to proceed to their respective grooms, and mount 

 their horses. 



" Move-ON,-Sir ?" says Charles Payne, in his sharp, 

 quick tone, touching his cap to the master, who slightly 

 nods to him. " Now-then^-gentlemen !" he adds, " ware 

 HOUNDS, if you please /" and accordingly, surrounded by 

 them, onwards he, his two whips, and about two hundred 

 horsemen, proceed at a walk to cross for nearly half a 

 mile magnificent fields of grass of from eighty to a hun- 

 dred acres. As the Pytchley and Quorn men are, for the 



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