268 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



the only sounds heard amidst the dead stiUness of early 

 morning. Then a deep, bell-like challenge is given by 

 Sweetlips, and a minute later the wood is filled with soul- 

 stirring hound-music. 



" Gad ! how the varmints are being hustled," re- 

 marks my companion, as we canter along the grassy lane 

 which leads to the copse. 



Scarcely are the words uttered than a remarkably 

 well-grown cub comes sneaking along the growers of a 

 hedgerow heading almost straight for us. 



A few moments later the little red rascal crosses the 

 lane. Away he speeds over a big grass field, and a 

 whipper-in shrieks out an ear-splitting, " Tally-ho ; 

 gone away, gone away ! " Old Truelove leads the young 

 entry out of covert, and they stream over the first en- 

 closure. The huntsman (the M.F.H. is not out this 

 morning) first, the second whips, and a baker's dozen of 

 men; amongst them a hard-riding medico and two or three 

 farmers come pounding along in the wake of the hounds, 

 all as keen as mustard. With a buck my companion's 

 mount is over the stiff bank of fence, and into the 

 pasture, without touching a twig ; and almost before I am 

 aware of it, the " weed " is boring his way through the 

 densest and thorniest part of the quickset, from the midst 

 of which I emerge minus a coat-tail, and with my face 

 scored like the back of a roast sucking-pig. 



" You got over, or rather through, that fence nicely, 

 judging from the state of your countenance," grinningly 

 exclaimed the facetious G , as, with my mount pulling 



