ONLv<>Ki:i; ABROAD AXD AT J/"M/:\ 73 



by side with him. Mr. Gerald Paget is over in their tracks ; 

 and so, if I mistake not, is the Master (Hon. G. Douglas 

 Pennant), with scarce half a dozen more among whom I must 

 be allowed to name Mrs. Wiseman arid Mrs. Byass. These are 

 now in the thick of the fun and the thick of the fog. Hounds 

 are scarcely discernible half a field away, as they speed at best 

 pace over the deep grass. 



Their fox being headed in a road, and driven back almost 

 among them, puts them on still better terms and with hackles 

 up they set to work even thus early to race for his blood. Now 

 he is to be seen toiling across the stubble field they have just 

 entered ; and it is easy now to mark poor Reynard as a certain 

 victim to the repletion and excess of the recent frost. A nicely 

 trimmed hedge, slightly uphill. Of course fast at it, with 

 hounds running into their fox. The last stride, both spurs well 



in " Canal ! Canal ! " This time you may thank Heaven, sir, 

 that your good mount will not face water ! He sticks his toes 

 into the bank as he lands on the towing path. Cling to his 

 mane and wriggle back into the saddle for the water is deep, 

 and cold as this Christmas week. Oh dear, this is a very 



