178 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



Ever sparing of rate and indulgent of youth, 

 His cheer urges Faulty get forrard to Truth ; 

 But a rioter determined will never outstrip 

 The swift- venging thong of the Galloping Whip. 



They've run twenty minutes as close as a wedge. 



By Jove ! they have split two lines since the hedge ! 



Old Reefer is right. Up the furrow they rip ; 



And round swing the rest with the Galloping Whip. 



A game fox is sinking. The Whip isn't here ! 



Look, a cap down the wind ! " Charles has him, I swear ! 



And Reynard, poor devil ! is well iu the grip 



Of Whitecollar Will and his Galloping Whip. 



PRELIMINARY CANTERS. 



NOVEMBER the first of 1886 asserted its calendar rights as the 

 opening of fox-hunting legitimate when the newspapers can 

 tell us whither to ride, and when we come to the covert side 

 furnished and trimmed, and as spruce as vanity may prompt, 

 or funds allow. You, perhaps, have been through the ordeals 

 (many, and actual, and stern) of the earliest cub-hunting, when 

 you rose with the stable-helper, breakfasted before ever a lark 

 was aloft, and rode abroad with the teamster wondering if 

 ever a kind Providence would prompt you, too, to whistle aloud 

 at that miserable hour. The first note that shook the dewdrop 

 no doubt served to drive drowsiness from your eyelid, to pluck 

 discontent from your heart, and to bundle dull care backwards 

 over the crupper. The scamper of a frightened cub across a 

 narrow ride, the double twang of a horn, a view holloa from 

 three different quarters at once of a long-familiar wood and 

 you were a fox-hunter again, as foolish and fervent as when first 

 you rode to the hunt on a shaggy Shetland. Morning after 

 morning would see you still setting forth on pleasure, no 

 longer on mere duty, bent. And so you worked your way to 

 the recognized opening day, a fitter and physically far better 

 man than if you had remained content to accept things merely 

 in their accorded order. 



