82 THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



" Glad to hear you say so," replied the baronet ; " we 

 certainly have had a succession of fine runs lately, thanks 

 to your excellent hounds, and the way in which they are 

 hunted. But I have brought you something more to- 

 day ; I have brought you a young sportsman, of no small 

 promise, who has the good taste, even at his early age, to 

 prefer foxhounds to harriers. I hope we shall enter him 

 well to-day to a good run, and blood him at the end of it." 



" Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Warde (for of him and 

 his hounds have I been speaking, and who was then in 

 the zenith of his glory, and hunting one of the many 

 countries which he hunted in his time) ; " although your 

 father is no fox-hunter, I have a great regard for him as a 

 conspicuous sportsman in his line, and a staunch preserver 

 of foxes ; and it was only last night that we drank his 

 health in that honourable capacity. You have a clever 

 little mare under you, and I hope we shall find out, 

 before night, whether your father's old oats are as good as 

 his new were. I was entered to hounds before I was your 

 age, and I mean to stick to them as long as I can sit in my 

 saddle. Xow, Bob," 1 to the huntsman, " throw your 

 darlings into cover ; and," addressing himself to Frank 

 Raby, "mind this, young gentleman if you hear a 

 hound speak in the cover, you may bet all the money you 

 like that it is to a fox. Every tonyiie is a fox with my 

 hounds, as I suppose every tongue is a hare with Mr. 

 Raby's harriers." 



Scarcely had the pack spread themselves, right and left, 

 in the wood, than Samson was observed lashing his sides 

 with his stern, and Champion rushed through the strong 

 brushwood to join noses, as much as to say, has the villain 

 been this road in the night ? " Have at him, Samson," said 

 Mr. Warde ; " look about you, Bob, we shall find him in 

 five minutes." " And Champion, also, says so," returned 

 the huntsman, " and he never told a lie in his life." 



But the " villain " did not wait to be found. The drag 

 grew warmer and warmer as the hounds drew onward, 

 and the deep tones of such of them as were equal to 

 owning a scent at least eight hours old, being audible 

 down wind, even in the deep recesses of the cover, away 

 went as fine a dog-fox as ever wore a brush, and then the 

 scene became glorious. The crash, when the body of the 

 pack got together ; the shouting of the foot people in the 

 1 Robert Forfeit, who then hunted Mr. Warde's hounds. 



