THE LITTLE ONES SHOWING THEIR METTLE. 181 



houncls_, unless they are tlie regular southern 

 sort, can go individually fast enough : it is the 

 head they carry, the country they go over, and 

 keeping at it or not, that makes the difference 

 between a fast run and a pottering one. Look at 

 them across the pasture ; even Salter on his hot 

 fast chesnut is not at play, and Mullins is shoving 

 along the big bay at his best : bravo old fellow ! 

 he knows his hounds are right ; he caps them on 

 in true fox-hunting style. I am not sure (for, as 

 the bard has it, ' pride attends us still ^), but that 

 this ultra ebullition of energy is in honour of you 

 as a stranger and fox -hunter, for it is not his 

 usual wont. Please the pigs, old chap, you shall 

 get half-a-crown instead of a shilling for this. 

 Look at the Master, how he powders the grey 

 along : there^s the old General on the renowned 

 dun. He has changed his colour ; he is now ' done 

 brown/ and like the horse of a friend of mine 

 yesterday.^^ 



" Mind what you say,^^ says my friend, laugh- 

 ing, and shaking his fist at me, " I^m the biggest 

 man." 



" So said the bay yesterday," replied I, " and 

 'cursed^ your ^cumbrous weight,^ or something 

 else." 



" Halloo ! " said my friend ; " why, there^s the 

 brook we crossed yesterday." 



*^ Just so," said I, "only not quite so wide just 



N 3 



