282 THE HUNTING FIELD 



particular to whom she wished to recommend her goods, 

 she had, therefore, to keep a stall, as it were, and trust to 

 chance for customers. Some men think of nothing but sweet- 

 hearting. The}' are always " dying "' for some girl, and 

 commit as many imaginary demises in the twelvemonth as 

 old Mantalini himself. 



When the hounds did throw off in earnest (for of course 

 they had to draw two or three sham places first, for the 

 accommodation of the ladies), the way they dashed into 

 Everhold Gorse plainly said that sly-boots (if he will allow 

 us to call him so) was at home, and before Lord 

 Uncommonswell had got half through his dog-language, a 

 great banging big-brushed, white-tagged, greyish-back dog- 

 fox, almost knocked the fifth \\'hipper-in off his hind legs, 

 as he was trying to open the bridle-gate at the north end 

 of the cover. The poor lad was so paral3-zed — never ha\ing 

 been in such close contact with so formidable a customer — ■ 

 that a second or two elapsed ere it occurred to him that he 

 ought to do something, a pause that master reynard availed 

 himself of for stealing quietly up the deep newly-cleaned-out 

 ditch of a thick hedgerow. At last the lad, having climbed 

 on to his gigantic horse, hoisted his cap in the air, which 

 had much the effect of the prolonged flourish of the head- 

 fiddler at the opera. 



A terrible noise was the result ! 



" Now," as Peter Beckford familiarl_\' asks, " where are 

 all your sorrows, and your cares, ye gloomy souls ? Or 

 where your pains and aches, j'e complaining ones ? One 

 halloo has dispelled them all." 



Peter's description does not e.xactlv fit our hunt, for we 

 had a hundred halloos at least, and half as many screeches 

 and yells, to say nothing of the discordant brass music of 

 the noble Master and his Huntsman. 



However, the following will do : — 



