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back! "Edawick, Edawick!" shouts the huntsman, or, to 

 encourage them to draw, seeing some of them inclined to 

 speak, he cheers them on with " Rout him out ! Rout him 

 out ! Rouse him, my beauties ! Out with him, every- 

 body ! " And at it they go, more desperate than ever. 



Forrester charges at a clump of bushes, and begins wav- 

 ing his stern like a soldier at signal drill. The huntsman 

 keeps his eye on him, for he is a very clever hound at 

 finding. He gives a whimper ; his hackles are up. 

 "Speak to it, Forrester! Speak to it, good boy." But 

 Forrester will not lie, even to please the huntsman. In the 

 meantime Bluebells, seeing Forrester about to speak, rushes 

 past him, stoops to the line to make doubly sure, braces her- 

 self, lifts her head, and with one exultant cry of joy pro- 

 claims the find. The huntsman, cap in hand, cheers on 

 the pack again with "Hark to Bluebells, hark to Bluebells," as 

 she bounds away, joined by all the pack, who confirm her 

 proclamation in one joyous chorus that makes the forest 

 ring for miles around. 



Yes, it is a stirring sight, one to make a hunting man's 

 blood tingle to his finger-tips. Your true hunting man 

 wonders how through it all some men can sit their horses 

 and yawn and look bored, as wooden as a cigar-shop 

 Indian with the whole block on fire behind him. Is our 

 civilisation making women of us, that we no longer feel 

 the sportsman's fire ? 



I pity a man who can look upon a sight like this 

 and see nothing, or hear such thrilling music and ask, as I 

 heard a man ask of a member of the Genesee Valley 



