JUajor Whyte 3Ielville 



EXTRACT FROM ^ HOLMBY HOUSE' 



We can fancy ourselves astride of a good horse by the 

 side of Jack Woodcock as he views the fox away from the 

 lower corner of the gorse. What a long, wiry, tough-looking 

 animal it is, with a white tag to that handsome brush, which, 

 as he steals across the neighbouring pasture, he whisks in 

 derision, as much as to say, ' Gallop away, my fine fellows ! 

 according to your wont ; hurry and bustle, and jump and 

 splutter ! The harder you ride the better for me ! ' 



* Tally-ho ! ' shouts our friend Jack, erect in his stirrups. 

 ' Twang ' goes Charles Payne's horn from the middle of 

 the gorse. Already the owner of the covert is coming best 

 pace round the corner. Trust him not to lose his start, 

 and to make good use of it when he has got it. In twos and 

 threes the hounds are pouring through the boundary fence ; 

 ten or twelve couple are settling to the scent ; the rest, with 

 ears erect, are flying to the cry. Now they stoop together 

 with collective energy, and drive along over the grass in all 

 the mute ecstasy of pace. A burst such as this is pastime 

 for the gods ! 



It sobers our imaginary steed, our pen-and-ink Pegasus ; 

 he drops quietly to his bridle, and a turn in our favour 

 enables us to pull him into a trot, and to look about us. 

 Seven or eight men are in the same field with the hounds ; 

 half a dozen stiff fences and a couple of miles of grass have 

 shaken off the larger portion of the field, but they are even 

 now coming through a bridle-gate not far distant in the rear, 



79 



