The Sport of Our Ancestors 



divides accordingly into two hurrying columns, neither of 

 which will in all probability see a hound again to-day. 



So * on we go again,' leaving Tally-ho Gorse to the left, 

 and up the hill for Hazelbeech, threading the fine old trees 

 that tower upon its heights, and pointing ever onwards 

 for the wide grassy vale of Cottesbrooke, spread out like 

 a panorama before us, shut in by wooded hills, dotted with 

 fine old standard trees, and smiling beauteous and peaceful 

 in the chequered light of a February sun. 



Thank Heaven ! a check at last. Pegasus was begin- 

 ning to want it sadly. He struck that top-rail uncommonly 

 hard, and has dropped his hind-legs in the last two conse- 

 cutive ditches. There are still some half-dozen men with 

 the hounds, but their horses look as if they had had nearly 

 enough, and we are inclined to believe one or two of the 

 riders are beginning to wish it was over. The country for 

 miles back is dotted with equestrians of every rank and 

 every hue. A child on a pony has turned, not headed, the 

 fox. Charles Payne opines he cannot have entered the gorse 

 with so ' warm a jacket,' as he phrases it ; so he holds his 

 hounds towards the plantations on his right. Fairplay 

 whisks her stern about her sides, and drops a note or two 

 to her comrades as they gather to the line. 



* Ye-geote, old lady ! ' says Charles, in the inexplicable 

 language of a huntsman. 



' She 's always right, that old bitch,' remarks Mr. Villiers, 

 who has just turned Olympian's head for an instant to 

 the wind. 

 82 



