JUajor Whyte JHehille 



' Twang ' goes the horn once more, and away score the 

 hounds through ' Pursar's Hills,' as if they were fresh out 

 of the kennel, and over the wide grassy pastures below, 

 and up the opposite rise, with untiring energy, leaving the 

 foremost horseman toiling a field and a half behind them, 

 till a pause and momentary hover in the Welford Road 

 enables Pegasus and his comrades to reach them once 

 more. 



It is labour and sorrow now, yet is it a sweet and joyous 

 pain. Still, we can hardly call that enjoyment which we 

 wish was over ; and most devoutly now do we all hope 

 that we may soon kill this gallant fox, before he kills 

 our gallant horses. The best blood of Newmarket is but 

 mortal, after all ; and Pegasus is by this time going 

 most unreservedly on his own shoulders and his rider's 

 hands. 



Down the hill between Creaton and Hol3rwell we make 

 a tolerable fight ; but though Olympian clears the brook 

 at the bottom, the rest of us flounder through. We have no 

 false pride now, and do not any of us turn up our noses at 

 gates or gaps, or other friendly egress. Everything is com- 

 parative. A country doctor on his fresh hack, meeting us 

 at this period, opines we are going quite slow, but we know 

 better ; so does Pegasus, so does old Fairplay, so does 

 the fox. 



He is not travelling so straight now. Up and down 

 yonder hedgerow the pack turn like harriers, and we 

 think we must be very near him. But see ! the crows 



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