The Sport of Our Jincestors 



It is nearly over with him ; had the hounds caught 

 view, he must have died. — He will hardly reach the cover ; 

 see how they gain upon him at every stroke ! — It is an 

 admirable race ! yet the cover saves him. 



Now be quiet, and he cannot escape us ; we have the 

 wind of the hounds, and cannot be better placed : how 

 short he runs ! he is now in the very strongest part of the 

 cover. — What a crash 1 Every hound is in, and every 

 hound is running for him. That was a quick turn ! — Again 

 another ! — he 's put to his last shifts. — Now Mischief is at 

 his heels, and death is not far off. — Ha ! they all stop at 

 once ; — all silent, and yet no earth is open. Listen ! now 

 they are at him again ! Did you hear that hound catch 

 him ? They overran the scent, and the fox had laid down 

 behind them. Now, Reynard, look to yourself ! How 

 quick they all give their tongues ! Little Dreadnought, 

 how he works him ! the terriers too, they are now squeak- 

 ing at him. — How close Vengeance pursues ! how terribly 

 she presses ! it is just up with him ! — Gods ! what a crash 

 they make ; the whole wood resounds ! — That turn was 

 very short ! There ! — now ! — aye, now they have him ! 

 Who-hoop ! 



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