140 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



go straight away and clear all these crossing 

 foils. Well done, Mr. Adams ! Now he flies to 

 some purpose ; see his flanks rolling in his 

 bounding gallop : — 



" And now the good stag flies before 

 His deep-mouthed foes across the moor, 

 And swifter than the morning wind 

 Leaves Badgworthy, far, far behind ; 

 Then breasts the distant hills, nor feels 

 The peaty turf with flying heels. 

 Now sniffs the wreathing mist that laves 

 The purple moor, whose rolling waves 

 Of grass and heather, far and nigh, 

 Grow dark against the thund'rous sky." 



Now stop vour tufters, Anthony, while w^e watch 

 his line. There he goes yonder over the yellow 

 moorgrass on Badgworthy Hill, and there go 

 tw^o little yearling deer, racing after him, bother 

 'em ! They will spoil sport to a certainty. Now 

 he sinks into the combe that holds the Hoccombe 

 Water, and so do they. Let us watch. Yes, 

 there he goes, right up over the crest of Lana- 

 combe, against the sky, and there's one at least 

 of the little deer still toiling after him. Anthony 

 has gone to confer with Colonel Hornby, and 

 the pack will most likely be coming along in 

 five minutes ; let us trot down to the ford and 

 splash through Badgworthy Water and see how 

 many of the field come up to the scratch when 

 hounds are laid on. Yes, here come the hounds 

 right enough, and here comes the field in two 



