WARWICK WOODLANDS. 41 



universal martiugal; he was rigged just as usual, with 

 the exception of a broad-brimmed hat in place of his fur 

 cap, and grasped in his right hand a heavy smooth-bored 

 rifle, while with tlie left he wheeled his mare, with a 

 degree of active skill, which I should certainly have looked 

 for any where rather than in so vast a mass of flesh as 

 that which was exhibited by our worthy host. 



Two other sportsmen, grave, sober-looking farmers, 

 whom Harry greeted cheerily by name, and to whom in 

 all due form I was next introduced, well-mounted, and 

 armed with long single-barrelled guns, completed our 

 party; and away we went at a rattling trot, the hounds 

 following at Archer's heels, as steadily as though he 

 hunted them three times a week. 



"Now arn't it a strange thing," said Tom, "arn't it a 

 strange thing, Mr. Forester, that every critter under 

 Heaven takes somehow nat'rally to that are Archer — the 

 very hounds — old Whino there! that I have had these 

 eight years, and fed with my own hands, and hunted 

 steady every winter, quits me the very moment he claps 

 sight on him ; by the eternal, I believe he is half dog 

 himself." 



"You hunted them indeed," interrupted Harry, "you 

 old rhinoceros, why hang your hide, you never so much 

 as heard a good view-holloa till I came up here — you 

 hunted them — a man talk of hunting, that carriers a 

 cannon about with him on horseback; but come, where 

 are we to try first, on Rocky Hill, or in the Spring 

 Swamps ?" 



"Why now I reckon, Archer, we'd best stop down to 

 Sam Blain's — bj' the blacksmith's — he was telling t'other 

 morning of an eternal sight of them he'd seen down 

 hereaway — and we'll be there to rights!— Jem, cus you, 

 out of my way, you dumb nigger — out of my way, or I'll 

 ride over you" — for, travelling along at a strange sham- 

 bling run, that worthy had contrived to keep up with us. 

 though we were going fully at the rate of eight or nine 

 miles in the hour. 



"Hurrah!" cried Tom, suddenly pulling up at the door 

 of a neat farm-house on the brow of a hill, with a clear 

 streamlet sweeping round its base, and a fine piece of 

 woodland at the farther side. "Hurrah! Sam Blain, we've 

 come to make them foxes, you were telling of a Sunday, 



