WARWICK WOODLANDS. 45 



the first bright rays of the yet unseen day-god; whihi the 

 rosy flush of the east had brightened into a blaze of living 

 gold, exceeded only by the glorious hues with which a 

 few bright specks of misty cloud glowed out against tlie 

 azure firmament, like coals of actual fire. 



Again a louder splash aroused me; and, as I turned, 

 there floated on a glassy basin, into which the ripples of 

 a tiny fall subsided, three wood-ducks, with a noble drake, 

 that loveliest in plumage of all aquatic fowl, perfectly 

 imdisturbed and fearless, although within ten yards of 

 their most dreaded enemy. 



How beautiful are all their emotions I There! one has 

 reared herself half way out of the water; another stretches 

 forth a delicate web foot to scratch her ear, as handily as 

 a dog on dry land ;. and now the drake reflects his purple 

 neck to preen his ruffled wing, and now — bad luck to you, 

 Peacock, why did you snort and stamp? — -they are off like 

 a bullet, and out of sight in an instant. 



And now out comes the sun himself, and with him the 

 accursed hum of a musquitoe— and hark! hush! — what 

 was that ? — was it ? By Heavens ! It was the deep note of 

 a fox-hound! Aye! there comes Harry's cheer, faintly 

 heard, swelling up the breeze. 



"Have at him, there! Ha-a-ve at him, good lads!" 



Again ! again ! those are the musical deep voices of the 

 slow hounds! They have a dash in them of the old 

 Southern breed ! And now ! there goes the yell ! the quick 

 sharp yelping rally of those two high-bred bitches. 



By heaven ! they must be viewing him ! How the woods 

 ring and crash! 



"Together hark ! Together hark ! Together ! For-ra- 

 ard. good lads, get for-a-ard! Hya-a-araway !'' 



Well halloaed, Harry! I could swear to that last 

 screech, out of ten thousand, though it is near ten years 

 since I last heard it ! But heavens ! how they press him ! 

 Hang it ! there goes a shot — the squire has fired at him, 

 as he tried the earths! 'Now, if we have but missed him, 

 and Pan, the god of hunters, send it so, he has no chance 

 but to try the open. 



By Jove he has ! he must have missed ! for Bonny Belle 

 and Blossom are raving half a mile this side of him 

 already. And now Tom sees him — how quietly he steals 

 up to the fence. There! he has fired! and all our sport is 



