FOX-HUNTING. 15 



scans the sky line, where looms out an obstacle, 

 the most formidable yet encountered a strong 

 staken-bound fence leaning towards him, which he 

 instinctively knows to be garnished on the other 

 side with a very wide ditch, whether or not further 

 provided with an ox-rail beyond that, he cannot 

 tell. What he sees is enough considering the 

 ground he has just traversed, and that he must go 

 at the fence uphill to make him wish himself safe 

 over. However, with a sense of relief, he sees a 

 gleam of daylight in it, which he at first half hopes 

 is a gap, but which turns out to be a good stiff bit 

 of timber nailed between two ash trees. It is 

 strong and high, but lower than the fence ; the 

 "take off" is good, and there is apparently no 

 width of ditch beyond. So, thanking his stars or 

 favourite saint that " timber " is his horse's special 

 accomplishment, he " goes for it." It don't improve 

 on acquaintance. Now is the time for hands. 

 Often oh, how often ! have hands saved the 

 head or the neck ! and fortunately his are faultless. 



