LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxi 



fancies he hears something like a wheezing in his throat, and, 

 discovering quite unexpectedly that the gate would open, 

 places the hook of his whip under the latch, just as John 

 White goes over it close to the hinge-post, and Captain Ross, 

 upon Clinker, follows him .... Jo face page 160 



VII. FULL CRY, SECOND HORSES. — Another short check 

 enables thirteen men out of two hundred to get their second 

 horses, and the hounds again settle to the scent at a truly 

 killing pace. "Hold hard, Holyoake!" exclaims Mr. 

 Osbaldeston (now mounted on Blucher), knowing what 

 double-quick time he would be marching to, with fresh pipes 

 to play upon, and the crowd well shaken off; "pray don't press 

 'em too hard, and we shall be sure to kill our fox. Have at 

 HIM there, Abigail and Fickle, good bitches — see what a 

 head they are carrying ! I'll bet a thousand they kill him." 

 The country appears better and better. " He's taking a 

 capital line," exclaims Sir Harry Goodricke. " Worth a 

 dozen Reform Bills," shouts Sir Francis Burdett, sitting erect 

 upon Sampson, and putting his head straight at a yawner. 

 "We shall have the Whissendine brook," cries Mr. Maher, 

 who knows every field in the country, "for he is making 

 straight for Teigh." " And a bumper too, after last night's 

 rain," holloas Captain Berkeley, determined to get first to 

 some still rails in a corner. " So much the better," says Lord 

 Alvanley ; " I like a bumper at all times." " A fig for the 

 Whissendine," cries Lord Gardner ; " I am on the best 

 water-jumper in my stable" .... To face page 192 



VIII. THE WHISSENDINE APPEARS IN VIEW.— The pro- 

 phecy turns up. Having skirted Kanksborough gorse, the 

 villain has nowhere to stop short of Woodwell Head cover, 

 and in ten minutes, or less, the brook appears in view. Six 

 men, out of twelve, take it in their stride ; three stop short, 

 their horses refusing the first time, but come well over the 

 second ; and three find themselves in the middle of it. The 

 gallant "Frank Forester" is among the latter; and having 

 been requested that morning to wear a friend's new coat, to 

 take off the gloss and glare of the shop, he accomplishes the 

 task to perfection in the bluish-black mud of the Whissendine, 

 only then subsiding after a three days' flood. " Who is that 

 under his horse in the brook ? " inquires that good sportsman 

 and fine rider, Mr. Green of Rolleston, whose noted old mare 

 had just skimmed over the water like a swallow on a summer's 

 evening. " Only Dick Christian," answers Lord Forester, 

 "and it is nothing new to him." "But he'll be drowned," 

 exclaims Lord Kinnaird. " I shouldn't wonder," observes 

 Mr. Coke. But the pace is too good to inquire To face page 240 



