206 THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON 



than I am able to write ; let me, therefore, con- 

 fine my narrative to what befell my individual self. 

 A rattling burst of twenty minutes rendered the 

 field, as may be well imagined, very select, and it 

 would in all probability have become still more so, 

 had not a fortunate check given horses and men a 

 few moments' breathing time, thus enabling the 

 cunning riders to get up to the hounds. " Away 

 we go again, and I will be there at the finish," I 

 exclaimed, as pressing my cap firmly on my head, 

 and shutting my eyes, I ride at a tremendous bull- 

 finch, the thick boughs and sharp thorns of which 

 scratch my face all over and nearly decapitate me 

 as I burst through it. But, as in the case of the 

 renowned John Gilpin, it is — 



" All, luckless speech and bootless boast, 

 For which I paid full dear." 



Another ten minutes' best pace and the fox is 

 evidently sinking before us ; but, alas ! it was not 

 to be my lot to see the gallant animal run into and 

 pulled down in the open, after as fine a run as was 

 ever seen. Trim-kept hedges, well-hung, stout, and 

 newly-painted white gates, had shown me that for 

 the last few moments, lie had entered the domain 

 of some proprietor, whose estate certainly presented 

 the very pink of neatness. Little indeed did I 



