Volume I Part 15 (1/2)

One day Locker, who had formerly kept a running ground at Staleybridge, met me, and asked if I'd go out with him next Sat.u.r.day and have a spin.

I told him I ”didn't mind;” so we went up the turnpike till a straight level bit was found, and he stepped 100 yards, leaving me at the start, saying, ”Come away as hard as thou can, whenever thou art ready.” He had his hands in his topcoat pocket all the while, and when I finished, we walked on a bit, neither speaking for a quarter of a mile further, when he looked at his watch and said it was ”getting dinner-time.” Soon after he looked again, and then ”took stock o' me from head to foot,”

and as we pa.s.sed the ground I had run over, he asked, ”Canst run another hundred?” I told him I could; but this time he pulled off his own coat, and said, ”We'll go together.” He was quickest off, but I could have pa.s.sed him any time, just as I used to pa.s.s Sikey. When we got nearly to the finish I ”put it on” and just got home first. He seemed pleased and told me not to say a word to anybody, but come down and meet him again. I didn't know what he was about at all, but I said ”All right,” and next Sat.u.r.day went to the same place. Locker was there, and two other coves with him, as I hadn't seen before. One was a tall thin un he called ”Lanky,” and the other was little and wiry, and rather pock-pitted. He said, ”Let's all four run for a 'bob' a-piece, and you three give me two yards start?” But they wouldn't; so he said, I should run the ”long un” for a crown. That was soon settled, and just before we started, Locker whispered to me, ”Beat him, lad, if thou canst; I want him licked, he is such a bragger. We'll share t' crown if thou wins.” The little un set us off, and Locker was judge. Well, we got away together, and I headed him in by five yards easy. Locker fairly danced, he was so pleased; and though Lanky grumbled a bit at first to part with his ”crown,” he was soon all right. We went to Locker's to dinner, and talked about ”sprinting,” as they called it, all the afternoon. I told 'em I'd never run at all before except for fun, and they seemed ”fairly staggered.” They asked if I would run a match for 5 next week, and I told 'em I didn't mind. Locker said I was a ”good un,” and I might ”win 100 if I'd n.o.bbut stick tu him.” Well, we agreed that I was to do just as he directed, and receive a sovereign for myself if I won by just a foot, and two pound if I ran a dead heat, letting the ”novice” who was to be my opponent catch me at the finish.

I never ”split” to anybody except Sikey, and he went to see the race.

Over a hundred people were there, and off we started. Everybody thought I was winning, but I ”shammed tired,” and he beat me about three inches, the judge said. Locker swore it was a dead heat, and as he had laid 2 to 1 on me I thought he'd lost a lot of money. As we went home, he said, ”There's 2 for thee, lad; thou did it wonderful well; I shall match thee again next Sat.u.r.day for 20: we might as well have it as anybody else.” Well, during the week I was out with him every night, and he said, ”Stick to me, and we'll mak these coves sit up. Thou'rt a thunderin' good un, and we'll gan to Sheffield together in less nor six months if thou can keep thysel to thysel.” Of course I was pleased, and I bought a new pair of running-shoes with spikes in. He showed me _The Sporting Life_ next week, with a challenge in that ”'Locker's lad,' not satisfied with his late defeat, will take a yard in a 100 from the 'Stockton Novice,' for 25 or 50 a-side. A deposit to the editor and articles sent to Mr Locker's running-grounds, Stockton, will meet with immediate attention.” I was quite struck, and said I wondered what ”Old Tubby” would think if he knew. Locker said, ”Go ask him for thy indentures, and if he won't give 'em up, ask him what he'll tak for 'em.” So I did, and if I hadn't been in such a hurry, he'd have thrown 'em at me, and said he was glad to get rid of an idle rascal. As it was, I told him I'd something else to do, and he demanded 3 for my release. Locker gave me the money next day, and I soon put the indentures in the fire; thanking my stars for the escape. After this I lived at Locker's altogether, and in two or three days an answer came from the ”Novice,” to say he'd give 2 yards start in 150. Well, that didn't seem to suit Locker, so he replied, through the paper again, that ”Sooner than not run again, his lad should run the 'Novice' 100 yards level at Kenham grounds for 25 a side. To run in three weeks.”

Articles came and were signed on these terms. Then he said, ”Thou needn't train at all, though I want thee to win this time by nearly a yard; just stay a bit longer than before, and don't let him quite catch thee. Make a good race of it, but be sure and win.” We often went to the old spot on the turnpike, and once he took a tape and measured the ground. He had stepped it within a yard and a half. At last he showed me his watch that he had won in a handicap. There was a long hand which jumped four times in a second, and he could start it or stop it by pressing a spring whenever he liked. Then I held it while he ran, and found he was just 11 sec. doing his 100 yards. I tried, and was ”ten and a beat,” which he told me was reckoned first-rate time. While I stopped with him I found out all about ”sprints” and ”quarters,” and how long a man ought to be running different distances. I asked, too, about the last race; why he could afford to give me 2 when I lost? He said the two ”fivers” he had bet were with ”pals,” and he lost nothing but my stake. Then he told me about the little man and Lanky, whom I had met with him and run against. The ”long 'un,” he said, was a very good ”trial horse,” who could keep his tongue in his head, and would ”stand in” if I won anything. The little un had been on business in the north, and came round to see him (Locker). It was all chance his being there, but I should see him again, farther south, where he kept a running ground. Well, the day for our race came at last, and we went to Kenham. I was wrapped in a blanket after we stripped, and a stout man, called Woldham, who stood referee, whispered something to Locker, who replied that I was fit and sure to win. They laid 5 to 4 against me at first, but presently I heard evens offered, and then 22 to 20 on me, and that was as far as Locker's friends would go. We had a lot of ”fiddling,” as they call it, at the mark, but presently we jumped away, I with an advantage of about a yard. I had made the gap quite four yards at half the distance, and then ”died away” till near the post, where, as the _Chronicle_ next Monday said, I ”struggled manfully, and took the tape first by half a yard; time, 10-2/5 sec.” Hadn't we a jaw as we went back! Locker said I was a ”wonderful clever lad,” and that Woldham had told him I should be ”heard of again.” We both laughed, and I got 5 for winning. With this I bought a new rig out, and everybody at Stockton that knew me said I was ”ruined for life.”

They all wanted to know where the togs came from, however, but I kept that to myself.

It was now September, and Locker said, ”I'll enter thee for a handicap.” So he did, and shortly afterwards we went to Kenham again, where, by his directions, I was beat for my heat, with 5 yards start in 120. About a week later, we had a long talk, and then he said, ”Dost know what I've been doing, lad?” I told him I thought he meant to get me a good start and try if I could win. ”Thou'rt partly right,” he said, ”but I've been running thee 100 yards, and letting thee lose in t' last few strides. This makes 'em think thou can't stay. I know thou'rt as good at 150 as 100, so I shall train thee and run thee at Sheffield this Christmas. If thou can win there, we can earn 1000 between us, and if thou can only run into a place, we shall make 50 or 100 apiece; but mind, we shall let t' cat out o' t' bag: thou'll never get on a mark again after trying once.” Presently, Merling and Stemmerson advertised a 40 handicap at Kenham, and I entered; then came the big Sheffielder of 80, and down went my name for that too. I lived very regular all this time, went to bed early, and practised the distance every day, till Locker said I was a ”level time” man, and if I didn't win it would be a ”fluke.” At last the start appeared: I got in at 7 yards in the 130 at Newcastle, and my mark was 67 in 210 yards at Ryde Park. Locker was delighted: ”Thou can win 'em both in a walk, lad,” he said, again and again. Then the betting quotations were sent up week after week, and I was at 50 to 1 long enough at Sheffield.

There wasn't much doing on the 130 yards race, so Locker said I might go there on the Sat.u.r.day and lose my first heat. He didn't lay out a penny any way till we went into Alf Wilner's, the Punch Bowl, on Sunday night. Somebody presently asked my price, and, to my surprise, up got the little pock-marked man I had met, and said he was commissioned to take 60 to 1 to 5, just for a ”fancy” bet. A big Sheffielder opened his book and said he might as well have the ”fiver” as not, and there I was backed to win 300 already. Locker and I went away to bed about nine o'clock, and next morning in came the little 'un at six to tell us he'd ta'en five fifties more, then five forties, ten thirties, and ten twenties, and I was now in the market at 12 to 1 taken and offered. My heat was the sixth, and there were five starters marked. First came ”old Scratch” of Pendleton at 59 yards, then Roundtree of Huddersfield at 62, and myself at 67; the other didn't turn up. The pistol was fired and away we went, and, as Locker had started me hundreds of times, so that I could ”get off the mark” well, I don't think I lost any ground.

At about half way I could hear somebody on my left, but I daren't look round. Afterwards I found ”Scratch” had tried to ”cut me down,” but it was all no use, and I took away the tape by two yards good. Everybody cheered, for betting on the heat had been 7 to 4 on ”Scratch” and 3 to 2 against me. At the close of the day there were ten runners left in for the final heat, and ”my price” was 4 to 1, Roper of Staleybridge being the favourite at 6 to 4 against him. Locker said he had laid off 250 at 5 to 1 directly after the heat, so that our party stood to win 1000 exactly, of which I was to have 200 if I ”landed.” We were together till bedtime, and slept in a double room. At seven next morning we took a stroll, and just as we got to Alf's to breakfast somebody put a bit of paper into my hand and then shot away. I slipped it in my pocket, and said ”nowt” till after breakfast, when I read on it, ”150 for thyself before the start if thou'll run fourth.” I asked Locker what it meant, and he laughed, and said they wanted me to ”rope.” When we went out again the little fellow pulled out a roll of notes and showed 'em to me; but I meant to win if possible, so I shook my head. As the morning pa.s.sed I ”sort of funked” the race, but then I thought, ”I were a made man if I copped.” So I just said to mysel', ”Bill, lad, haul in the slack,” and off we went to the grounds. I never felt fitter either before or since; and after Roper got off badly and was beat a short foot, I was sure the final heat was my own. My second heat was an easy win, and ”Lord, how the Sheffielders did shout” when I ran in three yards ahead without being fully extended! They laid 7 to 4 on me for the deciding race, which was the hardest of the lot. Hooper of Stanningly went from the same mark; we afterwards found out they'd played a similar game with him. They'd ”pulled” him for two handicaps, and let him lose all his matches, and now he had been backed to win 600. He beat me at starting, and before we got half way they cried ”Hooper wins.” I was a good yard behind him, but with a hard strain I got level, and we ran shoulder and shoulder till just on the tape, where I threw myself forward, with the old ”Chifney rush,” and just won by a bare half-yard. Locker fairly hugged me, and, half blind though I was with the tough race, the ”tykes” shoulder-heighted and carried me off to the house.

In presents, and with my share, I got 230, and thought I'd put it away in the bank. But that night we all had champagne, and I went to bed quite queer and dizzy-like. Next day was the same, and on Thursday we took train to Manchester, where I was invited to stop a week or two.

Locker left me and went home, telling me to take care of myself. I wish I'd gone too, for what with meeting betting-men and playing cards and buying swell clothes, to say nothing of dresses for a fresh sweetheart, I soon got awful ”fast.” Then we used to sit up at nights playing ”seven's the main,” and I wasn't lucky or summut; but, however, in six weeks I'd got through half my money. One night we started cutting through the pack, and then played ”Blind Hookey,” and next morning the little pock-pitted man came up and called me a ”flat,” and said I'd fair thrown my winnings into the fire. He didn't know much about what had gone on, and when I told him ”I knocked down close on 150,” he said he daren't send me back to Stockton. Well, I stopped at Manchester altogether; and during the next two or three years I won heaps of races, learned the ”rope trick,” and found out whose ”stable” every lad trained from. I won hundreds of pounds, which, having all come over the ”devil's back,” went the same way. I'm twenty-three now, but I can't do ”level time” any longer without six weeks' training, although even yet, at 100 yards, very few lads can ”pull off their s.h.i.+rt” every day in the week and lick me. I like the life very well--it's free and easy; but I wish Locker had ta'en me back and made my matches. He's clever, he is, and knows when to ”let a fellow's head loose” without halloaing.

THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON, AND ITS RESULTS

”When at the close of the departing year Is heard that joyful sound, the huntsman's cheer, And wily Reynard with the morning air Scents from afar the foe, and leaves his lair.”

I quite agree with the distinguished foreign n.o.bleman who declared that ”Nothing was too good to go foxing in;” and with the immortal Jorrocks of Handley Cross fame, I exclaim, ”'Unting, my beloved readers, is the image of war with only ten per cent. of its dangers.”

Ever since I was an unbreeched urchin, and my only steed a rough Shetland pony, across whose bare back my infantine legs could scarcely stride, I have looked forward to a day's hunting with the keenest relish. The preliminary sport of cub-hunting--with its early-dawn meets: bad scent, consequent upon fallen leaves and decayed vegetable matter; riotous young hounds, which can scarcely be brought to hunt upon any terms; timid, nervous young foxes, who hardly dare poke their sharp noses out of covert--only serves to give a greater zest as it were to the opening day. One or two woodland runs, just sufficient to breathe the well-trained hunter or take the exuberant spirits (the accompaniments of high feeding and no work) from the young one, after a stripling Reynard, who as yet has no line of country of his own, and hardly dares to venture far from the place of his birth, ending with a kill just to blood the young hounds, only makes the longing for the first day of the season more intense.

Not one of her Majesty's subjects throughout her vast dominions--so vast indeed are they that, as the song tells us, ”the sun never sets on them”--not one, I say, of her Majesty's lieges looked forward more anxiously than I did to the first day of the hunting season of 18--, for why should I be too explicit about dates, or let all the world know that I am so ancient as to remember anything so long buried in the past? I had just returned to old England with a year's leave from my regiment, then in India. I was possessed of capital health and spirits, was only just six-and-twenty years of age, had five hundred pounds at my bankers, and two as good nags in my stable as ever a man laid his leg across. ”Hunting for ever!” I cried, as I strolled into Seamemup and Bastemwell's, the unrivalled breechesmakers' establishment in the Strand, to order a few pair of those most necessary adjuncts to the sporting man's wardrobe previous to leaving town. ”Hunting for ever!”

and of all the packs in England, commend me to my old acquaintance, those friends of my boyhood, the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers. I am not sure but that, strictly speaking, the term ”mugger” ought only be applied to those packs of hounds which are used for that peculiar pastime which, to again quote the immortal Jorrocks, ”is only fit for cripples, and them as keeps donkeys,” viz., harriers.

Be that as it may, the pack I now speak of were, though called muggers, _bona fide_ foxhounds, and as such, only used in the ”doing to death”

of that wily animal.

The country which had as it were given birth to this distinguished pack presented to the hunting man very much the same features as do most parts of England. There were the same number of ditches and dingles to be got over somehow, the same gates which would and would not be opened, the same fences, stiles, and heavers to be cleared, the same woodland parts to be hunted, from which it was next to impossible to get a fox away, and to which every one said he would never come again; but for all that no one ever kept his word, for there were just the very same number of sportsmen to be seen at the very next meet held in the district; thus proving that foxhunting, even under difficulties, is still a most fascinating diversion; and there were the same snug-lying gorse coverts, from which a run was sure to be obtained over a flat well-enclosed country, which gave both man and horse as much as ever their united efforts could accomplish, to be there or thereabouts at the finish. Nor were the meets of the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers, advertised in _The Field_, dissimilar in any respect to those of other packs of hounds, for there were an equal number of cross roads, turnpike gates, public houses, gibbets, woods, sign-posts, and milestones, as elsewhere. Well, to enjoy a season's sport with this so distinguished hunt was my intention; and no sooner had I completed the requisite arrangements with regard to my hunting toggery, which a residence of some half dozen years in India had rendered necessary, than I took up my abode in the little town of Surlyford, at the comfortable hotel rejoicing in the mythological sign of the Silent Woman, a fabulous personage surely, to be cla.s.sed with Swans with Two Necks, Green Men, and other creatures who never had any existence. The first meet of the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers was settled, so said the county paper, to take place at the fourth milestone on the Surlyford road. Thither I repaired, fully equipped in all the splendour of a new pink, immaculate cords, brown-tinted tops, my blue birds'-eye scarf, neatly folded and fastened with a pin bearing a most appropriate device, viz., a real fox's tooth. In my impatience to be up and doing on this our opening day, I arrived at the trysting-place, from whence I was to woo my favourite pastime, some half hour or more before the master and his pack were due. I had, therefore, ample leisure to receive the greetings of my numerous old friends and acquaintances, as they came up from all parts, and in all directions, on all sorts and all sizes of nags, and at all kinds of paces, to the place of meeting. First to arrive on that useful steed yclept ”Shanks's pony,” slouching along, clad in rusty velveteen, baggy brown cord breeches and gaiters, billyc.o.c.k, as he termed his wideawake hat, on head, a stout ashen stick, cut from a neighbouring coppice, in hand, and ten to one a quant.i.ty of wires in his pockets, was handsome, dark-eyed, good-for-nothing, scampish, dishonest Gipsy Jim--the sometime gamekeeper, when he could get any to employ him, but oftener the poaching, drinking, thieving vagabond of the neighbourhood. A broad grin of recognition, and a touch of the hat on the part of the Gipsy one, and an exclamation on mine of ”Bless me, Jim! not hanged yet?” placed us once again on the old familiar footing of ”I will tell you all I know about foxes” (and who could afford better information than one whose habits and disposition partook more of the vermin than the man?), ”providing you give me a s.h.i.+lling to drink your health.” Gipsy Jim and I had hardly interchanged these civilities, when, trotting along on a stout, handsome, six-year-old, in capital condition, though, if anything, a little too fat (not a bad fault, however, at the beginning of the season), came farmer Thresher, of Beanstead, a florid, yellow-haired, red-whiskered, jovial, hard-riding, independent agriculturist, who, on the strength of having been at school in years gone by with some of the neighbouring squires, myself amongst the number, called us all freely by our surnames, forgetting to prefix the accustomed Mister, and thus giving great umbrage to some and causing them always to pointedly address him as ”Mr Thresher.” Our mutual salutations had hardly come to an end when we were joined by half a dozen more st.u.r.dy yeomen, able and willing to go, let the pace be ever so severe, and all of them contributing their five pounds yearly to the support of the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers, ”spite of wheat, sir, at fourteen s.h.i.+llings a bag.”

Young Boaster next turns up, a swaggering blade from a neighbouring hunt, who is always abusing the Easyalls.h.i.+re hounds, and bragging of his own prowess, which consists of riding extraordinary distances to far-off meets, and doing nothing when he gets there, save telling wonderful and fabulous stories of what he had done last time he was out, and what he intended to do then. He is succeeded by Dr Bolus, ”the sporting Doctor,” as he is called, who must be making a very handsome fortune in his profession, if his knowledge of medicine is anything like his judgment in horseflesh, his skill in the pigskin, or his acquaintance with the line of a fox. After Bolus, on a three-legged screw, a wonder to every one how it is kept at all on its understandings, comes Aloes, the veterinary surgeon, a pleasant-spoken, florid, little old man, skilful in his business, ever agreeing, with his ”That I would, sir,” and one whom I would much prefer to attend me when sick than many a professor of the healing art among men. The majesty of the law is upheld next by Mr Sheepskin, the attorney, a gentlemanly man, a lightweight, and one who rides, when need be, as hard as if not harder than any one. Nor is the Church absent (for we have not a few clerical subscribers to the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers), but is well represented in the person of the Rev. Mr Flatman, a good-looking, well-built, foxy-whiskered divine, whose handling of the ribbons on the coach-box, and seat on horseback, would ent.i.tle him to a deanery at the very least, could the Broad-Church party but come into power. His small country parish, however, does not suffer by the fondness of its rector for the sports of the field; having a hard-working and most exemplary curate, he is still a painstaking and estimable parish priest, and much preferred, I doubt not, by all his paris.h.i.+oners to any more busy and interfering divine of either of the other two schools of divinity. I myself am by no means the sole member of the military profession present, for we are here of all ranks, from the just-joined subaltern to the gallant colonel of the county militia, a stout fine-looking veteran, none of your feather-bed soldiers, and one who, spite of his weight, is an exceedingly difficult man to beat across country. ”Mammon,” as it is the fas.h.i.+on nowadays to call that useful article, money, is seen approaching in the person of the Surlyford banker, who, wisely flinging business to the winds at least twice in the week, gets astride a good-looking, nearly thoroughbred nag, and finds accepting bullfinches, negotiating ditches, and discounting gates, stiles, &c., a much more healthy and more pleasant, if not more profitable, occupation than everlastingly grubbing after filthy lucre.

The Master now makes his appearance, tall and upright, knowing thoroughly the duties of his office, and if not quite so bold and determined a rider as in years gone by, still making up for want of nerve in knowledge of the country, and for lack of dash in careful riding and judicious nicking-in. Suffice it to say, that at the finish, his absence is never observed, though how he came to be there is better known to the second-rank hors.e.m.e.n than to the flyers. The huntsman and whip are much the same as those worthies are everywhere; but the hounds, how to describe them I know not.

The Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers set all rules regarding the make, size, and symmetry of foxhounds at defiance. They show almost better sport, and kill more foxes, than any pack in the kingdom; and yet they are as uneven as a ploughed field, and as many shapes and sizes as a charity school. I can only say, ”handsome is as handsome does;” and if my canine friends are not pleasant to the eye of the connoisseur--if they come not up to the standard of Beckford Somerville, and other writers who have described a perfect foxhound, still they work beautifully--which to my mind is far preferable to looking beautiful--and will run and kill foxes with any hounds in England. The huntsman and whip, though not so well mounted (economy is the order of the day with the Easyalls.h.i.+re Muggers) as we would wish to see them, yet manage somehow to get across the country, and to be with their hounds; though for the matter of that, such is the sagacity of the Easyalls.h.i.+re pack, they can very frequently do quite as well without the a.s.sistance of their ruler and guide as with it. The Easyalls.h.i.+re Hunt, as the name implies, is an easy-going sort of concern, in which every man, gentle and simple, has a finger in the pie; every subscriber imagining that he has a perfect right, on the strength of his subscription, to hunt, whip-in, or otherwise direct the movements of the hounds whenever opportunity occurs. But for-rard! for-rard on! or I shall be at the fourth milestone on the Surlyford road all day, instead of drawing that inviting piece of gorse covert which lies so pleasant and warm, with its southern aspect on yonder bank. A guinea to a gooseberry, a fox lies there!

Joe, the huntsman, now trots along through the somewhat bare and brown pasture fields towards the covert; the pack, eager and keen for the fray, cl.u.s.tering round the heels of his horse. A few moments only elapse, and the sea of gorse is alive with hounds poking here, there, and everywhere, seeking the lair of sly Reynard. Old experience having taught me that Gipsy Jim's knowledge of the fox and his habits (for being half-brother to the varmint in his nature, how can it fail to be otherwise?) would serve me in good stead, I station myself near to him in order to have a good view of ”Mr Reynolds,” as Jim calls the cunning animal, when he breaks covert. Nor am I wrong in my conjecture; for after a few pleasant notes from old Bellman, who hits upon the place where Master Fox crossed a ride early this morning, and a ”hark to Bellman” from Joe the huntsman, out jumps, almost into Jim's arms, as fine a fox as ever wore a brush. Master Reynard looks somewhat astonished at being brought so suddenly face to face with a two-legged monster, and seems half inclined to turn back again to his hiding-place; but, perhaps judging from Jim's varmint look that no danger might be apprehended from that quarter, and being warned by the deep notes of old Bellman that his late quarters were untenable, he throws back his head as if to sniff the pleasant morning breeze, and giving his brush a gentle wave of defiance, boldly takes to the open, and starts across the field which surrounds the covert at a good rattling pace. Gipsy Jim grins from ear to ear with delight, showing his white regular teeth, at the same time holding up his hand as a warning to me to keep silence for a few seconds, so as not to spoil sport by getting the fox headed back. The moment, however, Master Reynard is safely through the neighbouring hedge, Jim's tremendous view-halloa makes the whole country ring again. This is the signal for every b.u.mpkin and footman to shout and halloa with might and main, thus making the necessary confusion of the find worse confounded still.

”Hold your noisy tongues,” shout the Master, huntsman, whip, and all the hors.e.m.e.n; but ”Hold your noisy tongues” they cry in vain. ”Tallyho!

tallyho! tallyho!” yell the footmen, totally regardless of all expostulation. But crafty Jim, knowing the idiosyncrasy of the yokels, has made all safe by his silence, until the red-coated rascal is well away. ”Hark! halloa!” ”Hark! halloa!” roar the field. ”Tootle, tootle!”

goes Joe's horn, reechoed by an asthmatical effort in the same direction, on the part of the worthy master, who blows as if his horn was full of dirt. The hounds, however, are accustomed to the sound, feeble as it is, and all rush to the spot where Master, huntsman, and Gipsy Jim are all cheering them exactly at the place where foxy broke away. What a burst of music now strikes upon the ear, far superior to the delights of any concert it has ever been my lot to be present at, as the hounds acknowledge with joy the rapture they feel at the strong scent left behind by him they had so unceremoniously disturbed from his comfortable lodgings! But the scent is too good for us to dwell here for description, and away they go at a killing pace, which, if it lasts long enough, will get to the bottom of many a gallant steed there present. And now comes the rush of hors.e.m.e.n amidst the cries of ”Hold hard! don't spoil your sport!” of the master, and the ”'Old 'ard!” of the huntsman, who has an eye to tips, and therefore restrains his wrath in some measure. But the Easyalls.h.i.+reans are not to be kept back by any such remonstrances and expostulations as these, and those who mean to be with the hounds throughout the run, hustle along to get a forward place; whilst the knowing and cunning ones, with the Master at their head, turn short round, and make for a line of gates which lie invitingly open, right in the direction which the fox has taken. I get a good start, and being well mounted, sail away, and am soon alongside of Joe the huntsman, whose horse, though a screw, and not very high in condition, is obliged to go, being compelled thereto by its rider. A stiff-looking fence, which I charge at the same moment as Joe, who takes away at least a perch of fencing, and thus lets many a m.u.f.f through, lands us into the next field, and affords a fair view of the hounds streaming away a little distance before us. But why should I describe the run? The _Field_, weekly, gives much more graphic descriptions of such things than I am able to write; let me, therefore, confine my narrative to what befell my individual self.