they viewed, but if the hounds changed they must have done it very quickly, for they were never off their noses. It takes a good deal of persuasion to induce a fox to leave a wood of several hundred acres, especially a wood where the travelling is more favourable to him than to the hounds, and possibly nothing but the fact of his having been hunted before, and being about as good a judge of pace as a Newmarket "tout," could have induced him to be satisfied with the two rings that he made of the amphitheatrish ground before he proceeded up the Dean to the west of it.

There he was viewed by the foot people, "an enormous big-un!" and "dead beat," of course; and as he was getting into more circumventable covers, and the scent was first-rate, Mr. Sheepskin expressed his opinion that he was as good as "realised."

It is seldom that anybody says a good word for a fox, but this certainly was a most accommodating one; for instead of taking the high ground, and sending the field skating and sliding about at the risk of their limbs, he ran the bottoms, and those he selected with considerable judgment. He took them up Apedale Dean, through the Buckland

His

Bog, and past the Decoy at Casterton, scarcely crossing a dozen enclosures the whole way. line was then Swinbrook Plantations, where he hung a bit, having been headed by some shooters, and probably driven from his point, for he took down the little valley of the Dingle, and was presently into Hardingham Plantation.

One loses one's latitude and longitude so desperately out hunting, especially in cover, that Scott had no idea which side of the plantations they came out at, or where they were going, further than that some well-hung green gates, and better cultivated land, betokened prosperity.

They clattered through the gates, making the hard ground resound with their horses' hoofs, while the frosty air was filled with the cry of the pack, now running frantic for blood.

The nimble and accommodatingly disposed reader will now perhaps have the kindness to transport him or herself to Honeybower Hall, and imagine the Muffs palavering the young ladies, while old Tom Tinhead is billeted on "mamma."

We need not trouble them with their balderdash; how they abused "old Neville," and ridiculed the idea of hounds not coming, and how Tarquinius talked of " taking the country himself if they didn't make him represent it," and so on, as being matter quite as easily imagined as described. For that piece of leniency, however, we must request the reader

non-luncheon eater though he* may be to accom. pany the party to the parlour, where the usual savoury hashes are commingled with jellies, roast potatoes, and cold fowls-Hie-sos-sos-sos-sos!

"Hark!" exclaimed Muff in the middle of a merry-thought: "I thought I heard the horn,” continued he, rising and going to the bay window which opens to the ground.

Muff was right. It was old Ben sounding a requiem over his fox in the park on the east side of the hall, a view that never having taken of it before caused Scott not to recognise it, till Muff stepped out of the window on to the lawn.

66

'Why, there's Mr. Muff!" exclaimed our friend, as he recognised Muff's great white stomach between his black jacks and red coat.

"So it is!" replied Ben. "This will be Honeybower Hall, I dare say," observed he, looking at the house, with the right of entry air of a Foxhunter.

Ben had now got the brush and head in hand, and the pads being distributed, up went the fox and down it came rolling right into the jaws of the whole fifty hounds.

66

Who-hoop! tear him and eat him! Who-hoop!" "I'll tell you what, Tom," said Scott to the whip as soon as the latter had satisfied himself with

* Ladies are always luncheon eaters, so we need not put "she" here.

Q

hooping and screeching while the hounds worried the fox, "I'll tell you what, I'll give you a guinea if you'll go and present Mr. Tarquinius Muff with the brush," pointing to Muff as he stood at the window, surrounded by the ladies, like a cock of the midden.

"I'll soon do that for nothing," replied Tom, taking the brush from the huntsman, and shuffling away in the crab-like fashion of a whipper-in, up to the house.

"Please, sir," said he, touching his cap, as he saw a frown o'erspreading Muff's ample face instead of the smile that usually irradiates a man about to be honoured. "Please, sir, Ben has made free to send you the brush, and is sorry you've missed the run."

"Is he?" sneered Muff. "I feel much flattered by his condescension," at the same time sticking his hands under his coat-tails to remove all idea of his accepting the offer.

"Pray where is Mr. Neville ?" asked he, after a pause.

"He's not out, sir," replied Tom, with another touch of the cap.

"Not out!" exclaimed Muff. "You don't mean to say you've thrown off without him?"

"Master said we were to hunt if we could, and there was anybody there."

"Well, and who have you had ?" asked Muff.