uire,--the nobility and gentry of England, the
flower of the men of the earth, each on such steed as Pollux never
reined, nor Philip's warlike son--for could we imagine Bucephalus here,
ridden by his own tamer, Alexander would be thrown out during the very
first burst, and glad to find his way dismounted to a village alehouse
for a pail of meal and water. Hedges, trees, groves, gardens, orchards,
woods, farm-houses, huts, halls, mansions, palaces, spires, steeples,
towers, and temples, all go wavering by, each demigod seeing, or seeing
them not, as his winged steed skims or labours along, to the swelling or
sinking music, now loud as a near regimental band, now faint as an echo.
Far and wide over the country are dispersed the scarlet runners--and a
hundred villages pour forth their admiring swarms, as the main current
of the chase roars by, or disparted runlets float wearied and all
astray, lost at last in the perplexing woods. Crash goes the top-timber
of the five-barred gate--away over the ears flies the ex-rough-rider in
a surprising somerset--after a succession of stumbles, down is the
gallant Grey on knees and nose, making sad work among the
fallow--Friendship is a fine thing, and the story of Damon and Pythias
most affecting indeed--but Pylades eyes Orestes on his back sorely
drowned in sludge, and tenderly leaping over him as he lies, claps his
hand to his ear, and with a "hark forward, tan-tivy!" leaves him to
remount, lame and at leisure--and ere the fallen has risen and shook
himself, is round the corner of the white village-church, down the dell,
over the brook, and close on the heels of the straining pack, all a-yell
up the hill crowned by the Squire's Folly. "Every man for himself, and
God for us all," is the devout and ruling apothegm of the day. If death
befall, what wonder? since man and horse are mortal; but death loves
better a wide soft bed with quiet curtains and darkened windows in a
still room, the clergyman in the one corner with his prayers, and the
physician in another with his pills, making assurance doubly sure, and
preventing all possibility of the dying Christian's escape. Let oak
branches smite the too slowly stooping skull, or rider's back not timely
levelled with his steed's; let faithless bank give way, and bury in the
brook; let hidden drain yield to fore feet and work a sudden wreck; let
old coal-pit, with briery mouth, betray; and roaring river bear down man
and horse, to banks unscalea