e earth, each
on such a 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, farmhouses, 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-roughrider 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 hands to his ear, and with a
"hark forward, tantivy!" leaves him to remount, lame and at leisure--and
ere the fallen has risen and shaken 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 branch 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
cliffs unscalable by the very Welsh goat; let duke's or earl's son go
sheer over a q