Worthy sir,
Souls attract souls when they're of kindred vein.
The life that you love, I love. Well I know,
'Mongst those who breast the feats of the bold chase,
You stand without a peer; and for myself
I dare avow 'mong such, none follows them
With heartier glee than I do.

_Wild_. Churl were he
That would gainsay you, madam.

_Con_. [Curtseying.] What delight
To back the flying steed, that challenges
The wind for speed!--seems native more of air
Than earth!--whose burden only lends him fire!--
Whose soul, in his task, turns labour into sport;
Who makes your pastime his! I sit him now!
He takes away my breath! He makes me reel!
I touch not earth--I see not--hear not. All
Is ecstasy of motion!

_Wild_. You are used,
I see, to the chase.

_Con_. I am, sir. Then the leap,
To see the saucy barrier, and know
The mettle that can clear it! Then, your time
To prove you master of the manege. Now
You keep him well together for a space,
Both horse and rider braced as you were one,
Scanning the distance--then you give him rein,
And let him fly at it, and o'er he goes
Light as a bird on wing.

_Wild_. 'Twere a bold leap,
I see, that turned you, madam.

_Con_. [Curtseying.] Sir, you're good!
And then the hounds, sir! Nothing I admire
Beyond the running of the well-trained pack.
The training's everything! Keen on the scent!
At fault none losing heart!--but all at work!
None leaving his task to another!--answering
The watchful huntsman's cautions, check, or cheer.
As steed his rider's rein! Away they go
How close they keep together! What a pack!
Nor turn, nor ditch, nor stream divides them--as
They moved with one intelligence, act, will!
And then the concert they keep up!--enough
To make one tenant of the merry wood,
To list their jocund music!

_Wild_. You describe
The huntsman's pastime to the life.

_Con_. I love it!
To wood and glen, hamlet and town, it is
A laughing holiday! Not a hill-top
But's then alive! Footmen with horsemen vie,
All earth's astir, roused with the revelry
Of vigour, health, and joy! Cheer awakes cheer,
While Echo's mimic tongue, that never tires,
Keeps up the hearty din! Each face is then
Its neighbour's glass--where Gladness sees itself,
And at the bright reflection grows more glad!
Breaks into tenfold mirth!--laughs like a child!
Would make a gift of its heart, it is so free!
Would scarce accept a kingdom, 'tis so rich!
Shakes hands with all, and vows it