ip, aiming a stinging cut with his heavy knotty-pointed whip, at a
venerable sage who still snuffed down a furrow to satisfy himself the fox
was not on before he returned to cover--an exertion that overbalanced the
whip, and would have landed him on the ground, had not he caught by the
spur in the old mare's flank. Then he went on scrambling and rating after
Marksman, the field exclaiming, as the Edmonton people did, by Johnny
Gilpin:

He's on! no, he's off, he hangs by the mane!

[Illustration: 'LET MR. BUGLES THROUGH']

At last he got shuffled back into the saddle, and the cry of hounds in
cover attracting the outsiders back, the scene quickly changed, and the
horsemen were again overhead in wood. They now swept up the grass ride to
the exposed part of the higher ground, the trees gradually diminishing in
size, till, on reaching the top, they did not come much above a horse's
shoulder. This point commanded a fine view over the adjacent country.
Behind was the rich vale of Dairylow, with its villages and spires, and
trees and enclosures, while in front was nothing but the undulating,
wide-stretching downs, reaching to the soft grey hills in the distance.
There was not, however, much time for contemplating scenery; for Wily Tom,
who had stolen to this point immediately the hounds took up the scent, now
viewed the fox stealing over a gap in the wall, and, the field catching
sight, there was such a hullabaloo as would have made a more composed and
orderly minded fox think it better to break instead of running the outside
of the wall as this one intended to do. What wind there was swept over the
downs; and putting himself straight to catch it, he went away whisking his
brush in the air, as if he was fresh out of his kennel instead of a sack.
Then what a commotion there was! Such jumpings off to lead down, such
huggings and holdings, and wooa-ings of those that sat on, such slidings
and scramblings, and loosenings and rollings of stones. Then the frantic
horses began to bound, and the frightened riders to exclaim:

'Do get out of my way, sir.'

'Mind, sir! I'm a-top of you!'

'Give him his head and let him go!' exclaimed the still drunken brother Bob
Spangles, sliding his horse down with a slack rein.

'That's your sort!' roared Sir Harry, and just as he said it, his horse
dropped on his hind-quarters like a rabbit, landing Sir Harry comfortably
on his feet, amid the roars of the foot-people, and the mirth of such