get together, hounds!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark' to the general uproar. Oh, what a row, what a riot, what a racket! Watchorn being 'in' for it, and recollecting how many saw a start who never thought of seeing a finish, immediately got his horse by the head, and singled himself out from the crowd now pressing at his horse's heels, determining, if the hounds didn't run into their fox in the park, to ride them off the scent at the very first opportunity. The 'chumpine' being still alive within him, in the excitement of the moment he leaped the hand-gate leading out of the shrubberies into the park; the noise the horse made in taking off resembling the trampling on wood-pavement.

'Cuss it, but it's 'ard!' exclaimed he, as the horse slid two or three yards as he alighted on the frozen field.

George Cheek followed him; and Multum-in-Parvo, taking the bit deliberately between his teeth, just walked through the gate, as if it had been made of paper.

'Ah, ye brute!' groaned Mr. Sponge, in disgust, digging the Latchfords into his sides, as if he intended to make them meet in the middle. 'Ah, ye brute!' repeated he, giving him a hearty cropper as he put up his head after trying to kick him off.

'Thank you!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, cantering up; adding, 'you cleared the way nicely for me.'

Nicely he had cleared it for them all; and the pent-up tide of equestrianism now poured over the park like the flood of an irrigated water meadow. Such ponies! such horses! such hugging! such kicking! such scrambling! and so little progress with many!

The park being extensive--three hundred acres or more--there was ample s.p.a.ce for the aspiring ones to single themselves out; and as Lady Scattercash and Orlando sat in the pony-phaeton, on the rising ground by the keeper's house, they saw a dark-clad horseman (George Cheek), Old Gingerbread Boots, as they called Mr. Sponge, with Lucy Glitters alongside of him, gradually stealing away from the crowd, and creeping up to Mr.

Watchorn, who was sailing away with the hounds.

'What a scrimmage!' exclaimed her ladyship, standing up in the carriage, and eyeing the

Strange confusion in the vale below.

'There's Bob in his old purple,' said she, eyeing her brother hustling along; 'and there's "Fat" in his new Moses and Son; and Bouncey in poor Wax's coat; and there's Harry all legs and wings, as usual,' added she, as her husband was seen flibberty-gibbertying it along.

'And there's Lucy; and where's Miss Howard, I wonder?' observed Orlando, straining his eyes after the scrambling field.

Nothing but the inspiriting aid of 'chumpine,' and the hope that the thing would soon terminate, sustained Mr. Watchorn under the infliction in which he so unexpectedly found himself; for nothing would have tempted him to brave such a frost with the burning scent of a game four-legged fox. The park being s.p.a.cious, and enclosed by a high plank paling, he hoped the fox would have the manners to confine himself within it; and so long as his threadings and windings favoured the supposition, our huntsman bustled along, yelling and screaming in apparent ecstasy at the top of his voice.

The hounds, to be sure, wanted keeping together, for Frantic as usual had shot ahead, while the gorged pigpailers could never extricate themselves from the ponies.

'F-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d!' elongated Watchorn, rising in his stirrups, and looking back with a grin at George Cheek, who was plying his weed with the whip, exclaiming, 'Ah, you confounded young warmint, I'll give you a warmin'! I'll teach you to jaw about 'untin'!'

As he turned his head straight to look at his hounds, he was shocked to see Frantic falling backwards from a first attempt to leap the park-palings, and just as she gathered herself for a second effort, Desperate, Chatterer, and Galloper, charged in line and got over. Then came the general rush of the pack, attended with the usual success--some over, some back, some a-top of others.

'Oh, the devil!' exclaimed Watchorn, pulling up short in a perfect agony of despair. 'Oh, the devil!' repeated he in a lower tone, as Mr. Sponge approached.

'Where's there a gate?' roared our friend, skating up.

'Gate! there's never a gate within a mile, and that's locked,' replied Watchorn sulkily.

'Then here goes!' replied Mr. Sponge, gathering the chestnut together to give him an opportunity of purging himself of his previous _faux pas_.

'Here goes!' repeated he, thrusting his hard hat firmly on his head. Taking his horse back a few paces, Mr. Sponge crammed him manfully at the palings, and got over with a rap.

'Well done you!' exclaimed Miss Glitters in delight; adding to Watchorn, 'Now, old Beardey, you go next.'

Beardey was irresolute. He pretended to be anxious to get the tail hounds over.

'Clear the way, then!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, putting her horse back, her bright eyes flashing as she spoke. She took him back as far as Mr. Sponge had done, touched him with the whip, and in an instant she was high in the air, landing safely on the far side.

'Hoo-ray!' exclaimed Captains Quod and Cut.i.tfat, who now came panting up.

'Now, Mr. Watchorn!' cried Captain Seedeybuck, adding, 'You're a huntsman!'

'Yooi over, Prosperous! Yooi over, Buster!' cheered Watchorn, still pretending anxiety about his hounds.

'Let _me_ have a shy,' squeaked George Cheek, backing his giraffe, as he had seen Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters do.

George took his screw by the head, and, giving him a hearty rib-roasting with his whip, ran him full tilt at the palings, and carried away half a rood.

'Hoo-ray!' cried the liberated field.

'_I_ knew how it would be,' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, in well-feigned disgust as he rode through the gap; adding, '_con_-founded young waggabone!

Deserves to be well _chaste_-tized for breakin' people's palin's in that way--lettin' in all the rubbishin' tail.'

The scene then changed. In lieu of the green, though hard, sward of the undulating park, our friends now found themselves on large frozen fallows, upon whose uneven surface the heaviest horses made no impression while the shuffling rats of ponies toiled and floundered about, almost receding in their progress. Mr. Sponge was just topping the fence out of the first one, and Miss Glitters was gathering her horse to ride at it, as Watchorn and Co. emerged from the park. Rounding the turnip-hill beyond, the leading hounds were racing with a breast-high scent, followed by the pack in long-drawn file.

'What a mess!' said Watchorn to himself, shading the sun from his eyes with his hand; when, remembering his _role_, he exclaimed, 'Y-o-o-n-der they go!' as if in ecstasies at the sight. Seeing a gate at the bottom of the field, he got his horse by the head, and rattled him across the fallow, blowing his horn more in hopes of stopping the pack than with a view of bringing up the tail-hounds. He might have saved his breath, for the music of the pack completely drowned the noise of the horn. 'Dash it!' said he, thumping the broad end against his thigh; 'I wish I was quietly back in my parlour. Hold up, horse!' roared he, as Harkaway nearly came on his haunches in pulling up at the gate. 'I know who's _not_ Cardinal Wiseman,'

continued he, stooping to open it.

The gate was fast, and he had to alight and lift it off its hinges. Just as he had done so, and had got it sufficiently open for a horse to pa.s.s, George Cheek came up from behind, and slipped through before him.

'Oh, you unrighteous young renegade! Did ever mortal see sich an uncivilized trick?' roared Watchorn; adding, as he climbed on to his horse again, and went spluttering through the frozen turnips after the offender, 'You've no 'quaintance with Lord John Manners, I think!'

'Oh dear!--oh dear!' exclaimed he, as his horse nearly came on his head, 'but this is the most punishin' affair I ever was in at. Puseyism's nothin'

to it.' And thereupon he indulged in no end of anathemas at Slarkey for bringing the wrong fox.

'About time to take soundings, and cast anchor, isn't it?' gasped Captain Bouncey, toiling up red-hot on his pulling horse in a state of utter exhaustion, as Watchorn stood craneing and looking at a rasper through which Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters had pa.s.sed, without disturbing a twig.

'C--a--s--t anchor!' exclaimed Watchorn, in a tone of derision--'not this half-hour yet, I hope!--not this forty minnits yet, I hope;--not this hour and twenty minnits yet, I hope!' continued he, putting his horse irresolutely at the fence. The horse blundered through it, barking Watchorn's nose with a branch.

"Ord rot it, cut off my nose!' exclaimed he, m.u.f.fling it up in his hand.

'Cut off my nose clean by my face, I do believe,' continued he, venturing to look into his hand for it. 'Well,' said he, eyeing the slight stain of blood on his glove, 'this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. If ever I 'unt again in a frost, may I be ----. Thank goodness! they've checked at last!' exclaimed he, as the music suddenly ceased, and Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sat motionless together on their panting, smoking steeds.

Watchorn then stuck spurs to his horse, and being now on a flat rushy pasture, with a bridle-gate into the field where the hounds were casting, he hustled across, preparing his horn for a blow as soon as he got there.

'Tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g,' he went, riding up the hedgerow in the contrary direction to what the hounds leant. 'Tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g,' he continued, inwardly congratulating himself that the fox would never face the troop of urchins he saw coming down with their guns.

'Hang him!--he's never that way!' observed Mr. Sponge, _sotto voce_, to Miss Glitters. 'He's never that way,' repeated he, seeing how Frantic flung to the right.

'Tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g--tw.a.n.g,' went the horn, but the hounds regarded it not.

'Do, Mr. Sponge, put the hounds to me!' roared Mr. Watchorn, dreading lest they might hit off the scent.

Mr. Sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds were feathering, and giving them a slight cheer.

"Ord rot it!' roared Watchorn, '_do_ let 'em alone! that's a _fresh_ fox!

ours is over the 'ill,' pointing towards Bonnyfield Hill.

'Hoop!' hallooed Mr. Sponge, taking off his hat, as Frantic hit off the scent to the right, and Galloper, and Melody, and all the rest scored to cry.

'Oh, you confounded brown-bouted beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, returning his horn to its case, and eyeing Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sailing away with the again breast-high-scent pack. 'Oh, you exorbitant usurer!'

continued he, gathering his horse to skate after them. 'Well now, that's the most disgraceful proceedin' I ever saw in the whole course of my life.

Hang me, if I'll stand such work! Dash me, but I'll 'quaint the Queen!--I'll tell Sir George Grey! I'll write to Mr. Walpole! Fo-orrard!

fo-orrard!' hallooed he, as Bob Spangles and Bouncey popped upon him unexpectedly from behind, exclaiming with well-feigned glee, as he pointed to the streaming pack with his whip, "Ord dash it, but we're in for a good thing!'