into the jaws of his much more fatal enemy.

"As long as them blackguards is there, a hollowing, and a screeching,
divil a fox in all Ireland'd go out of this," said Mick to his master.

"Ah, boys," said Frank, riding up, "if you want to see a hunt, will you
keep back!"

"Begorra we will, yer honer," said one.

"Faix--we wouldn't be afther spiling your honer's divarsion, my lord,
on no account," said another.

"We'll be out o' this althogether, now this blessed minute," said a
third, but still there they remained, each loudly endeavouring to
banish the others.

At last, however, the fox saw a fair course before him, and away he
went; and with very little start, for the dogs followed him out of the
covert almost with a view.

And now the men settled themselves to the work, and began to strive
for the pride of place, at least the younger portion of them: for in
every field there are two classes of men. Those who go out to get the
greatest possible quantity of riding, and those whose object is to get
the least. Those who go to work their nags, and those who go to spare
them. The former think that the excellence of the hunt depends on the
horses; the latter, on the dogs. The former go to act, and the latter
to see. And it is very generally the case that the least active part of
the community know the most about the sport.

They, the less active part above alluded to, know every high-road and
bye-road; they consult the wind, and calculate that a fox won't run
with his nose against it; they remember this stream and this bog, and
avoid them; they are often at the top of eminences, and only descend
when they see which way the dogs are going; they take short cuts, and
lay themselves out for narrow lanes; they dislike galloping, and eschew
leaping; and yet, when a hard-riding man is bringing up his two hundred
guinea hunter, a minute or two late for the finish, covered with foam,
trembling with his exertion, not a breath left in him--he'll probably
find one of these steady fellows there before him, mounted on a
broken-down screw, but as cool and as fresh as when he was brought out
of the stable; and what is, perhaps, still more amazing, at the end of
the day, when the hunt is canvassed after dinner, our dashing friend,
who is in great doubt whether his thoroughbred steeplechaser will ever
recover his day's work, and who has been personally administering warm
mashes and bandages before he would venture to take his own bo