bserved corners where their owners can try to mount
without being seen by the assembled multitude. Sintram executes a
war-dance on his hind legs, to the delight of some schoolboys in a
wagonette, the terror of their fair companions and the extreme disgust
of his mistress at having to practice the _haute ecole_ before so large
an audience. Ah, my poor Sintram! He danced once too often, and one fine
day came to a sad end by falling backward and breaking his neck.

Tom now comes up to the master: "Shall we go, sir?"

"Yes--now, I think."

A crack of the whips and away trots Tom, followed by his splendid pack
and his two whippers-in. Then comes the master, and we all crowd after
them pell-mell with horses plunging and kicking, and as soon as we are
fairly out in the open a kind of stampede takes place among the unruly
young ones, and we see many an involuntary steeple-chase over the smooth
green cricket-ground. Through the dark avenues of fir trees we canter to
the temple, a little summerhouse on a promontory in the sea of wood that
lies below, and we stand admiring the far blue distant view away to the
Hogsback and the South Downs beyond Basingstoke as the hounds begin
their work. There they are: you can see their twinkling tails as they
draw the heather-covered slopes beneath us and disappear among the
golden-brown bracken, while one of the whips plunges down after them and
shakes a shower of amber leaves from the silver birches as he brushes
past them.

Something streaks away down a green drive. A young hound gives tongue,
but his note of triumph quickly changes to a yelp as the vigilant whip
catches him with the tip of his long lash and roars, "War'[1] hare!"
Poor little man! He has tried to run what is called a "short-tailed
fox," and returns to the pack a sadder and a wiser dog. But now the
tails twinkle faster than ever. A low whimper from some of the old
hounds, then a burst of joyous music from the pack.

"Gone away!" yells Tom, standing up in his stirrups and tooting his
horn.

Then that unmistakable screech which is supposed to mean "Tally-ho!"
from a group of beaters and keepers in the distance, and there, against
the park-palings, a beautiful red thing scudding along the soft ride,
flat to the ground, his bushy tail flying straight behind him. Reynard
himself! Now let all look out for themselves. Adieu, carriages! adieu,
poor pedestrians! We are off, and shall not see you again till
dinner-time. Through