d men of Robert's own undetermined class, and
there was hardly a horse out who was more than four years old, saving
two or three who were nineteen. Robert pushed through them and turned up
a bohireen--_i.e._, a narrow and incredibly badly made lane--and I
presently heard him cheering the hounds into covert. As to that covert,
imagine a hill that in any civilised country would be called a mountain:
its nearer side a cliff, with just enough slope to give root-hold to
giant furze bushes, its summit a series of rocky and boggy terraces,
trending down at one end into a ravine, and at the other becoming merged
in the depths of an aboriginal wood of low scrubby oak trees. It seemed
as feasible to ride a horse over it as over the roof of York Minster. I
hadn't the vaguest idea what to do or where to go, and I clave to Jerry
the Whip.

The hounds were scrambling like monkeys along the side of the hill; so
were the country boys with their curs; old Trinder moved parallel with
them along its base. Jerry galloped away to the ravine, and there
dismounting, struggled up by zig-zag cattle paths to the comparative
levels of the summit. I did the same, and was pretty well blown by the
time I got to the top, as the filly scorned the zigzags, and hauled me
up as straight as she could go over the rocks and furze bushes. A few
other fellows had followed us, and we all pursued on along the top of
the hill.

Suddenly Jerry stopped short and held up his hand. A hound spoke below
us, then another, and then came a halloa from Jerry that made the filly
quiver all over. The fox had come up over the low fence that edged the
cliff, and was running along the terrace in front of us. Old Robert
below us--I could almost have chucked a stone on to him--gave an
answering screech, and one by one the hounds fought their way up over
the fence and went away on the line, throwing their tongues in a style
that did one good to hear. Our only way ahead lay along a species of
trench between the hill, on whose steep side we were standing, and the
cliff fence. Jerry kicked the spurs into his good ugly little horse, and
making him jump down into the trench, squeezed along it after the
hounds. But the delay of waiting for them had got the filly's temper up.
When I faced her at the trench she reared, and whirled round, and
pranced backwards in, considering the circumstances, a highly
discomposing way. The rest of the field crowded through the furze past
me and down i