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 pass,
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 passed, 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, muffling 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