ng of cart-horses. All were bent on going as far as they could--all
except Jawleyford, who sat curvetting and prancing in the patronizing sort
of way gentlemen do who encourage hounds for the sake of the manly spirit
the sport engenders, and the advantage hunting is of in promoting our
unrivalled breed of horses.

His lordship having slipped away, horn in hand, under pretence of blowing
the hounds out of cover, as soon as he set Jack at the field, had now got a
good start, and, horse well in hand, was sailing away in their wake.

'F-o-o-r-r-ard!' screamed Frostyface, coming up alongside of him, holding
his horse--a magnificent thoroughbred bay--well by the head, and settling
himself into his saddle as he went.

'F-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship, thrusting his spectacles on to his
nose.

'Twang--twang--twang,' went the huntsman's deep-sounding horn.

'T'weet--t'weet--t'weet,' went his lordship's shriller one.

'In for a stinger, my lurd,' observed Jack, returning his horn to the case.

'Hope so,' replied his lordship, pocketing his.

They then flew the first fence together.

'F-o-r-r-ard!' screamed Jack in the air, as he saw the hounds packing well
together, and racing with a breast-high scent.

'F-o-r-rard!' screamed his lordship, who was a sort of echo to his
huntsman, just as Jack Spraggon was echo to his lordship.

'He's away for Gunnersby Craigs,' observed Jack, pointing that way, for
they were a good ten miles off.

'Hope so,' replied his lordship, for whom the distance could never be too
great, provided the pace corresponded.

'F-o-o-r-rard!' screamed Jack.

'F-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship.

So they went flying and 'forrarding' together; none of the field--thanks to
Jack Spraggon--being able to overtake them.

'Y-o-o-nder he goes!' at last cried Frosty, taking off his cap as he viewed
the fox, some half-mile ahead, stealing away round the side of Newington
Hill.

'Tallyho!' screeched his lordship, riding with his flat hat in the air, by
way of exciting the striving field to still further exertion.

'He's a good 'un!' exclaimed Frosty, eyeing the fox's going.

'He is that!' replied his lordship, staring at him with all his might.

Then they rode on, and were presently rounding Newington Hill themselves,
the hounds packing well together, and carrying a famous head.

His lordship now looked to see what was going on behind.

Scrambleford Hill was far in the rear. Jawleyford and the boy