‘Which way did you go, then?’ asked Jack, who had listened with the attention of a man who knows every yard of the country.

‘Well,’ continued his lordship, casting back to where he got his fall, ’the fox crossed the Coatenburn township, picking all the plough and bad-scenting ground as he went, but it was of no use, his fate was sealed; and though he began to run short, and dodge and thread the hedge-rows, they hunted him yard by yard till he again made an effort for his life, and took over Mossingburn Moor, pointing for Penrose Tower on the hill.  Here Frosty’s horse, Little Jumper, declined, and we left him standing in the middle of the moor with a stiff neck, kicking and staring and looking mournfully at his flanks.  Daddy Longlegs, too, had begun to sob, and in vain I looked back in hopes of seeing Jack-a-Dandy coming up.  “Well,” said I to myself, “I’ve got a pair of good strong boots on, and I’ll finish the run on foot but I’ll see it”; when, just at the moment, the pack broke from scent to view and rolled the fox up like a hedgehog amongst them.’

‘Well done!’ exclaimed Jack, adding, ‘that was a run with a vengeance!’ ‘Wasn’t it?’ replied his lordship, rubbing his hands and stamping; ’the finest run that ever was seen—­the finest run that ever was seen!’

‘Why, it couldn’t be less than twelve miles from point to point,’ observed Jack, thinking it over.

‘Not a yard,’ replied his lordship, ’not a yard, and from fourteen to fifteen as the hounds ran.’

‘It would be all that,’ assented Jack.  ‘How long were you in doing it?’ he asked.

‘An hour and forty minutes,’ replied his lordship; ’an hour and forty minutes from the find to the finish’; adding, ’I’ll stick the brush and present it to Mrs. Springwheat.’

‘It’s to be hoped Springy’s out of the brook,’ observed Jack.

‘To be hoped so,’ replied his lordship, thinking, if he wasn’t whether he should marry Mrs. Springwheat or not.

Well now, after all that, we fancy we hear our fair friends exclaim, ’Thank goodness, there’s an end of Lord Scamperdale and his hunting; he has had a good run, and will rest quiet for a time; we shall now hear something of Amelia and Emily, and the doings at Jawleyford Court.’  Mistaken lady!  If you are lucky enough to marry an out-and-out fox-hunter, you will find that a good run is only adding fuel to the fire, only making him anxious for more.  Lord Scamperdale’s sporting fire was in full blaze.  His bumps and his thumps, his rolls, and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties and perfections of the thing.  He cared nothing for his hat-crown, no; nor for his coat-lap either.  Nay, he wouldn’t have cared if it had been made into a spencer.

‘What’s to-day?  Monday,’ said his lordship, answering himself.  ‘Monday,’ he repeated; ’Monday—­bubble-and-squeak, I guess—­sooner it’s ready the better, for I’m half-famished—­didn’t do half-justice to that nice breakfast at Springy’s.  That nasty brown-booted buffer completely threw me off my feed.  By the way, what became of the chestnut-booted animal?’