He’s on! no, he’s off, he hangs by the mane!

[Illustration:  ‘LET MR. BUGLES THROUGH’]

At last he got shuffled back into the saddle, and the cry of hounds in cover attracting the outsiders back, the scene quickly changed, and the horsemen were again overhead in wood.  They now swept up the grass ride to the exposed part of the higher ground, the trees gradually diminishing in size, till, on reaching the top, they did not come much above a horse’s shoulder.  This point commanded a fine view over the adjacent country.  Behind was the rich vale of Dairylow, with its villages and spires, and trees and enclosures, while in front was nothing but the undulating, wide-stretching downs, reaching to the soft grey hills in the distance.  There was not, however, much time for contemplating scenery; for Wily Tom, who had stolen to this point immediately the hounds took up the scent, now viewed the fox stealing over a gap in the wall, and, the field catching sight, there was such a hullabaloo as would have made a more composed and orderly minded fox think it better to break instead of running the outside of the wall as this one intended to do.  What wind there was swept over the downs; and putting himself straight to catch it, he went away whisking his brush in the air, as if he was fresh out of his kennel instead of a sack.  Then what a commotion there was!  Such jumpings off to lead down, such huggings and holdings, and wooa-ings of those that sat on, such slidings and scramblings, and loosenings and rollings of stones.  Then the frantic horses began to bound, and the frightened riders to exclaim: 

‘Do get out of my way, sir.’

‘Mind, sir!  I’m a-top of you!’

‘Give him his head and let him go!’ exclaimed the still drunken brother Bob Spangles, sliding his horse down with a slack rein.

‘That’s your sort!’ roared Sir Harry, and just as he said it, his horse dropped on his hind-quarters like a rabbit, landing Sir Harry comfortably on his feet, amid the roars of the foot-people, and the mirth of such of the horsemen as were not too frightened to laugh.

‘I think I’ll stay where I am,’ observed Mr. Bugles, preparing for a bird’s-eye view where he was.  ‘This hunting,’ said he, getting off the fidgety Arab, ‘seems dangerous.’

The parties who accomplished the descent had now some fine plain sailing for their trouble.  The line lay across the open downs, composed of sound, springy, racing-like turf, extremely well adapted for trying the pace either of horses or hounds.  And very soon it did try the pace of them, for they had not gone above a mile before there was very considerable tailing with both.  To be sure, they had never been very well together, but still the line lengthened instead of contracting.  Horses that could hardly be held downhill, and that applied themselves to the turf, on landing, as if they could never have enough of it, now began to bear upon the rein and hang back