The rail, though not high, was strong and ugly. There was a nasty deep blind ditch on the taking-off side, and nothing but gorse-bushes to land in. I did not seem to care much about entering the covert at this point; but whilst I was deliberating the matter in my own mind, and Tipple Cider was doing all he could to get at the rail, tail first or anyhow, a horn resounded from the opposite side of the covert; the music of the hounds running, which had greeted us ever since we got within ear-shot, suddenly ceased: though I could see nothing of them, I could distinctly hear the rush of horses galloping up the adjacent pasture. It was evident they had gone away; and equally incontestable that we had lost our start. Tips blazed up into excitement at once; he made no more ado, but caught the four-year-old short by the head, rammed both spurs in, and, notwithstanding an abortive kick or two, forced him over the rail, striking it hard with fore and hind legs. Tipple Cider, fired with emulation, took the bit in his teeth, and had me over it, clear and clean, before I was aware. The next instant, leaping and plunging through the gorse-bushes, I was following Tips at the best pace I could muster, to get after the hounds. My blood rose with the motion, my horse dropped to his bit, my pilot chose an easy, though devious path; if everything had gone right, I think at that moment I could have ridden fairly and boldly enough. As we rounded the slight acclivity on which the gorse was planted, a beautiful panorama was spread out before us. Already two fields ahead, the hounds were running hard, evidently with a capital scent, followed at different intervals by the scattering field, all fresh as fire, and every man taking the place to which he felt his skill and daring entitled him. Nearest ourselves I recognised Mr. Naggett, striding away on the mealy chestnut with a great display of enthusiasm and hard riding, his feet stuck out, his elbows up to his ears, and his blue coat-tails flying in the wind. He was diverging, nevertheless, slightly from the line of chase, and making vigorously for the gate, which old Ike, whose active feet had already taken him there, was hurriedly unfastening. Two or three dark coats and the second whip seemed also inclined to avail themselves of this convenient egress; the body of the field, however, were charging the fence boldly (a fair hedge and ditch), making for the places that had been leaped by their leaders in the first flight. I saw Plumtree jump it on his steady hunter; but I observed by the way in which he pulled the old horse out of his stride, upsetting the equanimity even of that experienced animal, that his nerves were by no means up to the mark. The Earl and Will Hawke, a hundred yards or so ahead of these, were close to the hounds. “Pop,” too, on the white horse, had got a capital start, and was blazing away as if he had a second horse in every field, and a spare neck in his pocket. Rather in