Scarcely, however, had he got his weed fairly _under weigh_, than the music of a pack of hounds broke suddenly on his ear from behind a high impervious bullfinch that sheltered one side of the grass-lane along which he was proceeding so leisurely. “Confound the brutes!” said Sawyer to himself, “here they are again!” As he opened the gate through which the track led into a sixty-acre pasture, the whole pack swept under his horse’s nose, running with sufficient energy to denote what sportsmen call a holding scent; they carried a capital head, and were forcing their fox at a pace which kept him going, but was not good enough to come up with him. It was just the sort of gallop that enables people who ride to hounds to look about them, and enjoy not only the sport, but the accompanying humours of the scene. In these days, a _real_ quick thing is such an affair of hurry, that the lucky few who are in it cannot spare a moment’s attention from anything but their horses’ ears. Had he been riding a donkey, it was not in Mr. Sawyer’s nature to abstain from turning the animal’s head towards the hounds under such temptation; moreover, he distinguished amongst the first flight his Harborough companions, including the pale face of the Honourable Crasher, who by “bucketing” Boadicea most unmercifully, had got there somehow, and appeared quite satisfied with his situation. What could our friend do, but cut in, and go to work at once? Marathon, excited by the turmoil, was fain to set his back up once more. He found, however, that the kicking was now all the other way. Taking him in a grasp that would have lifted a ton, Mr. Sawyer drove his spurs into the half-bred brute, and set him going close to the hounds at the best pace he could command. For a short distance, and when held well together, Marathon could stride away in a very imposing form. The sensation of having a lead is, in itself, provocative of emulation; behind our friend were four or five intimate companions, who were not likely to let him hear the last of any instance of “shirking” that should come under their notice. Close on their track were the flower of Leicestershire; and these again were succeeded, so to speak, by a whole army of camp-followers, “maddening in the rear.” Had the Styx been in front of him, he must have charged it “in or over.”