Digital primer

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.


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