Sponge mounted, as would have shot a loose rider into the air. As it
was, Mr. Sponge grappled manfully with him, and, letting the Latchfords
into his sides, shoved him in front of the throng, as if nothing had
happened. Mr. Leather then slunk back to the stables, to get out the hack
to have a hunt in the distance.
The hounds, as we said before, were desperately wild; but at length, by
dint of coaxing and cracking, and whooping and hallooing, they got some ten
couples out of the five-and-twenty gathered together, and Mr. Watchorn,
putting himself at their head, trotted briskly on, blowing most lustily, in
the hopes that the rest would follow. So he clattered along the avenue,
formed between rows of sombre-headed firs and sweeping spruce, out of which
whirred clouds of pheasants, and scuttling rabbits, and stupid hares kept
crossing and recrossing, to the derangement of Mr. Watchorn's temper, and
the detriment of the unsteady pack. Squeak, squeak, squeal sounded right
and left, followed sometimes by the heavy retributive hand of Justice on
the offenders' hides, and sometimes by the snarl, snap, and worry of a
couple of hounds contending for the prey.
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