and unexpected an event) the quarrels of the hounds, as they dispute
with each other the possession of their victim's remains, when suddenly
a gentleman, clad in a bright green silk-velvet shooting-coat, with
white leathers, and Hessian boots with large tassels, carrying his Joe
Manton on his shoulder, issues from an adjoining coppice, and commences
a loud complaint of the "unhandsome conduct of the gentlemen's 'ounds in
devouring the 'are (hare) which he had taken so much pains to shoot."
Scarcely are these words out of his mouth than the whole hunt, from
Jorrocks downwards, let drive such a rich torrent of abuse at our
unfortunate _chasseur_, that he is fain to betake himself to his heels,
leaving them undisputed masters of the field.

The visages of our sportsmen become dismally lengthened on finding that
their fox has been "gathered unto his fathers" by means of hot lead and
that villainous saltpetre "digged out of the bowels of the harmless
earth"; some few, indeed, there are who are bold enough to declare that
the pack has actually made a meal of a hare, and that their fox is
snugly earthed in the neighbouring cover. However, as there are no
"reliquias Danaum," to prove or disprove this assertion, Tom Hills,
having an eye to the cap-money, ventures to give it as his opinion,
that pug has fairly yielded to his invincible pursuers, without having
"dropped to shot." This appearing to give very general satisfaction, the
first whip makes no scruple of swearing that he saw the hounds pull him
down fairly; and Peckham, drawing his mouth up on one side, with his
usual intellectual grin, takes a similar affidavit. The Bromley barber
too, anxious to have it to say that he has for once been in at the death
of a fox, vows by his beard that he saw the "varmint" lathered in style;
and these protestations being received with clamorous applause, and
everyone being pleased to have so unusual an event to record to his
admiring spouse, agrees that a fox has not only been killed, but killed