has got his "monkey" completely up, pushes forward while his master is
yet stooping--and hitting him in the rear, knocks him clean through the
fence, head foremost into a squire-trap beyond!--"Non redolet sed olet!"
exclaims the Yorkshireman, who dismounts in a twinkling, lending his
friend a hand out of the unsavoury cesspool.--"That's what comes of
hunting in a new[12] saddle, you see," added he, holding his nose.
Jorrocks scrambles upon "terra firma" and exhibits such a spectacle as
provokes the shouts of the field. He has lost his wig, his hat hangs to
his back, and one side of his person and face is completely japanned
with black odoriferous mixture. "My vig!" exclaims he, spitting and
spluttering, "but that's the nastiest hole I ever was in--Fleet Ditch is
lavender-water compared to it! Hooi yonder!" hailing a lad, "Catch
my 'oss, boouy!" Tom Hills has him; and Jorrocks, pocketing his wig,
remounts, rams his spurs into the nag, and again tackles with the pack,
which had come to a momentary check on the Eden Bridge road. The fox
has been headed by a party of gipsies, and, changing his point, bends
southward and again reaches the hills, along which some score of
horsemen have planted themselves in the likeliest places to head him.
Reynard, however, is too deep for them, and has stolen down unperceived.
Poor Jorrocks, what with the violent exertion of riding, his fall, and
the souvenir of the cesspool that he still bears about him, pulls up
fairly exhausted. "Oh, dear," says he, scraping the thick of the filth
off his coat with his whip, "I'm reglarly blown, I earn't go down with
the 'ounds this turn; but, my good fellow," turning to the Yorkshireman,
who was helping to purify him, "don't let me stop you, go down by all
means, but mind, bear in mind the quarter of house-lamb--at half-past
five to a minute."

[Footnote 12: There is a superstition among sportsmen that they are sure
to get a fall the first day they appear in anything new.]