To every shrub the warm effluvia cling,
Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.
With nostrils opening wide, o'er hill, o'er dale,
The vig'rous hounds pursue, with ev'ry breath,
Inhale the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting
Their tingling nerves, while their thanks repay,
And in triumphant melody confess
The titillating joy. Thus on the air
Depends the hunter's hopes."
Mr. Beckford, equally energetic in his endeavours to discover and ascertain the origin and property of SCENT, very modestly confesses his state of uncertainty, in a few lines preparatory to his remarks made in a letter to his friend, where he observes, "As you ask me my opinion of SCENT, I think I had better give it you before we begin upon the subject of HUNTING. I must, at the same time, take the liberty of telling you, that you have puzzled me exceedingly; for scent is, I believe, what we SPORTSMEN know least about. Somervile, the only one I know of who has thrown any light upon the subject of HUNTING, says, I think, but little about scent; I send you his words: I shall afterwards add a few of my own." Adverting then to the conclusion of the above quotation, he most judiciously proceeds: