CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 267 



" A southerly wind and a cloudy sky " used to be 

 the huntsman of old's delight, but we confess we have 

 no objection to sun. We don't get so much of it in 

 England that we can afford to shut it out even for 

 hunting. Sun adds cheerful brilliancy to any scene 

 to a grand foxhunting finale as much as to anything. 

 All nature looks smiling and gay. There can be 

 nothing gayer or livelier than a well-grouped kill on 

 a bright day, in the middle of a large pasture like 

 those about Naseby. The led horses forming the 

 outer circle, the dismounted red coats mopping them- 

 selves on foot, the huntsman, with uplifted fox, in the 

 middle of the baying pack, the echoing whoo whoops 

 of the whips, and ever and anon the unexpected 

 arrival of some unfortunate outcast brim full of excuses 

 for not being up. 



Such a scene was it on the day we have been de- 

 scribing. The Squire was delighted ! All the " ups " 

 were rejoiced, even the lagging lane and line riders 

 were pleased with the country they had passed 

 through, and all joined in testifying their unqualified 

 approbation of the pack, and asserted their perfect 

 readiness to be continually going before the Lord 

 Mayor to make affidavit that Osbaldeston's were the 

 " best hounds in England ! " 



Who, we should like to know, ever hunted with a 

 pack that were not occasionally the best ? 



The Squire, seeing Mr. Milksop well up, and re- 

 collecting that he was one of the unfortunate wights 

 he had " blessed " in the run, most politely handed 

 him the brush, with an intimation that he had gone un- 

 commonly well, and he was glad they had had such a 

 good day for his first. The stranger having acknow- 

 ledged the compliment, and tipped Jack Stevens a 

 sov., as Jem Bland used to call them, sought his led 

 horse, and, brush in hand, retired from the field in 

 quest of his own. 



We must now return to our friend Captain Shabby- 



