57 



CHAPTER VI. 



A CHRISTMAS WEEK IN HAMPSHIKE. 



Hampshire, from a hunting point of view, is rather 

 a weak brief to take up, some people will say. Well, 

 perhaps it is ; but in common honesty I have to 

 admit that I have some enjoyable recollections of 

 that county of ploughs, hops, and woodlands. I 

 had better say at once that of the greatest Hamp- 

 shire woodland of all, the New Forest, I do not 

 propose to speak in this paper, but rather to see if 

 I can recall some pleasant days in the open. 



Passing by my first season in Hampshire — a short 

 one, and one of the worst on record everywhere — I 

 come at once to the second, which was five years 

 later. As before, Aldershot was my headquarters. 

 This, probably, is about the very worst centre for 

 Hampshire hunting — especially for those who do not 

 use the train. 



Christmas week, however, afforded some decent 

 sport. It began really on the Saturday before. On 

 that day the H.H., meeting at the Golden Pot, found 

 a fox at Shaldon a few minutes before one. Of 

 course he wanted to make for Weston Common — 

 that bugbear of hunting in north - east Hampshire. 

 However, for once the combined vocal efforts of the 



