Tuesday, pebfuafy 13th, 1894. 13 



point as two lively gloves are in it. I feel them 

 dancing on the top of my head and beating time to 

 horse's trot. My necktie too bothers me. It has 

 been creeping up the back of my head higher and 

 higher till stopped by brim of hat. And my breast- 

 pin is so near my nose that it makes me squint. I 

 must be more like a Guy Fawkes than a gay fox- 

 hunter. This is not what I had intended. My usual 

 hunting get-up is perfect ; and my arrival at the 

 covert side creates quite a flutter in the dovecot. I 

 arrive at the "meet," but there is no one to welcome 

 me. All for the best, perhaps, under my present 

 dilapidated circumstances. Hounds have moved off. 

 I follow on to the covert, which is close by. Presently 

 a lady trots down a cross-ride and approaches me. 

 I salute her in my usual courtly style. When hat is 

 removed, out flutter the gloves like a conjuror's pair 

 of pigeons. Effect startling ; but not good. In fact 

 my bow is spoilt by those ungrateful elves, who are 

 amusing themselves at my expense, as they have 

 been doing the whole way to covert. And are, 

 perhaps, looking forward to the fun of making me 

 reveal to the lady the ragged state of my nether gar- 

 ments. If so, this part of their joke is spoilt, for a 

 young lad chances to be near, and restores these 

 wicked gloves to me. Lucky ! as the lady is on my 

 near side. She passes on down a ride crossed by 

 deep, boggy ditches and blind drains. I decide not 



