Thutrsday, ^ehPUQiPy 15th, 1894. 



HIS is Mr. Sperling's day. His hounds 

 were called '' The Lamerton " before he 

 took them on, seven years ago. He is 

 not only an M.F.H., but also the owner of a pack of 

 harriers. The meet is Tregeare. I ride Robin 

 Hood. Mr. Sperling has, I am told, a horse, and a 

 very good one, of the same name. Perhaps the two 

 Robins may meet. The distance to Tregeare is 

 great. I arrive late. The lodge keeper closes the 

 gate against me, and points down the road on which 

 the hounds are. I catch them up in time to see 

 them thrown into covert. Find at once. And a 

 splendid run is the result. As there is no fair com- 

 panion with me to-day, I have time as I journey 

 home to dwell on the day's sport, and to ride the 

 run over again in my mind. I leave the description 

 of the hounds and their work to one better qualified 

 to write it. I am a stranger to the country, and 

 can give no better description of the day, which I 

 enjoyed in company with others, than is to be found 

 in the following ode 



