"FLOWERS OF THE HUNT." 



BY FINCH MASON. 



1 



THE MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 



ALF-PAST TEN o'clock to a minute, and '' here 

 comes my lord," exclaims one of the many 

 sportsmen assembled at the meet of the old 

 Harkaway Hounds at No Man's Land. 



*' Punctual as clockwork, ain't he ? " remarks Farmer 

 Jowlekins, admiringly. '' Pity he isn't a bit more 

 affable though," adds he. 



Sooth to say. Lord Daisyfield is just a trifle too much 

 of the standoffish order to be a thoroughly popular Master 

 of Hounds. 



However, doing the whole thing at his own expense, 

 as he does, and, what is more, doing it uncommonly well, 

 and being a first-rate sportsman and horseman to boot 

 (not that the two always go together, for there are heaps 

 of men one knows who can ride like blazes, as the saying 

 is, but yet are shocking bad '' sportsmen " at heart — men 

 who would just as soon ride after a red herring as a fox 

 any day of the wxek, so long as they can gallop and jump 

 to their heart's content), no one can deny his being the 

 right man in the right place. 



I B 



