The Bore of the Hunt, 1 89 



comes to of any importance is sure to stop him, and, after 

 that, the string of excuses for not being on the spot at the 

 finale is quite bewildering. He always rides well-bred 

 ones, who would be only too happy to go if their master 

 would but let them, and it is sickening to watch this 

 blustering impostor, after making his horse refuse a fence, 

 pretend to be furious thereat, hitting him over the head, 

 and calling him all manner of opprobrious names. But it 

 is after dinner, when, as they say in Ireland, the "drink's 

 in him," that the bold '' Bowwow " barks loudest, and (in 

 imagination) rides hardest. Foxhunting coming on the 

 tapis, he will enquire of his neighbour, if he should happen, 

 unfortunately for himself, to be a hunting-man, what, in 

 his opinion, is the best run he ever was in. His visitor, 

 probably answering that he really don't recollect, the 

 Captain forthwith goes off at score, and pours into the 

 poor man's ear an account of the best run he ever saw. 

 'Twas with that celebrated pack, the V.H.W., otherwise 

 the Vale of Hogwash Hounds, on which occasion Bow- 

 wow, if he is to be believed (which he isn't), divided the 

 honours of the day with the huntsman, the rest of the field 

 being out of sight at the finish." Another of his favourite 

 forms of speech is : '^ I was up in town yesterday, and ran 

 up against so-and-so, whom I haven't seen for years. ' By 

 Jove,' he said, ' Barker, what an age it is since you and I 

 met ! The last time I saw you, you were riding over the 

 biggest gate I think I ever saw in my life.* And, now I 

 come to think of it," Bowwow will go on, " it was a big gate, 

 sir! I'll tell you how it was, &c., &c., &c." 



Old Baron Markey Munchausen, on the other hand, 

 is not half such a bore, his lying being positively quite 

 artistic at times. About the biggest "whopper," as 



