THE OOTACAMUND HOUNDS. 1G9 



The fertile Nunginade valley is the course, and as pretty a 

 one as our country could afford. Turf stretches alongside its 

 stream for several miles, and the pack are raging over it still a 

 hundred and fifty yards ahead. Now we plunge in and out of a 

 ford ; now we cross again and fly it, Thomas alighting in a bog, 

 but up again, a little dirtier, in a moment. The pace is awful ; 

 Mrs. Phantom and the grey are the only ones who look likely 

 to last long. Three miles along the valley ; then, as it curved, 

 straight up the opposite rise. What fiends are these hill 

 jackals ! No fox that ever heard a view holloa could live in 

 front of hounds like this. Forty minutes to some rocky crags, 

 and he has beat us clean ! Not a horse can wag ; and for the 

 last five minutes our pace has been but a crawl. 



That was one run. Very few lines must suffice for another 

 of a fortnight later, when the monsoon had broken, and cloudy 

 weather admitted of a meet at the charming and familiar hour 

 of eleven. A large field in consequence. Two jackals on foot 

 at two o'clock, one of which sought his own destruction by 

 getting to ground where hounds could reach him — a job which 

 they accomplished with much satisfaction to themselves. 

 Moving from the spot, a line was spoken to, not two hundred 

 yards away. " It's the old line" was the scientific remark pro- 

 nounced by more than one Nimrod of the Ooty Hunt ; and 

 when the direction followed was seen to be exactly the converse 

 of the one taken half-an-hour before, their opinion was duly 

 strengthened. Strange to say, the line was not an old one ; 

 twenty-five minutes' at racing speed ensued, while many of the 

 philosophers remained wonderingly at the starting point. Met 

 by some woodcutters, our jackal lay down, eventually sneaking 

 back upon us and gaining time. We had nineteen couple out, 

 and they hunted from one grassy slope to another till they 

 wore him to death at the end of two hours and five minutes — 

 every hound up, and old Fretful (who had previously done her 

 six seasons with the Craven and Quorn, but who is younger 

 than ever now) having puzzled out more than one subtle 



