182 FOX-HOUND, FOHEST, AND PRAIRIE. 



call himself to account on the score of wasted opportunities, 

 in this line. There is another way of looking at it — without 

 running exactly counter to the admonition of carpe diem 

 aforestated. Six days a week (without a nap immediately 

 before or after dinner) will make the strongest man if not 

 actually stale, at least not every day sensitive of such ready and 

 keen enjoyment as he is well capable of when content with five. 

 I may be wrong ; but I could name few, if any, instances to the 

 contrary. Let each please himself as best he may or can. But 

 go for six days, go for five — go for one day a week — do not put 

 it off till after Christmas ! 



With the Grafton on Monday, Nov. 8 — after meeting at 

 Woodford, and realising once more the worth of the triplet — A 

 white frost, a bright sun, and a scentless morning. I think I 

 saw more foxes flitting from hounds on Monday than it was 

 ever my privilege to view before. During the early part of the 

 day, from Woodford, hounds pushed a line through Fawsley 

 Park in spite of a number of the deer running actually ivith 

 the pack. Yet not even a single puppy turned her head to the 

 tempting accompaniment. Surely hounds were seldom sub- 

 jected to a higher test ! It comes to memory, though (and I 

 quote altogether without any desire to discount the performance 

 above-mentioned) that the Rev. John Russell, of hallowed 

 memory, for ten years hunted fox, hare, and occasionally deer, 

 with one and the same pack — and he averred strongly that his- 

 hounds never changed from the animal under pursuit. Must 

 not this have been due to natural instinct rather than to deep 

 subjection ? — though his wondrous voice had, I believe, more 

 power to enforce his will among the deep rocky coombes of 

 Devonshire than the help of two ready whips would have con- 

 veyed for most men in an open and rideable country. 



Slowly they worked their way through the dread neigh- 

 bourhood of Fawsley — easy enough, however, with its mani- 

 fold gates at the present pace — to the wooded upland of 

 Mantel's Heath. There can be no shame in confessing — 

 what is common to all of vis hereabouts — a feeling of unmiti- 



