262 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



out of being. Horses are useless ; hounds cannot be allowed 

 to do anything, beyond eating a fox that won't run — and, in 

 fact, foxhunting is a farce, so far as the present month is 

 concerned. Happy ye, who so often " lose the best month of 

 the year " — as we put it, while you are gunning, or you are 

 racing. 



Pytchley came to Badby Wood — on a hunting morning such 

 as this October has flung in our faces from the very beginning. 

 " Take the change out of this " — says October, day after day, 

 and week after week. " Blame September, and all the summer 

 — but for fairness sake say never a word against me. Had the 

 others been ready, I have been willing enough." But the 

 temper of the ground could be mollified by no sweet counten- 

 ance of air and sky. Its face is sternly set against the sport ; 

 and till its hard and wrinkled visage be softened and smoothed, 

 it will continue to ignore and repel our trifling. 



Saturday, Nov. 12, was a cool, crisp, brilliant day as regards 

 weather, and altogether replete with the best new phases of 

 enjoyable Autumn. The turf had at length yielded in no 

 slight degree to the storms and showers of the previous week 

 — which had at the same time stripped the hedges and laid 

 bare such ditches as had retained any summer blind. There 

 was the gladdening presence of inoppressive sunshine, and a 

 soothing absence of blustering wind. Men in most instances 

 retained the easy, if ungraceful, garb that pertains to the 

 hunting of cub and red deer. So they robbed the scene of no 

 little of its gaiety ; and with their redcoats, had possibly left 

 something of their energy in silver paper at home. Else why 

 did hounds slip them again and so readily from Badby Wood ? 



For 'tis not only in Cheshire that " we are all of us tailors 

 in turn," believe me. Mr. Burton, however, has kept touch of 

 Badby Wood for too many years to be thus easily misled. 

 To follow such a natural pilot should, one would think, have 

 been a common instinct. He would have led us all back over 

 the wooded brow in ample time to see Charles' cap going 

 briskly and his cheery scream resounding, while he laid hounds 



