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hare, riot upon dog, riot upon deer, riot upon cat, riot upon 

 goat, riot upon badger, riot upon skunk, riot upon porcupine — 

 all these have come under my ken in East or West — but never, 

 no never, dear friend, riot upon turkey ! And on the part of a 

 clever old hound too — fie, for shame ! Strange things are said 

 to have happened in Georgia, 



"Where the turkeys gobbled that the commissariat found ; 

 How the darkies shouted when they heard the good old sound ! 



— but it was not for fox, nor was it for Christmas fare. 



PYTCHLEY. 



I LOOK upon Saturday last, Dec. 17, with the Pytchley at 

 Badby Wood, as instancing as hard a day's work as is often 

 carried through by hounds and men (I mean the executive, not 

 the casual accompanyists). Eighteen miles to covert, eighteen 

 miles home after five o'clock, were only preface and conclu- 

 sion — the meantime being occupied as follows. 



Badby Wood — as, if you live and hunt in these parts (where 

 no one is held to live at all unless it be for hunting), you 

 probably know as well as I do — is a covert in which nothing 

 remains for long, except the bulk of the field. Hunted by two 

 packs, and preserved by one who might well take post as the 

 Nestor of both Hunts, it is a playground on which the ball is 

 kept almost continually rolling. And the rich grass of Fawsley 

 has scarce time to grow under the players' feet, Foxes fear 

 nothing here save horn and hound : and the note of either has 

 the effect of a catapult upon their wide-awake nerves. On the 

 other hand, nobody would have the effrontery to dub a Pytchley 

 field drowsy, sluggard, or unambitious. Set the man who 

 would dare such aspersion to see a gallop in their company 

 where the timber comes strongest round Waterloo ! Or, for 

 variety's sake, pin him with a gouty foot on either leg to take 

 his chance through the bridle-gates of Stanford Hall ! No — 



