TYTCULEY. 281 



sheer disappointment. When at length they hunted him 

 whither he had no intention of going, the day grew worse, and 

 scent began to fail. I happened to find a little episode to 

 amuse me — but this was enacted in strict privacy, and has no 

 business to be reproduced here. But, as I have an old-time 

 respect for the main actor, and "for fear my spare rib should 

 ache against a jest untold," I must have it out. He is a 

 sportsman of the old school, and his saddle was built for a 

 bigger man. He galloped to a gate — but the black bullocks 

 beat him on the post : so, going faster than the " quad of his 

 own breeding," he shot into their midst. Being a man of 

 reading, he had long ago accepted Assheton Smith's doctrine 

 that one " never looks such a fool as when running after one's 

 horse " — and, accordingly, he stuck to the bridle with all the 

 •strength of manhood and despair. The "quad" didn't mind 

 that ; but the bullocks did — and the quad minded them. The 

 oxen lowered their lengthy horns and bellowed amain. The 

 sportsman hung on — the quad held back. The arena was 

 knee-deep in the rich belongings that surround straw crates 

 and cake troughs. You have read Selous' graphic tales of lion 

 killing ? You remember well how the Boer lion hunter, tied 

 by his wrist to the saddle rope, was dragged before a raging- 

 monster that he meant to shoot ? This was exactly a parallel 

 position. The horse backed away from the roaring bullocks, 

 and the sportsman, altogether unaware of his peril, ploughed 

 the mire with his back at the bidding of his frightened steed — 

 while the black bullocks bellowed at his heels. How it ended, 

 I know not. There seemed no immediate danger. On the 

 contrary, all the parties concerned appeared eminently pleased 

 and fitted fully into the play. Hounds were running — and I 

 dared not laugh, lest my little story be spoiled or my sense of 

 the obligations of friendship maligned. 



Storm of rain saved this fox, and drove the multitude under 

 cow-hovels and behind haystacks (hounds in full tune) — for, 

 mind you, many a bright red coat, though it may be water- 

 proof, is not yet beyond its first freshness, and the age of purple 



