CHAPTER XXIV. 



FROST-BOUND STILL. 



NOTHER transformation scene, and here 

 we are again, shivering in the bitter, 

 biting wind, with horses eating their 

 heads off, and no chance of hunting for 

 ever so long, judging from appearances ; in fact, we 

 are in for a spell of winter weather, such as has 

 not been experienced since what was known as 

 " Murphy's " year, dating back, if I recollect rightly, 

 some forty years. I had fully determined to have 

 ridden with the Royal Buckhounds at Ascot on 

 Tuesday last, at which place they were advertised 

 to meet after their seclusion. Bitter blew the blast, 

 however, and a white frost and a cloudy sky pro- 

 claimed beyond all doubt that it was not a hunting 

 morning, consequently I lost the opportunity of see- 

 ing the "Queen's," and witnessing their perform- 

 ances after the necessary suspension of hunting, 

 under the unfortunate circumstances which have 

 recently befallen them. I was glad, however, to 

 hear the report which I made of them some ten 

 days since fully confirmed, having been informed 

 that no hounds could possibly look better; and as 

 I take a hopeful view of the case, I shall be greatly 



