12 HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 



all, there is no fear that even the hardest riders 

 will press them over the line, for the stoutest 

 steeds will have enough to do to hold their own 

 in a quick thing when their hoofs sink deep at 

 every stride into stiff clay holding turf. In 

 South Essex they say it has never been wet 

 enough yet. Speaking from one's own exper- 

 ience of days when the pleasures of a run have 

 been followed by the discomfort of having a jog 

 slowly over hills swept by storms of wind and 

 torrents of rain, and to pull into a walk on hard 

 roads out of consideration for feet from which 

 shoes have been wrenched, and, judging from 

 the stains which Essex clay leaves on those who 

 have fathomed the depths of ditches for which 

 that country is famous, my opinion would hardly 

 be at one with those of the natives on this point. 

 The delight of a Master of hounds or his hunts- 

 man when he sees his darlings steaming over 

 wet fallows far ahead of the foremost horseman 

 is natural enough, but riders left wearily toiling 

 in rear can hardly be expected to participate 

 fully in this enthusiasm. One does not, how- 

 ever, feel inclined to grumble at anything that 

 permits of hunting, after having been deprived 

 of its pleasures by many weeks of frost ; and I 

 must freely confess that the Essex Union 

 country, under any circumstances, presents 

 attractions for me that would counterbalance 

 many more serious drawbacks than have ever 

 fallen to my lot there. Leicestershire men 

 would, as a matter of course, despise it as slow 

 and uninteresting. If pace were the only thing 

 for which a man hunted, all of us might agree 



