Colonel HnstnUbev UlJomson 287 



among the boughs of which were hung the joints which 

 had so robbed the circumambient air of its natural 

 sweetness, a kennel was soon espied. 



' Addressing a light, neat-looking man who was digging 

 his garden close to the kennel, he was asked if we could be 

 permitted to see the hounds. " Certainly, gentlemen," 

 was the reply in rich Irish brogue. " I'm the huntsman, 

 and will show them with pleasure." Laying down his 

 spade and putting on his coat, he opened the kennel 

 door and let out about as miscellaneous a looking lot of 

 dwarf foxhounds as might be found in a long day's 

 march. "You will be pleased to know," said I, "that 

 you are showing your pack to the best judge of hounds 

 in England — a gentleman of whom you have probably 

 often heard — Colonel Anstruther Thomson." 



' " Oh, indeed have I," was the answer. " Colonel 

 Atherstone Thomson ! Why of course I have, and 

 being it's he, I don't mind telling him that he is now 

 looking at the worst pack of hounds in England ! 

 They're called the Lyme Harriers, and there's scarce a 

 decent hound in the lot. When I take them out of a 

 morning, they'll suddenly start off in full cry, and run 

 three or four miles after nothing at all." 



' Greatly amused at this confession of the shortcomings 

 of his pack, one of the better-looking members was 

 pointed out, and he was subjected to the question. 

 " That's a good hound, to judge by appearances. What 

 about him, eh ? " 



' " Well, gentlemen, I'll just tell you. He'll go ten 

 times round the same field doing nothing ; and then 

 he'll stop and scratch ; and the worst of it is that some 

 of the gentlemen who belong to the Hunt, though they 

 are devils to ride, call it beautiful questing.' 



