2 " HOUNDS, GENTLEMEN, PLEASE ! " 



better ; I wish you'd been out, you would have en- 

 joyed it!" 



It may be, I suppose, that as one grows older and 

 the power of seeing hounds at their work grows less, 

 a keener appreciation of the pleasure that is soon 

 to be lost to us takes possession, and a good bit of 

 hound-work becomes as thoroughly relished and gives 

 fully as much satisfaction as the " feel " of a good 

 horse clearing a big fence used to do in the days that 

 are gone. 



There are some^ of course, in every hunting-field who 

 have from boyhood been of a " doggy " turn, who have 

 loved to see terriers, pointers, and spaniels at their 

 work, and for whom the wonderful sight of a pack of 

 foxhounds carrying a scent for miles over a stiffly 

 enclosed country has, therefore, a fascination that 

 nothing can equal. In boyish days it was a delight 

 to watch how the terrier would hunt his youthful 

 master's footsteps inch for inch, no matter how he 

 doubled or what obstacles he placed behind him, and 

 the interest in this work has probably been the 

 making of many a sportsman. 



Is it possible that because the retriever is the only 

 dog that many of the rising generation have ever 

 seen used with a gun, the fondness for the canine 

 race and their wondrous instincts is becoming one of 

 the many good things that have been ? If so, the 

 look-out is a bad one for the huntsman, and the 

 thruster of old in the Leicestershire story, who, after 

 larking home, exclaimed, " What fun we should have 



if it wasn't for these d d hounds," will have many 



sympathisers in the rising generation. 



