THE ART ITSELF 157 



A goodly shower the previous day has left the 

 grass still moist, and there is a delicious coolness 

 in the air. It is barely daylight when you ride 

 up, and after posting your men at different 

 corners, you throw hounds into covert. We will 

 suppose you have had no reliable information 

 about litters in your few large woods, and the 

 place you are about to draw is ten acres of 

 blackthorn and gorse in the middle of your best 

 country. Though you will probably have no use 

 for a second horse, let them come out, and the 

 men may be of use to you in assisting the whips. 

 Another hint : before you leave home, make a 

 good breakfast, however early the hour, or you 

 will probably be tired before your fox. You are 

 drawing down-wind, so that there should be no 

 danger of chopping an old fox, and riding into 

 the thickest part, you encourage the young hounds 

 to try. Old one-eyed Solomon from the York 

 and Ainsty is busily snuffling at a tuft of grass, 

 probably where a fox stopped a minute on his 

 way to his kennel. The little tan dog from 

 Belvoir forces his way through the narrow smeuse, 

 and then makes a dash at the clump of briers that 

 are interwoven with long grasses. There is a 



