216 The Hunting Field With Horse and Hound 



an enchantment of its own. Occasionally we pass between 

 long rows of oaks, their branches interlocked above. On all 

 sides the fohage is beginning to colour and all about there is 

 a seeming preparation for winter. Pheasants, no longer able 

 to liide their tliieving in the corn, flj' up at our approach and 

 disappear in covert. Squirrels, nettled at our rapid pace, take 

 us on for a bit of a run from the tops of stone walls. From 

 the rumble of the wheels and the jingle of the harness, from the 

 clatter of the hoofs and the champing of the bits, comes the 

 rhythm of that good old hunting verse — 



"We must all go a-hunting to-day." 



Some six miles from Oxford we pull up before a village 

 imi — one of the real old-fashioned sort. A suave land- 

 lord, full fifteen stone in weight, extended liis hospitahty from 

 the tavern door. The beagle van had already arrived and the 

 INI aster was greeting each hound by name, as the kennelman 

 slipped them one by one to the ground. By this time the 

 Magdalene brake wheeled in upon us, wliich completed our 

 number. Then divesting ourselves of top coats and woollens, 

 we clambered down some thirty strong into a rabble of 

 beagles and curious townsfolk of all ages. Toot, toot from the 

 Master's horn, a hurried consultation with the innkeeper, 

 wherein he advises dra^^ing Squire Buffer's turnip field; more 

 tooting and hunting jargon, and we are off to catch a turnip 

 tliief if we can. Foremost walks the first wliipper-in, restrain- 

 ing with voice and hunting crop any beagle impatient to 

 begin hunting on his own account. Following the first whip- 

 per-in walks the Master surrounded by the pack or "cry", 

 then comes the second whipper-in, and lastly, plain followers 

 of the chase. Attached to this goodly company are some 

 truant schoolboys, the town cripple hobbling upon a crutch 

 and a wooden leg, and a good number of wives and maidens 

 with shawls over their heads ; some old men, probably poachers 



