CHAPTER XXXIII. 



HUNTING IN ESSEX. 



I ROSE on the occasion of a visit to Essex, to ascertain 

 the state of the weather. When I withdrew the 

 curtains and looked out upon the morn, the prospect 

 was not encouraging. The wind moaned sadly through 

 the bare leafless branches of the grand old elms, 

 which were bending and swaying to the fitful blasts ; 

 whilst a flock of jackdaws, disturbed from their 

 resting-place amidst the venerable branches, chattered 

 noisily as they wheeled round and round, battling with 

 the storm. The conclusion I came to was that there 

 would be but little scent and poor sport if the gale 

 continued its blustering throughout the day. The 

 fixture of the " Essex Hounds," of which Sir Henry 

 Selwin-Ibbetson is now the master, was Bentley Mill, 

 close to the hospitable home of an old friend, who had 

 invited me to ride with the stag and foxhounds over 

 this sporting country, promising that I should be well 

 mounted, an assurance that was highly satisfactory, as 

 the fences are big, the ditches deep, and the banks 

 tall and narrow, necessitating a clever steady horse, 

 and a fairly good man, to live up to hounds through a 

 clinking run of thirty-five minutes without a check, 



Q 



