WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 139 



the glossy coat of the horses, and the scarlet, or what 

 coloured cloth it may be, of the riders deadened by 

 rain and the dewdrops shaken from the bushes. 

 Think for a moment of a finish as it is in reality, 

 and not in these gaudy, brilliant colour-studies. 



A thick mist clings in the hollow there by the 

 osier-bed where the pack have overtaken the fox, so 

 that you cannot see the dogs. Beyond, the contour 

 of the hill is lost in the cloud trailing over it ; the 

 foreground towards us shows a sloping ploughed 

 field, a damp brown, with a thin mist creeping along 

 the cold furrows. Yonder, three vague and shadowy 

 figures are pushing laboriously forward beside the 

 leafless hedge ; while the dirt-spattered bays hardly 

 show against its black background and through the 

 mist. Some way behind, a weary gray the only 

 spot of colour, and that dimmed is gamely struggling 

 it is not leaping through a gap beside a gaunt oak 

 tree, whose dark buff leaves yet linger. But out of 

 these surely an artist who dared to face Nature as 

 she is might work a picture. 



The year really commences at Wick farmhouse 

 immediately before the autumn nominally begins 

 nominally, because there is generally a sense of autumn 

 in the atmosphere before the end of September. 

 Just about that time there comes a slackening of the 

 work requiring earnest personal supervision. When 

 the yellow corn has been cut and carted, and the 

 thrashing machine has prepared a sample for the 

 markets when the ricks are thatched, and the steam 



