Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



ears with instinctive anticipation; then, rounding a 

 bend, became dangerously frivolous as he sighted 

 hounds at the crossroads. How lovely they looked 

 clustered around their Master ! How glad I was to see 

 them again after the long summer ! Only a few other 

 hunting enthusiasts had assembled in the early greyness, 

 and when hounds and their small retinue moved off, 

 everyone forgot the chances of cold chills in the 

 knowledge that the damp murkiness would hold a good 

 scent. 



Scent, that uncanny but very essential adjunct to 

 hunting, almost vanishes with the strengthening sun 

 these autumn mornings and makes it imperative that 

 cubbing be done in the early hours. Without scent one 

 cannot do much foxhunting, since foxhounds, unlike 

 greyhounds, who run by sight, depend solely on their 

 noses and react accordingly. And what a delicious 

 reaction when a pack, in the stillness of a deep woodland, 

 find a whiff of reynard-tainted air tickling their sensitive 

 nasal membranes ! A hound whimpers doubtfully, 

 huntsman cheers encouragement, " Hark to Ravager ! " 

 Others rush to investigate; an old seasoned bitch 

 confirms matters, a horn twangs in support of her 

 argument and, suddenly, the wood re-echoes to the 

 crash of tongues. Deep-throated notes coming from the 

 old hounds who are glad to be finished with summer's 

 boredom and monotonous road exercise and welcome 

 the elixir-like scent of a fox; sharp, higher-pitched 

 notes from the seasoned bitches who are striving jealously 

 for the lead; and frantic yaps from un-entered puppies 



