The Opening Meet 



someone else can try it first. He will be all right when 

 he gets going in company. 



It is glorious to be hunting again ! But where 

 is that familiar grey head with a bristling moustache 

 that hid a kindly smile and a kindlier character ? 

 Everyone loved him; with his stout white cob that 

 seemed to possess an invisible fifth leg at trappy fences, 

 while owners of more expensive horseflesh went 

 shamrock-gathering. Where too are " Melody " and 

 " Chantress " ? Rarely could one see better bitches in 

 any pack. Relentless Time collects its dividend. Some 

 day others will ask where is . . . . ? 



Oh ! Splendid ! Hounds are moving-off; the Second 

 Whipper-in rides ahead to outpost duty beyond the 

 wood; hound-couples, strapped to his saddle, clink 

 merrily as he jogs away. It is then that : 

 " rider's hearts 



Beat faster as the Master moves ; 



Hounds swarming round his horse's hooves, 



A jaunty wave of pied flame, 



Prolongers of Life's Stoutest Game." 

 Reaching the covert side the cavalcade halts. With 

 a movement of his arm and an encouraging " Lew in ! 

 Try ! " the Master puts hounds in. One marvels at 

 their discipline as they leave his side instantly, to swarm 

 across the high bank in a great flash of dapples and 

 disappear into the silences of the big wood. Everything 

 is quietness, save for the sound of hounds pressing on 



43 



