Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



pleasant, making a memorable picture that will long 

 linger in the minds of those that witness it. 



And the hounds ! How lovely they look pouring 

 along, a great wave of black, tan and white. A glow 

 of healthy fitness in their glossy coats, a touch of resolute 

 gameness in their waving sterns, a jauntiness about 

 their head-carriage as if they knew they were the 

 cynosure of friendly yet critical eyes. What a welcome 

 they get ! Yet in spite of their enthusiastic reception 

 their perfect discipline is truly magnificent, and anyone 

 who has had the annoying experience of fruitlessly 

 endeavouring to prevent the family terrier chasing the 

 neighbour's cat, may realise the enormous task of 

 instilling rigorous obedience into twenty-odd couple of 

 foxhounds. Similarly, if one has ever witnessed that 

 same terrier transform himself into a howling coyote 

 when one's young brother does his home-work on a 

 mouth-organ, one may glean some idea of the discipline 

 necessary to keep a pack under control and prevent any 

 canine choral work when a brass band plays " John 

 Peel " ! 



Few people, even those in the category of hunting 

 enthusiasts, know anything of the hard work, ceaseless 

 attention and endless patience of the men in kennels to 

 ensure that every single hound and especially those 

 due to appear in the Hunt Parade in Ballsbridge is 

 trustworthy, answers to his name promptly and instantly 

 obeys the huntsman's slightest word of command. 



The appropriateness of having hounds in the parade 

 is appreciated better when one realizes that most horses 

 in the Show are destined for hunting. Hounds, there- 



