164 The Hunting Field With Horse and Hound 



ister of England, with whom he was at the moment exchanging 

 a pleasant greeting. The parson was a man who had lived 

 quite half a century. His hair was mottled grey ; but he was a 

 hard one to follow, as many of us could testify before the 

 day was done. 



"Toot! Toot!" say the horns, and, headed by the Master 

 and hounds, the great cavalcade moves on to covert. 



Hounds are thrown into a small "spinny" of possibly three 

 acres, while one of the whippers-in has been sent on to a position 

 where he can view the fox away when he leaves the covert. 

 The riders look well to their saddle girths ; cigars and cigarettes 

 are thrown away, hats are set a degree tighter, reins are 

 adjusted, and with another look at throat latch and curb chain 

 we are ready for the chase. We hear the huntsman encourag- 

 ing the hounds to draw. 



"Edawick! Edawick! Edawick!" 



We move to the left of the covert, as there is a large open 

 field to the right, and the fox is not likely to go away in full 

 view. No one knows better than the writer what it means to 

 get a bad start. Some ambitious riders crowd on. We hear 

 the whimpering of a hound in covert. Even the languid Lon- 

 don chappie pulls down his hat and rides up to the front with 

 a rush. 



"Hold hard, gentlemen," shouts the Master. "Pray give 

 the fox a chance." 



Some rider on a black horse moves up a few steps. 



"Hold hard there, black horse! Look! gentlemen, look 

 where you are going, unless you want to head the fox back 

 to covert !" 



Just then from the opposite side of the covert, we hear 

 the welcome shout of the whipper-in : 



"Tally-o-away! Tally-o-away ! Away! Away! Gone 

 away!" 



Again the Master calls out: 



