Sir Wathin. 



lU 



being hung up in one cellar in a provincial Yorkshire town. 

 Nine hares were picked up dead in afield near Llanarnion 

 — ten miles from Oswestry — last week, and foxes have been 

 making nightly inroads into the town itself in search of 

 food. It seems hardly credible that here we are within 

 six weeks of May Day, skating awa.y as hard as our 

 legs can carry us, with no apparent probability of a 

 change, and all this time Borderer's harp has been hung 

 up on his willow tree ; there is no hunting. What a bold 

 man he is even to dream of it, or believe that people will 

 ever want to read anything about such a season as this. 

 The very thought will sicken them, and they will tarn 

 with loathing from such " a lost chord." Not at all, 

 ni}' friends. You may not wish the dose repeated. 

 None of us do, but not the less must w^e retain its record, 

 frail, fleeting, and disappointing though it has been. 

 There are bright spots in it that will always render it 

 memorable. First and foremost it has been the first 

 season of a young generation at Wynnstay. Since last 

 summer's sun glistened on that stately pile its beloved 

 and honoured owner has been taken aw-ay from amongst 

 us, and his nephew has been called on to reign in his 

 stead. Last season he had to take much of the active 

 management of the hunt in hand owning to his uncle's 

 failing health, and in doing so, just fresh from Trinity 

 College, Cambridge, he had more than ordinary 

 difficulties to contend with, among which the short 

 comings of the huntsman were not the least. Now, 

 however, all this is altered. Sir Watkin has none of 

 those draw^backs to contend with, which handicapped 

 him last season. He has chosen a huntsman in William 

 Lockey, who coming originally from South Shropshire 



