136 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



There was little appearance on Wednesday, February 3rd, of being able 

 to hunt, when the blinds were drawn up and the curtains thrown back, and 

 the announcement was made that the snow was lying thick on the ground, 

 but — a gleam of hope, just enough to make one forswear for once in a way 

 a cup of tea before getting up — it was thawing fast. And so it was, and so 

 it might do for twenty-four hours before the snow-clad fields in the neigh- 

 bourhood of Epping would resume their wonted hue ; but all the same, it 

 was not a bad chance for conditioning horses, and hearing that hounds 

 would be at Hatfield Heath, some eleven miles off, at 12, we left home at 

 that hour on the chance of falling in with them, and, as luck would have it, 

 arrived at Down Hall, the Matching side, to the tick, as hounds were being 

 blown out without having found. Whether it was this, or whether it was 

 the damp, heavy atmosphere, or the deep state of the ground, I cannot say, 

 but it struck me that the riders seemed to be taking their pleasure very 

 sadly. There seemed to be no life or go in the whole thing. Jack, the first 

 whip, was laid up, and there only appeared to be half-a-dozen cheerful 

 people at the outside. Mr. Jones was one of them, and a lady, on a very 

 smart cob, in spite of the mud in her eye, another ; but I think several of 

 them wore a dismal, lugubrious — that's the word, pronounced loo-goo-bre-us, 

 L., liigiibi'is, from lugeve, to mourn — expression, because neither Mr. Charles 

 Ernest Green nor Mr. Roland Yorke Bevan were out, and many were the 

 tender inquiries later on, as we stood in the middle ride of Matching Park, 

 as to whether grippe — the grippe, or the la grippe, as Max O'Rell would 

 say — had claimed either of them as a victim. We could not make it out; 

 just Mr. Green's field, too, thirty-five all told. 



But to Man Wood let me take you, after having pulled "Joseph" back a 

 bit {vide " Rusticus Expectans " letters in the Field, he is always doing 

 something funny with "Joseph" — and "Joseph" is a horse, mind you), so as 

 not to interfere in any way with those who were on the ride and thirsting for 

 a gallop. At Man Wood they found instantev — not that it appeared to 

 interest Mr. Quare, Mr. L. Pelly, and two or three more who were County 

 Councilling, urban districting, or some such parochial frivolling. 



At Man Wood, corner side, down its icy, snowy and muddy lane we 

 struggled, to find hounds away towards Row Wood, but inclined to come 

 for Down Hall, and doing so right across our bows as we reached the 

 road, flesh and blood (vide Hall Caine's new work in the Windsor) could 

 not resist it, and bidding my faithful Peter Leather take it easy, "Joseph " 

 hopped lightly out of the road (it was a bad place) and joined the riding 

 brigade. With a field's start of any of them, of course hounds threw up, 

 which gave me ample opportunity for gratifying the foremost pioneer's 

 (Mr. Jones') curiosity as to how I had arrived there, and further ample 

 leisure, when hounds did pick up the line, to note the gallant way in which 

 the Major-'' (there was only one out) charged the snow-choked ditch, and to 

 go last, yes, positively last (Mr. L. Pelly tried hard for the honor) over 

 the gap the huntsman had found, while it made my flesh creep and hair 

 stand on end to see the reckless way another man charged a fearful place, 

 rather than wait to see "Joseph" perform. And so we reached Down Hall's 

 outskirts, and eventually the Hall itself, where his lordship, on foot, 

 informed me that we had brought the fox back which had left his preserves 

 for Man Wood in the morning, and his keen ear was the first to catch 

 the cry of hounds running again in the open for the Shrubs ; so down hill 

 we galloped and splashed our way o'er the flooded meadows at the 

 bottom to find, in truth, that they were running, but without a yard of 



* Major Carter. 



