i86 



LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



chestnut), never in a hurry, but turning with hounds and without pressing 

 them, always with them ; and Mr. Todhunter, just back from New Zealand 

 with its stiff timber fences, and making a recent purchase from Aldridge's 

 into quite a clever hunter, as it had not forgotten its four falls the first day 

 he rode him. He seemed to fancy " Norton," the New Zealand horse, 

 which he had known from a yearling for the G.N. 



There is nothing easier in the world than to make copy out of a day's 

 hunting. I don't say readable copy, but copy of some sort. Even if the 

 sport be "nil," or of the most moderate character, whatever hunting cor- 

 respondents may affirm to the contrary, or reiterate that without straw 

 bricks cannot be made. But if the day is " a good one," then the hunting 

 scribe has only to protect himself against the exuberance of his own ver- 



Witney Woods 



bosity, and with standing martingale or Ransom bit or " Bucephalus" nose- 

 band, take care that his quill doesn't run away with him. Perhaps, how- 

 ever, the printer's joy, the editor's ideal and reader's patience is best 

 consulted when medium sport takes place, and medium sport forms the 

 burden of my song, if you would have me sing of last Saturday's play, when 

 we met at Fyfield on Alarch 6th. 



To start with, when large flakes of snow, driven before a N.W. breeze, 

 commenced falling shortly after the breakfast hour, with rising glass and 

 forecast favourable, we had strong hopes of a great day, and although Mr. 

 Quare's noted harriers were to meet close at hand in a grand country, we 

 would not have missed the chance of trying to see it for a king's ransom. 

 Our views were confirmed on arriving at the meet, when Mr. Seymour 

 Caldwell, in the neatest of grey suits and gaudiest of ties, rode up on a bike 



