2 THE HUNTING FIELD 



First comes the Master — punctual as Masters 

 should be. His clever grey hack has scarce turned 

 a hair, though he has come no end of distance within 

 the hour, while the rider as he enters the field drops 

 the reins, and, raising his hat, wipes the slight per- 

 spiration from his brow with a stout bandana, showing 

 the thinning hair of his crown, and the slightly shot 

 grey of forty, or five-and-forty years. But look what 

 health is on his brow. Fine clear complexion, light 

 bright; eye, full lip, white teeth, steady unshaken hand 

 of early hours, strong exercise, and sobriety. We have 

 seen many older men at thirty. 



Our Master looks the sportsman all over : neat, we 

 may almost say smart ; but not the smartness that is 

 afraid of dirt. No dandified satin or French polish 

 flimsy finery is here ; all is stout, warm, and weather- 

 defying. The good heavy hat (caps for gentlemen 

 we abhor) would resist a deluge, or one of 1845 

 summer's rains, the round-cut single-breasted red 

 coat, confined by one button, across the step-collared 

 toilanette striped waistcoat, is made of strong double- 

 milled cloth ; the roomy breeches are of broadish 

 striped cord, not exactly white, but what will scour 

 to white ; and the well put on boots are made of that 

 comfortable-looking leather that tells to the eye how 

 soft they sit to the wearer's foot. But mark; they 

 are not jacks — hang your jacks, say we ! ditto your 

 Napoleons ; ditto your cab-head leather fisherman's, 

 with mouths gaping like young rooks, and which 

 seem capable of carrying half the wearer's wardrobe, 

 along with his legs. Give us the good old top — the 

 top that neither degenerates into affectation by its 

 shallowness nor its depth; the top that looks as if 

 it cares not for bullfinch or briar, and whose soles 

 are of sufficient strength to command the respect of 

 the kickable portion of the community. For any 

 one, save perhaps our late respected friend the living 

 skeleton, there is no costume equal to boots and 



