158 THE HUNTING FIELD 



right across Brackenburgh Meadows, pointing for 

 Disley. The table of precedence and all the 

 Heralds' College humbug is abolished — nerve reigns 

 triumphant, and the majesty of horsemanship is 

 established. In our mind's eye we see them settling 

 into places. Well with his hounds, but not too near, 

 is the Huntsman ; then a hard-riding farmer ; while 

 Peter and the parson 



" Ride side by side," 



as the song has it ; red-coats come next in prodigal 

 profusion, and we have not time to look at the tail. 

 There's a rare scent, a slight frost in the air, and the 

 hounds are bristling for blood — it is one of those 

 sort of days on which the worst packs appear good. 



Peter keeps his place, intending to pull up on the 

 other side of each fence, and go and see after his 

 barley. Somehow or other, the horse carries him 

 over half the next field before he gets a fair pull at 

 him, and then he thinks that being so far advanced, 

 he may as well see what they do in the next field, 

 until twenty minutes are exhausted, and Peter's bay 

 is in a white lather. 



Twenty minutes on paper, and twenty minutes' real 

 riding across country, are very different things, and 

 a check is gratefully received even by the foremost. 

 We have seen it asserted that no man ever had the 

 candour to acknowledge the opportuneness of a check ; 

 but we think that all sportsmen are ready to patronize 

 them at the proper time. It is your steeplechase 

 gentlemen, with their cutting whips, who are always 

 " just getting into their stride " when they occur. 

 Twenty minutes' best pace across the country is no 

 trifle. 



Our pack, however, are at a check, the hounds 

 having spread like a rocket, and made their own cast, 

 now want the assistance of the Huntsman. 



Peter dismounts, looks at his horse, sees all his 



