THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 63 



hounds, he can never be — in the sense of the 

 word — a foxhunter." 



" And who is he ? " I asked, pointing to a 

 thick-set and jolly-looking man in a green 

 coat, and occupied in the act of taking up the 

 girths of his saddle. 



" A very different description of sports- 

 man," replied Trimbush; " that's farmer 

 Stockdale, a tenant of the Squire's, who has 

 forgotten more about hounds and hunting 

 than the majority of men ever learn. You 

 see," he continued, " that he's making a 

 careful examination of his horse, and the few 

 alterations necessary, whilst there is plenty of 

 time ; as none but the greenhorns leave them to 

 the last moment. I remember a man, upon 

 one occasion, tightening a curb-chain at the 

 moment we unkennelled our fox; and such 

 were the impatient plunges of his horse, that 

 he could not mount him again in time to get 

 away with us, and he never saw an inch of the 

 run — long and gallant as it proved." 



My attention being turned to a young man 

 superbly mounted, and dressed with the most 

 scrupulous care, I inquired of my companion 

 if he was one of the timid school. 



*' No," rejoined Trimbush; " that he is 



