14 A YEAR Of SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



not more than fifty followers assembled, but nearly all of them are 

 sure to be keen fox-hunters, from the veteran whose grey 

 hairs and bent shoulders tell of three score and ten winters 

 past, to the boy whose pony is rejoicing in its emancipation from 

 the leading strings. A dozen farmers, young and old, who 

 know every cover, and nearly every Fox that haunts it, are there 

 in homely garb. The few ladies present do not affect novelties 

 in habit skirts or eccentricities in head gear, and the horses 

 they ride are more distinguished for cleverness than good 

 looks. The Master, whose appearance is welcomed by all with 

 courteous salutations, wears a hunting-cap as the outward sign of 

 authority, instead of the silk hat which so many of his brethren 

 have adopted since Leicestershire set that fashion. The huntsman, 

 a weather-beaten veteran, whose wiry frame and keen face 

 bespeak untiring energy in pursuit, has his hounds in perfect 

 condition, and though some among them are of a type that would 

 not find favour with judges at a Peterborough Show, they all look 

 as if no day would be too long for them. At a signal from 

 the Master old Jim trots away to a ride through the big woods, 

 where his hounds, spreading right and left, are soon hard at 

 work among the bracken and brambles of tangled undergrowth. 

 The long succession of larch plantations and oak copses, closing 

 here and there into deep shadowy valleys where hounds are 

 for a time completely lost to view, would break the heart of a 

 Leicestershire huntsman, but Jim plods on patiently from end 

 to end, relying on himself and hounds to drive the Fox out of 

 these strongholds if they find one here. His voice or horn is 

 only heard at long intervals, and just loud enough to keep the 

 hounds under command. At the first note of a light tongue 



