SCENES FROM THE SADDLE. 



The Rider. 



'' I "'HE rider to a meet of an unfashionable hunt has in 

 -*■ these days usually a solitary ride. Even with these 

 lesser -known packs many of those wlio hunt regularly 

 "motor" to the meet, and the habitual "rider on" is in so 

 decided a minority that only infrequently does he pick up a 

 companion on his way. A two hours' solitary ride, or it may 

 be more, provides opportunity for cogitations and for changes 

 in the details of the surrounding picture. 



There are various types of morning at nine o'clock in the 

 winter months. For the weather-prospecting rider the dull, 

 cold, windy and foggy morning is the least attractive. A 

 thoroughly thick or thoroughly frosty morning puts hunting 

 out of the question and raises no debate. A mild though wet 

 outlook is encouraging, presenting as it does a prospect of a day 

 of good scent. Few mornings are so bad as they may appear 

 to be from the window, and many of poor appearance are 

 reasonably good company on the way to tlie meet. 



It is natural that in normal times the reflections presenting 

 themselves should be heavy or light, dark or bright, in con- 

 sonance with the surroundings of the way, but in tliese days of 

 unprecedented trouble, to even the brightest morning there is 

 looming behind a dark background. In such days the rider 

 has to ask himself whether it were better that riders did not 

 ride, to which question the natural speculation follows as to 

 what alternative livelihood those of advanced age who are 

 engaged in stable work would find if no longer employed in 

 their trade. Such thoughts are dark and dreary companions 

 for a pleasure outing. 



There are, happily, certain lighter speculations that can 

 always occupy the rider. However many times he may have 

 passed that way, some part of the road may place itself in a 



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