MEET OF THE PYTCHLEY HOUNDS. 143 



Meet of the Pytchley Hounds at Arthing- 



WORTH. 



Among hunting men there is nothing so unpopular as 

 what is called by the rest of the world a most beautiful, 

 clear, bright day. The gaudy thing is disagreeable to 

 eyes because it is dangerous to the bodies to which they 

 respectively belong ; for when every twig glitters in the 

 sunshine, and every drop of dew that hangs upon tliem 

 looks like a diamond, the fences so dazzle the eyes of 

 riders, and especially of horses, that a number of extra 

 falls are very commonly the result. Soft ground, dull 

 weather, an easterly wind, and a cloudy sky, form the 

 compound that is most approved of. On such a day, and 

 under sucli circumstances, we beg leave to invite our 

 readers to sit with us patiently for a very few minutes in 

 a balloon, as, like a hawk hovering above a partridge, it 

 hangs over the quiet little village of Arthingworth, in 

 ]^orthamptonshire. Those hounds, headed by that 

 whipper-in riding so lightly and neatly on his horse, 

 and surrounding their huntsman Charles Payne, jogging 

 along, seated in his saddle as if he had grown there, are 

 on that portion of the Queen's highway which connects 

 Northampton with Market Harborough. They are the 

 Pytchley hounds, the hereditary property, not of the pre- 



