328 Cross Country with Horse and Hound 



latch, a feeling of saddle-girths. Each horse has caught 

 the spirit and is as eager as the riders for the challenge. 



See, the chestnut veins are swelling ; 

 In her neck the blood is welling ! 



Of what peculiar stuff must a man be made who is not 

 stirred at such sights and sounds as these ? It must be 

 something of the nature of putty. Yet there sits a chap 

 on a slab-sided, three-cornered rake of a thoroughbred, 

 lighting another cigarette and looking, or assuming to look, 

 as if the whole proceedings were a bore. He is talking to 

 another " chappy," telling him the latest morsel of gossip 

 from the club, probably, to show his indifference to the 

 game. One likes to believe that such a mien generally is 

 assumed, but it is not always. There are men who merely 

 act this role, and there are others for whom the part of a 

 drone is natural. The vacant, listless stare in the presence 

 of such stirring sights and sounds as these makes a man 

 look the idiot truly, creatures in whom our " higher " civ- 

 ilisation has bred out all the sporting instinct of their 

 fathers, fellows who are out to ride, and " if it were not 

 for the d dogs could have some fun." 



All the hunting types are here. Look at that man on 

 the roan, shamelessly spurring his mount to make him jump 

 and rear just to show off; and the "swell" on a chestnut, 

 riding about among the crowd on the same errand. These 

 are the peacocks of the hunt. Again, that alert, nervous 

 chap on the black, edging his way to the southeast corner, 

 is out to cut down the field ; the horse he rides is a new 



