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CHAPTER IV. 



THE KENNEL. 



In a certain romance which most of us, probably, have read 

 at some period of our existence, if it has a little passed 

 out of memory now — in the late Lord Lytton's * Last of the 

 Barons' — the old philosopher, Adam Warner, being suddenly 

 called upon to apply some simple surgical remedy, of which 

 his only knowledge is derived from the book in his hand, 

 exclaims in great perplexity, 'But the book telleth me not 

 how the lancet should be applied : it is easy to say do this, or 

 do that, but to do it once it should have been done before.' 

 He who addresses himself to the practical business of the 

 Chase, which includes, let it be remembered, a great deal 

 more than the mere getting across a country and encompassing 

 the death of his game — he, we say, who addresses himself to 

 this business after having first mastered the written experience 

 of others and gained from them such wisdom as he can, will, 

 no doubt, buy his own experience cheaper than he who has 

 neglected or been unable so to train and prepare himself. 

 But he must not think to grow to a Meynell, or an Assheton 

 Smith, or an Anstruther Thompson, by books alone. ' Hunting's 

 a science, and riding an art.' All arts and sciences have 

 their own laws, which those who would practise them must 

 learn or abide by the consequences. We must not, therefore, 

 be understood to depreciate the value of books, which would, 

 indeed, be a most unwarrantable defiling of our nest. Neither 

 do we wish to feel our withers wrung by that sly hit of Beck- 

 ford's : ' All who have written on the subject of hunting, 



