276 HUNTING. 



CHAPTER X. 



HUNTING FROM LONDON. 



The true pleasures of hunting are known only by those who 

 hunt from home. Not everyone will agree with this statement. 

 Probably a great many — now-a-days perhaps the majority — will 

 strongly disagree with it. Given plenty of good sound grass to 

 gallop over, good sound fences to jump over, a good sound 

 horse for partner in these 'violent delights,' and a sufficient 

 company of human beings to get the better of, what more can 

 reasonable mortal man require ? Foxes and hounds— well, no 

 doubt they are a part of the fun, though sometimes rather a 

 troublesome part ; still, if foxes will always be found at home, 

 and will always run straight, and if hounds will go fast enough 

 to keep out of the horses' way, they are a part that may be 

 endured. But where a man lives, what can that matter ? He 

 only lives to hunt (that is, to ride), so the question should be, 

 where does he hunt, not where does he live ? If he happens 

 to live at Melton, or Market Harboro', or Grantham, oi 

 Rugby, or anywhere contiguous to those famous centres of 

 civilisation, well and good — he must find it precious slow when 

 hounds do not meet, though of such useless days there are, to 

 be sure, few in those blissful neighbourhoods. But for the 

 mere living, what fellow, who is not a fool, would live out of 

 London ? Very well ; that is one way of looking at things, with 

 which we certainly do not intend to quarrel. It is purely a 

 matter of personal taste, and anyone who tries to set up an 

 arbitrary standard for that is a fool indeed. But, by a parity of 

 reasoning, we shall stick to our own colours ; nay, and more, 



