THE MASTER 



37 



a foxhunter, then a lump of Cottonwool, etc., it is 

 foxhunter and '■'' preterea nihiiy The only variety is 

 here and there a stranger, or man in morning's black 

 coat dotted in among the orange vermillion ones of 

 the hunt. A wretched old hack song, sung by a man 

 with a spavin'd voice and a desperate running at the 

 nose, is all we have in lieu of the vigorous but not 

 unpleasant playing of the Miss Cottonwools. But we 

 are getting in advance of the evening ; for though we 

 spared the dinner we must have the speech. " Brief 

 let it be," as old Hamlet — not the jeweller — but the 



ghost of that name said. Yarn spinning is only for 

 harehunters. The best speech we ever read, was one 

 of the late Lord Kintore's, delivered on the presenta- 

 tion of a piece of plate. A " Ciceronian Master " will 

 easily adapt it to a "health," returning one for himself. 

 " Gentlemen," said his lordship, " I hardly know how 

 to thank you for this totally uncalled for, and most 

 unmerited mark of your friendship towards me. If, 

 during the dull winter months, the foxhounds have 

 shown you any sport, it has been owing to your 

 individual exertions in having preserved the foxes, in 



