314 THE HUNTING FIELD 



hunting," adds Codshead, bumping himself in the 

 saddle. 



" Fine healthy amusement," observes our Master. 



" You don't know of a horse that will suit one, do 

 you?" asks Codshead — (hurrah I we knew it would 

 come). 



" Not at present," replies our Master, with a smile, 

 having had an inward wager himself as to whether 

 Codshead would ask the question or not. 



There are many Codsheads in the world — many 

 men who fancy they would like hunting amazingly 

 when they can't get it, and who never trouble it when 

 it is to be had. Scarlet coats have a vast of lies to 

 answer for. The Colonel, like his horse, has not the 

 slightest natural inclination for hunting — indeed, it is 

 rather a punishment to him than otherwise — he hunts 

 for the sake of the society and the good dinners it 

 procures him. After that, we need scarcely say the 

 Colonel is a bachelor. Now, a married colonel, and 

 a bachelor colonel, though born in the same year 

 perhaps, are very different aged people in female 

 estimation ; and our Colonel — albeit, but a yeomanry 

 one — ranks rather as one of those pretty boyish 

 colonels peculiar to the " Guards," than one of the 

 hobbling, frosty-pated, wound-scarred old cocks of 

 the Peninsula or Waterloo. 



A woman's foxhunter and a man's foxhunter are 

 very different things. If a man in a red coat is 

 always at a woman's beck and call — always ready 

 with something to say (a feat, by the way, not in 

 the accomplishment of all) — always ready to dance 

 attendance at their carriage sides when they go to see 

 the hounds throw off — always careless of the hounds 

 for the sake of their company — they think him a most 

 agreeable, engaging, captivating man — just what a 

 foxhunter ought to be, and when the " pasteboards " 

 go out such a man is sure to be remembered. 



The man's foxhunter is one who adores the ladies, 



