320 THE HUNTING FIELD 



Old gentlemen don't like to be laughed at — 

 young ones neither, sometimes — and we saw no more 

 of our " oldest inhabitant " till the middle of March. 

 The season in the meantime had been quiescent, no 

 great advance in vegetation, but no check to what 

 had arrived. As the "old 'un " had rather incon- 

 venienced us by his absence, having had some 

 questions put about events that occurred shortly 

 before the great fire of London, a scene at which he 

 was particularly active, we did not think it prudent 

 to broach the subject of the truant winter, and the 

 " oldest inhabitant " having got through the arrear 

 of antiquarian questions, took his departure in the 

 hurried way people do when there's a disagreeable 

 topic they don't want mentioned. 



Hunting, we reckoned, was fast winding up. March 

 has never much ingratiated itself with us as a hunting 

 month. It sounds harsh and repulsive, speaks rather 

 of high winds, hard dusty roads, and flying fallows, 

 than of that delightful, sloppy, spongy, splash-my- 

 boots state of things peculiar to the legitimate chase. 



Third week in March, and spring slowly, though 

 steadily on the advance. This " oldest inhabitant " is 

 getting " too old," thought we, for he had looked in 

 at our publisher's, on Saturday, (the 14th), and reiter- 

 ated his conviction that we should catch it yet. 



"We really believe we may have too old an oldest 

 inhabitant," continued we, thrusting our hands, a la 

 D' Israeli^ into our breeches pockets, and pacing 

 about our apartment. If we knew where to lay hands 

 on one from a hundred to a hundred and fifty years 

 old, we really think we would "shelf" this oldest 

 inhabitant, for he is evidently getting in arrear of the 

 times. 



A change then came o'er the spirit of our dream. 



All our northern and midland letters of the i8th of 

 March, spoke of the withering influence of the pre- 



