278 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



end, still more often with the wrong hand. But the Daventry 

 ball was overnight. And, with regard to the kicking horses, 

 honesty is coming out apace. We all decorate our horses' tails 

 with red ribbon now. It pays, and saves trouble. I should 

 like very much to say what I think and what most of us 

 think of a man who will continue to ride hunting on a regular 

 kicker. But I daren't. Tis more than my place is worth. 

 Will you, please, Mr. Plainspeaker who tell all the world 

 their sins in a shouting whisper will you give us your senti- 

 ments, and benefit five hundred where you offend five while I 

 await in silence the melting snow ? 



Rain and snow, sport and frost all come within the week's 

 calendar. Foxhunting was at its best a few days ago ;- and the 

 weather at its worst in the interim. On Monday, Dec. 19, we 

 could not reach Woodford for the clogging snow though 

 hounds (the Grafton), being more punctual than ourselves, 

 reached the meet in tolerable comfort only to return through 

 the downfall. 



But the approach of Christmas has been heralded by all the 

 customary signs, besides that of ugly white weather ; and most 

 of us are not unconscious of its coming, albeit, in contrast to 

 the two previous seasons, we have been allowed our hunting 

 even after mid-December. The most novel symptom of its 

 approach, perhaps, was evolved by mere chance towards the 

 close of a recent run. Hounds had suddenly thrown up their 

 heads. Huntsman cast right and left, and was puzzled. " Hark, 

 holloa, forrard ! " came with energy from the lips of a bon 

 vivant who is usually as reliable as he is outspoken. Grateful 

 huntsman in a moment had his horn to his lips, and his horse 

 tight by the head : the run was surely saved. Hark ! There 

 it is again clear and distinct this time. Turkeys, by all that's 

 holy ! " Oh, mickle have I wandered and muckle have I seen 

 but view holloas from a turkey never did I ween." Riot upon 



