GEASS COUNTRIES. 



SEASON 18881889. 



Oct. 20th, 1888. The grass countries are only now wakening 

 to the horn. The woodlands have already been roused, and 

 dropped a few first leaves to its echo. Foxhunting in the 

 open is quite a fortnight behind its time ; and October of '88 

 will never make its mark as " the merriest month of all." A 

 cheerless month it cannot be called; for the grain has been 

 gathered and the stubbles are being turned in a blithe and 

 prosperous fashion, in keeping with the turn of the tide, that 

 at last is heralded for the farmer. Nor is the grazier without 

 gladness. On his " bit of plough " depends his winter safety : 

 and for the present his bullocks are fetlock-deep in rich 

 herbage. But while the corn was about, foxhunters were 

 perforce at home : and so far this bright October has belonged 

 rather to an Indian summer than to an English autumn. 



Summer is gone on swallow's wings, 

 No more the lark, the linnet sings. 

 There is a shadow on the plain 

 Of Winter ere he comes again, 

 There is in woods a solemn sound 

 Of holloa warnings whispered round, 

 As Echo in her deep recess 

 For once had turned a prophetess. 



HOOD'S "Song of the Fox." 



Ours is the brighter side. The dulness of winter exists for the 

 poet, not for foxhunter, nor verily for fox who, forsooth, would 

 speedily be seen only as a keeper's scarecrow or as a dog- 

 dealer's bait in a barrel, were it not for the strange infatuation 

 that keeps millions of money circulating in Old England for 

 his benefit. 



