HUNTING DAYS 



IN many of the shires, as a group of the Midland counties of 

 England are proudly named the shires with a peculiar right 

 to the name a certain sort of morning is called a cub- 

 hunting morning. It is early. Rich autumn colours glint 

 through the breaking mist. Blackberry and bracken seem to 

 assume a particular richness of hue. The air is quiet and 

 odorous ; and as you stand by the covert-side the baying of 

 the young hounds ' matched in mouth like bells ' seems 

 scarcely a disturbance of the scene. But the hunt is up ; 

 and to that everything surrenders. In the rides and outside 

 the covert the few mounted men clap their riding-whips on 

 the saddle-flaps to keep the cubs in a particular quarter. 

 The hour of observation is over. Just now the live things, 

 cubs and others, would come close up almost to your feet ; 

 and you would see them quietly exercising their watchful 

 and furtive gifts. Of the wild animals that England boasts 

 and they are not many the cub is the most delightful to 

 watch ; and the grown cub, many hold, the only one worth 

 hunting. The hunt may almost be said to be a part of the 

 scenery in rural England and Ireland. The floor of lanes and 

 rides and droves are pitted throughout the year with the hooves 

 of the hunters. The bay of the hounds is the most musical of 

 sounds ; the restless sterns of the pack were once compared 

 by an enthusiastic master with the swaying heads of the 



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