The Suffolk, 189 



scarcely put it to shame. The late Mr. Osbaldeston 

 was wont to say that " a better plough-country did 

 not exist in England.''^ He hunted the Thurlow 

 district (south of Newmarket), at the same time as 

 he did the Pytchley country — keeping hacks posted 

 on the road, and riding his forty-five miles each way 

 for the two days a week he could spare from the 

 Pytchley. 



There are of course very many residents still at 

 home in their places in SuflFolk ; and these are nearly 

 all unanimous in giving their support to foxhunting. 

 But, where good districts and bad dovetail closely 

 into one another, it is difficult indeed to whisper 

 caution into reynard's ear and bid him stay where his 

 only danger is notified him by the merry music of the 

 pack. The farmers are enthusiastically in favour of 

 foxhunting — though recent reverses have sadly 

 diminished their numbers on horseback at the covert 

 side. 



The Kennels are at the residence of the Master, Mr. 

 Walter Grreene, in Bury St. Edmunds, or rather, on 

 the very edge of the old town — the entrance being 

 into a main street, the outlook at the back being over 

 a green country unbroken by brick and mortar. The 

 Kennels, built by him, are, though small, of the 

 neatest and most complete description. The nose, 

 inured to the vis odoro canum — and hoilum — is startled 

 by the entire absence of the ofi*ending vapours with 

 which nine kennels out of ten are ever reeking. Many 

 Masters of Hounds, it is true, have of late adopted 

 odourless boilers on their premises ; but many hunts- 

 men care little to what height the meat to be cooked 



