18 THE HUNTING FIELD 



as those few Latin words have been skilfully rendered by some 

 talented linguist, with the skill of our friend, Bob Chalkup, 

 the milkman, who can make a quart of milk out of a pint, but 

 to make the foregoing fine jingle of words run right for the 

 foxhunter, the " placcns uxor'' should always have breakfast 

 ready in good time, and plenty of lambs' wool and fleecy 

 hosiery before the fire, against her swain comes home. Con- 

 found it, there are very few of those sort of " uxors'' now-a- 

 days. Old Mrs. Pigskin is the only one we know of, but she 

 belongs to a generation far removed in the distance. Site 

 can't work pheasants in floss silk ! Some old sour grapers 

 object to foxhunters, because they sometimes take a nap after 

 dinner. Suppose they do, what then ? They most likely have 

 said their say, and surely it's far better for a man to go to 

 sleep than to talk nonsense, or say the same thing over and 

 over again. Take our advice, fair ladies. If it should ever be 

 your luck to have to choose between a foxhunter and a fiddler 

 — which latter comprises all people who are not foxhunters — 

 choose the foxhunter. Not one of your pretty fellows, who 

 come home clean and unspecked by luncheon time, but a 

 regular sport-loving cock, who would rather lose his dinner 

 than the end of a run. Don't mind what spiteful old maids 

 say about their habits and propensities. If you wait till you 

 get a man whom all the world will praise, you'll remain single 

 to the end of the chapter. 



The young lady of forty's reply, that a bad husband was a 

 deal better than none, was a very sensible observation, though 

 totally inapplicable to foxhunters. 



But we are writing a chapter for chaperones rather than 

 an essay on a " Master of Hounds." Farewell fair Miss 

 Cottonwools ; ere spring returns, may we read your names in 

 the list of — you know what. 



Good morning, Mrs. Cottonwool, and thanks for your 



