A RUN WITH THE 



To-morrow, by dawn, we must be on our 

 ground. 



After a final sup of whisky from our 

 private stock, and a glance round 

 the stable and the temporary kennel 

 in the wash-house, we turn into 

 our beds in the one bare empty 

 room. 



Our sleep is soon slept. The un- 

 rest natural to night before a hunting 

 day, like John Peel's cry, soon "calls 

 me from my bed," and I slip out and 

 indulge in a glorious "tub" in the 

 horse-trough in front of the inn. It 

 is just daybreak, or, as the Dutchmen 

 term it, "the light for seeing the 

 horns of an ox " ; a glow is in the 

 sky behind the eastward hills, and on 

 the village camp-ground the twin- 

 kling fires show that the farmers' 

 4 8 



