14 2 SKETCHES IN THE HUNTING FIELD. 



Of a little child in the innocence of early days I 

 wrote some years ago : — 



" You do not know how oft we find 

 The sourest fruit 'neath fahest rind, 



How oft no longer lingers 

 The bloom of joys that please the eye 

 Than colours on the butterfly, 



When touched by careless fingers." 



And even at an advanced age we are slow to learn the 

 lesson. 



It is therefore as pleasant as it is rare to discover a 

 man who has won the prize he sought, and finds that 

 it realises his expectations ; and such an one is Bill 

 Heigh, the Huntsman of the Meadowmere hounds. 



Bill is a good deal older than myself, and the history 

 of his early life comes to me at second hand ; but 

 I think it is quite a little idyl of the hunting field. 



I have never heard the proverb applied to huntsmen, 

 but am strongly of opinion that voiator iiascitur non fit 

 is as true as the more familiar saying. 



Bill Heigh was bred to be a gardener, and from his 

 training and associations should have known more of 

 hollyhocks than of hounds, less of foxes than of 

 fuchsias, and have had a more comprehensive acquaint- 

 ance with vegetables than with view holloas. 



Bill's father was head-gardener to Sir Henry Akerton, 

 our M.F.H., and in the ordinary course of events Bill 

 would have succeeded in due time. A conscientious 

 boy, he performed the tasks that were set him ; but his 



