i6S SKETCHES IN THE HUNTING FIELD. 



as many black ones, a boy on a pony, a horse-dealer on 

 a raking chestnut, together with a couple of ladies, 

 constitute the first flight. 



But surely something is wrong in front ? The hounds 

 throw up their heads, and slacken speed. The scent 

 has failed. Have they overrun it ? Yes ! With a wild 

 halloo a pink coat at the head of a long line of strag- 

 glers points with his hunting crop to the hedge-row 

 along which the draggled fox is stealing. Again he is 

 viewed away and plunges into the dry ditch, but when 

 the hounds reach the spot where he disappeared they 

 are again at fault. Nor do subsequent efforts bring his 

 whereabouts to light. There must have been some 

 unsuspected earth into which he crept, warmly con- 

 gratulating himself upon a singularly narrow escape. 

 It is past four o'clock, and we are reluctantly compelled 

 to admit that to-day the fox has had the best of us. 



So ends the first meet of the S hounds — without a 



kill, truly, but with the consciousness that every man, 

 hound, and horse has done his work in a way which 

 can only be accepted as an earne$t of better luck to 

 come. That other packs may throughout the season be 

 as fortunate as ours, and that ours may be as fortunate 

 as the best, is a concluding wish to which no one will 

 take exception. 



