172 SKETCHES IX THE HUNTING FIELD. 



morning, and so it is. The snow lias disappeared ; 

 the country is clear ; deep it may be, heavy going even 

 on the grass, worse in the plough, and knee-deep in 

 the rides through tangled coverts ; but what does that 

 matter ? Stout limbs, good wind, and eager hearts are 

 ready to overcome all drawbacks. 



Borders is in despair, and tries to make his company 

 solemnly promise and vow to be home to rehearsal at four 

 o'clock; an attempt in which Borders miserably fails. 

 If Miss Pensyller would ask you to admire this landscape 

 you would willingly cap all her terms of praise ; but 

 she says it is nasty dirty weather, and determines to stay 

 at home. Here come the horses, and when Mufiington, 

 who has been talking very "big" about his prowess, 

 perceives the steed he is to ride rarely standing on more 

 than two legs at the same time, he looks very much as if 

 he would like to stay at home and help Borders, or flirt 

 with the aesthetic Miss Pensyller. 



Philosophers tell us that anticipation is more satis- 

 factory than realisation, and certainly the ride to the 

 meet is not the least agreeable feature of a day's hunt- 

 ing. The cheery nod of acquaintances whom one 

 overtakes on the road, or meets as they come from 

 by-ways and out of lodge gates, shows their delight at 

 having at length got the better of the late vile — that is to 

 say, of course, " seasonable " — weather. 



Recent immunity from danger has made Master Rey- 

 nard incautious, and he is pleasantly trotting along 

 through the under-growth, when Vixen comes upon a 



