TROUBLES OF A MASTER 297 



ally think that a few seasons' experience would 

 teach even these gentlemen some of the rudiments 

 of woodcraft, and that they would for their own 

 sake endeavour to understand some of the simpler 

 matters relating to the hunting of a pack of 

 hounds. But they don't. Season after season 

 they go on, heading foxes and spoiling runs, and 

 when sport is bad, too frequently from their own 

 fault, they blame the Master, or the huntsman, or 

 the hounds. They, mark you, are never in fault, 

 and frequently when remonstrated with, they take 

 it badly. 



Perhaps as these gentlemen are " peculiar to 

 no skies," but have their prototypes all over the 

 country, it will be better for me not to name 

 localities, but merely describe what I have seen and 

 heard. We were in a fine country, one in which 

 there are plenty of foxes, and there was a very large 

 field. The morning, however, was anything but 

 propitious ; there was a watery white frost and too 

 much sun, and those who could read the signs 

 foresaw that there would be a bad scent. And so 

 there was, and with the first fox hounds could 

 barely own a line at times, so he was soon given 

 up of necessity, and they went to try for a fresh 

 fox. Immediately, certain individuals, eager for a 

 start, got all round the covert, and to make their 

 chance of heading the fox a better one, they care- 

 fully got a field away from the covert. A fox was 

 holloaed away, and without waiting for hounds, 

 away went half a score bold fellows to the holloa. 

 Then, of course, they had to wait till hounds did 

 come, but the moment they owned the line away 

 they went again, right on their backs. The 

 result, of course, was a check in a field or two. 



