The Sport of Our Ancestors 



for any amount of disappointments. And he was right. 

 To take out a pack of Foxhounds, every one of whom you 

 have bred and entered yourself ; to know that they will 

 conform to the movements of your horse, and unless they 

 are hunting a Fox will never fail to come to your horn and 

 voice, and will, in fact, do everything that you ask them 

 to do without any whipping-in ; to take them to a covert and 

 hear them open on their Fox ; to see them fling themselves 

 of their own accord to recover the scent when they have 

 overrun it ; to help them out of one or two difficulties ; to 

 see them run into the animal you have never set eyes on 

 until you see him dead beat in the same field with the 

 Hounds, and to enjoy all this from the back of a thorough- 

 bred horse, are things that make life worth living. 



It is a mild morning about the second week in January. 

 The clouds are high. The long bents are nodding to a 

 gentle southerly breeze. The air is moist and the distance 

 clear, favourable for both sight and sound. This is the right 

 atmosphere. It promotes a general sense of well-being. 

 The razor behaves well ; ^the horn seems to sound of its 

 own accord directly it is pressed to the lips ; leathers, 

 saddle, reins, and gloves are supple and adhesive, so differ- 

 ent from the stiff slippery things that they can be in the 

 winds of March ; and on these warm, humid days the fox 

 tires before the hounds more quickly than in cold, dry 

 weather. 



The meet is in the wilder and less fashionable part of 

 the country, approached by roads that have hitherto escaped 



44 



