64 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



of death and mourning, and the wail that comes of the 

 pestilence — exchange it, push it back, our own sorrows 

 and those of more general, more lofty consequence, for 

 active, outdoor geniality — not for forgetfulness, but for 

 healthy, vigorous palliation ? Life is made up of alter- 

 native ; else, how would they upon whom life is insisted, 

 bear its burden to all appearance cheerfully onward ? 

 The Harakvi is not for our clime — for high or for low! 

 Would you drown grief or disappointment — do it, not in 

 the flowing bowl (or its quenchless after-thirst), but in the 

 manly distraction of sport — above all, me judice, in the 

 brisk, kindly atmosphere of the hunting-field ! If new 

 aspiration, new hope, new life, new spirits cannot be 

 gleaned in a run with hounds — if happy forgetfulness, 

 to be succeeded by a pleasing content that makes the world 

 brighter and one's fellow-men more appreciable, is not to 

 be found in the excitement of a ride to hounds — tell me, 

 pray tell me, where it is to be had, and pass me there 

 forthwith, properly horsed and fitly accoutred ! I wonder 

 if I re-echo the unspoken thought and prayer of many and 

 many a hunting man towards the close of this death-dealing 

 period of frost and grief — suggestive and memory-laden 

 in its weight of woe to each one of us with all that has 

 been mournful in our own lives. I think I do. It has 

 been. Give us release — give us active, self-reliant life. Let 

 us forth to revive, to ride, to breathe — where gloom shall 

 be dispelled by hearty exercise, and painful topic give place 

 to healthful, mirth-bringing excitement ! 



And on Saturday we hunted. Once more it was given 

 us to ride to hounds upon a scent — to ride, it is true, 

 somewhat sedately or craftily in the forenoon, but to make 

 the most of what was vouchsafed in the afternoon, when 

 the thaw had reached below the surface and the turf under 

 the northern hedgerows had in some degree yielded. 

 Hounds at any rate could work their foxes and play with 

 us to their own advantage, whether by sending us round 

 to gate or gap, or by leaving us standing still, as the phrase 

 goes, in a wheatfield. 



The atmosphere of the day may have had something 

 to do with it : over-dieting a good deal. But if the im- 



