86 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



He was even a newer boy than myself. I had almost, by 

 virtue of seniority, asked him his name. Besides him, I 

 found old comrades, such as Captains Onslow and Hone, 

 with other acquaintance of previous or passing occasion. 

 It does not take you long to find camaraderie in an Irish 

 hunting-field. 



There was a deer in the cart. There may have been 

 two, if a deer-cart be double-barrelled — a point of venerie 

 of which it has never yet occurred to me to obtain solu- 

 tion. I know only that two deer generally take carriage 

 exercise on these occasions. But, in any case, the cart 

 had nothing to do with this, the most unartificial, and in 

 many respects the most attractive, deer-hunt at which it 

 has ever been my fortune to assist. Hounds found their 

 deer for themselves, got away close at his brush (or what- 

 ever takes the place of that honoured attribute) ; and after 

 having bustled him heartily at starting, never ran him, or 

 rather her, into view again. They drove their hind very 

 hard for twenty-five minutes, throwing their tongues lust- 

 ily ; then for another hour and a half hunted out her line 

 like harriers, running, as is the way of staghounds, nearly 

 mute on a cold scent, yet opening freely when they found 

 excuse for pace. They had not caught her even then. 

 And not until Friday shall I learn whether or no she still 

 runs wild. I and others from a distance had all done 

 sufficient by that hour, and scent seemed fading fast. 



This outlying deer had taken up her quarters in Poor- 

 house Gorse. Report came to say that she had been seen 

 to leave it that morning ; but after consultation as to 

 whether a fox would be disturbed, Brindley was given 

 licence to draw it. 



{Thursday, March lo). — And now, by reason of innate 

 dilatoriness and the pressure of pleasant occupation, I find 

 myself with about half-an-hour in which to tell you of 

 nearly a two hours' run. Perhaps I may limit myself to 

 the early thirty minutes. 



Poorhouse Gorse. No chance of a fox being in it. 

 Every chance, Brindley urged, of his outlying deer. 

 Hounds threw their tongues the moment they entered. 

 Only the usual let-off of music, we deemed it. that stag- 



