2i8 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



wished (for this and every reason) that happy autumn 

 were back, when the perusal of " to-day's Times " was a 

 needless, unprofitable task, and when nothing more serious 

 engrossed attention than plans for the morrow and prattle 

 upon past and future. Recent evenings have found you 

 genial, perhaps, till ten, heavy-eyed till bed-time, but fresh 

 as a daisy, doubtless, at saddle-hour next morning. So, 

 forgive my diary's dulness, and grant me, another week, 

 rather a specimen day than a storm-tossed series. 



I begin with Friday, the cruellest day of all, when 

 the Pytchley were at West Haddon, and all West Haddon 

 at Watford Gorse. Capital fellows these shoemakers. 

 They love a hunt, and they mean to see it — or at all 

 events the fox — if possible. They don't bring many dogs 

 with them ; they work hard on another day or two during 

 the week ; and who shall grudge them their fortnightly 

 outing with foxhounds ? They are down upon barbed 

 wire too, and threaten to cut every bit in the neighbour- 

 hood. They say leather won't stand it, either raw hide 

 or tanned apron. 



I think that on Friday they were more under control 

 than any other factor of the chase. For ourselves, we 

 were ungovernable. The hurricane made fools of us all. 

 It confused the foxes, drove hounds off their noses, and 

 us on the top of them. Horses were unmanageable : so 

 were hats, so were habits, so were gates, so were tempers. 

 Men blew each other up : women were in two instances 

 blown completely over. I remember nothing like it before 

 or since the great gale of October 9 — some ten years ago, 

 wasn't it, Tom Firr ? 



How can I give you example of the wild, distracting 

 influence of this tempestuous day better than in the fol- 

 lowing instance? If there is one pack in the United 

 Kingdom that can claim to be free from riot it is the 

 Pytchley. The wild deer of their woodlands have no 

 charm for them ; and they will hunt their way unrufSed 

 through an army of " old hares " (all hares, as you know, 

 are " old hares " in the language of huntsmen and country 

 folk). It so happened that one of our dressiest men had 

 SD far surrendered himself to the hurricane as at the last 



