442 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



made their cast rightward ; but were never able to throw 

 themselves leftward, till after a while their huntsman 

 brought them back to where they would instinctively have 

 turned but for our prohibitory presence. Their fox had 

 turned alongside the fence as soon as he had cleared the 

 gateway, and so he gained some five minutes, and, I think, 

 his brush. For, though they followed him yet further 

 along the glen yclept Maidwell Dale, nearly to Scotland 

 Wood, they were hunting under difficulties that gradually 

 put a stop to the game, in his favour. 



A fine hunting-run was this, easy to ride, and none too 

 severe upon horses, if only you kept moving on with hounds. 

 Yet I hear of numerous tired horses, and I know of many 

 very late dinners that night. The forty minutes to Hazel- 

 beach contained nigh upon a five-mile point ; after which 

 they certainly hunted on for fully two miles more. 



As a postscript I give you the following, a perverted 

 instance of "the ruling passion strong in death." It may 

 have shocked, but it certainly served to amuse, the Pytch- 

 ley field some few days ago. The chief baker of a 

 certain little town and notable hunting centre of North- 

 amptonshire has the wit to combine with the local busi- 

 ness he carries on so creditably the occasional, and 

 probably far more remunerative, role of penciller at 

 adjacent race-meetings. At the end of a brief, hot 

 gallop, on the very outskirts of the town in question, 

 the baker's horse fell prone upon the road. The owner's 

 first thought was to loosen the girths ; his next was as 

 to how the breadcart was to be drawn about on the 

 following morning ; his third was how to make possibly 

 capital out of the occasion. As the dying animal eked 

 out his last gasps, the enterprising proprietor stood on one 

 side, whip in one hand, pocket-book in the other : " Two 

 to one I'll lay he doesn't get up again ! Three to one ! I 

 Four to one ! ! ! Five to one, I'll lay ! ! ! ! No takers ? " 

 And with a sigh almost as loud as the poor steed's final 

 breath, he returned his book to his pocket, and proceeded 

 to carry off his saddle to the shop hard by. 



Scraps of the week. Two facts, the one a merry 

 frivol, the other gruesome and uninviting. 



