the best judges in England. A trifle high in flesh 

 for hunt horses perhaps; but when you have said 

 that, you have said all that the keenest critic can 

 find to object to. Every one is full of hope and ex- 

 pectation, for the whole season is before them with 

 its possibilities of glorious moments, the hke of 

 which can be enjoyed only in the hunting-field. The 

 huntsman possibly feels a little anxious, for the 

 whole throng depend on him for their sport; and, 

 as he is judged strictly by results, a bad scenting 

 day, for which he is in no way responsible, may 

 nevertheless lower his reputation. But, after all, 

 he is not much to be pitied, for his work is his 

 pleasure, and he knows as no one else does what 

 those eighteen or twenty couple of hounds can do. 



The Master has his cares, for the very popularity 

 of the hunt fills his mind with a continual dread 

 lest some of those reckless youths should take as 

 little thought for his hounds as they do for their own 

 necks. He looks at his watch and nods to the 

 huntsman, who moves quietly off, the pack cluster- 

 ing round his horse and then trotting on in their 

 eagerness as far in front as their respect for the 

 first whipper-in, who leads the way and represents 

 order and discipline, will allow. They know what 

 is before them, and their waving sterns flash white 

 in the anticipation of coming pleasure that fills 

 them. 



Bescaby Oaks is the first covert to be drawn. The 

 field follow till they are packed in a muddy green 

 lane where they can do little mischief and whence 

 many of them will find it hard to disentangle them- 

 selves. But we have edged as near the gate on the 

 right as may be. The leaves are still on the trees^ 

 golden, scarlet and brown, and there is that inde- 

 scribable scent of hunting in the air that stirs us 

 with the associations of past pleasures of the chase. 

 There is a cheer from the huntsman, a crack of 



23 



