MY FIRST BRUSH. 123 



are in the habit of attending hounds, even from the 

 very commencement of the regular hunting season, I 

 have always looked upon the cub-hunting months to 

 be by far the best time for a man fond of the woi^k of 

 hounds, to indulge his venatic taste, w^ithout the 

 danger of being either himself ridden over, or having 

 the greater part of his hounds trampled down and 

 destroyed. Long before I kept hounds myself, I was 

 in the constant practice of beginning with the first 

 morning's cub-hunting, and going out regularly through 

 the summer and autumn, with the pack which hunted 

 my neighbourhood in Warwickshire, and many is the 

 run I have seen in those woodlands, which would not 

 have disgraced December, and many the fox killed 

 while the lazy world were snoring away their time in 

 bed ; even when a schoolboy, I never lost the oppor- 

 tunity when it offered, of running on foot for miles to 

 get a sight of the hounds, either as they were 

 passing from one cover to draw another, or where 

 they might be even seen for a few moments on their 

 return home from hunting ; and as five of my boyish 

 years were spent with a private tutor in the cream of 

 the Pytchley country, it is not much to be wondered 

 at that the innate love of hunting should have been 

 cherished till it became "the ruling passion," and 

 that the remembrance of those early and dearly loved 

 scenes round Hemplow Hills and Win wick Warren 

 should be amongst the fondest of my by-gone days. 



" My first brush,''' that trophy so sought for and 

 valued by the old school, now become by far too dirty 

 and odoriferous for the white gloves of the modern 

 fox-hunter, was gained in that Paradise of Chase, 

 Northamptonshire. It was late in the month of 



