The Hunting Year 



future keep crowding on the brain. From that 

 glorious gallop of three seasons ago the mind 

 flits to that far more glorious gallop which we 

 hope will take place in December — that gallop 

 in which for once we are to have all the luck. 

 But once arrived at our destination reminiscence 

 and anticipations must be banished, for at any 

 moment " the hunt may be up," and woe to the 

 man who has not kept eyes and ears open when 

 the huntsman comes his way. 



How quiet everything is! A wood-pigeon 

 coos plaintively; a jay starts noisily chattering 

 amongst the trees. Otherwise not a sound is 

 heard but the jingling of the bit, or the stamp 

 of the horse's foot to rid himself of the annoying 

 attentions of the insect life of the woods. Sud- 

 denly the insect life is forgotten, and he is all 

 attention as he stands with pricked ears and 

 quivering nostrils. His ear, quicker than that 

 of his rider, has caught the sound he loves so 

 well; in another instant his rider has heard it 

 too. 



The challenge, repeated again and again, 

 swells into a chorus from fifty couple of throats, 



30 



