The Hunting Year 



his gallop, and so has the horse, and they go 

 home well pleased with themselves and each 

 other. 



But hounds run on with what may be termed 

 the " monotony " of pace. They never dwell 

 or slacken for a moment. Right up the middle 

 of the fields, turning neither to the right nor to 

 the left, they race along. Every mile sees some- 

 one dropping out — lucky the man who can 

 manage to keep on anything like terms with 

 them, and when at the end of an hour they 

 check, a score alone out of a large field are with 

 them. The check is a short one, caused by 

 the fox running through a drain, and hounds 

 are soon going again nearly as fast as ever. 

 Field after field, mile after mile is left behind 

 them ; in front a big wood tells that safety is at 

 hand if the gallant fox can only reach it, but 

 within two hundred yards of the open earths 

 hounds roll him over in the open after an hour 

 and a half with only one check, and if you are 

 one of the lucky twelve who see the fox eaten, 

 you have seen the best run of your life — a run 



such as you will probably never see again. 



92 



