214 ^^^^ Pytchley Hunt, Past and Present. 



stare about and look for tlie Huntsman's help. He casts 

 round the field where the hounds have thrown up ; then 

 tries forward with a bold and increasing sweep^ and 

 then backward, and at last a well-known roadster 

 ** feathers '^ on the line. The chorus^ but in greatly 

 diminished volume, recommences, and hearts once more 

 beat high. But though a mile or two are traversed, the 

 pace never exceeds the conventional " donkey's-gallop /' 

 and it becomes only too clear that the virtue has gone 

 out of the whole thing. But why so ? and for what 

 reason was there this unlooked-for disappointment ? 

 Because the cobwebs and the rollers at the Meet were 

 right after all, and there was that in the atmosphere — 

 nescio quid — which prevented the scent from being at 

 any time really a good one. So long as they were close 

 at him, hounds could almost fly, but no sooner was 

 he chivied by a shepherd^s dog, than having shaken 

 off this new enemy, he felt that he had done with the old 

 ones ; at least for the time being. Discontentedly riding 

 home after a bad day, our friend *^ Bruiser'^ mournfully 

 meditates over the uncertainty of things in general; but 

 more especially of scent. Eemembering his prophecy of 

 the morning, he vows that never again will he venture 

 to give an opinion on so ticklish a subject as a scenting 

 day ; and for a time keeps his word. But '^ guesses at 

 truth " do not always tell against the question. 



"Too blustering to draw the Gorse to-day,^' once said 

 Mr. Langham to Will Goodall on one Wednesday 

 morning, as each took shelter from a hurricane of wind 

 under the lee of Crick Church. " Take the hounds home, 

 and we will come to-morrow instead." 



** Begging your pardon, sir," said Will, " we shall 



