A DAY WITH THE DRAG 217 



not a steam roundabout, my dear chap ! " and my 

 heart smites me. Before, however, I can make up my 

 wavermg mind as to whether conscience imperatively 

 demands of me " a pull," or not, to my great joy, 

 hounds suddenly throw up their heads where the 

 drag has evidently been lifted, and we find ourselves 

 at the ever welcome check. Most of us slip off our 

 smoking steeds, whose shaking tails and sweat- 

 lathered coats attest the rate at which these three 

 miles have been covered. By twos and threes, the 

 stragglers, and those whose luck is " out," arrive. 

 One man has broken the cantle of his saddle, another 

 has managed to pull his horse's bridle off in the 

 floundering of a fall : here is a rider whose spur has 

 been dragged off his boot : there one who has 

 broken his girths : two men are hatless and another 

 has lost his cigarette case, presumably whilst stand- 

 ing on his head after trying unsuccessfully to 

 negotiate a stile without jumping it. However, these 

 are but common incidents of the chase, and " all in 

 the day's work." The troubles are taken good 

 humouredly, and in the true spirit of philosophy. 

 The men who have second horses out, have now 

 mounted them, whilst the rest of us who intend 

 ridin" the concluding half of the line, resume 

 acquaintance with our splashed saddles and mud- 

 stained steeds. Trotting off across a road, we again 



