1 94 Tally ho, 



smiles to deck tlie overcast sky. It was a decidedly 

 wet morning, with a cold north-east wind and a steady 

 downpour that wetted me through before I reached 

 the quiet little village of Langham. However, it is 

 said that there is a silver lining to every cloud, and the 

 proverb was not belied on this occasion, for the rain 

 ceased before Neale and his noble pack appeared on 

 the scene. I have a great respect for the huntsman of 

 the Cottesmore. I think he is one of the most earnest 

 and persevering men of the day, always desirous of 

 showing sport and determined to kill his fox if fortune 

 gives him the smallest chance, in addition to which he 

 is a very neat and excellent horseman, and goes at his 

 fences in a determined way that shows his heart to be 

 in the business, and it must be a rasper indeed that 

 will make him turn his head away. 



Exceedingly well-mounted is Neale, as also are his 

 whips. The first, James Goddard by name, is a 

 clinker to hounds, and on this occasion was mounted 

 on a chestnut that looked all over a hunter, fresh as a 

 kitten, and clever enough to jump through a hoop. 

 I have seen this first-class whip perform on several 

 occasions, and predict a successful career for him. Of 

 the hounds it is impossible to speak in too high terms. 

 Had I not noted their condition at the early part of 

 last season, and subsequently at the close seen them 

 at work, I might have suggested that they are a little 

 too fine-drawn ; but, remembering that I had then to 

 change my opinion, I am content to think that Neale 

 knows his business better than I do. Anyhow, they 

 are a noble lot of animals, and fully maintain the 

 celebrity of the Cottesmore Hunt. 



After receiving a pleasant and courteous reception 



