130 THE BEST SEASON ON EECORD. 



same, no doubt, that about three weeks ago also zig- 

 zagged so curiously. Well, he played the same trick to- 

 day, to a still less temperate field — and, believe me, not 

 even a hound was killed. But he must soon surely have 

 the death of a couple or two at his door — unless his mask 

 is speedily nailed over the kennel, or these Quorn Fridays 

 are held at Bunney. 



Saturday, Jan. 5, opened so fair and fine for the Cottes- 

 more meet at PIckwell that we had never a thought of a 

 wetting, and there was never a waterproof — scarcely a 

 shabby coat or hat — in the field. About tiiis time of the 

 year we begin to replenish our kits, or to bring coat or 

 habit out of the silver paper from which \vc were loath to 

 release it too soon. And a lawn meet such as Pickwell, 

 whereat at least three Hants will be represented, must 

 ever constitute an occasion demanding our smartest 

 apparel. So we were all smiles at the meet — unless the 

 new garment was not forthcoming, and the old one was 

 felt to be wofully threadbare, or — worse still — if the new 

 vestment of our heart's vanity was felt to be a misfit and 

 a failure. But exactly in a contrary ratio did our spirits 

 rise or fall, when the drenching rain began as we neared 

 the Punchbowl. But this has little to do with the sport. 

 Nor, for once, had the Punchbowl. It was with the second 

 fox that a straight gallop of five-and-twenty minutes was 

 enacted, to put men on pleasant terms with themselves and 

 the day. They found him in Berry Gorse ; and, though 

 in three fields it was obvious that there was only lialf a 

 scent, he ke])t his head bravely up the wind — and hounds 

 made all possible ca})ital of the indulgence. They took 



