HARDER AND HARDER. 173 



to cast an impervious mantle round Madame Reynard in 

 her sorest need, we found Asliby Pastures forsaken for a 

 general gathering of the race at Thorpe Trussels adjacent. 

 Three fields in pursuit of one of these foxes made it quite 

 patent tliat a burning scent was not to be long to-day ; 

 three more fields certified to a fox to ground. Bolted 

 him, ran and hunted him for an hour and a half, aye and 

 hunted him to death close to where he was found. To 

 make a story of it, however, could only be done at j^er 

 line — a scale which is neither in keeping with mine 

 Editor's requirements nor with the material of five days 

 a week. I might, even with my matter of fact pen, draw 

 ghastly pictures of what we saw and how we were terrified 

 — now, and again, and time after time in that quiet cruise 

 round Great Dalby. The gallant, the giddy, tlie fierce 

 and the fair — for bravery, rashness, temerity, or timidity 

 — none seemed exempt from peril and catastrophe. And 

 we went home sorely puzzled in our minds as to whether 

 or no the game of foxhunting was, after all, too dangerous 

 — if not for our unworthy selves, at least for our best 

 belongings. But such gruesome incidents are better for- 

 gotten than perpetuated. They lacked even a comic side — 

 such as cannot but belong to even our dearest friend's 

 dive into a dirty duckpond — a trait of the plunger that 

 has long remained the only link between him and Her 

 Gracious Majesty's mounted musketeers. But there is a 

 certain monotony even in the routine of going out hunting 

 every day in rude health and returning home unscathed 

 — through which there have been many recent, and more 

 or less successful, efforts to break. Sunday, however. 



