DRYING UP ! 209 



playful episodes of cubliunting (not the early mob-liim- 

 and-taste-him period) — cantering quietly from gate to 

 gap, absolved at last from all shame in our cowardice, 

 and watching hounds, like Osman Digna does his fighting 

 men, from afar — or, as we prefer to term it in our irre- 

 verence for those who lived and rode before the world 

 seemed made only for us, " like good old-fashioned 

 sportsmen." There seemed to be quite a fair scent, 

 too, on Monday — as indeed there has been throughout 

 the week, since the dry wind has shifted round from 

 hot sou'-west to chilly nor'-east. The exigencies of 

 spring have on recent occasions introduced us to a mixed 

 pack — instead of its being composed as usual almost 

 exclusively of one sex or the other. In my compara- 

 tively worthless opinion this is a great improvement, in 

 most ways except appearance. The soundest and most 

 humorous of all judges of hunting advocated " a few 

 couple of dogs to correct the frivolity of the bitches." 

 Even this much is seldom granted — a couple or two of 

 little dogs alone being told off to the lady pack, in the 

 same way that a similar number of overgrown bitches are 

 sent out with the dog pack. I would go farther than this ; 

 and run about an equal number of either sex. If only as 

 a matter of music, the result would be welcome. But 

 beyond this, I believe the leading faults of each would be 

 noticeably corrected. (I am by no means alluding to any 

 particular pack of hounds.) The ladies by themselves, as 

 every tyro knows, flash very readily over the line, even 

 on a hot scent — either from over anxiety or from inborn 



