A Real Finish. 133 
at least. The costume is true to a thread, and all the 
names of the riders and some of the hounds are written 
underneath. So that a hunter sees not the crude 
colour or faulty drawing, but what it is intended to 
represent. Under its harshness there is the poetry of 
life. But looking at these pictures the reflection will 
still arise how few really truthful hunting scenes we 
have on canvas in this the country of hunting. The 
best are so conventional, and have too much colour. 
All nature in the season is toned down and subdued 
—the gleaming red and bright yellows of the early 
autumn leaves soaked and soddened to a dull brown ; 
the sky dark and louring—if it is bright there is 
frost ; the glossy coat of the horses, and the scarlet, 
or what coloured cloth it may be, of the riders 
deadened by rain and the dewdrops shaken from the 
bushes. Think for a moment of a finish as it is in 
reality, and not in these gaudy, brilliant colour- 
studies. ; 
A thick mist clings in the hollow there by the 
osier-bed where the pack have overtaken the fox, so 
that you cannot see the dogs. Beyond, the contour 
of the hill is lost in the cloud trailing over it ; the fore- 
ground towards us shows a sloping ploughed field, a 
damp brown, with a thin mist creeping along the cold 
furrows. Yonder, three vague and shadowy figures 
are pushing laboriously forward beside the leafless 
hedge ; while the dirt-spattered bays hardly show 
against its black background and through the mist. 
