saved for the rider. When he arises the red coat is out of sight,
and his own horse is half across the field before him. In such a
position, is it possible that a man should like it ?

About four o'clock in the afternoon, when the other men are
coming in, he turns up at the hunting stables, and nobody asks
him any questions. He may have been doing fairly well for what
anybody knows, and, as he says nothing of himself, his disgrace
is at any rate hidden. Why should he tell that he had been nearly
an hour on foot trying to catch his horse, that he had sat
himself down on a bank and almost cried, and that he had drained
his flask to the last drop before one o'clock ? No one need know
the extent of his miseries. And no one does know how great is the
misery endured by those who hunt regularly, and who do not like it.




THE MAN WHO HUNTS AND DOES LIKE IT.

The man who hunts and does like it is an object of keen envy to
the man who hunts and doesn't; but he, too, has his own miseries,
and I am not prepared to say that they are always less
aggravating than those endured by his less ambitious brother in
the field. He, too, when he comes to make up his account, when
he brings his hunting to book and inquires whether his whistle
has been worth its price, is driven to declare that vanity and
vexation of spirit have been the prevailing characteristics of
his hunting life. On how many evenings has he returned contented
with his sport ? How many days has he declared to have been