A quarter-mile range of high unpainted oak paling, well seasoned, well
carpentered, innocent of chink or shrinkage, impervious to the human eye.
Visible above it the domed heads of enormous elm trees steeped in
sunshine, rising towards the ample curve of the summer sky. At intervals,
with tumultuous rush and scurry, the thud of the hoofs of unseen horses,
galloping for all they are worth over grass. The suck and rub of breeches
against saddle-flaps, the rattle of a curb chain or the rings of a bit.
A call, a challenge, smothered exclamations. The long-drawn swish of the
polo stick through the air, and the whack of the wooden head of it
against ball, or ground, or something unluckily softer and more sentient.
A pause, broken only by distant voices, and the sound, or rather sense,
of men and horses in quiet and friendly movement; followed by the
tumultuous rush and scurry, and all the moving incidents of the heard,
yet unwitnessed, drama over again.

For here it was that gallant and costly game beloved of Oriental
princes--rather baldly described to Mr. Iglesias yesterday by the driver of
the Hammersmith 'bus as a "kind of hockey on horseback"--in very full swing
no doubt. Only unfortunately Iglesias found himself on the wrong side of
the palings. And, since he had learned, indirectly, from the observations
of the monumental police-sergeant--directing the stream of carriages at
the entrance gates--to other would-be spectators, that to the polo
ground, as to so much else obviously desirable in this world, there is
"no admission except by ticket," on the wrong side of these same palings
he recognised he was fated to stay. It was a disappointment, not to say
an annoyance. For he had come forth, in accordance with his
determination, to make observations and inquiries regarding that same
matter of amusement. And, since the influence of that which is to be acts
upon us almost, if not quite, as strongly as the influence of that which