ls who have thought that their first appearance in
the ball-room, when all was fresh, unstained, and perfect from the
milliner's hand, was the one moment of rapture for the evening. I
have sometimes felt the same of young sportsmen at a Leicestershire
or Northamptonshire meet. It is not that they will not ride when
the occasion comes. They are always ready enough to break their
bones. There is no greater mistake than to suppose that dandyism is
antagonistic to pluck. The fault is that men train themselves to care
for nothing that is not as costly as unlimited expenditure can make
it. Thus it comes about that the real love of sport is crushed under
a desire for fashion. A man will be almost ashamed to confess that
he hunts in Essex or Sussex, because the proper thing is to go down
to the Shires. Grass, no doubt, is better than ploughed land to ride
upon; but, taking together the virtues and vices of all hunting
counties, I doubt whether better sport is not to be found in what
I will venture to call the haunts of the clodpoles, than among the
palmy pastures of the well-breeched beauties of Leicestershire.

Braeside Harriers though they were, a strong taste for foxes had
lately grown up in the minds of men and in the noses of hounds. Blank
days they did not know, because a hare would serve the turn if the
nobler animal were not forthcoming; but ideas of preserving had
sprung up; steps were taken to solace the minds of old women who had
lost their geese; and the Braeside Harriers, though they had kept
their name, were gradually losing their character. On this occasion
the hounds were taken off to draw a covert instead of going to
a so-ho, as regularly as though they were advertised among the
fox-hounds in _The Times_. It was soon known that Lord Hampstead was
Lord Hampstead, and he was welcomed by the field. What matter that he
was a revolutionary Radical if he could ride to hounds? At any rate,
he was the son of a Marquis, and was not left to that solitude which
sometimes falls upon a man who appears suddenly as a stranger among
strangers on a hunting morning. "I am glad to see you out, my lord,"
said Mr. Amblethwaite, the Master. "It isn't often that we get
recruits from Castle Hautboy."

"They think a good deal of shooting there."

"Yes; and they keep their horses in Northamptonshire. Lord Hautboy
does his hunting there. The Earl, I think, never comes out now."

"I dare say not. He has all the foreign nations to look