pace!--couldn't shake off the crowd--yes, we killed our fox;
but the whole thing was dead slow?' or else exclaim, with a face of
delight, 'The fastest thing I have seen for years! Eighteen minutes
_up wind_, extra pace! not a soul but myself in the same field with
them when they threw their heads up. Fox was _back_, of course, and we
never recovered him, but it was by far the best gallop of the season?'
It is evident to me that what you _like_ is riding a good hunter fast
over a stiff country--going a turn better than your neighbours, and
giving your own skill that credit which is due to the superiority of
your horse. You only consider the hounds as a fleeting object at which
to ride; the fox as a necessary evil, without which all this 'rasping'
and 'bruising' and 'cutting down,' as you call it in your ridiculous
jargon, cannot be attained. Why, then, do you waste so much energy,
and money, and civility, and 'soft-sawder,' to preserve the vulpine
race? Why don't you all hunt with stag-hounds, or, better still,
devote yourselves to a drag, when you may gallop and jump and bustle
about, and upset your horses, and break your own necks to your heart's
content?" To all of which John answers, as men invariably do when they
are worsted, that "women can't enter into these things, and I am
talking great nonsense about what I don't understand."

However, let him despise "the calf," as he termed it, as much as he
liked, I was not going to be stewed up in London, with the wind at
south-west, the thermometer 45 deg., and the mud over one's ankles, whilst
Brilliant and White Stockings were eating their heads off in the
stable, so I took advantage of John's good nature to exact a promise
that he would take me down and show me her Majesty's stag-hounds in
the field; and on the express stipulation that Mrs. Lumley should join
our party, and that we should confine ourselves religiously to the
lanes, I was promised the enjoyment of a day's hunting. John did
everything I asked him now; he was even kinder than he used to be; but
it was a different sort of kindness, and it cut me to the heart.

Still, the idea was enchanting: the Great Western made a delightful
cover-hack. We sent our horses on by the early train. The place of
meeting was scarcely three miles from the station, so we had time to
settle ourselves comfortably in the saddle, and to avoid the fuss and
parade of two ladies in their habits stepping out of a first-class
carriage i