as the Braeside Harriers were, Lord Hampstead determined to
make the experiment, and on a certain morning had himself driven
to Cronelloe Thorn, a favourite meet halfway between Penrith and
Keswick.

I hold that nothing is so likely to be permanently prejudicial to
the interest of hunting in the British Isles as a certain flavour of
tip-top fashion which has gradually enveloped it. There is a pretence
of grandeur about that and, alas, about other sports also, which is,
to my thinking, destructive of all sport itself. Men will not shoot
unless game is made to appear before them in clouds. They will not
fish unless the rivers be exquisite. To row is nothing unless you can
be known as a national hero. Cricket requires appendages which are
troublesome and costly, and by which the minds of economical fathers
are astounded. To play a game of hockey in accordance with the times
you must have a specially trained pony and a gaudy dress. Racquets
have given place to tennis because tennis is costly. In all these
cases the fashion of the game is much more cherished than the game
itself. But in nothing is this feeling so predominant as in hunting.
For the management of a pack, as packs are managed now, a huntsman
needs must be a great man himself, and three mounted subordinates are
necessary, as at any rate for two of these servants a second horse
is required. A hunt is nothing in the world unless it goes out four
times a week at least. A run is nothing unless the pace be that of a
steeplechase. Whether there be or be not a fox before the hounds is
of little consequence to the great body of riders. A bold huntsman
who can make a dash across country from one covert to another, and
who can so train his hounds that they shall run as though game were
before them, is supposed to have provided good sport. If a fox can be
killed in covert afterwards so much the better for those who like to
talk of their doings. Though the hounds brought no fox with them, it
is of no matter. When a fox does run according to his nature he is
reviled as a useless brute, because he will not go straight across
country. But the worst of all is the attention given by men to things
altogether outside the sport. Their coats and waistcoats, their boots
and breeches, their little strings and pretty scarfs, their saddles
and bridles, their dandy knick-knacks, and, above all, their flasks,
are more to many men than aught else in the day's proceedings. I
have known gir