Part 3

_Huntsman_ (_on being introduced to future wife of M.F.H._). "Proud to make your acquaintance, miss! Known the Capting, miss, for nigh on ten seasons, and never saw 'im turn 'is 'ead from hanything as was jumpable! Knows a 'oss and knows a 'ound! Can ride one and 'unt t'other; and if that ain't as much as can be looked for in a 'usband, miss, why, I'll be jiggered!"

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A LIBERAL ALLOWANCE

_Huntsman_ (_who has just drawn Mr. Van Wyck's coverts blank_). "Rather short of cubs, I'm afraid, sir!"

_Mr. Van Wyck_ (_who has very recently acquired his country seat_). "Most extraordinary! Can't understand it at all! Why, I told my keeper to order a dozen only last week!"

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STRAIGHT

_Huntsman_ (_to Boy, who is riding his second horse_). "Hi, there! What the doose are yer doin' of with that second 'oss?"

_Boy_ (_Irish, and only just come to the Hunt stables from a Racing Establishment_). "Arrah thin, if oi roides oi roides to win! and divil a second is he goin' to be at all, at all!!"

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FORBEARANCE

_Member of Hunt_ (_to Farmer_). "I wouldn't ride over those seeds if I were you. They belong to a disagreeable sort of fellow, who might make a fuss about it."

_Farmer._ "Well, sir, as him's me, he won't say nothing about it to-day."

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TOO MUCH

(_Pity the Sorrows of a poor Hunting Man!_)

_Sportsman_ (_suffering from intense aberration of mind in consequence of the weather, in reply to wife of his bosom_). "Put out? Why, o' course I'm put out. Been just through the village, and hang me if at least half a dozen fools haven't told me that it's nice seasonable weather!"

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AT THE HUNT BALL

_Mr. Hardhit._ "Don't you think, Miss Highflier, that men look much better in pink--less like waiters?"

_Miss Highflier._ "Yes, but more like ringmasters--eh?"

[_Hardhit isn't a bit offended, but seizes the opportunity._

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THE HUNTSMAN'S POINT OF VIEW.

One of the best runs of the season.

Good scent all the way.

Sir Heavistone Stogdon unfortunately fell at a stiff bank and broke his collar-bone.

At the last moment, I regret to say, the fox got away.

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FOOLS AND THEIR MONEY--

_Jones_ (_who has been having a fair bucketing for the last half-hour, as he passes friend, in his mad career_). "I'd give a fiver to get off this brute!"

_Friend_ (_brutal_). "Don't chuck your money away, old chap! You'll be off for less than that!"

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WITH THE QUEEN'S

_Leading Sportsman._ "Hold ha--rd! Here's some more of that confounded barbed wire! Dashed if I don't think this country is mainly inhabited by retired fishing-tackle makers!"

[_Makes for nearest gate, followed by sympathetic field._

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HIS OPINION

_Jenkinson_ (_to M.F.H., who dislikes being bothered_). "What do you think of this horse?" (_No answer._) "Bred him myself, you know!"

_M.F.H._ (_looking at horse out of corner of his eye_). "Umph! I thought you couldn't have been such a silly idiot as to have _bought_ him!"

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SEVERE

_M.F.H._ (_to Youth from neighbouring Hunt, who has been making himself very objectionable_). "Now, look here, young man. I go cub-hunting for the purpose of educating _my own_ puppies. As you belong to another pack, I'll thank you to take yourself home!"

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"IN THE DIM AND DISTANT FUTURE"

_First Sportsman_ (_cantering along easily_). "I say, we shall see you at dinner on the nineteenth, shan't we?"

_Second Ditto_ (_whose horse is very fresh, and bolting with him_). "If the beast goes on like this--hanged if you'll ever see me again."

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OUR HUNT "POINT TO POINT"

Last week our Point to Point steeplechase came off. So did several of the riders: this merely _par parenthèse_. I offered to mark out the course, and, as I intended to escape the dread ordeal of riding by scratching my horse at the last moment, I thought it would be great fun to choose a very stiff, not to say bloodthirsty, line. Awful grumbling on the part of those unhappy ones who were to ride. Just as the bell rang for saddling, Captain Sproozer, ready dressed for the fray, came up to me with very long face, and said, "Beastly line this, you know, Phunker. I call it much too stiff."

I smiled in pitying and superior manner. "Think so, my dear Sproozer? My horse can't run, worse luck, but I only wish _I_ were going to have the gallop over it."

"So you shall, then!" cried a rasping voice, suddenly, from behind me. Sir Hercules Blizzard was the speaker, an awful man with an awful temper. "So you shall. My idiot of a jockey broke his collar-bone trying to jump one of the fences on this confounded course of yours to-day, so, as I am without a rider, you shall ride my mare Dinah."

Swallowed lump in my throat as I thanked him for his offer, but thought I had better decline, as I didn't know the mare, and besides that, I----

"Oh! all right, I know what you are going to say: that you're not much good on a horse"--(nothing of the sort! I was not going to say any such thing, confound the man!) "Of course, I know all that, and that you're not much of a rider; but I can't help myself now. It's too late to get a decent horseman, so I shall have to make shift with you."

Deuced condescending of him. I made a feeble effort to escape, and would cheerfully have paid a hundred pounds for the chance of doing so. Phil Poundaway, great friend of mine, came up and said (sympathetically, as I thought at first), "I should think you'd prefer to get off it, wouldn't you, Phunker?"

Thought he would volunteer in my place, so was perfectly frank with him. "My dear Phil, I'd give a hundred to get off----"

"Ah! you will, I expect, at the first fence, without paying the money!" he grinned, as he turned away.

Murder was in my heart at that moment. I got on Dinah, and, feeling like death, rode down to the starting-post. Thoughts of a misspent youth, of home and friends and things, came o'er me. I seemed once more to see the little rose-covered porch, the----

"What on earth are you mooning about?" thundered the Blizzardian voice in my ear. "Take hold of her head tighter than that, or you'll be off!"

The next moment the starter yelled "Go!" and away, like a whirlwind, we sped across the first field, towards a huge, thick blackthorn fence, the one I had thought to see such fun with. Fun! I never felt less funny in my life, as we approached it at the rate of two thousand miles an hour! The mare jumped high, but I jumped much higher, and seemed for a brief moment to be soaring through the blue empyrean. Somehow, the mare managed to evade me on the return journey earthwards, and, instead of alighting on the saddle, I found myself "sitting on the floor." A howl--it might have been of sympathy, but it didn't sound quite like that--arose from the crowd, and then I thought that I would go home on foot, instead of returning to explain matters to Sir Hercules. As a matter of fact, I don't much care for associating with old Blizzard, at all events, not just now.

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THE END OF THE HUNTING SEASON

(_By Our Own Novice_)

Good-bye to the season! E'en gluttons Have had quite enough of the game, And if we returned to our muttons, Our horses are laid up and lame. We hunted straight on through the winter, And never were stopped by the frost, As I know right well from each splinter Of bone that my poor limbs have lost.

Good-bye to the season! The "croppers" I got where the fences were tall, And Oh the immaculate "toppers" That always were crushed by my fall. Don't think though that I'm so stout-hearted As e'er to jump hedges or dikes, It's simply that after we've started, My "gee" gallivants as it likes.

In vain I put on natty breeches, And tops like Meltonian swell, It ends in the blessed old ditches, I know like the Clubs in Pall Mall.

And when from a "gee" that's unruly I fall with a terrible jar, I know that old _Jorrocks_ spoke truly, And hunting's "the image of war."

And never for me "_Fair Diana_" Shall smile as we know that she can, With looks that are sweeter than manna, On many a fortunate man. It adds to the pangs that I suffer, When thrown at a fence in her track, To hear her "Ridiculous duffer!" When jumping slap over my back.

I've fractured my ulnar, I'm aching Where over my ribs my horse rolled; Egad! the "Old Berkeley" is making One man feel uncommonly old. Good-bye to the season! I'm shattered And damaged in figure and face; But thankful to find I'm not scattered In pieces all over the place!

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SEASONABLE DISH FOR A SPORTSMAN.--A plate o' _f_ox-tail soup.

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THE RULE OF THE HUNTING-FIELD.--Lex Tally-ho-nis.

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FASHIONABLE FOOD FOR HORSES.--Hay _à la_ mowed.

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THE END

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

End of Project Gutenberg's Mr. Punch in the Hunting Field, by Various