' The Hound Trail'
The Rev. C. A. W. DICKENS
Here is a talk about as pretty a sport as can be seen in England, though you have to go to the north for it. Among the fells and hills of Cumberland and Westmorland you may stand and watch hounds with glorious names-Deep Wit and Macduff, who never yet refused a scent; Wild Echo, Druid, Dark Dancer-leaping five-foot stone walls, crags, and boulders, disappearing into a ghill, reappearing up the slopes, racing along the fell-tops against the sky.
And they are hunting nothing that can feel or suffer or die. They are hunting no stronger meat than a trailed rag soaked in aniseed.