A flask in the hand is worth a cask in the vault.
Cut your sandwiches according to your stomach.
The nearer the home, the harder the seat.
Six miles from home, horse dead lame, awfully tender feet, and horribly tight boots.]
[Illustration: "Now, if I jump it, I shall certainly fall off; and if I dismount to open it, I shall never get on again."]
[Illustration: This is Jones, who thought to slip down by the rail early in the morning, and have a gallop with the fox hounds. On looking out of the window, he finds it is a clear frosty morning. He sees a small boy sliding--actually sliding on the pavement opposite!! and--doesn't he hate that boy--and doesn't he say it is a beastly climate!!]
[Illustration: NEW SPORTING DICTIONARY OF FAMILIAR LATIN PHRASES.
(1) Labour omnia vincit. (Labor overcomes everything.)]
[Illustration: (2) Ars est celare artem. "Après vous, mademoiselle!"]
[Illustration: (3) Exeunt Omnes. (They all go off.)]
_Mrs. Shodditon_ (_to Captain Forrard, on a cub-hunting morning_). "I do hope you'll have good sport, and find plenty of foxes."
_Captain Forrard._ "Hope so. By the way, how is that beautiful collie of yours that I admired so much?"
_Mrs. Shodditon._ "Oh! Fanny! poor dear! Our keeper shot it by mistake for a fox!"
[Illustration: _Short-sighted Party_ (_thrown earlier, after weary tramp, thinks he sees mount on ploughed upland, and approaches bush coaxingly_). "Whoa, my beauty! Steady, my gal, steady then," &c.]
[Illustration: _Same Short-sighted Party arrived at thornbush, discovers error, and reflects_--"Five miles from station, perhaps ten--fifty miles from town, missed express, missed dinner, lost mount, wet through, getting dusk, and, by the way, where am I?" [_Left reflecting_.
[Illustration: _Gorgeous Stranger._ "I say, Huntsman, would you mind blowing your horn two or three times? I want my fellow, who has my flask, to know where we are, don't you know!"]
"Capping all non-subscribers is pretty generally resorted to, this season, not only in the shires, but also with provincial packs."--_Daily Press._]
_Monday._--Splendid gallop after non-subscriber. Spotted the quarry on good-looking chestnut, whilst we were drawing big covert. Edged my horse over in his direction, but non-subscriber very wary--think he must have known my face as "collector of tolls." Retired again to far side of spinney and disguised myself in pair of false whiskers, which I always keep for these occasions. Craftily sidled up, and finally got within speaking distance, under cover of the whiskers, which effectually masked my battery. "Beg pardon, sir," I began, lifting my hat, "but I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your name as a subscri----" But he was off like a shot. Went away over a nice line of country, all grass, and a good sound take-off to most of the fences. Non-subscriber had got away with about a three lengths lead of me, and that interval was fairly maintained for the first mile and a half of the race. Then, felt most annoyed to see that my quarry somewhat gained on me as we left the pasture land and went across a holding piece of plough. Over a stiff post and rails, and on again, across some light fallow, towards a big dry ditch. The hunted one put his horse resolutely at it--must say he rode very straight, but what _won't_ men do to avoid "parting?"--horse jumped short and disappeared from view together with his rider. Next moment I had also come a cropper at ditch, and rolled down on top of my prey. "Excuse me," I said, taking out my pocket-book and struggling to my knees in six inches of mud, "but when you rather abruptly started away from covertside, I was just about to remark that I did not think you were a subscriber, and that I should have much pleasure in taking the customary 'cap'--thank you." And he paid up quite meekly. We agreed, as we rode back together, in the direction in which we imagined hounds to be, that even if they had got away with a good fox, the field would not be likely to have had so smart a gallop as he and I had already enjoyed. Lost my day's hunting, of course.