What a motley assemblage it was! At first I could not catch a glimpse of the hounds themselves, or even the servants, for the crowd, mostly of foot-people, that surrounded them. Where did these queer-looking pedestrians come from? They were not agricultural labourers; they were not townspeople, nor operatives, nor mechanics; they were the sort of people that one never sees except on such an occasion as this. I believe if I was in the habit of attending low pigeon matches, dog fights, or steeplechases, in the "Harrow County," I should recognize most of them enjoying the spectacle of such diversions. One peculiarity I remarked amongst them, with scarcely an exception. Although in the last stage of shabbiness, their clothes had all been once of fashionable texture and good material; but they entirely neglected the "unities" in their personal apparel. A broadcloth coat, much the worse for wear, was invariably surmounted by a greasy cap; whilst he who rejoiced in a beaver, usually battered in at the crown and encircled by a tag of threadbare crape, was safe to have discarded his upper garment, and to appear in his waistcoat and shirt-sleeves. A wiry sweep, in the full uniform of his profession, was by far the most respectable-looking personage of the lot. They clustered round the pack, and seemed to make remarks, more or less sarcastic, amongst themselves. As they opened out a little, I observed a very aristocratic-looking old man, clad in most gorgeous apparel of scarlet and gold, and seated on a remarkably handsome, powerful horse, long and low, with great strength in small compass, and to all appearance quite thoroughbred. "That's the huntsman," said Mrs. Lumley, who kindly undertook to be my cicerone, for she often enjoyed "a day with the Queen's," and was quite at home here; "he'll be so glad to see me. We're great friends. If you like, Kate, I'll introduce you." I declined the honour as rather too public. "But," said I, "do tell me who is in that green carriage with its back to us. Is it Prince Albert?" Mrs. Lumley laughed. "Not exactly, my dear," she replied; "that's the calf! Come a little this way; and when they open the door we shall see him bounce out." So we edged our horses off to a spot at which the foot-people were already beginning to congregate, and sat there quietly anticipating the "enlargement of the deer." "What are we waiting for now?" I asked at length, when my patience was nearly worn out. "Why don't we begin?" "The Master of the Buck hounds, of course," replied my cicerone. "He's not come yet. You know, Kate, it's a political appointment, and they generally give it to somebody who hates hunting, and particularly stag-hunting, more than anything; so, of course, he wisely comes as late and goes home as early as he can. But this man is a good sportsman and a thorough gentleman, and very fond of it too, so we shall not have to wait much longer."