[Illustration: (3) Exeunt Omnes. (They all go off.)] * * * * * A GENUINE SPORTSWOMAN _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!"] * * * * * DIARY OF THE MODERN HUNT SECRETARY "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