had all fared badly there, the majority being caught in the second ditch. There were thus only about a dozen up at the finish, C, to my astonishment, being one of them, for I thought he had been left behind in the ditch. I did pay it a short visit,' he said, but, not caring for my quarters, I came on again.'

Further explanation he would not give, and even now I cannot understand how, if he got in, he managed to get out again so quickly.

With a much diminished field we now jogged on to Dilazak, and on our way to it were joined by Kanhai and two or three others. The former told me they had been looking for us some time, and were then on their way to Dilazak, thinking that even if our jack did not take us there we should eventually go to draw his jhil. He had been thrown out, he said, by the gridiron; he had made a long détour to a crossing he knew of, and when he reached it he lost sight of the hounds and never found them again.

On our arrival at Dilazak we entered the jhil at the end where it meets the Shah Alum, and drew it down wind and away from the river. The high reed-beds offer a snug retreat to the wily jackal, and I do not remember ever drawing it blank. Nor was it tenantless to-day, for when the hounds were about half through it a stout jack was viewed away. We were so close on him that, turning his back on the river, he boldly faced the open, heading for Chubba, in the direction of Peshawar.

Scent was breast high, and the hounds simply raced across the open fields, striving for supremacy as they ran. Not one was left behind in the jhil, though I noticed two sportsmen were the wrong side of it and would lose a good deal of way by having to go round. We were now in a lovely bit of country where the going was sound and springy, the land having been rendered elastic, but not heavy, by the previous night's rain. The sun had not shone forth all day, and consequently the scent was as good as it had been in the early morning, a bit of luck which we seldom experienced at Peshawar.

As our quarry still went on in the direction of Chubba, I knew we should soon have to get over a stream which crossed our route. I did not anticipate any mishap here, however, for I had often jumped it before, as we were now in well-known country again. The Commissioner, mounted on a fresh horse, a big Waler, was forging ahead, closely attended by K----, and they reached the stream first, getting over in good style. I took it more to the right, but in a place where the bank happened to be a bit rotten. Giving way under her as my mare took off, she

jumped short, and splash! we were in the middle of the water. Wet from head to foot, I crawled out, and, having no difficulty in inducing my mare to do the same, I was soon in the saddle again.

As I rode on I saw Kanhai's skewbald gently sliding down the bank into the water, and by the look of his coat next time I saw him I concluded he and the horse had swum across together. I had now to sit down and ride all I knew to keep my leaders in sight-gain on them I could not. It was a stern chase, and

doubtless would have been a long one but that as we neared Chubba the jack must have been headed, and a slight check enabled me to come up with the others. As I approached I saw the hounds making their own cast, and the tuneful notes of old Music's tongue quickly brought them back to the line. Swinging now sharp to the right we crossed the Agra road, leaving Chubba on our left, and then again, turning left-handed, our bold jack maintained his original point.

He now took us over a rather cramped bit of country, inter

sected here and there with deep ditches and an occasional mud wall. The jumping of these, and the pace we had to maintain to live with the hounds, were beginning to tell on our horses, and right glad were we when we emerged once more into the open country.

But now the pace, which had been fast before, grew hotter yet, and I could not but doubt that the jack who had been so hustled at the start must soon be in extremis. The hounds, indeed, are not to be denied-look at them now running almost mute, and now again clamouring for his blood! Verily this cannot last, or if it does I shall not be there to see it. Eagerly I scan the country ahead of the pack, and there, yes surely, some two hundred yards off, I descry a dark and moving object. It is our quarry! The distance between us lessens, but see! there before him lies his stronghold, a large khet of sugar cane. Will he reach it? Nothe hounds are straining every nerve. 'Forrard-forrard!' I cry, but I waste my breath. have him! No, not yet! The pack closes round him.

They run from scent to view; they
Yes, Gameboy' rolls him over.
His troubles are at an end.

For twenty-five minutes had he been trying to outpace his foes, but in the boldness of his heart had led them all the way across the open, scorning to seek any shelter but his own wellknown stronghold.

Six sportsmen only see his end, and these include the Commissioner, K—, the Hunt Secretary, the Cavalry Colonel, C—, and myself; for when the rest arrive the remains of poor Jack are only a mask and a bedraggled brush. This, I may mention, is an unusual circumstance, for it is seldom that hounds will break up and eat a jackal.

6

The whole field now cry Quantum suff.,' so we turn homewards, well pleased with our day, with our hounds, and ourselves.

THE BADMINTON GOLF' AND ITS CRITICS

BY HORACE HUTCHINSON

ONE of the few popular maxims which Charles Lamb did not traverse is, that 'When doctors differ patients die.' Happily, it is not always so. Sometimes it occurs that, doubtful where wisdom lies in the conflict of many counsellors, the patient adopts the advice of none, gives nature a chance, and recovers. It is extremely lucky for the golfing patient in the present juncture that the popular maxim is not infallible, for never has so much difference of opinion been rife as to the best treatment of his frequent ailments.

The Americans have always been a critical people-critical especially of the actions of the Britisher. Instances are not far to seek; and the latest and most serious direction in which their critical instinct has found an outlet has led to some questionings of the methods inculcated by the Badminton book on 'Golf' for performing the full driving stroke. Really, there seems to be no limit to the audacity of this remarkable people, by whose democratic spirit the dicta of the most inspired authority are not held sacred. Possibly they are encouraged in their courses by the flagrant example of Pettitt, who came over to England and, playing tennis, that most venerable and aristocratic game, on methods that were all his own, made mincemeat of the best English professionals.

But the worst has not yet been told. The first onslaught of criticism came not from an American born and bred-one in whom the democratic spirit might have apologised for its existence on the score of heredity-but from a Scotsman reared in the