“I have heard,” I remarked, after a pause, “with the greatest pleasure, all that you have said regarding us, and I do not think anything has been advanced without sufficient reason being given. But what would you say may be deemed a general rule for a huntsman to observe?”
“In the field?” asked Trimbush.
“Yes,” replied I.
“Study the wind,” returned he, “let hounds alone, and keep his eyes on the line-hunters. On these important points,” he continued, “depends all the success in hunting. But when I say let hounds alone, I mean that they are to stand still just long enough for them to be sure that the scent is not at the point they are trying. We then go cheerfully to try another; but there is nothing so prejudicial as an imperfect, hasty cast.”
“Nothing can be more obvious,” I replied; “and I wish, with all my heart, that such a golden rule could be indelibly carved in the memory of every one whom fate may decree to blow a horn to hounds.”
“Ay,” rejoined Trimbush, “if abided by, there would be but little cause for grumbling about want of sport. We can generally do far better without assistance than with it, and the more we receive, the more helpless and artificial we become. I believe I told ye so a short time since, and it is the case, not only with us, but with everybody, two-footed and four, to look for support from those resources, which, through times of difficulties, save labour and exertion, rather than put our own shoulders to the collar. This is but natural, and the blame rests more with those who are unwise enough to forget that we all have our duty to perform, and in doing that of others they commit as great an error as in neglecting their own; because, if not idle themselves, they are the positive cause of neglect and idleness in their fellows.”
“Upon my honour,” returned I, “you talk like a philosopher.”
“Then a philosopher speaks but the simple truth,” added my companion, “in very simple language.”
“You never hear,” said I, diving again more particularly into our subject, “of men admitting that they had anything to do with losing a fox, although they invariably claim a large share in the honour of killing him.”
“You have noticed that, have you?” responded the old hound, laughing. “No; it is always they lost him, but we killed him. Ha, ha, ha!”