Among hunting men there is nothing so unpopular as what is called by the rest of the world a most beautiful, clear, bright day. The thing is disagreeable to eyes because it is dangerous to the bodies to which they respectively belong; for when every glitters in the sunshine, and every drop of dew that hangs upon them looks like a diamond, the fences so dazzle the eyes of riders, and especially of horses, that a number of extra falls are very commonly the result. Soft ground, dull weather, an easterly wind, and a cloudy sky, form the compound that is most approved of. On such a day, and under such circumstances, we beg leave to invite our readers to sit with us patiently for a very few minutes in a balloon, as, like a above a partridge, it hangs over the quiet little village of Arthingworth, in Northamptonshire. Those hounds, headed by that whipper-in riding so lightly and on his horse, and surrounding their huntsman Charles Payne, jogging along, seated in his saddle as if he had grown there, are on that portion of the Queen's highway which connects Northampton with Market Harborough. They are the Pytchley hounds, the property, not of the present 144master, but of the hunt. They are on their way from their at Brixworth to a park at Arthingworth to draw "Waterloo Gorse," which means that every man who intends to come (and their name is legion) will send there, not his best-looking, but, what is better, that which he knows to be "his best horse," simply because the of Waterloo not only usually holds a good fox, but because it is encircled by very large grass-fields, enlivened in every direction by the severest fences in Northamptonshire. See how quietly along every high-road, bye-road, and , horses and riders, of various sizes and sorts, walking, jogging, or gently , are towards a central point! Schoolboys are coming to see the start on ; farmers on clever ; others on young horses of great price; neatly-dressed , some heavy and some light, are riding, or riding and leading, horses magnificent in shape and breeding, in the most beautiful condition, all as clean and well-appointed as if they had been prepared to do in Rotten Row. And are all these noble and animals beneath us going to the hunt? Yes, and many more that we cannot see. Look at those straight streams of white steam that through green fields are concentrating from north, south, east, and west upon Market Harborough, from Leicester, from Northampton, from Stamford, and from Rugby—denoting trains that,145 at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour, are hurrying boxes all containing hunters for the meet.  
On the huntsman and hounds slowly entering and taking up their positions in the small park at Arthingworth, excepting two or three farmers, no one is there to receive or notice them. However, in a few minutes, through large gates and through smaller ones, grooms on and with their horses walk in; while Charles Payne, occasionally chucking from his coat-pocket a few of bread to his hounds, most of whom are looking at him, leaning over his horse, is holding conversation with a keeper. "It's too bad!" whispers an old farmer, who had just been with the secret that another fox had last night been shot by poachers; "and, what's more, it's been a-going on IN MANY WAYS a long time." "Yes!" replies Charles Payne, looking as calmly and as Hamlet when he was moralising over Yorick's ; "you may rely upon it that, what with greyhounds,—and poachers,—and traps,—and poison,—there are very few foxes now-a-days that die a natural death"—meaning that they were not eaten up alive by the Pytchley hounds.
 
But during all this precious time where are all the coats? Oh! here they come, trotting, riding, and to the meet from every point of the compass, and from every region of the habitable globe,146 some of the young ones—diverging as usual from their path of rectitude—to over a fence or two. Along the turnpike and country roads, drags with four horses, light dog-carts with two, post-chaises and gigs, each with men up in heavy clothing, showing no pink, save a little bit peeping out at the collar, are all hurrying onwards to the same goal; and as these living bundles, with cigars in their mouths, are rapidly landing in the park, it will be advisable that we also should there to observe them.
 
By about a quarter before eleven the grass in front of the hunting-box of one of the late masters of the Pytchley—who, take him all in all, is one of the very best riders in the hunt—becomes as crowded as a fair with sportsmen of all classes, from the highest rank in the peerage down to—not exactly those who rent a 6l. house,—but who can afford money and time enough to "hoont," as they call it. While two or three well-appointed servants in livery are very quietly, from a large barrel, handing glasses of bright-looking ale to any farmer or who, after his long ride, may happen to feel a little thirsty, and while others from white wicker-baskets are distributing bits of bread and lumps of cheese to any man who may feel that beneath his waistcoat there is house-room to receive them, the and of the brown barrel and white baskets, lounging147 in his red coat, &c., on his lawn, with small scratches (from bull-finches) on his face, with something now and then smoking a little from his mouth, and with that and easy manner which in every situation of life distinguishes him, says to any friend in pink that happens to pass him, "Won't ye go in for a moment?" But, without invitation, most of the , leaving their horses with their grooms, to a flight of ladder steps which raises them to the lawn, walk slowly and across it, adjusting their hair, "just to make their bow." When that compliment has been paid, they pause for a second or two in the hall, and then recross the lawn, indolently , and with perfumed handkerchiefs carefully wiping lips or mustachios (as the case may be), which, if they were very closely approached, might possibly smell partly of cherries, to proc............