98 MEMORIES OF THE SHIRES 



a real Belvoir burst. In the serious business of 

 fox-hunting these bursts ought to be considered of 

 no account unless they are the preliminaries to 

 runs that attain definite ends ; but whilst the blood 

 of youth glows in our veins, we must indeed be 

 miserable beings if a foremost position in a quick 

 thing does not stir us up to frenzy. It is possible 

 to compress a lifetime of mad excitement into a few 

 seconds, when you are on the back of a good horse 

 and hounds are racing. 



I can't remember how or why it was that a hard- 

 riding field were left, but on this occasion only four 

 fortunate individuals saw the gallop, and by that I 

 mean were in the same field with hounds. My 

 recollections of leaving the covert are dim and in- 

 distinct, but recall myself one of a happy little 

 band when some two or three fields away. The 

 pack then suddenly settled down to run, and if 

 the Belvoir go their best pace, it needs a good 

 horse to keep with them. 



The chase had at first pointed for Clawson, 

 which may have induced the crowd to keep the 

 road instead of taking the initial plunge into the 

 fields. It was just their misfortune that hounds 

 should have suddenly started to run at the moment 

 they were temporarily out of sight, but it was 

 equally good luck for those who happened to be 

 with them. 



There was no time to pick your place in a fence 

 and you had to accept everything as it came, for to 

 diverge a yard from the straight line would have 

 been fatal to your position. That brilliant amateur 

 between the flags, Capt. Roddy Owen, mounted on 

 one of Mr. Gardiner Muir's best, was thoroughly 



