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The Chase 



A Quorn Story <:> s^> ^> 



MANY years ago, when he hunted the Cottes- 

 more country, Sir Richard Sutton's hounds 

 had been running hard from Glooston Wood along 

 the valley under Cranehal by Stourton to Holt. 

 After thirty minutes or so over this beautiful but 

 exceedingly stiff line, their heads went up and they 

 came to a check, possibly from their own dash and 

 eagerness, certainly at that pace and amongst those 

 fields not from being overridden. 



"Turn 'em, Ben !" exclaimed Sir Richard, with 

 a dirty coat and Hotspur in a lather, but determined 

 not to lose a moment in getting after his fox. 



"Yes, Sir Richard," answered Ben Morgan, 

 running his horse without a moment's hesitation 

 at a flight of double posts and rails, with a ditch 

 in the middle and one on each side ! The good 

 grey having gone in front from the find was 

 perhaps a little blown, and dropping his hind legs 

 in the farthest ditch rolled, very handsomely, into 

 the next field. 



" It's not your fault, old man ! " said Ben, patting 

 his favourite on the neck as they rose together in 

 mutual goodwill, adding in the same breath, while 

 he leapt to the saddle and Tranby acknowledged 

 the line — 



"Forrard on, Sir Richard! — Hoic, together. 

 Hoic ! He's a Quorn fox and he'll do you good." 



I had always considered Ben Morgan an unusually 

 fine rider. For the first time I began to understand 

 why his horse never failed to carry him so willingly 

 and so well. 



G, J. JFhyte-Mehille. 



