WITH THE GRAFTON 159 



I daresay, had often paid toll to our quarry — is raised, 

 and the pack dash in upon their victim. 



What a scene ! The great house and its bearers 

 are swayed hither and thither, till there seems some 

 chance of its fallinof and crushinof the hounds. More 

 assistance is forthcoming, however, and Smith is able 

 to seize his fox and carry it out to the paddock be- 

 hind, where it turns out to be — no he at all, but 

 a remarkably fine old vixen, who had stood up before 

 hounds just two hours and fifty minutes. 



The last honours are paid to her, and on inquiry 

 I am told I am fourteen miles from home. Anyhow, 

 hounds will do no more. The amusing chat of one of 

 our best known jockeys shortens my journey as far as 

 Weedon. 



Good-bye to the Grafton ! Leicestershire, I believe, 

 calls them *' provincial," and even their Pytchley 

 neighbours patronise. Nevertheless, if not the rose, 

 they are near the rose, and no man who goes to them 

 for sport will fail to get it. 



