WITH THE PYTCHLEY 179 



present, even if I knew them all. Suffice it to say 

 that the beard of the Red Earl was our orijiamme 

 that day. 



The meet was at Brington, and the draw Nobottle 

 Wood. Hounds soon began to run in covert. A 

 stranger in the land, I had nothing to guide me but 

 instinct, and that took me, almost by myself, to a 

 quiet down-wind corner facing a church and forge. 



I had hardly been there two minutes when the fox 

 broke within fifty yards of me. After letting him 

 cross the lane to my left, I tallied him away. Goodall 

 promptly came to my holloa, and no doubt hardly 

 noticed the stranger in the grey frock-coat, whom he 

 thanked for the information necessary to enable him 

 to lay on his hounds. 



I hugged myself at the idea of the excellent start 

 I had got, for hounds ran fast, and a lot of the field 

 were slipped. Alas ! it was not to be my luck to 

 participate in a real good thing. In less than ten 

 minutes heads went up, just short of the Weedon 

 Road, and a swing round proved that they had 

 overrun the line, which had ended in a drain two 

 fields back. 



Some time was given up to an unsuccessful effort 

 at eviction — a policy one would hardly expect Lord 

 Spencer to favour. English eviction, however, is well 

 known to be a different thing from Irish, and on this 

 occasion vulpine eviction proved a failure. 



We had a longish trot before we again heard 

 hounds. Very unexpectedly they crossed the line 

 of a travelling fox on East Haddon Hill, and, passing 

 the very spot where the victim of a horrible murder 

 has since been found (was it not by a whip of this 

 very pack, and by a fox-terrier of the Master s ?), we 



