EVOLUTION OF THE PACK. 113 



Robert, a story is told of an incident perhaps unparalleled 

 in the annals of Northern hunting history : — 



Early in the mastership of Mr. W. Forbes, of the Hur- 

 worth, a fox ran straight past Robert Kitching's house, 

 and it is said jumped up at one of the windows. Bob saw it, 

 and was unable to restrain himself. Quickly he threw a 

 saddle over his white mare, let out the few hounds he himself 

 kept, blew his horn furiously, which brought a few more 

 from Swainby, and in a trice was on the line of the tired fox. 

 On he raced after his scratch pack, and ere the Hurworth 

 Hounds and followers came in sight the white mare was on 

 the skyline of the hills above. Bob killed his fox, or more 

 correctly speaking the Hurworth fox, alone. A few weeks 

 later that same lily-white mare carried her owner to meet the 

 Hurworth. Whilst hounds were drawing Arncliffe Wood, 

 Mr. Forbes caught sight of his contemporary huntsman 

 behind a tree, and they had a little interview, during the 

 course of which the Master of the Hurworth spoke his mind 

 as only he can. He concluded his lesson on the etiquette 

 of fox-hunting with : " Now, I think you'll remember 

 William Forbes as long as ever you live." Bob had shaved 

 off his moustache in the meantime, and did not think he 

 would be recognised, but he was. This white mare he rode 

 was wonderfully clever, and could jump like a cat from stone 

 to stone, and cross the worst bogs in the Bilsdale country. 



Not infrequently Bob had the Bilsdale sportsmen and the 

 Farndale Hunt officials down at his place for the night — 

 sometimes to the hunt ball at Swainby, sometimes to ride 

 over the Hambletons with him on the following day to hunt. 

 From all accounts, these were jolly gatherings, the like of 

 which we know not now for the social side of hunting is 

 disappearing. These hunt balls were great local events a 

 quarter of a century ago, and from all parts came sportsmen 

 to Swainby to dance, and hunt the next morning : — 



With many a brush and mask the walls 

 Shall hang, a glorious sight, Sir ! 

 Trophies of runs, bold leaps, and falls ; 

 But they hang here to-night, Sir ! 



