44 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



Manners being quartered in Ireland, and no one else having 

 yet come forward to take it. (By the way, the fine old Hall is 

 no longer isolated from civilisation — for the Great Northern 

 have planted a station within half a mile of its door.) Below 

 the great quaint building slopes its park, and along the bottom 

 of the park runs a narrow plantation. It was no cub that now 

 dashed through the pack and darted along the hedgeside of the 

 spinney (as if steering for Lord Moreton's Covert) — but a fine 

 old fox, whose clean bushy plumage was finished off with a 

 lusty white tag. The ladies were soon bustling on his track — 

 for a little schooling in the open now — and the field of fifty set 

 off to ride alongside, by the way they had come. Two wide 

 ridge-and-furrow pastures — the furrows scarcely distinguishable 

 amid the waving grass. Rabbit holes there were known to be, 

 or supposed to be — and imagination is very vivid in the first 

 few minutes of a run. Hardihood is not a natural plant — but 

 the warmth of action forces it with a mushroom orowth. 

 Imaginary perils safely passed will often imbue courage to face 

 others that are almost real. A half-mile rough gallop and a 

 little rail and ditch were an encouraging introduction to all 

 that was to follow. The whip had turned the fox over the 

 hillside ; and gaily, noisily, the pack passed out after him 

 through the eastern gate of Quenby Park. Some moments of 

 indecision then ensued, as to who should bell the cat, and 

 break a way through the bullfinch bordering the road — before 

 the country was fairly entered and a sharp quick course struck 

 for Loseby Hall. Hounds well in front ; and plenty of gates 

 for which to diverge and scheme. Now we are all blocked in 

 a corner — and 'tis almost a satisfaction to find that even all the 

 thrusters of early spring time could not have found a way out 

 here — through plantation, oxer, and ravine. So back by the 

 previous gate, and round in follow-my-leader style again. "All 

 right, sir — it's only a drop. Look like a deep bottom " — but a 

 horse jumping to clear every leaf is scarcely going in form for 

 a drop, and it seems a week before he lands with a clatter of 

 hind against fore shoe. 



