DEAR DIRTY FEBRUARY. 87 



tempest reigned paramount, and sport was but the shuttlecock 

 of fate and weather ; but it was both a hound-run and a riding 

 run — enjoyable from all points of view. With every advantage 

 of country and distance, it could be seen by everyone, while at 

 the same time no one who would jump and ride could say that 

 he lacked scope or opportunity. If it had not quite the dash 

 of the gallop of the Thursday previous (from Coston Covert), it 

 covered more and equally good. ground ; and, if possible, hounds 

 were seen to-day at better advantage, for from find to finish 

 there was scarcely occasion to touch them. 



Exactly the same morning as on that Thursday — cold, quiet, 

 and so frosty that hardly a horse was started from Melton, on 

 his five miles' journey to Croxton Park, at eleven o'clock. It 

 was about 12.30 before it was deemed advisable to move off 

 from the Park, and then the five miles were done over again — 

 a feu de joie from a party of gunners saluting the cavalcade as 

 it passed the Brentingby Spinneys, on its way to Mr. Burbage's 

 Covert. But the secrecy of the visit was all in vain. Melton 

 town did not mean to be defrauded of its civic rights ; had 

 turned out in strength at an early hour, and, in so doing, had 

 disturbed a brace of foxes. So when Gillard got there, the 

 eovert was bare — and emptiness again awaited him at Melton 

 Spinney. 



But on the opposite hillside, and beyond the Melton Brook, 

 is a little ash copse — Scalford Spinney — from which several 

 smart gallops have, in the last season or two, had their source. 

 And hence, before half the stragglers had collected, a fox was 

 viewed away towards Old Hills, and the huntsman and hounds 

 were hurrying up to the little lane which bounds it. A 

 momentary difference of opinion led to more than a momentary 

 loss of time ; but in three fields more hounds had swung across 

 the fugitive's line, and went into it with a vigour that at once 

 pronounced a scent. What a hurry we were all in ! As well 

 might a freshdrawn cork be replaced in a bottle of " The Boy," 

 and keep back the froth, as that a Leicestershire field once 

 started should quiet itself forthwith into dull sobriety. And 



