ROUGE ET NOW. 101 



The state of the country — yes, even of this country, off 

 which the water rushes almost as it falls — is the one topic 

 on which men harp, and on which they will continue to harp 

 until suddenly they wake to find themselves amid the dust of 

 March. 



ROUGE ET NOIR. 



Another giant meet of the Quorn was Friday, February 

 16th, this time at South Croxton, and on a hot bright day 

 that offered an early and unwelcome foretaste of spring. I 

 need not descant on the crowd. Every one who had attended 

 at Queniborough the week before was without fail at South 

 Croxton, — and had brought his cousins and friends with him 

 besides. The Quorn Hunt funds should be in a very flourish- 

 ing condition, if half of those who come out with the hounds 

 contribute their mite. Do they, Mr. Secretary ? 



About a warm sunny morning with a sharp rime frost still 

 lingering under the hedgerows, there are theories diverse and 

 abstruse in connection with scent. Most of these are opposed 

 to it. But have not the Belvoir cast such to the winds on 

 various mornings this winter? The opposition scored this 

 morning, however ; for the fox from Barkby Holt had it all his 

 own way from the very start. No one could complain of the 

 crowd in this slow pursuit to Scraptoft ; for not half a dozen 

 people got away with the hounds, or even joined them before 

 the end of their first check — only three fields away. And why ? 

 Because the rides were deep, and they had posted themselves 

 where they thought, or wished, Beynard should break. Strange 

 to say, he determined otherwise, and broke in a direction 

 diametrically opposed to the one appointed — a freak that 

 seldom fails to produce a result of like disaster. 



All that was noteworthy in the next half-hour was written in 

 black and scarlet on the chief actors. The soil of Leicester- 

 shire is an ink that clings in proportion to its meed of water. 



