SCRAPTOFT HALL AT TEA-TIME FOR MAN AND FOX. 113 



nothing more could be made of it, till as hounds were home- 

 ward bound it was told that their hunted fox was in the laurels 

 of Scraptoft Hall. There he was left, and there he lay till 

 morning. 



On Saturday, 17th, so much snow lay on the ground at the 

 breakfast time of reasonably early people, that the meets of both 

 Quorn and Belvoir were dependent entirely upon those who 

 make no plans till the day is fairly entered upon. The latter 

 found themselves in leathers at the regulation hour for a twelve 

 o'clock meet, they only took the subject of snow into considera- 

 tion about the time it began to solve itself, and when the earlier 

 people had already counter-ordered their horses — condemning 

 them to water and exercise. The Quorn were at Wimeswold, 

 with half a dozen followers — Wimeswold being a point on the 

 neutral zone separating (may I say it inoffensively ?) fashion from 

 forest. I mean that it is a meet balancing between a rough 

 country and the grass — and, if to-day's experience pointed right, 

 bigotry alone keeps the gay grasshoppers away. For a prettier 

 line could scarce be chosen than that taken by the bold (or 

 frightened) fox of the afternoon ; viz., from Bunny Park to 

 Willoughby. The same Master, pack, and huntsmen tracked 

 him, unencumbered by a Friday mob. They could not guaran- 

 tee a scent ; but they showed half the line of their great Oakley 

 Wood run of the previous week, and we were forced to jump 

 half the fences of that day. So perhaps it was a happy occur- 

 rence that no fox turned up till two o'clock — by which time all 

 material trace of snow had disappeared. Stanford Park failed 

 for a first time ; and Hoton New Spinney evolved nothing of 

 more interest than the gambol of an old carriage horse. The 

 latter had of late descended from his high degree to take his place 

 between humbler shafts ; but had fallen by good luck into the 

 hands of one who owned an heirloom in the shape of a saddle, a 

 snaffle bridle, and a sturdy sporting heart. So the old horse was 

 improvised into a hunter. The situation might be novel ; but 

 was at all events less irksome to him than pulling manure. So 

 he resigned himself to it with complacence if not with absolute 



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