154 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



with no hungry look at her, but with a wistful, pitiful glance 

 over his shoulder at the n earing turmoil in pursuit, comes 

 Keynard, red and bright, and still almost clean, but, oh, so leg- 

 weary and exhausted ! No spark of pity, though, can we spare 

 him now. The bitches are trooping over the bank, not fifty 

 yards behind him, but never a glimpse do they catch, as he 

 crawls from view through a dark, thick hedgerow. But in the 

 very next field they are coursing by sight. Half-a-dozen hats 

 are crushed and torn in following through a low bullock hole 

 in the thorny screen, and soon there is the old happy group — 

 men happier, yet more gently happy, than after any other 

 success in life — and there is the old delightful scene of steam- 

 ing, riderless horses, and on the green turf a stark furry form 

 the centre-mark for forty fierce, baying throats. 



The sole drawback to this most sporting run was the absence 

 of the Master, Lord Chesham, through a luckless fall. As to 

 who was at the kill, it is impossible that I should attempt to 

 enumerate by name. But besides those above mentioned, there 

 were here, and prominent in the run, at least Messrs. G. Drake, 

 Green, Grazebrook, Peareth, Kenyon, Brown, G. and B. Leigh, 

 Bourke, Lord Bentinck, and Lord Capel, while Mrs. Brown 

 carried away the brush in confirmation of honours she had 

 fairly earned. 



