GRAFTON AGAIN— THAT USELESS RAILWAY. 271 



recognised point is the identical railway arch under which we 

 all passed in the good run of two Mondays since, with the same 

 flying lady pack — and at this point men and hounds at length 

 rejoin forces to-day. A minute afterwards the pack has shifted 

 to the other side of the line, and that prolonged bridge 'twixt 

 Eydon and Ashby, with a hundred yards' wing on either side, 

 puts horses again a full field to the bad. Very fast, very stiff, 

 is the definition of the present — and, what is worse, very few to 

 break the fences. Mr. Bourke is turned over by a blind ditch, 

 and growers that will only bend ; while a gateway, that might 

 have had the grace to help us all, flaunts a double chain round 

 its post. A few more level fields of sound hard grass — the basis 

 of all this good gallop, by the way — and hounds hesitate and 

 divide, the body going forward for Woodford, some few couples 

 keeping leftward for Byfield. Mr. Campbell pursues the right, 

 most of his companions the left section. We may go with the 

 former and his one or two adherents, and may speculate as we 

 follow, how is he to break out of a meadow that might well 

 answer all the purposes of a corral ? Half-blown horses are not 

 fond of a hedge of six-foot thorn. The bottom with a post-and- 

 rail guard is at all events more possible if not very enticing. 

 And there is this about a half-blown horse — he will jump as far 

 as he can when once he has launched himself. So two are over 

 without a fall. No. 3 has an extra stone or two to lift — falls 

 short, and heavily. Now I will tell you of a brotherly act, such 

 as is seldom evolved out of the cold blood of daily routine. 

 Rider of No. 3 picks himself up, as rapidly as the shock will 

 allow. His reins are flung over, his stirrups are righted. Where 

 is his hat ? Ready to hand, he crams it on his head — and it 

 stands up aloft like a pea on a drum ! Beat it and bang it as 

 he will, the infernal thing won't go home. The hat must be 

 possessed with a devil ! " What's this — battered and crumpled ? 

 Another hat. Mine ! or I'm seeing double. On you go, old 

 concertina. But I won't leave the other fellow's," and, believe 

 me, on labours Tertius with his own Donnybrook crowded close 

 to his sleek cranium, and his forerunner's beaver tucked under 



