300 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



HEM PLOW IN THE SNOW. 



By Wednesday morning, March 7, the snow was melting with 

 a rush — but melted only in the midfields, and still many feet 

 deep in drifts. The lanes were like railway cuttings, every 

 ditch was choked, and most hedges piled high. But, for all 

 this, the Pytchley brought off a capital day's sport, of which the 

 sketch is given below. 10.30 p.m. is the scribbling hour ; and 

 mind must not be allowed to revert to a sixteen-mile home 

 ride, against a chilly breeze and in distress of snow-soaked 

 boots. These have nothing to do with the sport, any more 

 than the very needful dinner, the " sleep-enticing bottle," and 

 the necessary cigar. I am at the beck of duty, and must obey 

 a call. Shuckburgh belongs to the morning — and the cigar 

 may go to the fire. 



Crick was the meet ; but Crick was not the draw. They 

 worked to Hemplow. Stanford Hall Coverts were said to be 

 unstopped. Fox went unexpectedly from roadside spinney on 

 the way — and we were launched on to the Arctics forthwith. 

 A splendid crop of snow here. But he was a kind fox, and 

 disdained to hang up his field. So we jumped only once — can 

 scarcely say what — from snowdrift to snowdrift, till hounds 

 wavered on the hillside opposite Welford Gravelpit. Here 

 they turned leftward, and ran harder — though canal path 

 favoured, along the valley opposite South Kilworth, as if round 

 to the Hemplows. Handy men, working or snow-ploughing or 

 sight-seeing, held him in the valley — and, though gates were 

 very useful and regular, the lady pack had it much their own way 

 (Eh, what a luxury — on a Pytchley Wednesday ! And didn't 

 they make use of it, from noon till night, hunting like beagles, 

 and leaving us all whenever occasion came ?). Thus they ran, 

 and somehow we rode, down the valley that the railway has for 

 years considered all her own — till we touched Stanford Hall 

 Park (thirty minutes). One, and our only one, who rides at all 

 times and all places, really tried the fences — and even he had 

 to cry Peccavi in a snow mound. 



