364 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



Turning leftward from Elkington Bottom, we rode a fast 

 mile without an intervening fence. Then leftward still, we 

 struck what in softer weather would have been an easy line to 

 the West Haddon road, crossing it by jump in and scramble 

 out, just short of Win wick Warren : so by grass, and such 

 fences as we must, past what a gasping shepherd told us was 

 Nortoft Lodge. The fences were of the kindest, easiest 

 description; but the landing was (ugh!) shameful and cruel. 

 But, again, hounds were running beautifully — what was to be 

 done ? Go home — no. Better a tear in the morning than 

 discontent and regret to-night. Was not this, to most of us, 

 the first taste of flesh, the first excitement of a new era, the 

 first thrill of an old, peerless joy ? No crowd now, no jostle ; 

 a fair scent and a well-known sphere. The very crack of an 

 ash rail was music, as it shivered in quite friendly fashion to 

 let our leader, and us after him, into a lane. 



The best of the hunt, the best of the fun, was as we circled 

 to Firefly, by aftermath and gateway and gap that made the 

 way feasible and pleasant enough. Through the said spinney, 

 which our fox had scarce cleared when hounds hove in sight to 

 the loiterers of the morning. Up to Cold Ashby Village, round 

 its back buildings, and forward over a good line pointing to 

 Welford — the only terror a jump into a bean-stubble, and the 

 relief at clearing the wide hidden ditch being quite wiped out 

 by the horrid clatter of landing on the hard-baked clay. In a 

 mile or so further the old vixen was forced to turn ; and with 

 hackles up the dog hounds swung to the right, while Naseby 

 Reservoir shone in the sunlight beneath them. Racing back 

 across the pastures and the poor allotments, they soon had 

 their fox dodging them in the Welford and Thornby road — 

 turned her in view towards Cold Ashby Village, and ran into 

 her handsomely. A warm and cheery gallop — let the morrow 

 do its worst. It sends a man home " feeling good," as they 

 phrase it over the water, where, however, they know nothing 

 of the glow that belongs to, and lingers after, a true good 

 gallop with foxhounds. This, and a good deal more, passes 



