376 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



but, if I may be permitted to say so, no one was better placed 

 than Mrs. Cross, who rode this trying gallop wonderfully. Well, 

 their fox at all events was blown — and some forty minutes 

 afterwards (most of which had been spent in or about the 

 coverts) hounds were on him in a ditch near by. I trust I 

 may not have made much of little — but this was truly a fierce 

 bright scurry, making a fitting final page to my diary of a week 

 of high sport. 



A RUN LOST. 



Events cannot all be of one pattern when we are hunting the 

 fox — fortunately, perhaps for readers of story, fortunately or un- 

 fortunately as the case may be, for us the actors and participa- 

 tors. We have our merry days and our black days. I have my 

 pen in hand on an evening that is dark and melancholy. Even 

 dinner has had no power to efface memory or to brighten it. To 

 state the point plainly — we (and in saying we, I mean all who 

 went forth in scarlet and pride, and a community, too, with whom 

 I am proud to include myself) we lost a run — not a great run, 

 but all the sport that the day contained — and there is gnashing 

 of teeth from Harborough to Daventry to-night. For myself, I 

 can only employ an expression from over the water — I have been 

 "kicking myself" since two o'clock — and I shall continue to 

 kick myself till the Grafton cheer my stricken soul on Monday 

 morn. Rend my garments I cannot afford to do — let the pro- 

 cess be ever so consoling — since they are already in a state of 

 decadence in keeping with a decade's wear, and most of them 

 carry a diffei'ent button. (In charity and sympathy you may 

 forgive a man almost anything — even a pun, who has been chew- 

 ing the bitter cud of disappointment for some hours, and is 

 scarcely likely to get rid of the taste for some days.) 



I'll tell you how it happened — and now you may compose 

 yourselves for a story — " in three words," I promise you. Badby 

 Wood is a great covert belonging to the Pytchley. And there 



