388 FOX-HOUNJ>, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



WHEELS ON THE HILLTOP. 



The weather — I must always begin with reference and report 

 on it, for is it not ever a prime factor, if not actually of the 

 sport, at least of its enjoyment ? This sunny January of '89 

 has been " away ahead " of all Januaries of the past quarter- 

 century. It has made fox-hunting a picnic — and a rich picnic 

 in the matter of sport. For why ? the ground has been wet, 

 underneath, and old foxes are still plentiful. Gently, hunts- 

 men—you are revelling in blood, old blood too, that is not to be 

 tasted except by skill and proud success, but old blood for all 

 that. We shall be hunting cabs for the most part if you carry 

 on your triumphs to the end. 



I saw one of these veterans hunted down on Saturday, 

 Jan. 26 — witnessed the performance almost from find to finish, 

 and by means of an intimate knowledge of road and country 

 was able to take a forward or commanding position at many 

 critical periods. Pleased with my own performance, how could 

 I be otherwise than graciously appreciative of that of the men 

 of action ? Their doings, however — or perhaps I may be 

 justified in limiting the encomium to the one in office, the 

 huntsman — speak for themselves. With a strong fox, and on a 

 bad scenting morning, lie made a run and wound up with a kill. 



Badby Wood the meet, Badby Wood the find. Amid a bevy 

 of foxes, hounds and foot-people singled one, and chased and 

 holloaed him heartily — till, when three-quarters of an hour later 

 he gained open country, the steel was out of the iron, and he 

 was a half-killed fox. Else could he have fooled hounds 

 according to his bent ? — for even on the pretty green valley 

 leading to Everdon they could barely foot him while he 

 travelled with the wind. And when he turned upward to 

 some fresh-ploughed fallows, it needed all of a professional's 

 perseverance to hold the line good. It was done, however, and 

 soon the chase dipped to Snorscombe and rose again to Everdon 

 Stubbs — while the onlooker might pull up on the brow, to 

 trace every movement, mark all the action, and almost follow 



