412 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



Leicestershire rather than Cheshire. Three more fields after 

 bridging the "canal feeder." and the lane was struck that 

 connects Lower Boddington with Clayden or Cropredy. Jump- 

 ing in from the left, they rode down it to the right — with the 

 result that the right division plunged hotly among the left. 

 The huntsman had already assumed position at the head ; but a 

 later than he, riding up from the rear and all furious still with 

 memory of that hapless canal bridge, came into the lane with a 

 final bound that nearly took Wilson and himself through the 

 high black bullfinch beyond. The mealy bay steed knew 

 better ; but the impetus was awful, and for fifty yards down 

 the lane the new-comer was supported only by the huntsman's 

 warm embrace. (Is not " a pound a minute " below the value 

 of a gallop like this ? what say you, then ?) 



Forrard it is, too, as merrily as ever, right into the wind and 

 up to the brook. Wilson, on the glorious brown mare Comedy, 

 fairly flicked over it in his stride where little bushes fringed 

 either bank ; Mr. Faber, Mr. Boyle, and a small succession spun 

 readily across at the same good place, or achieved the deep 

 chasm at a less enticing spot. Then ensued refusals, and 

 sudden confusion. But the road was close by (under the 

 village of Aston Le Walls) ; hounds bent left to it — and here 

 was Lord North already in position to " cheer on the thrusters," 

 when Mr. Boyle upon Redskin (I am told, and can well believe, 

 the best hunter in England, out of training) crashed a last great 

 fence for very pastime, and the others galloped gladly through 

 the open gateway beside him. In they trooped — all those with 

 whose names I have made free, confident of good feeling and 

 impelled by an occasion that does not come every day — with 

 Mr. Grosvenor, Mr. W. Blacklock, Mr. W. Walton, and a few, 

 not many, others to join the road party. And on went hounds, 

 across the railway, and over a whole cluster of open drains only 

 too well known to foxes and men, up to the wood of Redhill. 

 Keeping downward beneath its lower edge, they ran its whole 

 length before turning into the covert — forty-five minutes since 

 the opening note. 



