45G FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



with, among others, Mr. Gordon-Cunard, on a novice (but a 

 priest's novice, from Ireland), Messrs. Pender (on the old hog- 

 raaned brown from Lord Lonsdale's ante-polaric stud), Harford 

 (on a chestnut four-year-old with a few snaffles in his mouth), 

 De Trafford, Sheriffe, Harford, F. Langham, Captain Atherton, 

 Miss Hanbury, Miss Czarnikov (with apologies for unwittingly 

 forgetting to give place aux dames). This part of the gallop 

 was across a charming — not a trifling, but quite a possible, quite 

 a shire country. It would have been big with a lesser scent. 

 Thus thirty minutes took us to Scotland Wood. A blown fox 

 could not stay a moment, but hounds came right through with 

 his line by the main ride, while we clustered rather too close to 

 them, and a holloa was going shrilly in the field across the road. 

 Half a dozen cold fallows served to cool matters down for a few 

 minutes, but the pack kept holding the line in spite of other 

 holloas on their right till Goodall took them in hand and made 

 his fox good beyond the wooded dell of Maid well Dale. 



Forty-seven minutes, and e'en better, believe me, than '47 

 port. Goodall had a death-grip on the black fox now, for all 

 the steel was out of him, and his last struggles were to be on 

 good scenting grass. The doomed one gained nothing by touch- 

 ing Berrydale, except to complete his circle. Hounds dashed 

 through it into the green basin again, and drove him towards 

 Brixworth. A wide second ditch turned loose two of the best 

 horses, and set afoot two of the best men of the Pytchley Hunt. 

 But the little bay mare * looks for such a catastrophe about twice 

 a season, and accepts it ungrudgingly on each occasion as acci- 

 dent unavoidable — the necessary lot of one who is called to 

 tempt Providence so many times a day. And " more power to 

 your bright eyes, lady fair ! Sure it was Irish taching that 

 brought you over the double-lep as it should be done." Three 

 more great grass fields, and we were by Cottesbrooke Hall. The 

 pack went clamouring and scrambling over the wall by the rec- 

 tory, shouting aloud, as it were, for the prince of foxhunting 



* Mr. Jameson's. 



