SNATCHED IN THE SNOW. 483 



(Three months ! It is as yesterday we palled on our boots 

 for the opening day !) Soon we shall hear about lambs : and 

 already the hound-puppies are being sent in for fear of damage 

 to the flocks. The violets, it would seem, have migrated to 

 London en masse : but the turf is ready to shoot forth in new 

 green to the next warm sunny day. Our second winter — last- 

 ing but twenty-four hours — only seized us on Wednesday 

 morning last. We had read of heavy snow and of frost intense 

 all round the world ; but our tight little island was spared, and 

 fox-hunting went on, careless of rainstorm and hurricane. But 

 on Wednesday we thought our turn had come. By road to meet 

 the Pytchley at North Kilworth was a journey awesome and 

 perilous ; for water was everywhere, and that water was now 

 ice. By rail was a sorry period of anxiety and ignorance — a 

 full consciousness of the disagreeables of early rising and a dis- 

 like of the position (the possibility of going by train not to hunt). 

 Yet the railwa} r is allowedly a convenient and often economical 

 -covert-hack ; and the Pytchley country is a wide domain. 



Hounds came to covert at a leisurely walk. It was difficult 

 to imagine they could travel the ploughs — while, as for our 

 jumping the fences, surely that could not be: for the turf was 

 hidden by snow and the gateways were as rough granite ! You 

 shall see — as quickly as I can get this knocked off, within my 

 .allotted limits. 



To-day again our master was unable to put in an appearance, 

 •even on wheels. This open and brilliant season has brought no 

 pleasure to Mr. Langham, who so long has catered admirably for 

 the sport and pleasure of others, and to whom we owe gratitude 

 and sympathy more than I can attempt to express. 



About noon we walked on to Kilworth Sticks ; and of the 

 -earlier part of the day it will do to note that a brace of foxes 

 were hunted into North Kilworth Village — there apparently to 

 avail themselves of the same drain. The run came later, when 

 we had almost tired of kicking snowballs in each others' faces 

 and the most sanguine had nearly abandoned hope — when we 

 had little to think of as far as the day was concerned, except, 



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