i6 HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 



hounds can be got together, his grey back is 

 seen fast disappearing over the brown furrows 

 two fields away. For a brief space the wind has 

 lulled a little, and, settling down on a good 

 scent, the pack streams away in hot pursuit. 

 He who hesitates now must inevitably be left 

 toiling far in rear. The plough is terribly 

 heavy and holding, and the fences come in 

 quick succession ; but there are half a dozen 

 well in front who have no thought of turning 

 aside for rotten banks, deep drops, or yawning 

 ditches. Nearest the hounds — a little too near, 

 perhaps, to please a Master who values them — 

 rides young Hugh Massy, of the 56th, whose 

 seat and style would bring forcibly to the minds 

 of a Holderness man recollections of far-famed 

 "Tom Hodgson." Next comes Mr. White, 

 riding wide, but with always a keen eye on tBe 

 leading hounds. Then, taking their fences 

 almost in Hne, are Mr. Horton, Mr. Fred Ind ; 

 a stranger in cap and green coat of conventional 

 correctness who, after twenty-five years of 

 absence, has come back to take his share of 

 sport in the old country among people that are 

 all new to him, and to bear himself like a good 

 man and true; Mr. Wright, and Joe Bailey; 

 while close to them come Mr. Courage and the 

 " young uns." Forward still at a rattling pace, 

 over ground that seems heavier at every stride, 

 leaving North Lands Covert on the right, and 

 never attempting to seek shelter there, our fox 

 faces the next hill gallantly, and holds on 

 towards Vange Gorse. In a roadway at the 

 end of ten minutes we come to our first check ; 



