214 VARIETY IN HUNTING COUNTRIES 



There is a merry flash past a little farm, an awful 

 drop on to a broad, white road, a steep descent into the 

 bed of a shallow stream, and a climb up the further 

 bank of the same, which takes the steam out of the 

 nags as they struggle uphill to a yellow woodland, 

 through which hounds hunt with resounding cry. 

 Away then over a high stone gap at the end of the 

 ride, on to an open bit of rough moorland, where we 

 pick out sheep tracks and paths, for our progress is 

 hindered again by the low Irish furze which crops up 

 among the heather. The fox has run one of these 

 paths, we may be sure, and " hounds all after him go " 

 in a longish string just now, and not saying quite so 

 much about it as before. The visitor from the Midlands 

 is well to the fore, and going his own way; his face, 

 slightly flushed, wears an aspect of supreme content, 

 and carries not the suspicion of a sneer at the rough 

 country. " What a rare good fox ! " he says, " and how 

 they do dust him along ! " 



Good fox he is, but he is not half done with yet. 

 Slanting now across our track runs a broad, grey 

 wall, and there is a gap in it in front of hounds, 

 who are leaving us behind a bit ; but in the very gap 

 they cluster and pause. Then a curious thing occurs. 

 Hounds pour through the gap and spread themselves 

 over the rough ground beyond, all but two of the 

 smallest bitches; these nip at once on to the wall, and, 

 silhouetted against the western sky, run fast along 

 the top of the wall, throwing their tongues shrilly at 

 intervals. The pack swings round, and running by 

 the side of the wall, press on with confidence in the 

 couple over their heads, and perhaps catch a whiff 



