172 FOX-HUNTING 



riding has followed you, and half a dozen of the 

 best men this little provincial hunt can produce 

 are anxious to test your powers, and would be 

 delighted to see you pounded. Fortunately you 

 are riding the best in the stable, and a few little 

 darts in cub-hunting have taught him that the 

 banks are rotten and not to be trusted ; but most 

 of the fences are on the level, and are straggling, 

 unkempt obstructions, with an occasional ditch 

 rather wider than you expect to find. This 

 country a few years ago was all under plough, 

 but through the depression in farming most of 

 it has been allowed to lay itself down to grass, 

 and now generally carries a scent, though it may 

 not carry a large head of stock. 



What a pace hounds run ! what a head they 

 carry ! They seem to skim over the yellowy-brown 

 surface; the bastard turf, made up of twitch 

 and coarse herbage, answers the purpose of the 

 best old turf. This is as good as a gallop over 

 the cream of Leicestershire, and here are only ten 

 men competing. When the pack run fast and 

 straight, it matters not what the country is like if 

 you can only get over it, and you have never 

 enjoyed yourself more than at this moment. 



