176 FOX-HUNTING 



is good ground, you may cast there moderately 

 fast. One or two of the old hounds are drawing 

 on like pointers, feeling for a scent which they 

 know is not far away, and then suddenly they 

 dash forward, the whole pack wheel into line, and 

 the next second they are flying on as fast as ever. 



Beyond the seeds are two large stubble-fields, 

 the arable district is left behind, and you suddenly 

 find yourself on the fringe of the vale. A richer 

 soil, grass of a deeper green, and fences of alarming 

 strength. These are pastures of an older genera- 

 tion, and round each enclosure the whitethorn 

 has grown, with the aid of man, into a hedge 

 that controls the summer vagaries of the gadding 

 bullock. Occasionally an ox-rail guards one side, 

 and not infrequently both, whilst the ditch is 

 certain to be there. A few seconds' respite on 

 the turnip-ground gave your horse an opportunity 

 of getting his second wind, and he now seems as 

 fresh as ever, but you feel very thankful that most 

 of his forebears are recorded in the stud-book. He 

 is a good horse, and you know he can be depended 

 on to do his best, but it is a high trial getting into 

 such a stiff country at this period of the run. You 

 must save him all you can, picking out all the 



