A FOXHUNTING JOURNAL 15 



caught by a collie dog, with the pack not a hundred yards 

 behind the collie; but both the fox and the collie saved 

 their brushes, hounds turning right-handed into Klemm's 

 thicket, a terrible place to ride through, then on to 

 Waynesboro again and up-country to the little schoolhouse 

 on the State Road above Paoli, where we viewed, our fox 

 seeming to be about beaten, with the pack pushing him 

 very hard. 



Reynard was heading for the railroad, and Horace Hare 

 called out — " Shall we kill him or whip hounds off? " Every 

 one said to whip off, so it was done in the nick of time, and 

 Reynard saved his brush for the second time to-day. 



Our horses were about done; many shoes were left in the 

 mud; Mrs. Dave Sharp's and Ben Holland's horses had 

 broken down; and Julian Biddle had taken a muddy bath 

 along the bank of a lane. 



Hounds ran an hour and fifty minutes, and those in the 

 best of it were: Dave and Mrs. Sharp; Fred and Mrs. 

 Sturges; Mrs. Valentine; Bob Montgomery; Gerry Leiper; 

 Frank Lloyd; Miss Carson; Mr. and Mrs. Grange; Bill 

 Evans; Harry Harrison; and Harry and Miss Barclay. 



Good Friday, 21st March, 1913 

 It always leaves a good taste in one's mouth to end the 

 season with a fast gallop after a stout fox. I don't know 

 about the other people, but I always feel sort of sad and 

 let down when the hunting is over. There are so many 

 good friends and smiling faces one misses and never sees in 

 the summer, except sometimes at horse shows and things 

 like that. But it's a funny and characteristic failing, that 

 if you meet a foxhunter at the races or a dog-fight or any 

 other congenial gathering-place, you can always tell him 

 at once by the smile on his face. 



