154 RADNOR REMINISCENCES 



stood at 20°; the ground was like a bone; and the wind blow- 

 ing a gale. Long waits outside covert; icy cold fingers and 

 no gallop until two o'clock, fast or far enough to take the 

 edge off a colt one could only just hold. But then the re- 

 mainder of the day quite made up for all the earlier in- 

 conveniences; and think how good you felt after you'd had 

 a hot bath, stuck a piece of court plaster on your nose, and 

 had your dinner. 



That's the charm of foxhunting; even after a bad day 

 full of disappointments, have you ever met a man or 

 woman who was really keen, who was not ready to go and 

 do it all over again? Your appetite grows upon what it 

 feeds upon, like Antony's did for Cleo. 



However, our first draw was Fairy Hill, and the fair 

 vixen who lives there refused to be driven out over the 

 hills; so after a ten minutes' circle of the wood, she went 

 to ground. We then pottered all about the country until five 

 minutes after two, when Frank Smith viewed a fox away 

 from the lower end of the Malvern Barrens. Hounds owned 

 the line at once, crossing the road and, turning south, ran 

 at top speed through the Boyer Davis Farm to "Bill" 

 Evans's Wood, and on down to Cathcart's Rocks, where 

 they turned left-handed and fairly flew back to the Sugar- 

 town end of the Barrens. Here we viewed Reynard cross- 

 ing a wheat-field with one hound way out in front of the 

 pack and only about fifty yards behind him. 



Either the excitement of the view, or something, I don't 

 know what, made the great majority of our field take the 

 wrong line, for they never saw hounds again; and seven of 

 us, Henry Collins, Harry Barclay, Malcolm Lloyd, Gard- 

 ner Cassatt, Ben Holland, and Mr. Beale, had the thing 

 all to ourselves for over an hour. 



Barring the bad going, it was a beautiful gallop, for 



