A FOXHUNTING JOURNAL 197 



And the last I saw of poor Miss Glitters was the tip of 

 her blonde brush sticking our of Miss Conway's pocket, as 

 hounds trotted off in search of more sport, and her mask 

 dangling from the dees of the whipper-in's saddle. 



Another fox was put to earth in Mrs. Brown's lower 

 drain, and a third and more stout-hearted chap gave us 

 another fifty minutes from Yarnall's to Mr. Clarke's, to 

 Ardrossan, and back to Yarnall's Hollow, where hounds 

 were finally whipped off. 



Saturday, 2gth January, 192 1 

 It has been several years since Radnor hounds have found 

 a fox that would give us a gallop across that beautiful 

 valley lying to the west of Green Briar; and I never cross 

 it without thinking of dear old Alec Brown, who, one day 

 a long time ago, had a bad start when hounds found a fox 

 and raced away on a burning scent without him. Alec and 

 the majority of the field were coffee-housing and did n't 

 know hounds were running until we had crossed the vale 

 and hounds had come to a moment's check on the opposite 

 hillside. On looking around to see what had become of the 

 others, the only person in sight was Brown, on "Pebbles," 

 riding as if the Devil, himself, was after him, and "Peb- 

 bles" negotiating the country in his best Maryland Hunt 

 Cup form. Several of us sat there on our horses and 

 watched him coming, and all agreed that few men would 

 have dared to come as straight and as fast as Alec and 

 "Pebbles" were doing. I haven't made much of a story 

 of it; but, somehow, it made a deep impression on me at 

 the time, and the picture is very plain before me. 



However, to-day, a fox was viewed away from the lower 

 side of Delchester, and, crossing the creek on the ice, 

 hounds ran over the West Chester Pike into Green Briar, 



