A SPIN WITH THE PYTCHLEY. 271 



which family have I not cause to be thankful for 

 good sport shown ? The day was a Friday, but, 

 nevertheless, I fancy the meet was larger than those 

 on a Saturday in Kildare, the biggest fox-hunting 

 gatherings I had then seen. It is unnecessary for me 

 to chronicle those who were present, even if I knew 

 them all. Suffice it to say that the beard of the Red 

 Earl was our oriflamme that day. 



The meet was at Brington, and the draw Nobottle 

 Wood. Hounds soon began to run in covert. A 

 stranger in the land, I had nothing to guide me but 

 instinct, and that took me, almost by myself, to a quiet 

 down-wind corner facing a church and forge. 



I had hardly been there two minutes when the fox 

 broke within fifty yards of me. After letting him 

 cross the lane to my left, I tallied him away, Goodall 

 promptly came to my halloa, and no doubt hardly 

 noticed the stranger in the gray frock-coat, whom he 

 thanked for the information necessary to enable him 

 to lay on his hounds. 



I hugged myself at the idea of the excellent start 

 I had got, for hounds ran fast, and a lot of the field 

 were slipped. Alas ! it was not to be my luck to 

 participate in a real good thing. In less than ten 

 minutes heads went up, just short of the Weedon 

 Road, and a swing round proved that they had 

 over-run the line, which had ended in a drain two 

 fields back. 



Some time was given up to an unsuccessful effort 

 at eviction a policy one would hardly expect Lord 

 Spencer to favour. English eviction, however, is 



