8 HUNTING AND SPOBTING NOTES, 



a fox, who luckily found himself, and, after being headed 

 at the road, when pointing a good line, revenged himself 

 "by dashing away to Haughmond Hill, and, assisted by the 

 shades of evening scored a victory there. An unsatis- 

 factory day, when the dimensions of the field and the 

 occasion are brought into consideration. In the open I 

 believe the scent was a racing one, but in cuvert nil. The 

 latter was the chosen trysting-place of the foxes. Such 

 is life. 



On Saturday, '' all nature was smiling and gay," and 

 great was the eagerness of sportsmen to wind up the week 

 well. Their choice lay between Garden on the north with 

 Sir Watkin, or Whitbach Lodge on the south with the 

 Ludlow. The majority of course chose the former, and a 

 brilliant day they had — two nicf runs over the cream of 

 Cheshire. The first from Garden Cliff to Sandbach, and 

 the second from Royalty G-orse, right into Park Yates' 

 country, and both ending in blood. Would that I had 

 been there to see them, but patience has won kingdoms, 

 and next Saturday I hope to do full justice to this great 

 hunt, as a participator in their glorious fun. 



A penchant for old friends took me to Ludlow, and the 

 meet being within a mile, how could it be resisted? Such a 

 nice, level, short-legged, charming pack of hounds (the 

 bitches) clustered round the new huntsman, Johnson, that 

 had I not known what a first-rate hound-man the master, 

 Mr. G. W. Wicksted, was, I should have marvelled at their 

 excellence. From far and near came genuine men who 

 stick together like true sportmen, until there was more 

 than an average field. Not the least interesting member 

 of wliich was almost the earliest comer, and often, I under- 

 stand, the last to turn homewards, he proudly boasts of one 

 hundred and ten years as the joint ages of himself and his 

 grey mare. A spinney close to the woods of Henley Hall at 

 once found us a fox, that broke boldly without hesitation in 

 full view of everybody. A prettier, fairer start no man 

 could have wished for, and away we went in full swing 

 straight for Caynham Gamp (the best line), l)ut scarce a 

 mile had we gone, and began to shake nicely into our 

 places, than the inevitable turnip-gatherer turned him 

 from his purpose, and he swung to the left, setting his 

 head straight for the Titterstone Glee Hill. The right 

 hand men had to come outside the circle, and there were 

 many sighing gees before the actual hill was reached, and 



