Wliitchurch — A good day. 23 



riding division meeting them there. Through the park 

 the fox was scarcely out of view, the foremost of the 

 field viewing him as he went to the lower end of the 

 big lake, and into the plantations beyond. Forced into 

 the open at the end of the park, he bore short to the 

 right, and in a few fields was at Burleydarn, where, 

 in sheer despair, he jumped into a barn, and then into 

 the hounds' mouths. A big fine fox, but too fat for 

 such a cracking pace on so hot a morning — thirty 

 minutes. Trotting back towards Ash, we arrived at 

 Colonel Eivers Bulkeley's, where the hounds were 

 thrown into a round spinney not larger than his 

 kitchen garden, and yet as thick as Erebus, and in as 

 good keeping. Whips were well cracked, and at last 

 there was a whimper, followed by the expose of a fine 

 fox, going full sail in front of the house. Again, great 

 was the charge of cavalry, right though that good 

 sportsman's stableyard, and down over the meadows 

 for Ash. Not to enter it, however, wonderful to say, 

 but running parallel a couple of fields away. It was 

 perfect steeplechasing for those who tried to live with 

 the hounds, and fences of every description had to be 

 negotiated full swing, as the hounds bore still more to 

 the right short of Ash Village, and crossed the main 

 road near to the chapel. Peel's Gorse now seemed our 

 fox's point, but before reaching Osmere he bore again 

 to the right, and dashing into Combermere, lay down 

 in the first withy bed he could find, after bringing us a 

 most exciting, and racing burst of thirty minutes or 

 thereabouts, that had told tales on our horses. Here 

 Goodall had left him, and was hanging on a stale line 

 by the side of the drive, when one of the whips saw 

 him steal away, and we were once more after him at 

 the top of the park, across the road and railway, and 

 down into Marley Moss, where he tried the ambush 

 game with less success, and was caught, ending a 

 very pretty run satisfactorily. Foxes were going in 

 every direction in the Moss, much to Mr. Corbet's 

 chagrin, as we were in Cheshire county, and he was 

 reckoning upon Marley Moss for his next Tuesday's 

 run. Hounds were, however, eventually stopped, and 

 the word given for Ash once more. Alas, the day 

 ended not as it had been begun. The noted little withy 

 bed was true to its traditions, and held a fox — only to 



