BcJicarsal of Corbet's run from Marhurij Merc. 27 



open ajjjLiin. Poynton Springs produced a ringing beggar 

 that know no country beyond Shawbury Heath, or, if he 

 did, ventured no further, and was left to learn better 

 ways. 



Saturday, at Whitchurch, Sir Watkin had, if anything, 

 a bigger field than ever. How the record of a good day 

 draws, alas ! only to deceive. Hinton and Peeie's Gorse 

 had been overrun by Mr. Corbet the day before (by way 

 of retaliation, it would almost seem, for our having 

 poached on his country the previous week), so we did not 

 wonder at having a blank draw here. It was sadly too 

 soon to call on Ash again, and yet it had to be done, 

 because there was a shooting party at Cloverley in a few 

 days, and this shut up Styche from us. To be sure there 

 was the account of the brilliant afternoon run of Mr. 

 Corbet's the day before to listen to, while all this fruitless 

 work of drawing was being done. How from Marbury 

 Mere covert they had run straight past Baddily and 

 Kavensmoor Windmill, killing in the open at some place 

 beyond this, of which I failed to get the name, a nine- 

 mile point straight — the run of the season so far — the 

 last part of which the Master nearly missed through 

 getting down. Luckily good and trusty friends were at 

 hand, and a favouring bend put him in his right place 

 again. To return now to our own doings. 

 Brown's Moss of ancient renown was a dernier 

 resort. Nothing but a bare common, watery in places, 

 with a stunted gorse bush here and there. Hounds and 

 horsemen had spread themselves over it in vain, Goodall 

 had blown his horn at the far end, when, out of a small 

 half-burnt bush, popped a fox, right among the rear 

 guard of the field. A fine fellow he looked too, as he 

 charged gallantly through them. For a minute or two 

 it was difficult to say who were the leaders of the chase, 

 men or hounds. So mixed and so exciting was the scene 

 that hounds could not settle on him till he took to the 

 fields on the right. Some small enclosures gave them 

 room, and in three minutes we were on Whitchurch Heath, 

 racing away in dangerous proximity with rabbit holes to 

 Twemlows — a turn there, and the fox almost in their 

 gaws, A check, and a rabbit hole, end hopes. A beauti- 

 ful day condensed into twelve minutes' enjoyment. 



