Onslow — A Boosting Fox. 47 



hounds. The pet coverts were drawn, foxes went away to 

 order, but scarcely out of view could the indefatigable 

 master prevail upon his pack to own their line ; so that 

 after four good tries, all ending in failure, he threw up 

 the sponge before three o'clock in the afternoon. 



Sir Watkin, or rather Groodall, did no better from Old 

 Oswestry, and afterwards Halston, although it was said 

 that he might have tried to hunt one fox that was holloaed 

 away from Halston. Probably, however, Goodall shared 

 the disgust of his hounds, and preferred that the fox 

 should have his run to himself, for to-day at least. 



Wednesday, at Onslow, brought a large field together, . 

 whether in expectation of a " turn up" between 

 Borderer and the Colonel we don't know. Anyhow, 

 in this they were disappointed, as also in finding a good 

 fox at Onslow. All the coverts were patiently drawn 

 without a response, but as they had recently been shot a 

 second time over, and had not had time to get quiet, this 

 was hardly to be wondered at. The withy bed ought to 

 tempt a fox into its thick sanctuary in about a month's 

 time, and Colonel Wingfield is evidently most anxious to 

 wipe out his blank scores. So on we went to Cruckton, 

 and drew two very foxey-looking places without a whimper. 

 The third, hard by the road, contrary to custom in 

 this country, a good many of the field rode through 

 with the hounds. General Jenkins said that this was to 

 be the place where our hopes would be realised. Still, 

 hounds made no sign — no, I am wrong — it had been 

 three parts drawn, and the keen eye of the master of the 

 Wheatland saw a couple go, and throw up their heads at 

 an old holly-bush, as if winding something — Thatcher had 

 passed within ten yards of the place. Mr. Allen cracked 

 his whip twice, and then going close to the bush, saw in 

 a bunch of thick ivy, about four feet from the ground, two 

 bright eyes. This time he let fly with his whip right into 

 the bush, and as he did so out came a nice sleek little 

 fox that had been neatly curled up in the safest of places. 

 Some wag remarked that in his clever instinct he had 

 borrowed a leaf out of a pheasant's book, and finding this 

 bird the most favoured creature hereabouts, had taken to 

 ''perching" as safer than being safer than either on or 

 under the ground. Be that as it may, no rogue elephant 

 ever created a more sudden or appalling commotion than 

 did this brisk little fellow from the moment he touched 



