80 HUNTING AND SPOBTING NOTES. 



the best day he had seen this season. Dirty coats there 

 were in plenty, but I heard of no serious mishap. 



Saturday, at Stutton Mill, Mi'. Lane Fox again 

 afforded us a treat. Not such a large field as usual on 

 a Saturday — so much to Borderer's relief. The withy 

 beds did not hold a fox, but the cover c on the hill above 

 did duty for them, and he was off like a shot over the 

 road into Grimstone Park. Dwelt there not a moment, 

 but boldly faced the big flat fields that stretched away in 

 front of us. Hounds took up the challenge, and those 

 lovely Bramham bitches led us a lively dance until we 

 touched a Scarthingwell covert, only to whisk through, 

 and slog along through the ploughs beyond it. A turn to 

 the left here brought us to Church Fenton Station, and 

 right across the goods-yard and main line dashed the 

 pack. It was not the time for hesitation, so we charged 

 the railway fence with a deej) ditch, and picked our way 

 among blocks of timber and signal wires down the main 

 line to the nearest gate. Yorkshire railway gates are 

 never locked. The hounds had gained three fields, and 

 we madly crashed after them, fences coming too close and 

 stiff to give time for reflection. The country was a dead 

 flat, and our point was straight for the 999 acre Bishop's 

 Wood. Would be reach that ? No ; but luckily for him 

 he had a haven a mile or so nearer — a cosy drain 

 near Rythers Plantation, although it was a near 

 thing, hounds were coursing him at last. The watches 

 called it thirty-nine minutes, and we all pronounced it a 

 good straight-away gallop, the like of which is not seen 

 every day. ^The long straggling line of pumped-out 

 pursuers told eloquently of th e pace. A long trot back to 

 the country we had left was necessitated before Renshaw 

 put us going again behind one made of different stuff to 

 the last, as he only stood up ten minutes before he was 

 caught. Then Bulling Wood produced a good one that 

 brought this capital day to an end with a long hunting 

 run of two hours to Haywood, Hazlewood, nearly to 

 Bramham, back to Bramham, and Bulling Wood, where my 

 horse had had quantum saff., and it being five o'clock in 

 the afternoon I pulled up. Perhaps Smith stuck to him 

 a bit longer, but I doubt his catching him. 



Not a bad week's work on the whole, and one that will 

 ever be written in my calendar with the thickest red mark 

 T can make. For where are the men who, as a whole, can 



