90 HUNTING AND SPORTING NOTES. 



and down to Styclie, wliere somehow or other he was lost. 

 Another was forthcoming hard by, but was not destined 

 for much fun. Shavington was vainly tried, and no- 

 wonder after the frequent calls on it of late. There was 

 only Cloverley Gorse, that had already l^een partially 

 disturbed, on which to fall back. Here a good-natured 

 afternoon fox had waited, and went away to Cloverley 

 Wood and Park, then to the left into Shavington, without 

 entering the big wood, emerged near the wooden gates on 

 the west for Stokes Wood, which he left to the left and 

 gave us the cream of the day, as all the Avaj he ran at a 

 good pace to L;idmore Lane, then to the right over the 

 big fields to Wilkesley, and over the road, as if for 

 Brooks' Mill, passed Lord Hopetoun's covert, and 

 managed to win the battle by getting to ground at 

 Browne's Bank, close to Audleni, after a delightful run 

 fi.r those with second horses, lasting about an hour. If 

 this stout fox does not fall a victim to Mr. Corbet he will 

 be an able champion for the Cloverley side next season. 

 Blood-thirsty as Borderer is, he loves to see some old 

 foxes survive at the end of a season. This is their 

 most trying time, as they begin to run jadily, and 

 cannot stand the racket of the past month or two. 

 No master or huntsman should forget that a few sur- 

 viving old foxes are the backbone of his sport up to 

 Christmas next season. 



Thursday at High Ercall with the Shropshire is 

 generally well patronised, and to-day was not an excep- 

 tion ; and yet the Ercall country has singularly failed 

 to maintain its reputation for sport this season. There 

 has been a scarcity of the true article, for I cannot 

 call that Eowton Gorse fox of a month ago by any other 

 name than a mangey cur. It was all blank to-day, and 

 it was not till Thatcher got to Ellerdine that there was 

 any cheeriness in the day's proceedings. Here matters 

 mended at once, for a fox well found soon had to make 

 tracks for Morgan's Pool, and on as if for Wythyford,, 

 then short right-handed to the Hazels at a rattling pace. 

 With the old grey once more acting as a pilot, they 

 hesitated not, crossing the road and racing straight to 

 Hawkstone where he vainly pushed himself into a rabbit 

 hole a few yards in front of the leading hounds, in thirty 

 five minutes from the find, and was dragged out and 

 eaten. A very satisfactory gallop. 



