WhitcJmrch — Yorton Station. 101 



over the railway, where some bold man preferred a leve 1 



crossing, and an encounter with the Manchester expres s 



to a handy bridge. Our fox tried the drain that gav e 



him shelter last time, but to-day admittance was denied , 



and he had to put his best leg forward to keep the bitches 



out of the same field with him up to Preston Gubbalds, 



which he left a field to his left, and went on by the Park 



Farm to Pimhill, to ground. At least, so thought the 



huntsman. Anyhow there was a line on through th e 



covert, and no time was lost in getting the hounds well 



on it. Breaking at the top, Park Farm was again visited, 



and bhotton reached, where we had a check. The fox 



had run the road, and gone Harmar Hill way. Thatcher 



stuck to him in good style — drove him out at the bottom 



below tlie quarries, and before three fourths of the field 



knew what had happened, he and the hounds, with half 



a dozen followers, were at Middle Park, and out again for 



Merrington, where in a few fields the end came, as he 



dodged us on some newly sown ground, and his line could 



not be recovered ; a pretty hunting run of one hour and 



fifteen minutes, fast up to Pimhill. Just at the last, 



Borderer found himself entrapped in some of the most 



dangerous wire, carefully entwined in the fences, so as to 



be totally invisible until we were close upon it. Indeed, 



had not Thatcher, who happily knew of its existence 



beforehand, shouted " Ware wire," another case of 



" over " would undoubtedly have arisen. The malefactor 



is a Mr. Kynaston, a farmer, who came out and leaned on 



his gate, probably in the happy expectation of having to 



pick up the bits. We then trotted away to Preston 



Gubbalds, where I need hardly say Mr. Sparrow had a fox 



for us, but it proved a vixen, and the hounds were 



stopped before any damage was done. Sir Vincent 



Corbet's gorse held a brace that were on their legs the 



moment the hounds entered. Luckily this time the vixen 



slipped back unheeded by the pack, and in another 



minute a fine dog fox took the open for Matthew's 



Coppice, and we were away on excellent terms with him. 



Through the upper end of this covert he went, and then 



out as if for Lea Wood, but not crossing the road, turned 



right handed between Moreton Corbet and Shawbury, 



and beat us in the self same spot as our Pointon Spring 



fox did some weeks back, with his head pointing for 



Wythyford Wood. It puzzles me to think what this 



