S8 HUNTING AND SPOBTmG NOTES. 



fox in Coton Gorse had to pa}' the penalt}- of his 

 cowardice, and, no other fox being at home, a trot was 

 made to the Twemlows. On Lord Hill's side away went a 

 fox over Frees Heath, in the middle of which he turned 

 to the right as if for Whitchurch, and at such a rattling 

 pace did the pack chevy him over this open ground, with 

 no fences to stop them, that, although he tried hard to 

 reach the earths at Ash, ni Sir Watkin's country, where 

 he would have been safe, he had to succumb within two- 

 hundred yards of them in nine minutes ! The Twemlows 

 had been too mach disturbed to afford other foxes on the 

 return there, so Losford Coppice was the hope of the 

 afternoon, and who that knows this snug cover, and has 

 enjoyed many a good gallop from it, does not light up 

 with earnest hope as hounds challenge in it. It is to be 

 a dash at the brook at starting this afternoon ? or is 

 the line over those fine, wild pastures, with unkempt, 

 blackthorn fences, that intervene between it and Hawk- 

 stone ? Ah, yes ! this question is soon decided. He 

 turns his back on the brook, and sails away gaily for the 

 sure haven of the Grotto. Now gentlemen sportsmen ! 

 whose hearts among you are bent on business ? Now is 

 your time ; not a moment for hesitation ; there is a 

 flaming, screaming scent, and the Shropshire bitches are 

 second to none in England for pace. Ah, who says that 

 Thatcher can't ride to his hounds ? Look now how he 

 hesitates not a moment ; and how those two bits of 

 black — they are Hills — hang on his quarters, and know 

 every inch of his hairy vale, struggling with might and 

 main to be in the same field with him and the hounds. 

 Why here is the Hawkstone Eoad, in less time than it takes 

 me to write it — in eleven minutes — and where are the 

 field ? Still those bitches fly on to the Grotto, to ground 

 — twenty-one minutes in all. What a superb gallop ! 



On Tuesday, Mr. Corbet, I hear, was not able to do a 

 great deal against the negative elements, although from 

 Wenbury Mosses his followers had a short excursion or 

 two, as long as scent, which was very fickle, lasted. 

 Several coverts Marbury way were drawn blank, and a 

 bad fox from the wood by the Mere soon ran into a stable 

 yard, and was killed. Poole's Gorse was the last chance, 

 and a fox from there going towards Combermere could 



