Basclmrch, 99 



further contest. To kill a friend's horse woukl have been 

 an alternative that, ardent as he is, he never conld have 

 l)enignly accomplished. So, sadly discontented, he turned 

 liomowards for a solitary twelve miles jog, cogitating over 

 this great run, mentally deciding that this fox must be a 

 lineal descendant of the old Norton wolf, a trennnidous 

 l>ig fox that for several seasons had defied the hounds but 

 was killed at last. Inquiries on the road told him that 

 his friend was not in front, so he would probably pick 

 him up en route. But he didn't. And long after B's legs 

 had been under his mahogany — not till nine p.m. — did a 

 familiar voice exclaim, " Why, what in the world became 

 of you, B ? Here's his brush — jnilled him down in the 

 open — the same fox, I'll swear it, that we found at Hencwm 

 — killed him near Lyme brook — after running past 

 Gisburne's, and up to Deerford Gorse, then to the finish 

 nearly the whole way in view. Only three of us there 

 besides the Colonel. Four hours altogether. Don't you call 

 that a run ? " Yes I do, and if the result was not a 

 triumphof the Welsh cross in hounds, aided by consummate 

 judiJ^ment in the huntsman, over the best of foxes. Borderer 

 does not know what verdict to pass on it. To compute 

 the distance of this run is ver} difficult. To Berkeley 

 Gate was a straight seven miles, afterwards there were 

 many turns and windings, but measuring by time, we found 

 a few minutes before one o'clock, and killed about five 

 p.m., would make the distance much beyond twenty miles, 

 and considering the deep state of the ground there can be 

 little wonder that so few horses got to the end of it. 



On Monday, the 29th, Sir VVatkin at last brought off a 

 Baschurch Monday, after many disappointments. The 

 orders were for the Lordship, and nobody who witnessed 

 that long cavalcade of well-appointed men and horses 

 could gainsay the fact that [Shropshire is a sporting county. 

 Grafton Gorse was the first place of departure, and a fox 

 was rattled away towards Montford Bridge, and then, 

 wheeling to the right, touched a larch plantation of Earl 

 Powis's, and was pushed on to Adcot, where, hard pressed, 

 this poor lordly pug revisited the scene of his nightly 

 depredations in the henroost, where Lockey soon acted as 

 turnkey, and the pack executionedhim. Mrs. Alfred Darby 

 was revenged for the loss of her prize poiUtry. America 



