20 



LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



the river at once, or up the bank after hounds, with Mr. Sheffield Neave 

 and Mr. Jones. It mattered not, for as the right-hand contingent galloped 

 through the gate — readily swung by the men at the hay-stack (no time to 

 chuck them a shilling) — and on over the grass with the hounds, those on 

 the left — led by Mr. Jones — were splashing through a ford over the river, 

 which they had the good luck to hit off in their stride. 



With our forces united we had a clear country before us — a sea of 

 billowy grass stretching away to Blake Hall, and not a strand of wire to 

 mar it — and hounds running on at a maddening pace, on past Water End 

 Farm, they swung a bit to the right, and we reached the ha-ha as hounds 

 dashed into the policies. Which side ? again became the burning question, 





i-^^^t 





Full Cry past Blake Hall 



for iron rails stretched right and left. Mr. Bevan plumped for the kissing 

 gate, as a man lifted it off its hinges, and a hundred yards or so to the left, 

 those who were with hounds, a dozen at the outside, jumped into the drive 

 by the lodge gates. Here the huntsman luckily caught us as hounds 

 came to their first check, a welcome respite to those who had had to gallop 

 to keep with them in this three-mile point, a godsend to those who started 

 badly. With our numbers considerably augmented, we entered upon the 

 second phase of this excellent run as we clattered up the drive six abreast 

 and out by the iron gates. Did we make a loop to the right ? I can't 

 remember, but can vividly recall Bailey sitting well back over the thorn 

 fence, with big drop beyond, as hounds ran on below Bovinger Wood, with 

 Major Wilson close behind him, and Mr. Tyndale White on " Spitfire " 

 riding his own line well on the right. 



Three more grass meadows and we jumped in and out of the road 



