44 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



owing to a fog, but a capital run in the afternoon from Garnish Hall fagot 

 stack when the fog lifted ; we listened in keen anticipation for the yap-yap 

 of the terriers, for given a fox we were pretty sure of a gallop on the grass. 

 A fox, did I say ? There were two, and if one doubled back into the heap of 

 sticks when the boys yelled at him, the other, a fine yellow fox, went away 

 with the Essex lady pack at his heels. Sharp up the hill he turned after 

 we had cleared the farm buildings and flown the first bank. Mr. John 

 Tyndale White deftly opened the gate into the next field, a ploughed one, 

 about the only arable one encountered in the next hot ten minutes, in 

 which men — eh, and women too (there were twenty-three out) — tackled to 

 work like schoolboys to play, as taking each fence in their stride they flew 

 from pasture to pasture. 



At the top of the hill, to the right of Coopersale Hall by South's house, 

 there was a momentary falter — nothing more — before hounds were driving 

 on again in the direction of Stonard's Farm, down to the brook that runs 

 by the side of the road (the houndavy line, if I am not much mistaken, of the futiive 

 urban district of Epping). The gate was locked that led to the bridge. Side- 

 ways Mr. Sworder's black would go, but look at the creep down place and 

 jump over the bottom he wouldn't until Mrs. Willie Sewell showed him the 

 way. Jumping out of the road on to grass again there was time to take 

 stock of those who had been quickest in this quick thing. Ongar and 

 Epping were going very strong. Major Carter and Mr. Howel Price leading 

 a considerable contingent on the right. Mr. and Mrs. Willie Sewell, 

 'faith ! they were riding as well and keenly across the country as they 

 did in the hold-fast races of the West Essex and Stansted polo sports. 

 They, and Mr. Frank Ball, with a clear lead of every one on the left, in 

 about this order they went in and out of Stew Green Lane, and if the 

 place into it was bad, the one out with the tree stump half way up the 

 bank was much worse. 



Running close up to Mr. Sam Fitch's house they turned sharp to the 

 right over the Coopersale road. Running through the policies near the 

 house, up to the fine, the Mate was off" his horse and had the gate off its 

 hinges in a trice, but hounds turned back past the Vicarage into the Forest. 

 Through the Forest and Gaynes Park hounds ran like wild fire, and you 

 had to keep galloping all the time to keep them in touch as they drove on 

 through the woods for Beachetts. Running the length of that covert, and 

 on to Shalesmore, where the run was virtually over — a capital forty-five 

 minutes — our fox went over the river, viewed by the cottagers near the 

 ford where we crossed, but hounds never got on terms again, in spite of 

 the huntsman's bold forward cast to Battle's Hall, which was right 

 after all. 



Mr. Sheffield Neave's Staghounds. 



Another Saturday, this time at Bobbingworth windmill, the date 

 February 15th, the country rapidly drying and banks hardening under the 

 influence of the abnormal February weather. But all the same a perfect 

 hunting day, with dull grey sky and a snap of east in the wind sufficient 

 for scent. 



Of course Saturday is not the day par excellence for sport with these 

 hounds ; you must go out on a Tuesday to see them at their best (let me 

 once more remind you to pick out your horse), but if you go on a Saturday 

 you may rely on good fun. You are assured of a gallop ; it may not be 

 straight, but it will cover a point rarely ever touched by foxhounds in a 

 season or harriers in a lifetime. Saturday is generally chosen for untried 

 deer, with the certain result that if they will face the upstanding fences 



