I02 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



words, although the first few sentences are more appHcable to a Leicester- 

 shire field than an Essex gathering, for I must give credit to Essex 

 sportsmen for sticking to it as long as their horses have got any go in 

 them. 



" It always puzzles me why sportsmen with plenty of horseflesh under them do not stop out 

 to see the ^nA—Jinis coronal opus ! There may be a good deal of honest pleasure and hearty 

 enjoyment in the beginning or the middle of a day, but for real satisfaction commend me to the 

 finish. If you have to stumble out on an old broken-winded gee that has to do his turn three 

 days afterwards, I can understand going home ; but with a fresh young horse that has not to 

 hunt again, perhaps, for a week, come on, my young friends, and see the finish, you will have 

 your boots off in time for the soup at eight o'clock. I can tell you from past experience, of 

 which I have had a fair amount, that it will not be those brilliant five-and-twenty minutes, 

 however oft repeated, which will linger in your memories as you sit years after by the solitary 

 fire and smoke your solitary pipe at the decaying ashes, but the long, good runs, when you 

 persevered on, even though yourself and horse were somewhat tired, when you saw the fox 

 killed in the gloaming, and came home with the hounds with a pad in your pocket to be set up 

 to remind you long afterwards of the good old days. Forsitaii lure olini meininisse JiivabiL" 



We set off in the rain by Hunter's Hall, and from the bottom end came 

 the Whip's scream of "a- w-a-y," and over the common to round the covert 

 we sped down hill, Mr. Peel on his martingaled roan making great play, to 

 fight our way up again by Harold's Park, as the pack turned up hill and 

 threw up beyond the avenue. 



To the Coppice again with Bailey and the hounds, once more to hear 

 the " Gone away " from the lower end and the twang of the horn, and to 

 catch sight of hounds (if you dallied not in the muddy lane. Brother Ned) 

 as we swung back the heavy gate, driving through the mist over the 

 common towards Parndon Woods, the fastest bit of the day, no fences and 

 up wind, we had to ride to see it turning, with the Master, Mr. Steele, Mr. 

 Green, Mr. Fowler, Mr. Caldwell, and others into the fields before crossing 

 the road for Parndon Woods. A good fox, for they held the line straight 

 through, and the steam from the horses hung in the boughs of the trees 

 as we plunged through the dripping rides, to reach Latton and hear the 

 last wail of the horn, before turning homewards in the warm rain that still 

 came down in ceaseless patter on the decaying leaves, with Mr. Tilling, Mr. 

 Fitch, and the parson on the old grey horse — sportsmen all ; for they had 

 seen it out on one horse apiece, and the smile on their faces was good to 

 look upon — as good as the music of the big dogs as they smeused through 

 the straggling fences below Fern Hill. 



