THE BOB-TAILED FOX GETS AWAY 1 23 



horse men and those who, like Mrs. and Miss Fane, had long 

 distances to ride home, left while they were trying to dig 

 the fox out, few of us being sorry that they did not succeed 

 in doing so until hounds had left the scene of action — and 

 he whisked his bob-tail as he scampered off quite ready for 

 another spin before the boys go back to school. 



The next draw was Mr. R. C. Lyall's cellar, and we filled 

 the drive as we waited our turn for his excellent sherry and 

 Christmas cakes. We were not expected at Harlow Park. 

 With drains unstopped and the earths open we were lucky 

 in having a nice little hunt by Parndon Woods to Nasing 

 Common, the field gradually dwindling away by twos and 

 threes until vou miofht have counted them on one hand. As 

 the horn played " Dulce domum " the mist crept up from 

 the southard, wrapping everything and everyone in its chilly 

 embrace. 



" Ongar Park in the Fog " would have formed a fitting headline for the 

 notes of last Monday's sport from North Weald. For be it known that we 

 met there again, hardly having disturbed a twig of the draw on the previous 

 occasion. Yes ; and in a dripping fog we mustered, and were greatly sur- 

 prised to find that in spite of its density they meant hunting. 



Hounds were punctual and Masters too. Not that this calls for any 

 special comment, for they are never otherwise, a very great addition to the 

 pleasure of hunting with any pack of hounds, you'll all readily grant : and 

 when hounds were thrown into covert there was a steady determination 

 evinced not to lose sight either of them or their huntsman. A fox broke 

 over the same ride as Monday last, but without going for the open, was 

 viewed again towards the Gaynes Park end ere the huntsman laid on his 

 hounds. There I saw them feathering for an instant, the huntsman in their 

 midst, among the tree stubs ; the muddy ride filled up immediately, as 

 people pressed down it, for hounds had begun to race for Beachetts. With 

 horses galloping behind and in front of you it was impossible to hear any- 

 thing, and the fog blotted out all vision beyond 150 yards in the wood and 

 300 in the open, but still as we reached the wood the cry was the same, 

 " They have gone for the Beachetts." 



Only those who lost not a second here by galloping round the covert, or 

 plunged through the middle ride, almost up to the horses' girths, without 

 slackening rein, were with hounds as they cleared the wood and came away 

 for Shalesmore ; and in that select band, they tell me, might have been seen 

 Mr. Tyndale White, Mr. and Mrs. Grossman, Miss Jones, Gol. Fane, Mr. 

 Avila, Mr. Bevan, and Major Wilson, at least they were with hounds when 

 they left Shalesmore, to which they fairly flew. The line delightful, nearly 

 all grass — most of you know it — and the pace good enough for the rails and 

 ditch beyond, just below Shalesmore, thought Mr. White and Mr. Avila as 

 they jumped them stirrup to stirrup. The Major, too, voted the pace ultra 

 till the bay put him down in the road. Up the heavy field of Mr. Sworder's 

 hounds swung, crossing the brook, where it wanted doing, and with a 

 piping scent flew on to Mr. C. Fitch's, Spinney Hagmore (what a name !), 

 and here they dished the lot. 



