BOXING DAY, 1 898 



247 



Short as the spin was it afforded ocular demonstration that there were 

 a lot of young bloods out who meant having their day, and who did not 

 intend to be baulked of a single fence. 



One brown-coated gentleman,* fresh from Klondyke, leading into trouble, 

 I am afraid, from the easy way (he had a lot of steam on) his dark chesnut 

 whisked over a hairy chasm near Thoby Wood, a lady who knows no fear, 

 her black cutting it in her last stride. 



Up Thoby Wood side we galloped : half-a-dozen hounds coming out on 

 a hot scent, while the body of the pack rattled their hunted fox round the 

 covert. We ought to have been left behind — Mr. Carr, Mrs. Waters, Mrs. 

 Fane, don't you agree ?— for taking the outside circle of that big wood in- 



Thoby Wood and Priory 



stead of bisecting it with the huntsmen — e'en though the rides were deep and 

 muddy — and we were lucky, you'll admit, in finding the pack still running 

 their fox in a neighbouring covert, when there might have been a mile of 

 open country between us and the top of the hunt, and hearing, in company 

 with other good holiday folk, the who-oop as hounds ran into their quarry. 



From the same wood they were away again with a catchy scent, and 

 held a line over as trappy and hairy a country as it was possible to find or 

 disagreeable to ride over, on a hot pulling horse, with a pony in every gap, 

 and someone down at every ditch. Quite worthy of Barnum's or Astley's 

 was the recovery of a gentleman on a black cob, as he jumped into the road 

 over a most gruesome ditch, and appeared sitting on the animal's tail. By 

 a series of spasmodic efforts and a liberal use of the bridle, he got back 



Mr. Sheppaid. 



