TOJOURS PRET 25 I 



across a country as her master. Go slow at your fences and 

 she will very soon put you down, and don't accept a mount 

 on her unless your nerve is as good as her owner's. Mr. Evans 

 would just as soon ride over a big fence or a succession of big 

 fences in cold blood as when hounds are running. His motto, 

 when it comes to jumping, is Toiijours pret. 



Hounds hadn't been a minute in covert before over the road came the 

 fox, speeded on his journey by a chorus of holloas, and followed by the 

 hounds like a torrent as they swept after him to a burning scent, and 

 swung back as quickly as the fox recrossed the road to the High Woods 

 again. 



How they rattled him through it quicker far than you could pick your 

 way through the thick green undergrowth of briar, or make way over the 

 wire netting that spanned the ride, or jump out of the covert and gallop 

 the headland, up which already those who had never gone into the covert 

 were coming along with a wet sail. 



Hounds streaming along two fields in front of every one, and so, at 

 hottest pace, towards Weald Church, and down the steep hill at the gallop 

 to take the open 100 yards lower. Hounds well ahead of most of the 

 field, running hotly towards Brentwood — Mr. Seymour Caldwell a bit 

 closer to them than anyone else — to swing down to the brook to tempt Air. 

 Tyndale White and one or two others over, and then to bear away again 

 up hill as hard as they could go, fence succeeding fence. A momentary 

 check in a lane, where thirty of us got to hounds again by taking our turn 

 over a trappy ditch ; but once more hounds got away very quickly from 

 most of their followers. 



Back to the High Woods, through these like lightning they forced their 

 fox. Up the wood side (decidedly the best line this time), with hounds 

 swinging away right-handed through a farm-yard, the nearest cut, every 

 horse being sent along for all it was worth. IMrs. Alexander, on a very 

 fast one, passing most between the fences. Shortly afterwards a slide 

 down a bank as steep as the roof of a house, which crumbled as you slid, 

 with your horse up to his hocks in the loamy soil. Lucky when your turn 

 came with hounds every second getting further and further away. Let a 

 lady come : the exclamator being quite ready to slide after her. After 

 you, sir ! Now let Mrs. Clark go. Let Mrs. Barron go. Let me go. Let 

 us all go. This trap for the unwary (on Mr. Garrod's farm, I am told), 

 the first six to come at it having a visible pull of the thirty who followed ; 

 but not such a nick as Mr. Tyndale White and one or two more, who, a 

 bit lower down, had two awkward fences in lieu of it, and landed bang on 

 the hounds' backs, and couldn't be caught again for some time. 



Down another tail end of a lane, was it after the rough grass and small 

 fir-tree planted enclosure, gated each end, through which we galloped in 

 single file ? I fancy so, but no doubt about Sir Evelyn Wood being there, 

 looking glowing and happy, taking the country again out of the next road 

 with the first six. The field well tailed out at this period, for over some 

 big grass fields hounds were fairly racing. The huntsman's roan could be 

 seen leading the van. A slight hover at Noak Hill road, Mr. Charles 

 Green there at the right moment with a " Hold hard ; give them time," 

 and Mr. W^altham's hand up on the left, and hounds picking it up again 

 on the plough. Note, we were getting deeper and deeper into the ploughed 

 country, the fox w^as sinking, and hounds were called upon to hunt, which 

 they did most beautifully. 



