252 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



Up the side of one of the Dagenham coverts after Colonel Fane. 

 Hounds brushed across our front, and ran straight for Navestock Common. 

 Was it not here that one of the most popular members ''■'■ of our Hunt had 

 the cruel misfortune to kill a good horse ? Truly, if real universal 

 sympathy would have mended matters, the loser might soon have forgotten 

 his loss, for I never heard more genuine sympathy expressed on any other 

 similar occasion. 



It looked now as if our fox meant Navestock Heath, and if he had set 

 his mask in that direction a very awkward brook would have weeded out 

 all the indifferent riders and their steeds ; but, considerately he coasted it. 



A succession of most trappy fences, which Mr. Waltham and Mr. 

 Harry Sworder fairly seemed to revel in, had to be negotiated by all those 

 riding the line. We were nearing the end, for Mr. Waltham got a view of 

 the fox toiling along, towards Pyrgo Wood, well nigh spent. Five minutes 

 later hounds were rattling him round that covert to his death. 



The wind blew keenly and icily after the hot gallop upon the lathering 

 horses, as drawn up at the covert side, they were kept for another ten 

 minutes ere this good fox succumbed — 55 minutes altogether— -forty-five 

 in the open and no time lost if you will glance at your map. Stiff as a 

 board, you could see at a glance, as the huntsman triumphantly held him 

 aloft, before blooding Mr. Harry Sworder's boy and another young 

 Nimrod, making them sworn fox-hunters for life. This run was full of 

 incidents, but there was little time to note them. If you rode religiously 

 the line hounds ran, you had all your work cut out to steer your horse 

 and keep clear of other people, as fences came one after the other. I 

 should say about thirty stuck to the line of hounds all through — Mr. 

 Sims Horner certainly one of them — and their horses had had quite 

 enough by the time it was all over. I would also affirm that for the 

 greater part of the run hounds had the best of it. I would further assert, 

 fearless of contradiction, that the huntsman, on his roan, was not beaten 

 by any one, and I am equally certain that no man, woman, or child was 

 in the same field with hounds from start to finish. Roads and lanes were 

 freely used, or not a tithe of those who appeared on the scene when the 

 fox was broken up would have witnessed the ceremony. What do you 

 say, Master Arthur Thomas? You came up spick and span, and I think, 

 remarked that you had hardly jumped a fence in this old fashioned, truly 

 enjoyable run. 



Mr, Seymour Caldwell had a curious experience in the middle of the 

 run, for jumping out of a wood, through a very thick fence, he found 

 himself hanging up in the boughs, and his horse getting over without 

 him. Unfortunately a very pretty diamond pin, given him as a racing 

 souvenir by Lady Warwick, was lost ere he regained teira Jirma. Mr. 

 Raphael would never be able to wear his concertina'd hat again, I am 

 sure. Mr. Fitch, of Romford, was riding as hard at the finish as he was 

 at the beginning, in spite of a real good toss. Mr. Avila was grassed by a 

 hidden strand of barbed wire, a boggy ditch claimed one of our bravest 

 and fairest, and a hidden strand of barbed danger was flown by the priceless 

 black, while, instead of a glove, a lady's hat was borne by one who, if he 

 succeeded in keeping its fair owner in view, saw as much of the run as 

 anyone else. 



They drew the Green : Curtis Mill Green blank. A brace they found 

 in Sir Charles Smith's coverts, one getting to ground a mile away in a 

 drain of Mr. Sam Crane's ; and at 3 p.m., in company with the young 



* Mr. 11. J. Price. 



