FROM T.ARNSLEYS TO FOKKST HALL 



41 



wind and cloudy sky proclaim a liuntini( morning ; for settling on to the 

 line at once, by the way they raced there was evidently a scent. It was 

 not good enough, as events proved, to enable them to kill the three-year- 

 old fox they were after, a well known customer of a light sandy colour. 

 Near the end of the run I heard a sportsman say to his friend, " We must 

 have his head, but it is no use reckoning the chickens before they are 

 hatched." But I am digressing too much. There was no check but a 

 sharp turn to the left taking us over a stiff line at a rattling pace to Belgium 

 Springs, half way to which an unjumpable ditch threw most of the field 

 out, with the exception of Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Sworder. A welcome 

 check, however, allowed most of them to get up, and a holloa on the right 

 from Mr. Edwards, of Magdalen Laver Hall — who, I am sorry to say, is 



William Bambridge 



giving up his farm, which will be regretted by all sportsmen, as, although 

 he does not hunt himself, he likes to see others enjoy the sport — showed 

 that our friend had not stayed in covert. Crossing the road by the Rectory, 

 we bore past Mr. Miller's farm, leaving it on the left, a gate at this spot 

 proving no obstacle to Mr. Fowler, of cricketing renown. Several un- 

 commonly blind fences, and we found ourselves in the road to the left of 

 Weald Bridge, crossing it in close order. It looked as if our fox meant 

 Ongar Park Woods ; but no, he evidently knew a better line. Some nice 

 galloping over pasture, and we went in and out of another road below High 

 Ongar Farm ; the going out necessitated fording a brook in single file and 

 cramming through a thick fence. Hounds ran at a good pace to Blake 



