154 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



the Sport of Kings on fairly easy terms to himself and with satis- 

 faction to his hunting friends, for no one extends a heartier 

 welcome to fox or stag hounds when they cross his land or to 

 the Harriers, who regularly meet at Theydon Hall Farm. 



Mr. Neave has had a remarkable season, one brilHant run being duly 

 succeeded by another. Only a month ago his hounds cut the record of a 

 quarter of a century, running between twenty-five and thirty miles at such 

 a fearful pace that only six, including the Master, saw the finish. 



On Saturday, March 31st, the famous Surrey deer was enlarged at Mr. 

 Jackson's, Sorrells Hall, Willingale, and owing to the Essex Hounds, for 

 some reason or other, not being out, a ratlier larger field than usual 

 assembled to meet the Master. With the wind north-east, and dull misty 

 clouds obscuring the sun, it was a typical hunting morning, and the 

 moment hounds were laid on the question of scent was settled at once, for 

 they simply flew. 



Crossing the Screen's-road, they turned towards Spain's Wood, where 

 they were momentarily at fault. A hat up in the direction of Witney 

 Wood, and you were more than lucky if you could obtain even a glimpse of 

 hounds at the tearing pace they were going. Skirting Witney Wood, 

 they swung towards Fyfield Hall up to the river near Fyfield Mill. To 

 have hit it off at the wrong place would have been destructive at the pace 

 hounds were going. Mr. Neave, and by far the larger contingent, rode 

 left-handed with hounds over Mr. Raby's land up to Heron's Farm, and 

 here, ye gods, a handy ford came in the line before we embarked on a lake 

 of grass — I say a lake advisedly, for the fields that fringe the river to Forest 

 Hall are as flat as a billiard-table, and the upstanding fences that divide 

 the different meads such that you might ride a four-year-old at them with 

 impunity. 



Mutual congratulations were exchanged at this rattling twenty-five 

 minutes' burst, and while the Surrey deer refreshed himself in the brook 

 near Forest Hall, a very scattered field had time to recruit. What a 

 welcome respite that ten minutes was, or many must have cried "a go" ! 

 Getting to work again, the Fyfield and Ongar-road is reached, and from its 

 eminence a lovely panorama of an undulating and open country spread out 

 before us, with the vision of a staunch pack of hounds fleeting over it, 

 swiftly, silently as a dream. 



" Silence, you know, is the criterion of pace." 



Mr. Christy piloting one contingent on the left, Mr. Neave leading 

 another on the right, down to the river near Moreton Wood. Again a ford 

 came in handy, but as hounds turned right-handed for Moreton, a new 

 flight of rails, with a yawner on the far side, had to be reckoned with. Mr. 

 Kemp, followed by Miss Morgan, solved the difficulty on the right by 

 jumping in and out of the wood, while Mr. Neave and others struck the 

 road on the left, a lucky turn, for right in front of those on the right 

 stretched a wire fence, and none too soon came the warning cry of " 'Ware 

 wire !" But there was a iveak spot in it — a good honest 4 ft. 6 ins. of 

 timber, the length of a horse. Mr. Kemp grasped it at once with ready eye 

 and bold heart, and landed safely over, followed by Miss Morgan, and, I 

 believe, also Miss Jones and another lady, and so rode parallel with the left 

 contingent, who were using the Moreton -road to some tune. 



The more forward ones avoided a bend in the same by turning into a 

 ploughed field with the hounds, but gained little, as hounds turned 

 immediately, still running parallel with the road. That gate into it 



