NICKING IN 309 



yard of the country familiar, or you will probably be clone to a 

 turn, and your disappointment and chagrin baffle description. 



Surely that was the roar of the foundry dinner bell,* as, 

 the busy town being- left behind, the hard road was exchanged 

 for velvety turf, and a jog of an hour, by bridle path and gate, 

 should bring us in touch of at least some of the vedettes, or 

 some of the camp followers of the Hunt. Twenty minutes 

 have gone by, field after field left behind ; not a sign. Even 

 far away, as seen through the dim and hazy atmosphere, the 

 cattle and horses are quietly grazing. Hardly a sound falls on 

 the ear, all alert for the faintest echo of the distant chase. 

 Another ten minutes, the gates click back with an audible 

 bang ; the young ploughman is appealed to in vain. Hark ! 

 what's that ? Your heart stands still for a second ; then in go 

 the spurs as the piercing scream is re-echoed again and again, 

 and you are galloping for bare life to the front. You can hear 

 nothing while you are in such haste. Pull up when you have 

 reached the road. "They're running! they're running! Go 

 hark ! " Too late. The music comes floating back, fainter 

 and fainter, like the distant echo of tinkling bells, and you may 

 gallop your heart out ere you catch them, as they disappear 

 up the hill from Obelisk Wood, if the fox is a bold one and 

 the scent is good. A moment : they are turning back, by all 

 that's fortunate, and coming straight down the brookside for 

 you, and flash after flash of scarlet is seen through the parallel 

 fences. You have got them now ; your own fault if you lose 

 them. That man with the plough is waving his hand to the 

 right, over a rugged bank at the top. 



Mr. Peel turns at once, but not even on the grass can hounds go any 

 pace. Leaving Cobbin End lane behind (it cost me twopence to get into it, 

 and, I believe, Mr. Swire the same, for there was a deuce of a drop), we 

 held on over the grass up to Ball Hill. No occasion to jump more than 

 two fences, and we were at Spratt's Hedgerow at 2 p.m., seeking for another 

 fox, which in the Rookery, Orange Wood, Parndon, Pinnacles, &c., was 

 sought for in vain ; but it was a bad scenting day. The morning gallop I 

 hear was distinctly good, with one of Mr. Charles Bury's foxes, much the same 

 hne as before, breaking from Galley Hills and running past his house, where 

 they probably changed, for scent, I am told, became very much worse. 

 The fun was lively while it lasted, one fence early in the run accounting for 

 a ladyt who had secured a very good place, together with a yellow- 

 legginged sportsman on a bay. The Master did not come off scathless, and 

 the Parson's coat will take some cleaning. I am indebted to a friend for the 

 following spirited account of an extraordinarily good day in the Friday 

 country — one of the many that have fallen to their share this season : — 



* Messrs. Wni. Cottis & Sons' foundry. f Mrs. W. Sewell. 



