A CONTRAST 313 



and that he lias hccii looking- out for some more h"kc him ever 

 since. 



Mr. Marriage lias hunted over 20 years with tlie Kssex 

 Hounds, and rides as hard now as he used to ritk- in the days 

 when he never saw a wife and family on the other side of a 

 Roothing ditch. 



So he is " a rum 'un to follow, a bad 'un to beat." 



Only two days have lately come under my notice, and perhaps no two 

 could have presented a greater contrast, a statement which, I fancy, the 

 bare recital of what took place will fully corroborate. Monday, a day of 

 sunshine, with an absence of foxes. Wednesday, a typical day for good 

 sport in Essex — a drizzling mist, easterly wind, plenty of foxes, and the 

 maximum of divarshun. Different countries, too. Monday, the unfashion- 

 able one of banks, woods, and undulating stretches of hill and dale (I like 

 it best). Wednesday the ultra-fashionable flat, open, and monotonous in 

 the type of fences encountered. Let me, however, jot down in fuller detail 

 that which I have already anticipated. 



Monday, December 3rd, was, I believe, the first visit of hounds this 

 season to the Kelvedon and Navestock district ; certainly the first since 

 hunting proper commenced, partly owing to Mr. Fane's death, and partly 

 attributable to shooting arrangements. 



Never was bright sun more welcome on hunting day ; for hour after 

 hour were we called upon to ride the country, searching, but searching in 

 vain for a fox, hoping against hope for a find. Park Wood, Waterworks 

 Springs, Church Wood, Poles Wood, Menagerie, Cook's Wood, and all 

 the small woods adjoining, also those surrounding Kelvedon Hall, but not 

 a sign, not a trace of a fox, and hope at last yielded to despair, as single 

 file we threaded the narrow covert on the margin of the Navestock Lake 

 without feeling the least uneasy at being . separated from Bailey and the 

 hounds, who were then drawing a part of the covert some distance away 

 on our right. 



At the end of the narrow ride was a locked gate, which defied the 

 united efforts of three of our most muscular stalwarts, when all at once the 

 music of hounds running fell on our ears. Bad as it had been not to have 

 found a fox before 2.45 p.m., it was maddening to he cooped up like this when 

 they had found at last. One final despairing effort and the gate was down. 

 Another minute and it would have been too late, for we had to gallop to 

 catch hounds as they struck over the road into the Horse Shoe Wood 

 at Rose Hall— everyone, mad, keen and sticking like glue to the hounds, 

 went in and out of that wood with them, Mr. Price on the left, his own 

 selection, being the quickest away from its entanglement and the delay 

 caused by someone falling at the place (of course the easiest one) which 

 the majority had picked out. At a good pace up to the Navestock-road : 

 just short of the Heath, they turned for a field to the left, and then made 

 for the small spnngs which run down to the Bentley Mill road, going as 

 fast through them as horses could gallop in the furrows of the parallel 

 field. The Master, huntsman, and Captain Wilson were the first three 

 into the road over an awkward jump by the side of the bridge ; across it 

 and clear of the opposite plantations they ran very smartly over the grass 

 by Bois Hall ; not a moment to dwell for a gate, straight in and out of the 

 road a dozen were over together, Miss Morgan, Mr. Tyndale White, Major 

 Carter, Capt. W'ilson, Mr. Giles, I could note. Hounds flew down the hill 



