NO COMMONER SURELY 379 



Skinner's Farm, and rose the lon^ grass slope for the belt of 

 trees on the hill, in and out of that strip few followed Mr. 

 Barclay over the rails. Down the hill once more, and three 

 men to one gate to unravel the fastenings, while hounds were 

 stealing away over the Park. 



Turning back through the trees at the bottom, they ran on 

 over Mr. Rumball's Farm — grass every yard of it — in and out 

 of Barber's Wood. Half a mile further on, at the side of the 

 brook, came the catastrophe of a good vixen killed, while the 

 dog, which had slipped away from the fagot heap a few 

 minutes later, had gone scot free, Bad luck this, but not so 

 bad as being found dead in a trap. We did not find again, 

 unless it was a holloa at Beachetts which hounds never 

 endorsed, and we visited the renowned Weald Coppice in 

 vain, and cracked up the once happy hunting-grounds of Mr. 

 Bosley's fox all to no purpose, and rode home at 4.30 with 

 the splash of warm rain in our faces, the harbinger of a 

 great scent on the morrow, as it soaked steadily into the warm 

 earth all through the night, a/^d for the first time for niaiiy a 

 long iveek zue rode or drove niackiiitoshed to a meet. 



Little Laver the point, with the certain feeling that on such 

 a morning there must be a scent ; the moisture that clung to 

 the grass, the soft, balmy feeling in the air, all betokened 

 that it was a morning not to be missed. No, not for a king's 

 ransom — Brick Kilns, I love you. No covert within the 

 confines of the Essex Hunt is more closely entwined in heart's 

 fondest memories of the sweet intoxicating pleasures of the 

 chase than your sacred groves. How many historic runs 

 have been conceived in the depths of your wooded stillness ! 

 Who can look back upon a vista of years with feelings unmoved 

 of proud and happy satisfaction at the triumphs you have 

 witnessed '^. And now yet another garland has to be woven 

 in your honour. Would that abler hands had grasped the 

 genial task. 



Dearly should I like to have viewed the fox (no connnoner, 

 surely !) who at the first sound of the huntsman's cheer (by 

 the bye, did you notice the extra ring in the huntsman's voice 

 that morning ?) went as straight as a dart for Man Wood. 

 There are two ways of reaching this famous covert : he took 

 the best. I say it advisedly, there is a left-hand course and a 

 right-hand one, but the two lines of country offer no comparison. 

 Fence after fence out of light sandy plough, hounds racing- 

 over the ditches, the big dogs jumping them in their stride as 

 with heads up and sterns down they seemed to revel in the 

 ravishing scent. 



