ESSKX F(M< EVER 3<Sl 



In and out of the White Roothing- road with hounds and 

 huntsman to Man Wood without countino- the cost, but trustino- 

 to Providence ; or well clear of it to tht; rii^ht. with Messrs. 

 Sworder and Jones ; or free from difficulties on the left, 

 through the mudd\- ride with Sevvell, Harrison and Hart — • 

 which line did you take? It mattered not if you rode on, rode 

 on, for hounds were driving remorselessly on without the 

 shadow of a check. Twenty of us reached the big wood with 

 the pack : the Master, Messrs. Ford Barclay, H. Fowler, 

 C. Oldham, Capt. Bruce among them ; and six of the twenty 

 proffered their horses to the huntsman, whose horse looked 

 hopelessly settled. Catching his legs in the wire netting, he 

 had shot his rider over his head into the trees, and lay on his 

 back in the ditch. 



No time for delay, thought Mr. Barclay, as he turned sharp 

 back to the right over the fence, and bearing left-handed, set 

 off, over the rough fields between the woods, in pursuit of 

 Messrs. vSworderand Jones, and Major Carter, who had already- 

 viewed the hounds entering the further covert ; but unfor- 

 tunately for those leaders they overshot it, and instead of 

 taking the ride between and striking in and out of the muddy 

 lane, they rode on for the Row Wood corner, and were hope- 

 lessly coopered by a double ditch and some hoop iron. 



Your lucky star must have been in the ascendant if you 

 extricated yourself from these big. coverts, with such a scent 

 as there was on Wednesday, in time to see the hounds leave 

 them behind for good as they still ran on. 



" Not a nose on the ground, not a stern in the air, 

 And you knew by the note of that modified chorus 

 How straight you must ride if you wished to be there." 



But who was that young, brown-coated sportsman on a 

 chesnut cob stealing away froni Man Wood.'^ Young Mr. 

 Hart, for a thousand! W^orthy son of a worthy father; may 

 he long continue to show us the way. Roly, too, in his old 

 form, just back from the historic pastiu'es over which the 

 Kildare and Meath hold sway, with his war cry of " Fssex for 

 ever;" and Bobby Lockwood, getting his last day and last 

 kick out of a tired horse. And clear of these, and clear of the 

 woods, that exponent of welter point-to-points, George Sewell, 

 on a chesnut horse almost as good as the old mare. Another 

 sportsman, too, who takes a lot of beating, Mr. Charrington, 

 of Australian fame (the Harlow people know this, and haven't 

 forgotten the twelve sheep at Christmas), held pride of place as 

 hounds raced on without their huntsman for Down Hall. 



