THE "black bull," FVFIKLD 423 



fence of the wood, on the White Roothing side ;' one old lady waved her 

 stern in the most demonstrative way as she smelt at the fence, and then 

 jumped over, Bailey remarking, " That's where he is gone," and out came 

 the horn, as, pushing open the gate, the pack got together and dashed 

 down the side of the fence. All down that field Bailey kept the horn going, 

 for it was pain and grief to him getting away without his followers knowing. 

 But this time they did knowj for they had heard the halloa, and heard the 

 horn ; and although there was not a soul in sight, except Jack and those 

 already mentioned, they were coming along post haste ; but, fast as they 

 were coming, they would never have caught hounds had it not been for a 

 very opportune check. 



Running sharp to the bottom of the field, hounds turned over a wide 

 ditch to the right, and then taking another twist ran straight and fast until 

 they reached the White Roothing Road, where a man had ex'idently turned 

 the fox without getting a view. " Which way were you ploughing ? " 

 shouted the huntsman, as his hounds threw up. Looking back you could 

 not have seen a prettier sight — it was more like a point-to-point race than 

 anything else. Coming hand- over -harid. Mr. Jones and Mr. Newman 

 Gilbey, Mr. Arkwright, and one or two others were carrying a strong lead, 

 the rest of the field being strung out in a long tail, and they reached liounds 

 just as they picked up the line again for'ard, and for another ten minutes 

 ran fast and straight towards Abbess Roding ; scent not improving and the 

 field rapidly crowding up, just as the hounds required more room, and more 

 room is just what they did not get. 



Near the Rectory we sadly wanted the guidance of the Rector, for not 

 only were we ignorant of the name of the church whose wooden spire stood 

 out as a prominent landmark on our right (some affirming it to be Matching 

 and others Beauchamp Roding), but we were confronted by two extra 

 thick fences, through which we should have liked the Rector to. have shown 

 the way, but failing him we gladly fell back upon Mr. Swire for the first, 

 and Mr. Jones and Major Wilson for the second. Jumping into the road, 

 we crossed it and bore down for the river, eventually losing our fox near 

 Waples Mill, the first thirty-five minutes of the gallop having been emphati- 

 cally good. Mr. A. J. Edward took a toss, and Mr. Tyndale White, jun., 

 parted company, the latter over a very tricky fence, a wide ditch the take- 

 off" sloping downward with nothing but a high narrow bank to land on, 

 into a road, fortunately with grass margin. Have you ever tried the Black 

 Bull Inn, Fyfield, for gruel, eggs, and tea ? If not, do not hesitate to do 

 so if after a hard day you are stranded anywhere near it. Three of us 

 voted that we had not eaten such eggs and hot buttered toast for weeks as 

 the good hostess of the Black Bull placed before us in a very few minutes, 

 on snowy tablecloth, upon that Wednesday afternoon. The horses, too, 

 were very well cared for. The landlord himself has a weakness for a good 

 cigar, which he keeps in the right place — the chimney corner. Conse- 

 quently we do not mind how soon we renew our acquaintance with the 

 Dido brand. 



Nevill Dawson, rising three when I first knew him, has 

 grown into a great stalwart fellow (a very smart one, too), 

 who takes after his father and grandfather in his love for 

 hunting. 



A Saturday's meet at Harlow is sure to attract a large gathering, 

 though probably not in the memory of the oldest inhabitant have so many 

 ladies adorned one before. No less than thirty-two skirts were counted, 

 and not a skirter amongst them, if we might judge by the way they stuck to 



