144 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS. [1887 



Sport was very fair this year up to November IGtli, 

 wlien there was a week's frost, but the run of the season, 

 or of many seasons, was on December 8th. It was one of 

 those doubtful mornings, on which, somehow or other, 

 many of the best runs have occurred. On this particular 

 one there was a great deal of snow about, the ground was 

 half frozen, and there was a fog. The place of meeting 

 was Mercaston Stoop, but there was too much snow on the 

 hills to hunt there, so they came to Meynell Langley 

 Gorse, found there and went away at a great pace over 

 the Ashbourne road, leaving Wheathills on the left. Then 

 they turned to the right by the Common Nurseries, where- 

 liounds ran away from everybody, and went on by Silver- 

 hill, across Radburne Park, by the church, straight through 

 the Eough, on by Dalbury village to Sutton Gorse, where 

 some of the field caught them. The Master was on his 

 hack, having somehow missed his hunter, and Charles used 

 to describe graphically how he came up at this juncture, 

 sitting rather on one side, with one spur playing the devil's 

 tattoo in the hack's side. If it started as a hack it finished as 

 a hunter, for its rider was with them, and so was Mr. Fort 

 for another, on Silver King, and Charles of course, as they 

 ran on to the right of Sutton Gorse, through Arbour Field 

 Plantation, across the Etwall and Sutton road, nearly to 

 Hilton village. Here they turned to the right, ran to the 

 left of Sutton village, on for Church Broughton, and 

 checked by the gateway close to Hudson's house, near the 

 top covert at Foston. Charles, having got a little behind 

 here, when he came up cast for the top covert, but, not 

 hitting it ofi", completed his circle, when they hit the line 

 just behind where they checked and started running again 

 all down the Foston meadows, and finally gave it up close 

 to Sapperton. The long check by the top covert just 

 saved the fox's life, but it was a splendid gallop, which 

 people talk of to this day — an eleven-mile point, and 

 nothing to call a check till they got to Foston. 



On the 17th they ran very hard with a capital scent 

 from the Greaves all along the Banks to High Trees,, 



