270 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS. [189* 



to Uttoxeter, where they checked. One old bitch, however, showed us that she 

 could own a line up a road, and, turning sharp to the left up it, put them right. 

 Getting together again, hounds ran as if they were going back to Blithfield, and 

 a gentleman on a grey [Mr. Caldecott] showed us what a strong place a bold man 

 on a bold horse can get through, as the pair jumped out of the road. For a 

 minute or two it looked as if we were going to the woods, but this vacillating 

 fox, whose meanderings would tax the powers of a geometrician to describe^ 

 turned back again over the Bromley road, left Duckley Wood on his left, and ran 

 over the Warren down to the bridge over the Blythe, half a mile from Newton 

 village. Hounds tlien turned left-handed along the river, first this side and 

 then that, as if they were on the line of an otter rather than of a fox. Leaving 

 the riverside, they ran merrily to the left of Newton village, as if our fox might be 

 going for Newton Gorse. A left-handed turn, however, brought us past the back 

 of Blitlifield Gardens, while a right-handed one took us across the Colton road 

 down to Spencer's Plantation. But even after forty minutes our fox had no mind 

 to take shelter in this or any other covert, and he made a very sharp bend to the 

 left, hounds turning with him beautifully. A ploughed field brought them to 

 their noses, but they puzzled it out like so many beagles, and worked it out down 

 to the road and on to the grass beyond. Here they dashed on again with a 

 merry cry down to the Moreton Brook and over it. Most people wallowed through 

 in safety, and hounds ran on nicely, bearing left-handed over a strongly-fenced 

 country, back to the Colton road. Beyond this, one field away, was the pit-hole 

 where our fox saved his brush a fortnight ago, but to-day the door was closed. 

 Better luck next time, thought our friend, as he went on to the next Castle of 

 Malepartus. It looked a hundred to one on his having effected an entrance, as 

 hounds checked in the field below it, and feathered round with waving sterns and 

 flapping nostril. But no ! those wide-casting hounds here hit it off on the field 

 beyond, and for a few more moments we can listen to that cheering cry. But, 

 alas ! Ox Close Wood loomed dark in the foreground, the twilight was deepening 

 fast, and our fox was evidently some way in front of us. For over an hour- 

 hounds had puzzled out a complicated task which reflects credit on them and 

 their huntsman, and no doubt with a rather better scent they would have brought 

 him to book. To the earth stopper, thanks. 



A nice morning on Thursday induced all the world and his wife to assemble 

 on horseback or on wheels at Twyford Cross Roads. The Quorn sent us hard- 

 riding contingent, besides some who had been here before, and who took this 

 opportunity of revisiting our happy hunting-grounds. Last, but not least, the 

 Master was out again, but he had to be content with a vehicle in lieu of a hunter. 

 Hell Meadows was the first covert drawn, and held a brace of foxes, neither of 

 which seemed inclined to leave. But at last Mr. Chandos-Pole's keen eye 

 detected one stealing away at the lower end by the dyke, and the musical notes 

 of a horn, which the Meynell country once knew full well, proclaimed the fact to 

 the crowd of eager horsemen. No sooner were hounds settled to the line than,, 

 with a rush like the Falls of Niagara, the Meynell Thursday field was surging in 

 their wake. Men say that hounds ran this same line last year, and that they fairly 

 flew till they marked their fox to ground near Findern in eleven minutes. To-day 

 they ran it in eight; but was the pace as good? Let those who saw decide. 

 Either last year they went farther, or this year they went faster. If there is one 

 thing on this earth on which opinions differ more than another it is on the pace 

 of a run. Given a good start, a good heart, and a useful horse, it is surprising 

 how moderate is the pace ; reverse the conditions, and how fast hounds fly f 

 Hell Meadows were called on again, but in vain, nor was the tenant of Mr. W. 



