8 A YEAR OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



holds the lead at such a moment would be faint-hearted indeed if 

 he turned aside for fear of an icy bath. Some of us don't like water, 

 and are not ashamed to confess as much ; but craven thoughts 

 seldom come to those who can ride straight as hounds run over 

 Leicestershire meadows when the Quorn are close upon a sinking 

 Fox. With the excitement of rivalry thrilling every fibre of their 

 frames, they take firmer hold of the reins, sit tighter in their 

 saddles, give one touch of the spur, and go at it. A horse here 

 and there may refuse ; one, losing heart too late to save himself, 

 will perhaps plunge into mid-stream, sending the spray like a 

 fountain upward, as for a moment he disappears. The others, 

 landing safe on the rotten banks, cast but a glance behind to see 

 that he is not in danger of drowning, and then gallop on to where 

 the hounds clamour fiercely over a fallen victim, and the shrill 

 " Whoo ! whoop ! " tells that the brilliant burst is at an end. 

 Such runs on a breast-high scent do not come every day, but 

 the quickness of a huntsman in the shires will often make things 

 merry when in slower countries hounds would be walking their 

 Fox to death. To hunt six days a week from Melton or Market 

 Harborough, therefore, one need be well mounted and have two 

 horses in the field every day. With a stud of six or eight hunters 

 one may get along very well if none of them go aTtiiss. With 

 more a bold horseman ought to see all the best of the fun, 

 but with less a man had better be content to take his sport amid 

 less stirring scenes, and not aspire to distinction in this region of 

 fashionable fox-hunting. 



