TWO HARE-HUNTS 



Hounds follow hard towards Litlington, leaving on 

 the left West Dean — that still remote nook of the South 

 Downs, where Alfred the Great, long centuries ago, 

 used, they say, to visit his friend and tutor, Rasse. 

 Skirting Litlington, and leaving Alfriston just below, 

 the now sinking quarry pushes on above the Cuckmere. 

 Here the master, now alone with his pack, gets a view. 

 He has satisfied himself by some curious work put in 

 near here — the last effort of this stout and resourceful 

 quarry — that it is indeed a hare he is on, and not a fox. 

 Beyond the tiny church of Lullington — the smallest 

 church in England some say — the end comes at last, 

 and hounds, racing from scent to view, pull down the 

 big jack hare which, for just upon three solid hours, 

 has kept them going. 



A grand hare hunt, indeed, the best of the present 

 season^ As hounds ran, some fourteen miles must 

 have been accomplished ; the point alone from East- 

 bourne Golf Links to the Cuckmere Valley, where they 

 killed, is not far from six miles, as the crow flies. The 

 two whips and one solitary follower straggle up and, 

 leg-weary though they are, rejoice in the accomplish- 

 ment of one of the longest and toughest hunts within 

 their recollection. Two miles behind, from their 

 Pisgah, the high down on which they stand, two 

 solitary figures remain listening to the far melody of 

 the hound voices, wishing themselves in the Promised 

 Land yonder. The music suddenly ceases. The end 

 has come ; surely it is the death ! Alas, would that 

 they had struggled on to the finish of this wonderful 

 chase ! To-day the Promised Land is not for them. 



Let me now picture a meet of the same hounds in 

 their Pevensey Marsh country. It is a fine clear 



1 1903-4- 

 89 



