198 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



ef a class), well I do not mind a wet skin except under such 

 circumstances as demand aid from a plough team. Nor do I 

 prefer to stay at home because my stirrup-irons feel cold through 

 my boots. But I don't like a driving pitiless rain from the 

 north-east, that soaks rne in ten minutes and turns me into an 

 ice pudding for as long as I can stay in the saddle. Do you ? 

 And I never yet saw a run in such weather, did you ? So I 

 am glad no hounds invited us to come out and look for one on 

 Tuesday. 



If Wednesday was again under the ban of foul weather, 

 Thursday was all that the most delicate and particular of fox- 

 hunters could desire. The North Warwickshire came to Hil- 

 morton on a bright still morning, specially fashioned for inviting 

 storm-stricken sportsmen to come forth and air their feathers. 

 Many of them must have lagged in coming; for the very 

 ready fox that went away so instantly from Hilmorton Gorse 

 had an attendance in his wake of not more than fifty souls, 

 as against fully two hundred who rode out to sun themselves 

 during the day. From the gorse of Hilmorton to that of Crick 

 is not much more than a five minutes' scamper, even when the 

 meadows are wet and water-holding as now. (Surely never 

 were the Shires in such an universal flood as in this wild 

 December of 1886.) After a halt at Crick Covert, scent be- 

 came hopelessly weak : and it was soon necessary to take 

 hounds on to Cook's Gorse. From the latter a rapid and lively 

 start was soon attained, as I will endeavour to sketch in a few 

 words. Two fields below Cook's Gorse runs a brook, at which 

 quite as much fun has been seen year by year as at those of 

 Twyford, Whissendine, Manton, Stonton, et hoc genus omne. 

 The way down these fields happens just now to be cut and 

 imperilled by the most complete possible system of cross drain- 

 age ; and as we blundered over these close-recurring traps we 

 had ample time to recognize the fact that a brimful brook, as 

 yet screened oft' by a high bullfinch, was running in all its 

 yellow earnestness directly across our front. The tall hedge 

 pierced, a view was at once disclosed that shut the door of 



