THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 361 



celebrated sportsmen of those times played extraordinary- 

 parts. The fox broke from the Coplow, the hounds 

 fetting away close at his brush, and so straight did he put 

 is head, that those who did not get well away with them, 

 had no chance to be near them, as there was nothing to 

 be had from a favourable turn. Those, however, who did 

 get away well, had great difficulty in living with the pack, 

 and, dropping off one by one, out of 150 at starting, the 

 field soon became select. But to what did it come at 

 length 1 Why, to the presence of only two, and even they 

 did not quite see the finish of this glorious run. And 

 there was no deceit here. Coming to a momentary check, 

 one said to the other 



"Look behind you. There is not a living soul in 

 sight ! " Nor was there. As there were no second horses 

 in those days, the honours should be recorded to the two 

 who thus distinguished themselves, as well as to their 

 owners who rode them. The name of one was the Clapper, 

 ridden by Mr. Ludlow, of Bibury, as well as of Leicester- 

 shire fame ; the other by Mr. Smith, honoured by 

 Napoleon as the grand chasseur of the day. And where 

 was our hero in this run ? He was one of the last lot of 

 five who all pulled up in the same large field, having been, 

 up to that time, brilliantly carried by Topthorn. 



The second incident has somewhat of a contrary bearing, 

 inasmuch as it produces rather a rare instance of a sports- 

 man coming at once from a very close and confined 

 country into the spacious and highly-ridged fields of 

 Leicestershire, and distinguishing both himself and his 

 horse. This was the Reverend James Tomlinson, of whom 

 we have before spoken as having excited the admiration 

 of our hero in Cheshire, and whose performance on 

 the day alluded to was the cause of rather a curious 

 e'claircissement. Previously, however, to the climax, it 

 should be observed that, in those days, no gentleman, 

 except in the Cheshire Hunt, was seen in the hunting-field 

 clad in leather breeches. Thus clad, however, was Mr. 

 Tomlinson, when the fox broke from his cover, and, 

 moreover, the gentleman was still further disguised by a 

 coloured silk neckcloth. 



"Who is the fanner going so well on the chestnut?" 

 asked one. 



"Get his price for me," exclaimed another. "He's 

 mine, if I give five hundred for him," roared a third. " A 



