226 GOOD SPORT 



awav to the south and the west, there is ahvays 

 the prospect of a good day's sport. 



On a certain Wednesday we rode to Buck- 

 minster Park, to which point every road with its 

 contingent of second horsemen and motor-cars 

 appeared to lead. From the earhest days in the 

 history of the Belvoir this classic pack has scored 

 some of the fastest gallops on the quick-scenting 

 grass country in the surrounding district. While the 

 gay throng taste the stirrup-cup provided by Lord 

 D\'sart's hospitality, hounds swarm round the 

 huntsman's horse, the privileged group to set foot on 

 the trim lawn, looking " the handsomest pack in 

 England at covert- side." Many judges of the past 

 regarded the Duke of Rutland's hunt as the very 

 embodiment and type of the best side of our national 

 sport, and we realise to-day that this high position 

 is maintained in an age too when so many other 

 establishments may be counted as excellent. Sir 

 Gilbert Greenall's appointment of the hunt is in 

 keeping with the high standard shown by the pack, for 

 the hunt horses are quite as level in appearance — 

 blood-like hunters, on short legs, with the best of 

 backs and shoulders, all being docked and trimmed 

 like fighting-cocks. Ben Capell, who began life under 

 Tom Firr, is a Leicestershire huntsman bred and 

 born, his methods of conducting a hunt being in 

 keeping with modern ideas. The chances are he is 

 riding one or other of his Wednesday mounts, 

 Zephyr or Black Cap, both ba}^ browms that match 

 so well that it is difficult to distinguish one from 

 the other, for he sits \nth that unconscious ease 

 which gives the appearance of a centaur-like form. 

 A hunter under sixteen hands, a narrow horse, 

 quick as lightning, would appear to suit Capell best, 

 but he seldom rides the same for more than three 



