SOME OF THE FIELD. 209 



'* Hold up ! " says Mr. Philipson to his dog, directly lie 

 got outside the door ; and the dog " held up." They had 

 not gone far before a snipe got up. 



" Ha, ha ! " says Mr. Philipson, " won my bet, my 

 boy ! — But, damn you, sir," he goes on, as Captain Farr 

 promptly drops it, " you've killed my snipe. I've known 

 it these three years, and I'm blest if I could ever hit 

 it!" 



Mr, Philipson always rode very young horses, and 

 they were never very fit. He once rode a two -year- old at 

 the beginning of the season. His friends, to chaff him, 

 used to vow it was a yearling, and said that they had 

 seen it running with its dam the year before. He used to 

 go very well over Bradley Vale ; but about Laceby, or 

 when rising the slopes of the Wolds, his horses began to 

 tumble, the fact Ijeing that they were then too blown to 

 go on. About this time you would hear Mr. Philipson 

 exclaim, as his horse took off at its jump, " I'm in. No ; 

 damn, I'm over ! " and then in course of time came the 

 inevitable, " I'm in. Yes ; thought I should be ! " 



The Rev. Cecil Legard. 



The Rev. Cecil Legard, who has done so much for the 

 fox-hound, was a well-known man in the Hunt, and a 

 very good man to hounds, too, when Vicar of Healing for 

 ten years, and as the donor of " Scrubb Close " and " Sedge 

 Cop Gorse " his name is most intimately bound up with 

 Brocklesby history. He it was, too, who was the means 

 of planting Sutton Thorns, that ideal covert, given by Sir 

 Richard Sutton, in our marsh country. I have sometimes 

 had visitors say to me, " Nimrod, what is your ' Ranks- 

 borough ' ? " and I invariably reply, " Sutton Thorns ! " 



