The Sport of Our Jincestors 



and should a check unfortunately occur at this critical 

 moment, they will be up in plenty of time to do lots of 

 mischief still. But no ; the pack is streaming on. * For- 

 ward,' says Charles Payne, cramming his horn into its 

 case, and gathering his horse for an ' oxer.* ' Forward/ 

 adds Mr. Cust, cracking the far- rail, as he swings over the 

 obstacle in his stride. ' Line ! ' shouts a Meltonian at an 

 unfortunate aspirant, whose horse is swerving to the thickest 

 place in the fence. ' Serve him right,' remarks the Mel- 

 tonian to himself, landing safely in the next field, while the 

 aspirant rolls headlong to the earth. Jack Woodcock, with 

 an amused smile, slips quietly by to the front. Three or 

 four other men, one in a black coat, enter the field at differ- 

 ent points ; that quiet gentleman over^ not through the 

 gate. A loose horse with streaming reins gallops wildly 

 after the chase ; and the hounds, with a burning scent, are 

 pointing straight for Naseby Field. 



And now every man hugs his trusty hunter by the head, 

 and spares his energies as much as possible ere he encounters 

 the yielding soil of that classic ground. Many a tired 

 horse has Naseby Field to answer for, from the thundering 

 battle-steeds of the Cavaliers, led by hot Prince Rupert, to 

 the panting thoroughbreds of Jersey and Alix, and Cooke 

 and Knightley, and the heroes of fifty years ago, who urged 

 the mimic war over that eventful plain. Ay, down to our 

 times when, although the plough has passed over its marshy 

 surface, and draining and high-farming have given secure 

 foothold to man and beast, many a sobbing steed and de- 

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