138 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE BLOODHOUND IN THE VALE. 



The second Baron Wolverton, Master of the 

 Ranston Bloodhounds, that for eight seasons 

 hunted the carted deer over the Blackmore Vale, 

 used to say humorously that " the worst of 

 hunting a deer is, you cannot leave off when 

 you like. Nobody will believe you if you swear 

 it went to ground." Yet few were keener in the 

 field than Lord Wolverton, who had, as Whyte- 

 Melville tells us, "a holy horror of going home 

 without his game," and would persevere when at 

 a loss " through many a long hour of cold hunting, 

 slotting, scouring the country for information, and 

 other drawbacks to the enjoyment of his chase." 

 Such experience, however, was but the reverse 

 side of the shield, for the noble black -and -tan 

 hounds could show extraordinary sport, and sus- 

 tain such sjDeed over the open that they would 

 leave behind many a good horseman who knew 

 every inch of the country, and could hold his own 

 against any followers of the chase in the kingdom. 

 The foundation of Lord Wolverton's pack was 



