ECHOES OF THE CHASE. 245 



ever have," was the unsatisfactory reply. " Well, 

 it's time we should be finding out where they 

 are." In reply to questioning, some drowsy farm 

 labourers did not know where hounds were to 

 meet, but they were quite sure it was not there. 

 " What on earth, then, did you bring me here 

 for?" demanded the now furious M.F.H. of his 

 apathetic cicerone. " Don't they meet here every 

 Thursday ? " was the answer that greeted his 

 astonished ears. " I thought they did. I know 

 they were here last week." 



Words failed the older man and he trotted back 

 in savage mood, his companion trailing behind him. 

 The comfortable old coachman who had charge of 

 the stables was not used to seeing his horses 

 brought back in a state denoting hard exercise, 

 and the cheery inquiry with which he greeted 

 the M.F.H., "Had a run then, my Lord?" did 

 not soften the sufferer's feelings, as he dis- 

 mounted in a frame of mind better imagined 

 than described. 



Few more plucky men have ever ridden across 

 Leicestershire than Mr W. W. Tailby, who for 

 twenty-two years ruled over the Billesdon country, 

 now known as Mr Fernie's. A small light man, 

 Mr Tailby rode big horses, and never turned his 

 head from anything. He had a curious habit of 

 catching hold of the pommel of his saddle when 

 taking a fence. On one occasion when his hunts- 

 man, Frank Goodall, was laid up and Mr Tailby was 

 hunting his hounds himself, he gave an instance of 



