THE SHIRES UNDER WATER 37 



able absence) even, if I may presume to say so, an 

 acting-Master, a field-Master — somebody to say some- 

 thing. We could but reiterate, " Oh for a Master ! Oh 

 for a Man ! " — an old-time quotation, but never more 

 piteously appropriate than to-day. Foxes all the time — 

 scent never — the field having a delightful mudlark always, 

 and at least two fences before hounds. Who shall blame 

 them ? I don't think they even deserved swearing at. 

 But to a word of caution they would have hstened, and 

 corrected themselves at any moment. For instance, it 

 was a sight of itself to see the crowd splash its way 

 across the flat meadows between Clifton-on-Dunsmore 

 and Hilmorton Gorse. Hounds came on by degrees ; but 

 they were scarcely part of the play. " You have a horse 

 to sell, oh ! I have a horse to sell, oh !" You can show 

 them how it ought to be done. I can fling a leap, too. 

 And me, am I not habited and side-saddled ? and is not a 

 lead all that I want ? Yoi-over — fifty of them ! I take 

 not my types from personality. But, by all that is re- 

 liable in printer's ink, this is the way that hounds were 

 deftly conducted to Hilmorton Gorse, this waterlogged 

 Wednesday. 



A herd of Welsh ponies and ragged cart-colts broke 

 from their flooded pasture, and joining the melee, splashed 

 their way also ahead of the pack, burst through the 

 gates, and trod through the gaps. At one time it seemed 

 as though we were all about to ride out to sea, so over- 

 flown was this beautiful valley of the Old Grand Military. 

 Goodall kept his head, his patience, and his temper, 

 the day through. An admirable achievement, under the 

 circumstances, you will allow. 



With which of the foxes of the day we trod, or rather 

 waded, the Hilmorton flat is of no very great con- 

 sequence. As a matter of insignificant fact, it was with 

 the second of the twain from Lilbourne Gorse. We were 

 finding and hunting all day^ — with never scent enough to 

 kill a fox (unless they succeeded in doing it in the 

 evening — when from the Fieidside they ran up to the 

 Cold Ashby Hills). The best hunt was doubtless from 

 Crick's famous gorse (this covert also being doubly 



