102 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



lands on which I have had the good fortune to ride. 

 Hunting and history — though in my case more or less 

 co-existent — often jostle each other as closely as a North- 

 amptonshire field in a gateway. One or other must be 

 squeezed or shut out. The last occasion, I remember, on 

 which I stayed at home to write I lost a good run — after 

 being miserably unhappy all day and writing nothing. 

 Consequently last week I decided on the other alternative, 

 threw my first hurried notes into the fire, and went lumting 

 every day as opportunity offered and generous friendship 

 assisted. Thus I saw various countries that I had hitherto 

 known only through the medium of summer research and 

 of others' experience ; and, with the good luck that has 

 often followed my trips to new ground, fell in everywhere 

 with more than average sport. 



I left the Northamptonshire turf baked and sun-dried. 

 I found Northumberland grass mossy, elastic, and sound, 

 as I am told it remains nearly the year round, seldom 

 attaining hardness, and never becoming really deep. In 

 the Shires we too often suffer from one extreme or the 

 other. The strong clay either holds our horses or batters 

 them. In Northumberland you gallop always on the top 

 of the ground as gaily as at the Curragh ; and (now I will 

 add something that should surely be held to recommend 

 it) : you don't often fall at the fences ! When you do fall 

 it is not with the thwack that accompanies a turnover in 

 the Merry Midlands. Why this is the case I will endeavour 

 to demonstrate as I go. For the present it is sufficient to 

 say that, during my first week in the North, I scarcely 

 witnessed a fall, though I saw the sadly painful results of 

 one in the shape of a kick in the face to a fallen sports- 

 man. 



The Morpeth on the day in question met at Benridge, 

 there to be welcomed right royally by Miss Blackburn. If 

 Tuesday be any fair sample, I should say the Morpeth is a 

 hunt exceptionally favoured in thirsty springtime. There 

 are times when thirst is an appalling misery — ask a Montana 

 cowboy, ask an English Guardsman who has marched 

 across the Egyptian desert. There are times when thirst 

 may be a positive convenience. And on this hot Tuesday 



