NORTHERN COUNTRIES 109 



the old Scotch road, along which the herds of Highland 

 cattle were largely driven, here joins the Watling Street. 

 (Have I got it right ?) And for our first draw we moved 

 a mile or so towards Gretna Green. 



The wood at Sedbury Park is one in which, I am in- 

 formed, foxes often hang considerably. But oiu- fox of 

 to-day gave us only time to adjust leathers and to take one 

 turn round its limits, ere Champion had hounds away to 

 joyous note and merry scream — -such as, to my way of 

 thinking, throw Hfe and sparkle into fox-hunting, that 

 some men would make dull, pedantic, or even dolorous. 

 The chase is nothing if not bright and invigorating, and 

 a blithesome huntsman can do more than aught else to 

 render it so. 



Away over small enclosures and simple fences — a field 

 of some fifty or sixty people, all bent on seeing the sport. 

 A very, very efficient field too, I venture to think ; and 

 especially, if I may further hazard the opinion, as regards 

 the ladies of the hunt. These latter, to the number of a 

 full half-dozen, were making their way over the country 

 quite as ably and readily as the men. Fourteen-stone 

 horses, with riders of either sex quite capable of steering 

 them and doing them full justice, are quite a feature of 

 Lord Zetland's field. And, as it happened, only strong, 

 bold horses and sufficient riders could have made their 

 way across the dense country beyond Skeeby Whin. For, 

 after passing that covert, and leaving some few ploughed 

 fields behind, the chase entered upon a district of rough 

 grass and of rough, unkempt fences, without a gap in any 

 of them. But each bullfinch in turn was bored in as 

 many places as occasion demanded — witness crushed hats, 

 scratched faces, and torn coats ; but never a fall. For 

 the line to Brompton Mill (reached in twenty-five minutes) 

 has not been chosen by a fox, they tell me — and I can 

 well believe — for a year or two. (Yet we ran it again 

 this afternoon !) At Brompton Mill we crossed the Swale 

 -now in its most fordable condition, and needing only 

 an eye to a point of exit — and in ten minutes more were 

 at Brough Whin Covert. It may or may not be a fresh 

 fox that took us round by Colborne Village to Tunstall, 



