192 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



exact spot as two or three weeks ago, from the same 

 covert. The next mile, too, was identical. But, instead 

 of our fox being headed under Dunchurch village, as on 

 that occasion, he was now able to sink the green valley 

 and make his point for Leicester Piece. And from a riding 

 (aye, and hunting) point of view, this was the choicest 

 morsel of the day's repast. For, tell me, you who ride, 

 or have ridden, the Grass Countries, are there any moments 

 so supreme, any hunting so picturesque and exciting, as 

 when a fast pack is making its own running, when the 

 turf is as springboard, when the country gives scope to 

 all, and when the fences are within fair compass of horses 

 just warmed to their work ? Such is Paradise, of which 

 we get a glimpse only now and again, though we store up 

 each brief view in that album of memory which each of 

 us treasures for after-time, when not even harriers nor a 

 plough-country can give us pastime. 



Personally, I am not anxious to live until such time — 

 and assuredly I shall not, if called upon to follow often 

 Mr. Cookson and that wonderful chestnut mare. It is 

 neither my business, my habit, nor my wish (nor, kind 

 as my friends are in allowing me free and frequent use of 

 their names, would it be within the bounds of good taste) 

 that I should endeavour to make any man a hero ; but, 

 in all my experience of Leicestershire, where timber was 

 the only diet upon which we fattened or crumbled accord- 

 ing to our individual power of assimilation, I never saw 

 any man carve out a succession of neat and stalwart 

 flights more aptly and unhesitatingly than did, to-day, 

 the masterhand in question. The take-off in each case 

 was grey and probably greasy under the rime-frost ; to 

 some of these sturdy problems there was a ditch towards 

 him, to the others a grave beyond ; and in every instance 

 the rails were — well, I cannot say exactly how high, but 

 very big and apparently unbreakable. One never know*. 

 There came, not long after him, one of fifteen stone, 

 saddle-weight, on an Irish weight-carrier of recent im- 

 portation. The Irish hunter knew neither fear nor post- 

 and-rails. So he levelled the lot, beginning at the bottom 

 bar and going on without a stumble. To cap the per- 



