A GREAT WEEK 233 



Friday, Fcbntary 24.— The Pytchlcy at liiockhall. First 

 fox ran as if he did not know his country, and hounds 

 knocked him over in two-and-tvventy minutes. With a 

 flying start and a y'avq scent, they twisted him around the 

 neighbourhood of Brockhall, coursed him up the street of 

 Weedon village, and ran into him within the Barracks, i.e. 

 at the stables by the Officers' Quarters. 



Nobottle Wood is the sort of place many men enter 

 only with the idea of spending there the rest of the day. 

 But Nobottle to-day had a straight and ready fox ; and he 

 took them through Harleston Heath to Sanders' Gorse — 

 yes, through Harleston Heath, that scentless expanse of fir 

 and bracken, from which it is next to impossible to drive 

 a fox against his inclination. To reach the Heath, the 

 " big dogs " (as we have been taught to term them) fairly 

 flew across well-gated pastures, not unlike those of Brig- 

 stock Parks, the interval-ground between the main coverts 

 of the Pytchley Woodlands. Beyond the Heath, slow 

 hunting and indii^erent ground, till our fox reached the 

 gorse, and probably crept underground. Indeed, good 

 scent and poor country marked Friday throughout. 



The final items were curious. One of the Althorp 

 foxes, that have harboured in the Park well-nigh a twelve- 

 month and that Goodall knows individually almost by 

 name, declined to be hunted beyond his lordship's kitchen 

 garden. Accordingly the huntsman drew off the pack, and 

 the company dispersed to their various homes. I was 

 doing the same, but by chance lingered a minute or two 

 at the stud-farm stables to inspect the stallion Fabius. 

 Proceeding on my way, I had scarcely lit the home- 

 ward cigar, when a scream burst on my astonished ear. 

 " Forrard ! Forrard ! Yei-kuic-kuic ! " and Goodall thun- 

 dered down upon me in the village of Harlestone, having 

 one member of the field with him in pink, one in black, 

 and picking up as he went some half-dozen of the North- 

 ampton contingent. As he left the gardens, it seems, he 

 had been called to another fox that had climbed the Park 

 wall. " Running ? " I gasped. " Yes, running like mad." 

 And so they did, for a while ; then hunted on for nearly 

 an hour, round by Harpole Hill, Nobottle Wood, Great 



