THE ATHERSTONE 247 



however, happened to be fixed for the day following the 

 Rugby Chases ; and so, dusty fallows and hardened sur- 

 face notwithstanding, I gladly took advantage of a meet 

 from which the Atherstone on their last occasion had 

 scored a run with a point of some thirteen miles. I wish 

 it could have been my good fortune to select that occasion. 

 No, how could I, when my duty called elsewhere to the 

 tail of hounds, or as near that happy position as it was in 

 me to attain ? 



A very rough day was this Friday of 1893. The 

 black clouds gathered hourly, then burst in driving snow, 

 and anon gave way to a blue sky, while half a hurricane 

 retained throughout its hold upon a wintry scene. The 

 stricken ground took no notice of the storm, beyond 

 inhaling the snowflakes and withering rapidly to the 

 blast. Not a comfortable day to be hunting, you will say. 

 No, but how pitiless would such storms have sounded 

 from within doors ! Lucky rather were we to be without. 

 Weather, duly recognised before we set forth, is seldom so 

 bad as the window-panes' chatter to those within. 



A day wholly unlikely for sport, it is true. I know no 

 worse augury when going to covert than a well-fed horse 

 turning of his own will like an automaton, and offering his 

 tail to the storm. I cannot remember a scent on a gust- 

 broken day, though I believe scent to be entirely indepen- 

 dent of steady rain, consistent gale, or baulking sunshine. 



The Coton fox was a bold and ready traveller. Given 

 but a scent, the Atherstone would have raided far into the 

 Pytchley country. As it was, hounds made their way 

 under difficulties past the right of Shawell church, across 

 the Watling Street Road to Mr. Muntz's spinnies, on to the 

 winning field of the previous day's chases (the green pasture 

 rendered hideous by an empty grand stand and by race- 

 course litter of every description). Here we were, with 

 what the promoters of the race meeting fitly advertise as 

 " the finest hunting country in England " spread at our 

 feet. And more — a fox had gone over it ! The hunts- 

 man established this fact, but hounds could work upon it 

 only for a couple of fields. Oh for a scent ! Then would 

 we have had a blither contest, with Crick Covert as the 



