296 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



too hasty scream sent him back through their midst, and, 

 snapping at him as they went, the pack coursed him down 

 the slope, Warrior even bundhng him harmlessly over as 

 he topped the first bank. The men of Tipperary were 

 away in their wake as so many arrows from competing 

 bows. Two grass fields and then the potato patch, which 

 there was now no time to avoid. Over the great boundary 

 bank in a dozen places ; across the cross-cut, confusing 

 potato rows, round with a right swing to race up the 

 higher ground, Mr. Burke, Messrs Riall, Phelan, Scully, 

 Groom, and Higgins apparently heading the struggle, while 

 hounds fairly flew in advance. It might seem an imper- 

 tinence to invoke the aid of the old fable of the hare and 

 the tortoise. But if ever a welter-weight proved that the 

 race is not always to the swift or to the feather, it was 

 in the case of Mr. Hemphill, who, leaving the others 

 to entrap themselves for a while in a lane leading to 

 Pepperstown, turned sharp with hounds as they bore 

 left, and reached that house a field ahead of his lighter 

 competitors. So far exactly the line of last year. 



Now ensued the contretemps of the gallop — the only 

 drawback to a charming burst. Our fox, headed from 

 the house, led hounds and most of the little company into 

 a field whence there was no escape, a thick, plain strand 

 of wire hemming in three sides. Mr. Phelan rode at a 

 point in it where the gorse appeared sufficiently to cover 

 the iron ; but his horse swerved to the more open place 

 adjoining, and spun a terrible somersault into the next 

 field. Lord William Bentinck, Mr. Riall, and Mr. Groom 

 stayed to extricate the tangled horse and rider (which, 

 marvellous to say, was effected without damage of any 

 sort), while the rest of the party cut the wire and went 

 on in pursuit of Mr. R. Ghaplin (loth Hussars) and 

 Kenneth (the first whip), who alone by good luck had 

 skirted the trap. (It is not for me, a stranger, to make, 

 or even repeat, any comment on a snare so unusual in 

 this fair, open country. But if words have the power 

 attributed to them, there should have been some burning 

 ears that afternoon and eve while the men of the Tipperary 

 Hunt talked over their grievance.) 



