THE QUORN UNDER LORD LONSDALE 305 



was Tom Firr. Coming, as I did, a pilgrim to a hallowed 

 land, I may be pardoned if I gazed with some curiosity 

 upon a familiar face in a new setting. Relevantly or 

 otherwise, the idea now given me was that of an old 

 picture hung in a new frame — a chef d'mivre by an old 

 master redecorated and hung in an exhibition of works 

 by new masters. That Tom Firr fitted his framing goes 





■*MHi*'' 



A hog-maned steeplechaser 



without saying. But Tom Firr, leathered as to the legs, 

 hung with swan-necked spur, crossed with a stirrup-strap, 

 and mounted (superbly mounted) on a hog-maned steeple- 

 chaser with a long tail, made up a total that to my mind 

 would best be set down as Tom Firr en aspic. It is need- 

 less, also, to add that Tom Firr forgot his casement as 

 readily as he ever ignores his swamping field directly 

 hounds run, and directly business is about. Indeed, busi- 

 ness has ever been Firr's engrossing principle, and to this 

 he owes half of his incomparable success. 



U 



