3o6 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



Gaddesby Spinney (the planting of the late Mr. Cheney, 

 himself one of the quickest men who ever rode to the 

 Quorn in the days of Osbaldeston and since) sent hounds 

 forth only as far as the Quenborough precincts. The run 

 of the day took place from Barkby Gorse, a product of 

 comparatively recent times. This beautiful bed of furze 

 immediately adjoins the holt or wood. 



Away-with-the-first-fox-that-breaks has ever been a 

 leading principle of fox-hunting in the Shires. Misery, then, 

 it was to-day to watch a fine fellow set off for Leicester, 

 while hounds were tied to another in covert. In vain did 

 Tom's horn appeal to a pack deafened by their own music ; 

 in vain did that great voice ring forth till the whole air 

 seemed filled with the volume of sound, " No good. 

 You may go back, gentlemen, and get into your places." 

 But next moment we were on the move again, cantering 

 up the green lane between gorse and holt. And soon 

 the big dog-hounds were throwing their heavy voices 

 in the wood. Down the middle ride, already deep and 

 boggy from the one night's rain, we trotted quickly after 

 Firr to reach the little hand-gate on the south (or Beeby) 

 side, just as the pack came revelling round the covert. 

 Arrived at the hand-gate, every tongue ceased for one 

 second. Then out they burst with a crash, down the 

 meadow and up the wind. Away, away from Barkby 

 Holt once more, on a flood of memory and an ecstasy of 

 anticipation. The bulk of the field had betaken themselves 

 round the east end of the covert, and now galloped down 

 upon hounds as the latter swung leftward along the valley. 

 The well-known Beeby Bottom was thus left on the right, 

 and the chase mounted the hill for Baggrave Lodge. A 

 grand, wide-stretching country, wild and untenanted, save 

 by big bullocks and an occasional herdsman, is this section 

 of Quornland. With a scent and a good fox, I know of 

 no ground like it. And we had both before us this day. 

 " Time, time ! give the hounds time ! " cried the field- 

 master, Mr. Lancelot Lowther. And this given, they 

 scarcely wanted the indulgence for another twenty minutes. 

 Rising a second hill (I cannot describe more closely to you, 

 though upon it and every following one I could map out 



