432 THE BEST OF THE FUX 



under that of Farndon, making a dc'toiir that the gully 

 here (many of us know it well) necessitates. To reach 

 Lubenham calls for a pilot, and we had him. But I wish 

 he had broken the ox-rails more deftly, though, like a 

 torpedo-catcher, he demonstrated that the way was clear 

 of iron and trap. I need hardly tell you that the demon- 

 strator was Mr. T. Jameson. But for him, I believe we 

 might be stranded still on the border-line 'twixt Northamp- 

 tonshire and Leicestershire. Thanks to him, we were able 

 really to ride with hounds up to Lubenham railway and 

 river, where two white gates and a ford let us admirably 

 through, to the astonishment of the dwellers of Lubenham, 

 v.'ho galloped a mile round to escape the difficulties. 



At this period and for some time previous and after- 

 ward we were riding, if I mistake not, much of the line of 

 Colonel Thomson's Waterloo Run. And at this moment 

 we crossed the very pastures upon which Mr. Angell's 

 Alcibiade and Bridegroom were trained for their Grand 

 National and Hunt engagements. Present pace was not 

 racing but distinctly galloping. In the dull mist, and in 

 the excitement of a newly recovered joy, one hardly 

 realised locality or bearings ; but I think we steered 

 steadily for Bowden Inn, before turning leftward for 

 Foxton. 



To the stranger on the lengthy bay we owe release 

 from a difficult corner, even if it brought grief to one of 

 the most capable of our lady riders. Extraordinarily 

 fraught with trouble in this direction was the gallop under 

 notice. Not only was the line exceptionally strong, which 

 of a certainty would never discourage them, but wire has 

 to account for the worst fall of all. I am not sure, though 

 I have no Irish faculty of speech, that any one should ride 

 first nowadays in once Merry England, but sure am I that 

 no woman — now to borrow an Americanism — has any 

 right to " take chances." 



A locked gate by Bowden was — the very devil. It 

 cost three minutes — an unjumpable fence or a wired one 

 on either side, while hounds ran their best, from under our 

 noses, to the village of Foxton. Beyond Foxton and a 

 road scamper of two miles — three fences and a check. 



