50 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Seasoh 



rode over his hounds. The best of men and horses were there 

 from liead quarters, and good metal from ever}'- other quarter ; 

 and many choice spirits that can always go are doubly fired by 

 the increased competition in promise, and are full of *' ride " 

 this da3\ 



Alas that pluck and ardour should be so wasted ! — that not 

 even a stout fox, a rare scent, a good horse, and unfailing 

 nerve should avail to give the Elysium that is contained in 

 nding to a grand burst over a grass comitry ! In the first 

 happy moments of racing for a start the leaders forget the 

 gulf that the Loatland Brook, now swollen over its treacherous 

 banks, has placed across the rich vale between the woods of 

 Loatland and Sunderland ; and ihej are almost on the edge of 

 the overflowing water before they realise its presence and im- 

 practicability. A frail riding bridge is not far off, and Mr. 

 Langham is the first to remember and to get down to it — 

 hounds moving away up the opposite slope in a style that can 

 only be expressed by the hackneyed term streaming. A plank 

 covers a huge breakage in the frail structure ; the rider leads 

 over with his whip thong ; the wood is kicked into the water ; 

 and the horse scrambles over as by a miracle. But the way is 

 now stopped completely ; no one will risk the passage with a 

 certain alternative between brealdng his horse's legs or drown- 

 ing him ; and the crowd gallop off in opposite directions — 

 some for the bridge at Arthingworth, others for that near 

 Loatland Wood, while Mr. Langham is in little better plight ; 

 for by the time he lias remounted the hounds are out of sight, 

 and he in the position of a man riding in the dark. Before he 

 can rise the hill the flying pack have such a start of him that 

 henceforth he can only get an occasional glimpse of them some 

 six fields ahead. The waj^ round to either bridge seems 

 endless, and the journey is made hideous by the sounds of 

 wrath and disgust that issue from every lip. Up the road by 

 Loatland Wood the crowd clatter and splash, urging madly on 

 in hopes of cutting off the pack, whose merry voices sound 

 fainter and fainter in the still air till the hill^^shuts them out 



