1871-72.] A WET AFTERNOON SCRAMBLE. 57 



a sudden stoppage over an open burrow proclaims that five-and- 

 twenty minutes is all there will be. Right good it was from 

 beginning to end, and it is no undeserved compliment to say 

 that one of its chief features was to see Lord Wilton riding 

 forward throughout, with his arm in a sling. 



A WET AFTERNOON SCRAMBLE. 



Two o'clock saw an almost general dispersion at Grimstone 

 Gorse, which, as it turned out, meant losing the run of the 

 day. Let me tell it briefly. With a cloud overhead and a 

 cloud on his brow at the falling off of his followers, the master 

 faced the pelting rain, and struck out a route for Ellars' 

 Gorse. Splashing slowly along, with up-turned collar and 

 down-turned gaze, he began to think his Monday was a 

 doomed day, like the previous Friday. Hounds Avere drearily 

 jogging along, all ears and back, at the huntsman's heels ; 

 the wdiips had ceased their "Get on, get o-on ; " and 

 Macbride had crouched almost under his saddle bow. A 

 pelting sleet and a screeching wind struck derisivel}' into the 

 chieftain's ear, and bade him loudly to leave good coverts for 

 another day. There were but eight followers to turn their 

 backs to the wind at Ellars' Gorse. Seven of these begged 

 for AVilloughb}^ as a reward for their long suffering ; while the 

 eighth turned tail and plunged into the forest, to be seen and 

 see no more. Three o'clock at Willoughby Gorse, and only 

 two red coats besides Mr. Coupland and his aides to maintain 

 the panoply of war. Capt. King, who sees more sport on a 

 few horses than any man in the Hunt, was there to view the 

 game played out, to spin a yarn of home-grown hemp, and to 

 make mental notes to guide his pencil when a dislocated 

 thumb should take it up again. The Vale of Belvoir had 

 three representatives — one in pmk and water, one in a cap 

 that acted like a slanting roof to shoot off the rain, and one on 



