66 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



he was fresh ; the run still goes on, but, though you must 

 gallop, you have no longer to race. Passing between the 

 villages of Burrough and Somerby, they are close at him, and as 

 they cross the hill it seems a foregone conclusion that he 

 means to die in the Punch Bowl. Horses are beginning to 

 lag, though the ground rides firm and there has been no 

 plough to draggle them. But Rejmard knew of a refuge more 

 secure than thorn or privet ; and just below the covert a 

 sudden stoppage and a who-whoop proclaim that the thirty- 

 eight minutes has ended in a rabbit-hole. Opinions will 

 always differ about a run more than on any other subject ; 

 and few men can persuade themselves to give one totally apart 

 from their own personal feelings. Those who saw it from end 

 to end said this was a glorious gallop ; those who were left in 

 Owston Wood deemed it indifferent ; while those who only 

 nicked in for the last ten minutes (and they were many) de- 

 clared it was not fast enough. Among such a number of hard 

 men and good it is impossible to give names, and still more 

 difficult to learn who was to the front throughout. It was 

 a question, too, of luck and skilful management quite as 

 much as riding to keep a place. Little birds whisper to me, 

 though, that Sir Fred. Johnstone, Lord Grey de Wilton, and 

 Mr. Foster were amply upholding the honour of Melton ; 

 while Mr. Robertson, Mr. Pennington, and two or three more, 

 who knew well the features of every fence hereabout, were not 

 one whit behind them. Of the ladies Miss Hartopp decidedly 

 carried oil' the pahn ; for she issued at the spot and moment 

 from Owston Wood, completely distanced her fair competitors 

 Avho had pressed her closely up to this point, and arrived at 

 the Punch Bowl as soon as anyone. 



So ended the season 1871-72, and it may be long before 

 we look upon its like again. Wearing to horses and trying 

 to pockets, it has been lavish of reward in such a frequent 

 recurrence of glorious runs that the sport of ten years might 

 have been condensed into this one. In our old age we shall 

 be charged with maundering when we tell of the good things 



