1873—74.] THE QUORN IN LUCK. 119 



at one moment only a single hedgerow, he struggled forward 

 for the earths within hail of Melton. Here — where during 

 the summer a whole clan, jealously guarded by sport-loving 

 farmers who do honour to the district, could he seen playing 

 any sunny eve, not a hundred yards from the Leicester turnpike 

 road — he went to ground. Seven-and-twenty minutes from 

 starting, and seven-and-twenty minutes of the best. 



The second act contained but two scenes, Thorpe Trussels 

 the first, and the second an oj^en drain a field or two away. 

 But Act III. of the day's play was of a diff"erent stamp altogether. 

 Opening at Cream Gorse rather late in the afternoon, it was 

 played on with growing interest till darkness compelled actors 

 and spectators to resign their parts unfinished. To drop the 

 symbolic, this was a chase which, commencing languidly and 

 unpromisingly, was gradually worked into as fine and sporting 

 a hunting run as imagination could plan, wanting only a quarter 

 of an hour of daylight for a finish that would have given it 

 a life's memory. A shepherd dog coursed the principal 

 character at starting, turned him'' from his course, and drove 

 him exactly where the owner of the said shepherd dog was 

 endeavouring to prevent his going. So it took a quarter of an 

 hour to mark him beyond Thorpe Trussels, and another 

 quarter of an hour to track him over the Twyford Brook 

 (midway between Twyford and Ashby Folville), including the 

 time occupied in the breaking of rails, repeated refusals of un- 

 willing steeds urged by bolder riders, and the subsequent 

 fording of the stream en masse. It took quite five minutes to 

 traverse two fields of wheat ; but either their fox must have 

 waited for them, or there must be some strange scenting 

 properties in the strong old grass beyond, for, once arrived 

 upon it, they hit off the line, and thence continued running 

 almost uninterruptedly till darkness closed upon them. And 

 such a country now ! Nothing but turf a generation old, and 

 fences built that no bullock should bore his way through them. 

 No racing this time, but an hour's steady cantering, galloping, 

 and jumping that n othing under two summers' condition could 



