1873—74.] OHRISTMASTIDE, 1873. 127 



but two unanimous objects— to support hunting and to work off 

 the evil physical effects of yesterday's commemoration. Jt 

 was almost such another crowd as came here two years ago to 

 welcome the Prince of Wales, and see him turn the first sod 

 of the gorse which was to give us so many grand gallops. Now, 

 however, they had to rely on their own society, and the enjoy- 

 ment each in his respective way expected from the hunting 

 itself. 



To do any good at the little Baggrave coverts was an impos- 

 sibility, with such hosts of people surrounding it, and the 

 neighbouring hill sides clustered over like so many disturbed 

 ant-hills. Truly, this might have been a farewell pleasure 

 excm-sion for Mr. Arch's ten thousand emigrant labourers ; or 

 else the farmers hereabouts had with one accord shut up their 

 ploughs, and left their sheep unfed for the day. So, after 

 giving the community half an hour to scrutinise the hounds, 

 and pass seasonable sentiment, Mr. Coupland moved off on a 

 more distant war trail, fixing upon Scraptoft Gorse, as least 

 amenable to a wheeled invasion, and distant enough to make 

 it inaccessible to the pedestrian throng. Still, there was an 

 enormous field in attendance, such a field as made the prospect 

 of sport apparently hopeless, albeit it was a perfect hunting 

 da}', quiet and cold. And yet, in the event the day was as full 

 of varied amusement as a scrap book ; for there were two nice 

 little bursts, hundreds of fences for the hundreds of horsemen, 

 numberless charming incidents thereat, while Firr contrived to 

 work out a capital hunting run, by moving perseveringly beyond 

 the skirts of his clouds of followers. 



The first fox of the day seemed to drop from the clouds, 

 for he was not seen to leave the long spinney adjoining the 

 covert, till he crossed right in front of the hounds. As w'as 

 natural, the latter w^ere prompt to avail themselves of the 

 advantage, and set off after him at a pace that made the deep 

 ridge-and-furrow of the first field an agony. How horses must, 

 and do, always hate this hateful rehc of ancient agricultm'e ! 

 Nothing kills their pluck, or chokes their lungs, like being 



