190 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Seasox 



Tuesday previous there had l)een the fastest galloping. Field 

 for field, almost fence for fence, the fox repeats his course of 

 tliat day. But they are not hurrying him now, and of this part 

 of the run it need merely he added tliat in about forty minutes 

 the Punchbowl has been passed, Burrough Hill swarmed, and the 

 field are hovering on its edge, clustered exactly where they cluster 

 once yearly, on the natural grand stand of the jNIelton Steeple- 

 chase Coixrse. Burrough village is half a mile away, and (dear 

 across the green pastures below comes the shrill view holloa, 

 telling that re3mard has put the valley between him and his 

 pursuers. But the holloa that announced his presence was 

 uttered right in his face, and has tui'ncd him back down the 

 liill. Another holloa rings out from the vale below ; Neal 

 gallops to the spot, hounds are turned rapidly to his horn just 

 as they reach the village, and he is able to lay them on afresh, 

 gaining a Autal five minutes on his fox. 



Now then my story may really be said to commence. Take 

 all the above as introductor}-. Gallop your best down from 

 Burrough village from the liomids, and start Avith them as they 

 take up the line hard by the winning field of the Steeplechase 

 Course ; send old Pegasus down tlie hill as fast as his shoulders 

 Avill carry him ; delay not a moment, if you would see hounds 

 again to-day. Beckon not yourself safe on the higher ground, 

 and take your way through the village, or, with Colonel Forester 

 and several others good and bold, you may spend your after- 

 noon in vexation and to-morrow's Sabbath in sorrow. Ah, 

 'tis different work now to what has j-et been done to-day !' The 

 vigour of a breast-high scent, thp dash of pace, the thousand 

 delights of an exciting burst, were wanting before. Now they 

 are present, full and powerful in their influence ; and the man 

 whose heart does not burn and whose brain does not whirl with 

 the glorious extasy is too phlegmatic for foxhunting, and ought 

 to have been born a Bom-bon. The sun has hidden his head, 

 the air is sharp and still and frosty ; the grassy meadows under 

 foot are noted for their scent-carrying power, and hounds fl}' 

 over them now like Avildfire. The turf, aired by days of 



