194 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



chesnut Alonzo — gives the other two the office, gallantly sus- 

 tained by both, the Australian four-year-old of the last-named 

 doing credit to his bush training. Lord Wicklow and Lord 

 Wolverton, luckier still, take the brook also before reaching 

 the railway the second time, and hit oif a comforting set of 

 draw-rails in the barrier. But what of those on the left — 

 taking the track of the hounds, though no forwarder than their 

 comrades a hundred yards away ? Do you follow me, reader ? 

 The pack tiuni sharp over the brook immediately, at a place, 

 to contmue with Mr. Bromley Davenport (would that he could 

 have been there in the flesh and in the old bold spirit ! ), 



!No shallow-ilug pan ■with a hurdle to screen it, 

 That cocktail imposture the steeplechase brook ; 



But the steep broken banks tell us plain, if we mean it, 

 The less we shall like it the longer we look. 



Mr. Tomkinson and Mr. Frewen fl}' it together, but the next 

 comer lands in their footmarks, to find hind legs slip suddenly 

 from under him — a flomider, a desperate rear-up, and a back- 

 ward splash ! My word ! isn't the water cold ? Mr. Flower 

 takes his plunge at about such a distance away as one bathing 

 anachine would be from another. Neal is for the moment to 

 "be seen looking for a place to get in, and for some time after- 

 wards for a place to get out. 



Closing in nearer together, the still diminishing party sail 

 on — each horse doing his utmost, and each rider straining to 

 lessen his distance from the flying ladies. The latter are still 

 glancing along in a cluster — no tailing or stringing to-day, but 

 the whole one compact and hurrying mass. 'Tis fortunate the 

 fences are easy ; for horses are beginning to chance them 

 terribly. Crack and crash rattle the accompaniment of every 

 jump. Mr. Tomkinson is dovm. now, the good horse lying 

 prone and helpless in a ditch. He moves not, nor does he 

 struggle ; but his head sinks, his throat gurgles, and his eyes 

 close. " Poor Ashby, he's gone ! there never was so good a 

 horse ! Had I not breasted Burrough Hill he would have been 

 travelling still. Well, there's no help for it ! " — and, removing 



