204 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Seasox 



Twyford Brook and a fair hunting country. Firr is as happy 

 as a king as he cheers to the flying head : and who is there, tell 

 me, of that little vanguard who would exchange places with any 

 man or woman m the emph-e ; for has not the saddle moments 

 such as a woolsack could never give nor even a throne aspire to ? 



Wide yawns the fence in front, with its thorn-guarded ditch, 

 its stiff-growing binders, and the stout white rail beyond. But 

 the pace is terrific, and the leaders are not likely to stop at 

 aught that looks possible. Down hill they race at it. 

 Custance has covered it in his stride ; but right and left of 

 him there is a crashing of timber. Yet no fall that we can see. 

 Each jump requires a hunter ; but each horse seems equal to 

 the occasion, for the turf rides firm and light, and galloping 

 has none of the toil of last year's experience. Captain 

 Brocklehurst is very prominent on the grey ; Mr. Powell is 

 thrusting along with all his old Harborough fire ; Captain 

 Smith is in his usual form; Captain Middleton in his accus- 

 tomed place; Mr. Frewen is "all there" also; and Lady 

 Florence Dixie is not to be beat. jNIrs. Webster is turned over 

 b}' a top-binder that stubbornly refuses to yield even to her ; 

 but Captain Candy is on his feet, and both are back in their 

 saddles so quickly that scarcely an}' ground is lost. The 

 Twyford Brook is neared, as hounds hang for one second at 

 a gateway ; but starting on afresh, in an instant the water 

 has become a necessit}'. There is little of the glisten- 

 ing element now, for the autumn has been a dry one, and 

 rushes and mud have almost a monopoly of its bed. And to 

 this probably thanks are owing that twenty people are straight- 

 way over without a fall, and with only a scramble here and 

 there. With the chill}' memory of more than one immersion, 

 we came down at it as if to charge the Bosphorus, only to find 

 that horse after horse skimmed it with a contemjituous indiffer- 

 ence such as they are little prone to when the stream is brim- 

 ming level with its banks. 



It must soon be John o' Gaunt or a finish now ; and the 

 hounds mean that finish to be a kill, for one and all are running 



