212 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



chivalry. She is well attended, while in ignorance and bliss you 

 do 3'our utmost to make way through the two fallows that with- 

 hold you from the wide range of gi'ass beyond. The party that 

 has crossed the water as yet is but a small one. Mr. Grej' joins 

 them here, apparently from the clouds, possibly from the Eye. 

 The cross fence has a ditch, hidden as a pitfall under a thick cover- 

 ing of grass and bramble. Sm'ely, the ditches were never so blind 

 as in this autumn of 1877 ! His little bay horse mistakes it for 

 one of his native Noi-thumbrian banks, essays to jump it on-and- 

 off, only to be swallowed bodily and retained. Haixl that this 

 should happen when just embarking on the very line over which the 

 good old sportsman showed the way to all his juniors a year ago. 

 But hounds have gained and riders have lost b}^ the time the 

 latter have emerged on to the first of the pastm'es, feeling re- 

 lieved as men waking from a nightmare. Casting the last of 

 the sticky mud behind them, they lance themselves over the 

 open. The ants have raised hillocks all over the field, and 

 rush}' grass hides their ill-jilaced edifices. But are not 

 hounds streaming away some three hundred yards ahead ? 

 Have you not hit off your place in the fence that separates 

 them from you, and even marked a likely spot in the one 

 beyond ? Throw 3'our heart in (though your presence be but 

 imaginary) with the little party that are still " on terms," and 

 let your horse thunder his best down the gentle slope. Hounds 

 are running straight for Ranksboro', and the scent is breast- 

 high. Neat blackthorn fences, or here and again a temptmg 

 rail, delay you less than them. A horseman, mufti-clad, is 

 reining in across the path of the pack just as the van-leaders 

 are fairly catching them. "Have you seen him, Timber ?'' 

 is the shout as the figure of one of our best men is recognised. 

 No, he has been travelling homewards in the pain of his 

 bandaged leg, rendered helpless by an oxer a fortnight since. 

 But pain and discretion are forgotten in the moment ; indeed, 

 Providence might have chosen this happy means of curing him, 

 for in three fences the crippled limb is well ! * 



* Mr. Powell — vide Kirby Gate day previous. 



