274 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



spirits they tm-ned up, albeit many a bright complexion was 

 paled, and many a manly eye bore little of its accustomed 

 gloss. They were once more in the saddle, and in the field ; 

 once again there was a chance of vigorous action, and a vent 

 for the pent-up energy of nme weeks' accumulation. 



Waterloo Gorse is a name of fame — a name that falls with a 

 murmur of melody in old ears, that wakens a stirring memory 

 for the middle aged, and sends an extra glow into the veins of 

 youth and enthusiasm. It is hallowed in half-forgotten story ; 

 it is honoured in recent tale, and a halo hovers round it that 

 will last as long as you and I, reader, are above the bright 

 green sod. Enthroned on a gentle eminence amid what I am 

 safe in terming the stiffest country in England, it forms the 

 central point of an arena wherein no combatant competes with 

 real success, unless he can trust truly in his heai-t and in his 

 horse. On every side the big bullock fields stretch away for 

 miles, intersected by fences that ai'e practicable only here and 

 there, to the boldest and the best. And for this reason, gi'and 

 as are the associations of "Waterloo Gorse, it is not as favourite 

 a covert as many another of humbler fame. On one side (that 

 of the railway) there is great difficulty in getting away with 

 hounds, and in most dii'ections it is almost impossible to ride 

 straight to them when away. On this warm moist morning 

 there was a field that hungered for a ride, that revelled in the 

 rain, and threw off then- coats to welcome the new sensation of 

 hunting weather. They clustered round the gorse (the black- 

 thorn, except for old denomination); and they left no corner 

 unguarded. There was a note in covert, a long stillness, then 

 a little vixen fox jumping out among listless idlers of the pack. 

 In again, and a brushmg scrimmage within the thicket. A crash 

 and chorus that we haven't heard for weeks, a distant yell — 

 and we are almost left behind. 'Tis of no interest how fox and 

 hounds worked a short circle outside; but a different thing 

 when they "leathered" to it on the grass beyond. "Hounds 

 can't run ! " Can't they ? Keep with them now ! Follow 

 Goodall on that little bit of a grey, as he flicks over quickset 



