1878—79.] THE PUNCHBOWL RUN. 277 



omission and commission. I can only give the impressions of 

 a looker-on, and plead that in such case the looker-on sees 

 much — not all — of the game. 



You know the Punchbowl, reader, and its nestling copse, 

 gu't on three sides by close precipitous hill. You know it to 

 be one of the best prized treasm-es of the Cottesmore ; you 

 remember its fame in Mr. Tailby's most successful days ; and 

 for years you have thanked the Hartopp family that they made 

 it the apple of their eye. 



As hounds entered it on the afternoon of Saturday last, a 

 dense chilly fog swept up its mouth, wrapping it in so dense a 

 gloom that even Captain Hartopp's herculean form was hidden, 

 as on his giant horse he watched the ride cutting the three-acre 

 hollow. We will touch, perhaps, on the morning's doings by- 

 and-bye. For the present their interest is swamped by gi-eater 

 things. Let it suffice that scent had been weak, but that Neal 

 had worked a short running fox to death round and about 

 Stapleford, that men had mounted their second horses, had 

 grumbled a little that they were " not in luck to-day," and 

 were now all alive for whatever turn fortune might take. Now, 

 reader, as you have done before, you shall ride — not my horse, 

 but such an one as is not to be fomid in Melton. He shall 

 carry you through dirt without faltering, and through difficulty 

 without danger. You may sit still on him, and see what others 

 are doing, while you sail freely along. I will answer for your 

 mount. For your vision I can only promise my best. At the 

 entrance to the Punchbowl Gap, you leave the greater company 

 awaiting the turn of events below ; and, grasping Perfection's 

 mane, clamber up the greasy staii'case to the Punchbowl's rim. 

 " 'Tis ever easier to get down than up," you argue; and a 

 score of others — Lord Carrington, Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Chaplin, 

 Captain Jacobson, Messrs. Harter, Beaumont, Custance, &c., 

 among them — argue the same. And although all these names 

 recur again, the argument proved itself wrong. For in the thick 

 fog the keenest sight could not penetrate fifty yards ; and the 

 huntsman's voice rose vaguely from a dark undefined abyss. 



