1880—81.] A STRANGER IN THE LAND. 367 



Melton Steeplechase Course — and with this beautiful arena in 

 front there seems plent}'^ more fun in prospect. But Reynard 

 is blown by the pace, and beat by the heat. He turns back 

 from the valley almost as he enters it, and seeks refuge in the 

 valley of Burrough — twenty minutes from the start. In five 

 minutes more lie is stiff and stark. Hounds lunch on him, and 

 tiu'n for home. 



With lambs running about in every field, with the new grass 

 shooting up on the southern slope of every hill, with spring 

 making patchwork of our liorses' coats, the buds appearing in 

 every hedgerow, and the dust from road and fallow powdering 

 every glistening hat — this cheery little gallop was more than we 

 could hope for, all that we could wish. And is not a bit of 

 foxhunting like this a set-off against any week of worr}', against 

 a world of small vexation ? 



A STRANGER IN THE LAND. 



In this almost final week we hunted amid sunshine and snow, 

 cold winds and hot dust — sometimes without an atom of scent 

 or a particle of sport, at others with success quite unexpected. 



Friday, March 25, the Quorn at Beeby — the wickedest 

 weather and the worst scent of all this sinful season. The 

 same cold blast was blowing from the west — more wildly than 

 it had blown through the week. It was a matter of physical 

 courage to leave the house at all — while moral courage had 

 to be called into play to condone the billycock and covert- 

 coat that, however incompatible with a Quorn Friday, were 

 absolute essentials in support of a battle with the fierce 

 elements. Sleet and snow made the day their own, and 

 declined any sympathy with the sport which we consider worthy 

 of all our time and all the money we can throw into it. 

 Many foxes, again, at the Coplow. Three fields, and a dead 

 loss of scent. Still worse from John o' Gaunt. Fox broke, 

 with hounds out in a moment. Latter crossed his line twice 



