392 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



driving their horses viciously — for the pack had so far been 

 going much faster than they coukl. Into the okl rough road 

 below ; out over a strong tough stile ; and on across the sound 

 flat turf and neat enclosures, the huntsman's grey was to be 

 seen creeping gi-adually up to hounds, Captains Smith and 

 Middleton on either flank, Mr. Beaumont Lubbock and Miss 

 Story close at his heels. Of the two latter it would be diflficult 

 to say whose momit was the quicker better fencer — he riding 

 his four hundred guineas' fidl woiih from Captain O'Neal's 

 late stud, the lady on a thoroughbred that jumped hght as air. 

 Very near at hand were Mr. W. Chaplin and his daughter ; 

 and immediately in their wake Mr. Coupland, Lord Cloncm-ry, 

 Mr. Praed, Mr. Behrens, Mr. Parker, Major Eobeiison, a 

 stranger in black, and half a dozen others. This was the view 

 from the brow, as the chase spread over the plain, and pressed 

 on to Sherbrooke's Covert. 



A twist to the right and a tmii to the left ; the van closes up ; 

 and swings past the covert (one field to the left). VTiiy, here 

 we are at the very gap in the high bullfinch, at which so many 

 of us were choked ofl" at starting for the Belvoir scurr}^ of 

 Saturday ! Well, there's little crowding now ; and half the 

 leaders slip over the Smite by the wooden bridge at the covert. 

 Hounds cross two fields lower down ; and so does Firr, 

 carrying with him a rotten rail that tries hard to pull him into 

 the deep muddy brook. The jump is naturally all the easier 

 for this; and now the dii-ection is Long Clawson. The 

 Hickling-and-Clawson road is cut exactly where it was two 

 days ago by the Belvoir ; and fence for fence the track is the 

 same for another mile. But, holding straight on over the 

 Vale, hounds run up to the village of Hose ; and a hat up pro- 

 claims that Reynard has sought refuge among the houses. 

 Directly afterwards, Firr's eye catches sight of his draggled 

 form crawling into a stackyard. Who-whoop ! the ladies have 

 him. Thirty minutes from the time he left his kennel — and as 

 fine and fast and sweet a gallop as lives in the annals of Quorn. 

 A grand great muscular fox — they bm-st him from start to 



