428 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



— and next minute the spokesman and his stout chesnut are 

 unravelHng themselves from the tanglement of a turn-over — 

 living sermons on the text of "a little knowledge" a "dan- 

 gerous" possession. Thewatercourse is certainly small enough 

 here ; but it has chosen this spot to hend outwards from its 

 bordering fence, and to run some three j'ards wide of its screen. 

 The trap catches at least another of our list of captains above : 

 then the screen is broken down, and the rest walk quietly 

 through, and over — while some few hit off a less treacherous 

 spot a little distance on the right. The hounds, meanwhile, 

 have risen the hill, racing out of sight, and leaving three deep 

 fields of fresh-growing seeds behind them. The next glimpse 

 of the moving scene shows the pack a wide wheatfield beyond 

 the Leicester Road, Mr. Adair just jumping the blind fence 

 out of it, and six in scarlet racing up to the fluttering covert- 

 <'oat in front. "Whip and spur, leg and rein, the pack are 

 hardly to be kei)t in sight. Stop for a gate, wdiile an easy 

 fence is beside it? Not for a moment. But the plausible 

 hedgerow hides a chasm twice as ugly as the previous trap : 

 and onlv in the last stride is the broad deep gulf at all visible. 

 The good chesnut leading lands safe, though the bank shivers 

 and crumbles under his hind legs ; and a wave of the rider's 

 hand sends Captain Molyneux and Captain Smith to the easy- 

 opening gate close by. Mr. Ilarter, however (who, with Mr. 

 Pryor, had jumped the Cossington Bottom rather Avide to the 

 right), now making up ground hand over hand, also finds him- 

 self over the gulf before he can take a pull. But that sym- 

 metrical brown is the envy of the county ; and is certainly not 

 likely to fall over what another horse can jump. So he too is 

 away in safety — the hounds still glancing forward a field and a 

 half in front. They are plain to be seen skirting the bottom 

 of Thrussington Gorse, diving into the corner of Thrussington 

 Wolds, and again emerging at once on to the grass below. Now 

 for the Hoby Lordship, the apple of the Quorn eye, the pink 

 of North Leicestershire. Forrard, you beauties, 3'ou shall 

 lead us a dance to-day ! " He's not a field in front, and he's 



