430 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season- 



a landmark hereabouts ; and again the air resounds with cheer 

 and shout and bucolic greeting. The sun has burst forth from 

 its black shroud, and is beating fiercely on the lathering 

 horses. Close and intricate are the few fences immediately 

 succeeding the road ; and the jumping power is not quite what 

 it was. Wh}- else should an open rivulet have caused a swerve, 

 and man and steed to be rolling over together in the middle of a 

 green meadow ? " Get your wind, old horse ; and up again as 

 soon as you're ready." Over the Knoll, and forward for Ash- 

 fordby — hounds running fast, but not so fiercely, till two fallow 

 fields are passed. Then they strike the meadows by the brook- 

 side (jon may remember the spot where one of our champions 

 was once sawn out of the willow tree, into which he and his 

 horse had jumped ?), and drive gaily along them, pointing for 

 Grimston Gorse. Headed in the next road, their beaten fox 

 gives up all hope of making any point on the north of the 

 Wreake ; so, bending to the right, he crosses the low meadows 

 just short of Ashfordby. "Friday Gorse " used, I believe, to 

 exist just here. I wish it were in being now ; for not only is a 

 good covert sorely wanted, but the land occupiers would be 

 more prepared for our coming. Mr. Harter meets with a 

 sudden cracker over a wire ; and others avoid the same fate 

 only through the warning. Down to the riverside the pack 

 rush forward with their bristles up. Their fox has feared the 

 water, and run back along the bank to Frisby. The miller is 

 dancing and waving his hat on the bridge ; the whole village 

 is screaming on the further bank as if Skobeleff were among 

 them, instead of the wearied animal they are trying to mob. 

 Thirty-two minutes to now^, and not a ghost of a check by the 

 way. Surely they'll have him in a minute — and his blood will 

 be worthily shed. But no ; he has crawled on through the 

 village ; and we arrive, a hot and flurried company, to find 

 huntsmen and hounds just tracking him out beyond the houses, 

 and preparing to rise the hill above. Cream Gorse is about 

 two miles away ; and, still on picked ground, this good fox 

 travelled on as if that covert was to be his cit}' of refuge 



