136 FOX-HUNTING IN THE SHIRES 



the Belvoir is an experience not easily to be forgotten. 

 Suppose then that some Wednesday early in the 

 season we find ourselves at Croxton Park. The day 

 is cloudy, and the wind has a touch of east in it. 

 The remains of the old fishing lodge of the Duke of 

 Rutland are before us, and the pond's steely grey 

 in the subdued misty light of the November morning 

 adds a beauty to the landscape. There is a gathering 

 of all the hardest riders, soldiers, statesmen, men of 

 business, lawyers and farmers, people of every degree 

 of rank and wealth. Then the women are on the 

 best horses that money can buy or judgment select ; 

 others are riding less high-bred, but still useful animals ; 

 and there are many on foot and quite a cloud of 

 cyclists. 



There, too, quietly being walked up and down is 

 the famous pack, all with a wonderful family likeness 

 in shape and colouring. Clean and bright in their 

 coats, they have the easy grace and motion of perfect 

 shape. Marvellous examples of careful selection they 

 are, combining strength and speed that can tire 

 out and outstrip the best of horses. The Hunt ser- 

 vants are neatly got up in quiet and workmanlike 

 manner, and are mounted on horses chosen by one 

 of the best judges in England. A trifle high in flesh 

 for hunt horses perhaps ; but when you have said 

 that, you have said all that the keenest critic can 

 find to object to. Every one is full of hope and 

 expectation, for the whole season is before them with 

 its possibilities of glorious moments, the like of which 

 can be enjoyed only in the hunting-field. The hunts- 

 man possibly feels a little anxious, for the whole 

 throng depend on him for their sport ; and, as he is 

 judged strictly by results, a bad scenting day, for 

 which he is in no way responsible, may nevertheless 



