SPORT IN THE SHIRES 273 



its way. There is time to treat ourselves and the 

 horse to a gate or two. Now faster, now slower the 

 chase goes on. The first wild joy has gone out of it ; 

 only there remains the stern resolution to see the end. 

 We are some ten miles from the starting-point and 

 have covered a distance half as long again ; but the 

 fox is beaten, and when we see the roofs of one of the 

 three chief towns of the smallest, but the best, hunting 

 county in England, we know the end is near. The 

 hounds are raging up and down the hedgerows as, 

 in the last despairing effort for life, the fox turns 

 ever shorter and more sharply. Whowhoop ! A 

 gallant fox has paid his share of the ransom due for 

 the existence of his race. We have seen the run of 

 the season. A pail of warm gruel or chilled water 

 and a few mouthfuls of hay for the horse ; a pull at 

 the flask for ourselves ; and, with a cigar well alight 

 we climb stiffly into the saddle, glad to find that the 

 horse can step out for the nine mile trot back to 

 Melton. Now ride on the crown of the road and dis- 

 mount at the hills. Then after dinner the report 

 from the stable will be, " Little or none the worse, sir. 

 Eat up every oat ! " 



