A Merry Time in the Midlands, 255 



the grass rides splendidly, the pace is severe, and the 

 fences are big enough to satisfy the veriest glutton. 

 There goes Eaymond Govey in the front of the first 

 rank, taking a line of his own, and putting his magni- 

 ficent bay horse at a yawner. " Yo-oi, over ! ^^ he 

 goes, and you may follow him if you please, but unless 

 you are a good man, 1^11 lay you two to one you come 

 a cropper. Hardly has the thought passed through 

 my mind when I see a man putting his horse at the 

 fence, as if he meant it; but when the animal got 

 close to it he stopped short, swerving round, and 

 cannoning against me, nearly spoiled my chance. 

 Beshrew such a brute as that ! I would sell him for 

 a cab horse ; but whilst I am moralising the hounds 

 are going away merrily in the direction of Crick. 

 But our fox not being allowed to dwell long in the 

 celebrated cover, runs in the direction of the village, 

 where he has a magnificent line of country before him, 

 but his heart failing him he runs to ground, and 

 being dug out and turned down is speedily run into, 

 and ^^ who-hoop ^^ is the cry. This was a capital run, 

 good enough to exhibit the quality of the hounds, and 

 to try the mettle of the riders. 



Conspicuous amongst the hard goers was Tom Firr, 

 the huntsman of the Quorn, mounted by Mr. Darby, 

 and going like a man. I know of no neater or better 

 horseman than Tom Firr, whose reputation as a sports- 

 man and first-rate huntsman stands exceedingly high. 

 There was one well known and first-rate sportsman, 

 whose familiar face was missed by all ; but whilst we 

 were running our fox hard, the bell was tolling near 

 at hand, as they laid Admiral Jones in his grave. It 

 is little more than ten days since I followed him. 



