28o Tally ho. 



pour, whicli drenched me to tlie skin. Anon I am 

 galloping for twenty-three minutes with the Brighton 

 Harriers, over the breezy downs, killing our hare in 

 splendid style. Then I am at Melton Mowbray, "the 

 metropolis of hunting,^' as Nimrod described it, 

 having, as I usually do, an exceedingly good time of 

 it when I visit that cheerful and hospitable locality. 

 Kiding with the Cottesmore from Ranksborough 

 Gorse, admiring the skill and perseverance of that 

 first-rate huntsman, Neale, who goes out with a 

 fixed determination to kill his fox, or meeting the 

 Quorn at Ashby Pastures and going a burster to 

 Woolwell Head, crossing the Whissendine, and finally 

 seeing Tom Firr break up his fox, after a splitting 

 run of twenty-five minutes, in his usual workmanlike 

 style. Next I am galloping to cover on a clever nag, 

 in order to ride with his Grace the Duke of Eutland's 

 hounds from the Three Queens, a well-known meet 

 of the Belvoir, where the going over the light plough 

 lands and the easy fences is so extremely pleasant, 

 enabliog one who is on the shady side of half a 

 century, to live with hounds, and watch Frank Gillard 

 persevere with his fox when the scent is cold and 

 the weather stormy. But here I am open to the 

 remark, "But how about hunting in the Isle of 

 Wight ?^^ 



Well, I must admit that I have been somewhat 

 discursive, but then I must bring Jack Frost to the 

 bar of public opinion, and make him explain how 

 it was that he upset my arrangements, and prevented 

 my seeing the foxhounds which hunt two days a week, 

 being kennelled at Marvel, near Newport — a very fair 

 pack, I hear, hunting an inferior " country.'^ How- 



