38 THE BEST SEASON ON EECOED. 



wended tlieir way homewards after a sharp httle scurry 

 (some sixteen minutes over the grass) to Burrough Hill 

 House. 



Who shall say that honour was not duly paid to the 

 memory of Guy Fawkes on this Quorn Monday ? 



Tlie above is but a prosy record of scanty fact. It 

 conveys no real picture of the pleasures of our opening 

 day, brings to mind or eye none of the glow of friend- 

 ships again set going, still less does it bring out the 

 light of the least selhsh, the most hearty, of all pastimes 

 — the jotting up at the finish of which involves no such 

 reckoning as your best friend's money won — nor even 

 such invidious inquiry and soliloquy as " How many 

 birds have you down ? I've (to myself) at any rate a 

 total you can't beat." " I was making a score while 

 you mooded over a duck's eg^,'' etc. etc. Competition, 

 no doubt, does exist in riding to hounds as in every 

 other line of life. But the best result is, " I was in it, 

 old fellow, and so were you. May we ride many 

 another gallop together." And (if I read the lesson 

 right, from the example and instance of better men) he 

 comes best out of the competition who competes but 

 with himself, and battles only against his own short- 

 coming. 



The final rehearsal before the curtain rose to full 

 costume and panoply was enacted by the Quorn company 

 on Friday, November 2nd, at Round Hill by Syston, and 

 within very attainable distance of Leicester — as was 

 proved by the presence of hundreds to whom foxhunting 

 may be said, without slight or calumny to them, to be a 



