78 THE BEST SEASON ON llECORD. 



liounds when most of us had not even attained to a 

 rocking horse. Turning sharp and readily as hounds 

 themselves — spotting every gap, yet shrinking not a 

 moment from accepting Mr. Lubbock's lead at a palisaded 

 oxer — Mr. Simpkin rides as jauntily as any of the young 

 and dainty school behind him. Again, ten years are 

 not far to look back upon : and we can well remember 

 the Quorn cutting across this very ground — in a twenty 

 minutes' afternoon burst from Ellars Gorse to Lord 

 Aylesford's — which Mr. Lubbock then reached facile 

 princeps in his chase of hounds. To-day — so say those 

 in a position to tell — he is riding in quite the same good 

 form, with Mr. G. Lambton as liis nearest assistant. 

 (And in this early scurry over blind ditches, strong 

 fences, and varied grass and plough — with such a scent 

 that hounds bore themselves well out of over-riding 

 distance — the chronicler may fairly seize upon name and 

 prowess that admit of no gainsaying.) 



So sixteen minutes have brought us to Old Dalby 

 Wood — and on such terms with our fox that these rougli 

 hillsides (the wall of the Vale of Belvoir) are, for once, 

 less likely to help him than his pursuers. The pack cuts 

 through the wood without dwelling a moment ; and now 

 we must dive into the vale to circumvent the ironworks 

 and thread the waggon-ways which have brought so un- 

 sightly a change upon the edge of the Vale. Were not 

 hounds running so f\xst, and we not heartily warmed to 

 work, we should little relish scrambling down, and again 

 up, the precipitous hillside, clattering for half a mile 

 along a tramway, and then plunging full speed down a 



