102 THE BEST SEASON ON RECORD. 



the wide cross fence directly after them. See, the pack 

 swings towards us now, the leading hounds are not forty 

 yards from the road — and we have done a right clever 

 thing, thus to cling to the lane ! Have we, though ? 

 'Tvvas somewhere here he bent away before — and now 

 see them turn suddenly northward again ! Slip out 

 through this first open gate ; disengage at all hazards — 

 or safely and certainly you will be carried on in the rush 

 like a straw down a millrace. The foremost hounds are 

 already wheeling off. The fox has been headed from 

 the lane. Cut across the anole with i\Ir. and Miss 

 Chaplin, Mr. Miles, and the few others who have extri- 

 cated themselves, and you may ride in their wake 

 over the very gaps that helped you in that November 

 gallop — while, thundering down the lane, and finding 

 never another exit, scores of good men are now gallop- 

 ing right away from hounds, in helpless bitterness of 

 soul. To write the history of the next ten minutes 

 would be but to repeat a tale already told. Fence and 

 gate, field and gap, yard for yard, did hounds and horses 

 swiftly follow their footsteps of a former occasion — 

 leaving Gaddesby village behind them, and scouring the 

 Brooksby farm from end to end. But here the repeti- 

 tion ends ; a check and a change of foxes came after 

 a quarter of an hour, and the best of the chase was 

 over. 



Saturday, December 22nd (the least difficult form is 

 that of the skeleton diary) — the Cottesmore at Wild's 

 Lodge, only three miles from ]Melton breakfiist tables 

 (involving therefore only two more cigars overnight). 



