14S THE BEST SEASON OX RECORD. 



savaged a slieep or spoiled a run. The slieplierd dog- 

 was speedy enough to have coursed a hare, bundled poor 

 Eeynard over in fifty yards, and never left him till the 

 latter dragged his half-worried frame into a rabbit-hole, 

 by the railway-side. 



Then was the order given for Billesdon Coplow, and 

 thence was the run — one hour and thirty-five minutes, 

 over a wild strong country, with the death of a grand fine 

 fox as a finish. 



Botany Bay, a dense blackthorn covert at the foot of 

 The Coplow's wooded height, forms the real strength of 

 that time-and-song-honoured landmark. Though a road 

 bounds it on two sides, and the throng always spreads 

 round its outskirts on every side, it is difficult even for a 

 Quorn Friday field altogether to envelope it, or to prevent 

 a really bold fox from making his course. The centre ride 

 is the usual rendezvous for men who would be ready to 

 take any direction suggested by fox and hounds — and 

 nine times out of ten this is over the Coplow hill. To- 

 day was neither an exception nor a trial of patience — 

 for scarcely was the muddy ride fairly lined than the 

 clear air was broken by a chorus of halloas from beneath 

 the House, and Mr. Couplaud galloped out to set hounds 

 on the line of a ready rover. Through the gardens and 

 round the base of the covert-clad slope facing the village 

 of Billesdon scurried the anxious horsemen — blinded for 

 a while to what the hounds might be doing, but knowing- 

 only too well how difficult a country lay beyond, and 

 how often they had toiled over its steep green acclivities 

 in vain pursuit of a fast-vanishing pack. For the rough 



