182 THE BEST SEASON ON EECOED. 



3^ou said not a word, Mr. Hearsay, of this villainous ant- 

 liilly and rusli-covered field, over wliicli twenty men are 

 now spurring as fearlessly as if it were level and fair as 

 a polo ground. Crash goes the timber out of it, with a 

 treble but almost simultaneous report. Owston village is 

 on their right ; Somerby and miles of well-fenced prairie 

 ridges (if you will grant the two apparently opposite 

 adjectives) in front. Hounds, as before, are flying like 

 pigeons ; none of these simple old hedges ought to stop 

 us ; a dozen good fellows give us a ready and clever 

 lead ; and Hearsay swore there was never a brook in the 

 line. Confound you, sir, what then do you call this ? 



Catch my horse, and be friend me ; or, if you will, 



pull out your sketch book and get out of Capt. John 

 Brocklehurst's way! Now pencil in Mr. Leatham and 

 his ]\Tonday's grey hitting off a better spot on the right, 

 the huntsman on his big black readily accepting the 

 office, Lord IManners, Mr. Forester, Colonel Pole Carew, 

 Capts. Ashton, Molyneux, and Smith all in a cluster at 

 their heels, and Mr. A. Brocklehurst near the centre ot 

 the line getting the cleanest place of all, where the nearer 

 bank has a post-and-rall and the farther is less rugged 

 and steep than elsewhere. This done, get forrard for 

 Somerby Spire ; and point out to me where on the 

 former occasion you say you came to your first brief 

 check. Here they are, at fault again ! The man with 

 the inevitable sheepdog says, as usual, " He's just afore 

 'em ; " and adds as he catches up his panting colley, 

 " I'd hard work to stop my old bitch from running him." 

 Only a quarter of an hour ; but already is a check verily 



