184 THE BEST SEASON ON RECORD. 



Lere. And tlie party scattered madly, as slieep from a 

 dog in their midst. No one knows whither to ride ; but 

 'tis no use loitering to lament ! We remember, in the 

 sudden instinct of desperation, that twice previously in 

 this season from the Coplow, the rough southern side, 

 towards Billesdon, has been the direction ; and at once 

 we dive and twist through the trees and shrubs to the 

 lower handgate. By all that is blessed and unexpected, 

 there are the hounds, skimming the plough as twice 

 before for the first steep brow. Three men only are 

 near them, as we make out in our struggle through the 

 deep clay — and these are Mr. C. Martin, Mr. H. Praed, 

 and Downes. Over the edge of the brow hounds have 

 disappeared from sight ; and only a hurried scramble 

 through two more hillside fences reveals them streaming 

 away in a deep gully below. Firr dips at once into the 

 steep valley in pursuit — -the roan sinking and rising over 

 liill and dale till in the distance he reminds one of a 

 terrier going in and out of deep ridge-and-furrow. 

 Mr. Charles Fitzwilliam is his only close companion ; 

 until the chase turns upwards towards Tilton Wood, and 

 in ten minutes those who have struck the cress lane 

 from Lord Moreton's covert become the " top o' the 

 Imnt." Lord Lonsdale's fox of a week aij-o is before 

 them again this afternoon. Second editions are the 

 order of the day : and, both forenoon and evening, 

 history repeats itself right pleasantly. As with Lord 

 Lonsdale, "' a momentary check occurs directly Tilton 



* Lord Lonsdale liad an invitation-day with Lis i)ack in tlie QiKjrn 

 country the previous week. 



