I usually pick out a leader in some well-knowing
farmer; but this day I made a grand mistake, by selecting for my guide a
slim, quiet-looking, young fellow, in a black hat and coat, white cords,
and boots, on a young chestnut--never dreaming that my quiet man was
Alec ----, a farmer truly, but also a provincial celebrity as a
steeplechaser.

The day was mild, cloudy, with a gentle wind. We drew several covers
blank, and found a fox, about one o'clock, in a small spinney, from
which he bolted at the first summons. A beautiful picture it was to see
gallant old Sebright get his hounds away, the ladies racing down a
convenient green lane, and the little Fitzwilliam, in Lincoln green,
charging a double flight of hurdles. In half-an-hour's strong running I
had good reason to rejoice that Percival had, with due respect for the
fourth estate, put me on an unmistakable hunter. Our line took us over
big undulating fields (almost hills), with, on the flats or valleys, a
large share of willow-bordered ditches (they would call them brooks in
some counties), with thick undeniable hedges between the pollards. At
the beginning of the run, my black-coated friend led me--much as a dog
in a string leads a blind man--at a great pace, into a farm-yard, thus
artfully cutting off a great angle, over a most respectable stone wall
into a home paddock, over a stile into a deep lane, and then up a bank
as steep as a gothic roof, and almost as long; into a fifty-acre
pasture, where, racing at best pace, we got close to the hounds just
before they checked, between a broad unjumpable drain and a willow
bed--two fine resources for a cunning fox. There I thought it well,
having so far escaped grief, to look out for a leader who was less of a
bruiser, while I took breath. In the meantime Sebright, well up, hit our
friend off with a short cast forward, and after five minutes' slow
hunting, we began to race again over a flat country of grass, with a few
big ploughed fields, fences easier, ladies and ponies well up again.
After brushing through two small coverts without hanging, we came out on
a series of very large level grass fields, where I could see the gray
horse of the marquis, and the black hat of my first leader sailing in
front; a couple of stiff hedges and ditches were got over comfortably;
the third was a regular bulfinch, six or seven feet high, with a gate so
far away to the right that to make for it was to lose too much time, as
the hounds