GREAT RUN OF THE FYTCHLEY FROM KNIGHTLEY WOOD. 491 



Cross, Miss Hargreaves, Miss Judkins, Mrs. Jones, Messrs. 

 Asquith, Entwisle, Hanbury, sen., Crawley, Capt. Faber, and 

 several more. 



The Annual Meeting of the Pytchley Hunt took place on 

 Tuesday last. " Mr. Langham resigned the Mastership, after 

 having hunted the country for twelve seasons — a longer period 

 than any Master has kept it during this century. A cordial 

 vote of thanks was given him, and Lord Spencer agreed to take 

 the country again." 



The vote of thanks is indeed one which all who hunt with 

 the Pytchley very heartily endorse. Great and consistent sport 

 has signalised Mr. Langham's many seasons of Mastership. He 

 has raised the pack to a very high standard ; and he has main- 

 tained an excellent feeling among the farmers, landowners, and 

 the Hunt generally. The debt of gratitude we owe him is a 

 great one. 



Sadly I dip my pen once more to touch on the sudden 

 removal of another old comrade to still happier hunting 

 grounds. Shocking to us — melancholy indeed for the hundreds 

 who knew him and cared for him — but not sad, surely not sad, 

 for him. Far be it from me to write flippantly, or think care- 

 lessly, of the death of a friend so valued, so consistent and so 

 true — the most kindly even-hearted gentleman that ever wore 

 Her Majesty's uniform, sported silk, or rode to hounds 

 conscientiously and for love of hunting. But a man's end must 

 come, and had better come thus quickly and unawares in the 

 midst of happiest surroundings — mind and body still capable — 

 than in a gloomy sickroom, a burden to himself and of no value 

 to others. When he has had his innings, when in a fair 

 measure " the fruit has been gathered, the tale been told," he 

 may well be content to make room for younger plants, rather 

 than exist on until he cumbers the ground, a withered and 

 barren trunk. And well indeed for him if he can leave such 

 memory behind him, so many friends to regret and think 

 lovingly of him — so few, nay, never an one I should imagine 



