THEIR PHILOSOPHY OF THE CHASE. 8l 



Parson Dove invariably, like many of the old school, donned 

 a shiny black claw-hammer evening coat, and a low-cut 

 embroidered evening waistcoat. No better criterion of his 

 hardihood can he afforded than by the fact that his chest had 

 no other covering than a thin, pleated shirt, surmounted by 

 high stick-up collars. He wore no tie at all where ties are 

 usually worn, but in lieu thereof one white fold, running 

 parallel with the waistcoat, crossed over and secured by two 

 turquoise pins connected by a chain just above the top button 

 of the aforesaid waistcoat. I certainly have never seen anything 

 like It at Newmarket. For the ' well-cleaned leathers ' we 

 must substitute pepper-and salt trousers, surmounted by a pair 

 of high napoleons ; and there you have the tout ensemble of the 

 genuine Parson Dove. 



Parson Dove— and I am inclined to think he enjoyed that 

 patronymic prior to the publication of the novel, though on 

 this point I am open to correction— was, in fact, incumbent of 

 two parishes, viz., Laughton and Foxton, about six and three 

 miles respectively from iVlarket Harborough. He alwaj-s came 

 out hunting with his niece, and a very lovely girl she was. 

 From the fact that she always wore a fawn-coloured habit, her 

 reverend uncle came to be called ' Parson Dove,' and she ' Miss 

 Dove.' 



They lived at Laughton, he visiting Foxton only when some- 

 one required spiritual consolation or interment, and he held 

 one service in the church there on Sundays. My people lived 

 in the village, and Parson Dove ' readied ' me for Confirmation. 

 I well remember the day when a whole vanload of us started 

 off, all anointed with an extra dose of pomatum, to meet the 

 Bishop of Peterborough at Kibworth. Foxton Church was in 

 rather a ramshackle condition in those days, but the Dissenters 

 had erected a magnificent chapel for themselves. I think it 

 was poor ' Kit ' Pemberton— one of the cheeriest souls that ever 

 hunted m the ' shires ' ; he threw away his life in the Franco- 

 Prussian War— who was riding home from hunting with Parson 

 Dove, and as they passed the chapel he remarked, pointing to 

 It with his whip, 'I call that a monument to foxhunting!" 

 'What do you mean?' enquired the Vicar. 'I mean," said 

 Pemberton, 'that when the parson hunts four days a week, 

 they're pretty sure to build a Dissenting chapel.' This story 

 formed the basis of a good deal of friendly badinage at the 

 covert side for some time afterwards at the Vicar's expense. 



