146 A STAUNCH PRESERVER OF FOXES. 



in Charles the F'irst's time as now), as true a specimen of an 

 English country gentleman as ever lived, and a staunch pre- 

 server of foxes to boot. Then we note the brothers William, 

 Herbert, and Frederick Gosling — though we sadly miss ' the 

 Colonel ' — all good men and true when hounds run fast ; Mr. 

 and Mrs. Farmer, from Nonsuch, who have been hunting from 

 Kibworth for seven years, but have now^ departed, it is to be 

 feared, for good ; Mr. and Mrs. Kennard, Mr. Laing, Mr. Mar- 

 shall, Messrs. Watson, Redfern, Davison, Logan, and Dick 

 Webster, of Islington renown ; Mr. Hay, from Bowden, and his 

 pretty daughter, the little lady mounted on a neat pony ; Mr. 

 W. H. Hay, as good in the hunting as in the cricket field ; Mr. 

 Willoughby Maycock, whose face was more familiar formerly 

 than of late in these parts ; Capt. Arkwright, Mr. Braithwaite, 

 a most resolute rider, though having only one arm ; Mr. and 

 Mrs. Douglass, from Market Harborough, the former with 

 conscious pride leading his youngest olive-branch in the way 

 he ought to go, and many more. 



Captain Baillie is unfortunately prevented by a recent 

 accident from riding, but his doors are thrown open to all 

 comers, and ' jumping powder ' dispensed with his wonted 

 hospitality. Mrs. Baillie, however, accompanied by her eldest 

 daughter, is in the saddle, and so also is Mrs. Tailby. Nor is 

 the Church without its representatives, for here, come to see 

 the Squire's last day, are the Rev. J. Davenport, rector of 

 Skeffington, and the Rev. F. Thorp, from Burton Overy, a 

 sporting parson of the old school, but one who nevertheless has 

 found it possible to combine the pleasures of the chase with the 

 due performance of his parochial duties. There is Mrs. Thorp 

 too, in a pony-carriage, accompanied by a chip of the old 

 block ; Colonel Arthur — who recently had the misfortune to 

 break his leg while alighting from the train — and his wife 

 represent the Pytchley element on wheels; and Mr. F. 

 Underwood, on his gallant grey, and some score of others 

 complete the field when, about a quarter after twelve, the word 

 is given to Summers and a move is made towards Shangton 

 Holt. 



Rising a hill near the covert the long and cheery procession 

 is joined by yet another sportsman whose well-known face we 

 missed at the meet. ' How are you, Ship ? ' is the welcome 

 that greets him on all sides. ' Got the straight tip where we 

 were going to draw, I suppose ? ' says someone ; nor is he far 



