146 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS. [1844 



Magazine, lie said: "To my feeling, the most complete 

 work, as a piece of art, I ever accomplished was the little 

 church of Okeover. . . . Mr. Okeover gave myself and 

 Gilbert Scott free hands to do as we desired ; cost was 

 nothing ; perfection and artistic beauty were to be all in 

 all ; we Avere bound by no contracts, and I put my whole 

 soul into it, and so did Scott. Yes," he continued, as if 

 speaking to himself, " I think that was the most beautiful 

 thing I ever did. But, then, Mr. Okeover is himself an 

 artist by genius, and he can comprehend art." 



This Mr. Okeover was the predecessor of the present 

 squire. The surroundings of the place are a worthy setting 

 to such a gem, for the house itself, and the park nestling 

 under the hill, where the trees throw deep shadows on thelong 

 summer afternoons over the clustering deer, while the Dove 

 glides placidly through rich pastures hard by, is a thing to 

 dream of, amidst the rush and hurry of modern life, even as 

 one thinks of the "shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land." 



No one can appreciate all this more thoroughly than 

 the owner of it, for he, too, has the artistic temperament, 

 and thus cannot fail to extract the greatest enjoyment 

 from the moving panorama of light, movement, and colour 

 into which his sporting tastes have continually led him. 

 Whether standing by the rushing river in Norway, or 

 walking through covert, or over turnips and stubble, or 

 heathery moor, no charm of colour or grace of outline 

 would escape his eye. He is a sportsman of the school 

 of old Christopher North, or Gilbert White of Selborne. 

 And when he and his sporting ally, Mr. Trevor Yates, 

 went out of a morning, with the harriers which the former 

 kept at Okeover, we may be sure .that, while both were 

 equally intent on the business in hand, there was always 

 present for the squire an aesthetic delight in the sky 

 over his head, in the harmony of the sounds around him, 

 and in the form and colour of everything on the earth 

 beneath his feet, of which his companion was unconscious. 



Mr. Okeover is still with us, and, though he has passed 

 the span allotted to man's existence, he is as alert and 



