FOX-HUNTING IN ENGLAND. 229 



In this storied little island one is never for long 

 out of the presence of places on the traditions 

 of which our life-long fancies have been fed. Our 

 road home lay past the indistinct mass of rubbish, 

 clustered round with ivy and with the saddest 

 associations, which was once Fotheringay Castle; 

 and as we turned into the village my companions 

 pointed out the still serviceable but long-unused 

 "stocks" where the minor malefactors of the 

 olden time expiated their offences. 



We reached the Haycock at three, a moist but 

 far from unpleasant body of tired and dirty men, 

 having ridden, since nine in the morning, over 

 fifty-five miles, mostly in the rain, and often in 

 a shower of mud splashed by galloping hoofs. 

 By six o'clock we were in good trim for dinner, 

 and after dinner for a long, cosey talk over the 

 events of the day, and horses and fox-hunting in 

 general. My own interest in the sport is confined 

 mainly to its equestrian side, and I am not able 

 to give much information as to its details. Any 

 stranger must be impressed with the firm hold 

 it has on the affections of the people, and with 



