A GREAT WEEK AFTER FROST 429 



most impossible — of tasks is that of compiling an adequate 

 list of names. I know well that when my slender 

 catalogue is put in print, I shall find omitted those of 

 many with whom I am best acquainted, and with whom, 

 possibly, I came most in contact during the day. I 

 offer the following with all apology, viz.: Mr. W. M. 

 Wroughton, Lord Downe and Misses Dawnay, Sir H. 

 and Miss Langham, Mr. and Mrs. Cazenove, Rev. C. and 

 Miss Legard, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Cunard, Mr., Mrs., and 

 Misses Fenwick, Mr., Mrs., and Miss Dawkins, Mr. and 

 Mrs. Bentley, Mr. and Mrs. E. Kennard, Mr. and Mrs. S. 

 Holland, Mr. P. and Mrs. Beatty, Captain and Mrs. Mac- 

 kenzie, Mrs. Burns, Miss Bevan, Miss Banbury, Miss 

 Burchell, Lord Erskine, Count Larische, Rev. — Rokeby, 

 Captains Pender, Soames, and Schofield, Messrs. Bishop, 

 Boyle, Broom, Cholmley, Drage, Fife, Jameson, Lloyd, 

 Foster, R. Loder, Logan, Mills pere ei fils (H. and C.), 

 Moorhouse, Pownall, Straker, Summers, Wallis, Whateley, 

 and I know not how many more. 



Loatland Wood, a charming covert of, say, thirty or 

 forty acres ; Mr. Cowley, as for many a year past, guarding 

 its foxes, and personally welcoming us over his green acres 

 near by. To the prescience of the Master, in clearing the 

 whole of the outer circle before hounds were thrown in, 

 our fox owed no little of the ease with which he was able 

 to make his break, and we no little of the sport that befell. 

 We were away in five minutes, an unusually brief waiting, 

 as you will admit who may have often stood by or within 

 this famous covert. No sooner away than it was obvious 

 hounds could run. Nearly all were out together — at the 

 top left-hand corner — in a body before the second great 

 grass field was crossed, their heads pointing westward for 

 Waterloo Gorse (some three miles away), and the road 

 thither running parallel with the line of fox and hounds. 

 Following the latter were ranged a cluster of those choice 

 familiar spirits ever to be seen hanging to the skirts of the 

 Pytchley pack when running its best, the readiest to point 

 the present route being Mr. H. Mills. Remember, the 

 great fences of the superb country traversed to-day were 

 by no means to be taken haphazard, but, on the contrary. 



