364 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



still, I believe, alive) shrouded in black mud as he laboured on 

 in pursuit. I can still see Mr. Corbett-Holland popping out 

 from behind a hedge-row to take up the running on the safe 

 side of this Marfield Brook. There was no bridge in those 

 days, and the wind was blowing straight for the Vale ! I can see 

 the Earl galloping a little faster and much quieter than anyone 

 else — Su' Frederick Johnstone and Captain Coventry' racing for 

 the Twyford Brook — and ]\Ir. Powell, both spurs in for an oxer 

 that nothing but old Burgund}'^ could have got even half over. 



Now let me explain how John o' Gaunt is now situated ; and 

 then tell in a few words what happened on Friday — March the 

 18th the date. John o' Gaunt is a square blackthorn covert 

 backed at the distance of a mile or two b}; the Cottesmore 

 Avoodlands of Tilton, Skeffington, et hoc genus omne. Looking 

 northwards it faces that perfect undulating vale reaching to 

 Burrough, stretching on the left hand to Ashby and Thorpe 

 Satcliville, on the right to Owston and Sonierby, and inter- 

 sected by the two little streams above mentioned. But, to 

 shut off this face, there has been for some years past an irre- 

 sistible power at work — the progressive and devastating Deus 

 ex macltind of steam and iron : and not only is one railway 

 embankment now regularly carrying its noisy freights past the 

 sacred ground, but a kind of double junction is being reared 

 and created at the verj- covertside ! Yet, in spite of all this, 

 our gallop came off as merrily as of old — so what need to 

 lament the past or mourn over the present ? 



The Quorn had met at Ke3diam. I will take it for granted 

 that 3'ou have at some time or other attended a spring meet at 

 Keyham, and had an opporfunity of making yourself acquainted 

 with its average size and composition. Thus I need only write 

 that it was much as usual — or, perhaps, a little more so. The 

 moiety of a positive summer day Avas then consumed in killing 

 a bad fox from among the goodly number at the Coplow, and 

 in strolling quietly on to John o' Gaunt — calling at Lord More- 

 ton's covert b}'' the way. 



The sun was still very hot and bright, but a cool breeze was 



