394 THE CEEAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



THE TILTON DAY OF 1881. 



Tuesday, November 29th, was a great day with the Cottes- 

 more, from a meet, too, which generally arouses anything but 

 anticipation and enthusiasm, Tilton Wood, to wit. 



The i^ersonal experiences of a correspondent are, besides 

 being his own property, anything but what the public cares to 

 have. But the jironoun I must come in here for the moment. 

 Stable exigencies put it very plainly before me overnight, that 

 half a day's hunting was all I could look to on the morrow. 

 Thus, the choice apparently lying between a morning among 

 the Tilton woods and hills, and an afternoon with the great 

 coverts of Launde and Owston on the verge of a fine country — 

 I decided for tlie latter probability ; and accordingly, starting 

 at 11*30 found myself about one o'clock on Wliadborough Hill, 

 overlooking miles of the steep undulation and woody glens of 

 High Leicestershire. It was a cold bright da}^ — the film of a 

 frosty morning just disappearing beneath a brilliant sun and a 

 cloudless sky. The bark of a sheepdog, even the crowing of a 

 cock, could be lieard from an immense distance in the still 

 sharp air. But never a note of horn or hound, not a cheer nor 

 a rate, broke the deathlike silence of the Cottesmore highlands. 

 Sandwiches were despatched, flask and cigar case appealed 

 to ; and thought went back to the only previous occasion on 

 which the policy of speculation had been adoj)ted — and when 

 the result had been a wet afternoon spent in solitary meditation 

 at Cm'ate's Gorse. Still there was no more sign or sound of 

 fox hunting than if Leicestershire had been under the ban of 

 CmTaghmore: and at two o'clock I left my post of observation 

 to seek for information or companionship on the lower ground. 

 Taking the road from Owston Wood to Launde, I soon fell in 

 with both — but the information was somewhat vague, and the 

 company anj^thing but merry. Knot after knot of well capari- 

 soned sportsmen did I meet — all wearing the same glum faces 



