434 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Skason' 



upon ; and the meeting liad all the spu-it of a harvest home. 

 It is part of our miserable nature that we cannot glean a full 

 measure of fun and gladness from retrospect. Poets and 

 prisoners extract much melancholy solace out of it : as, for 

 that matter, they -will equally out of any " sweet sorrow." ]5ut 

 most of us, in our feverish eiihemeral career, never look over 

 our shoulder, let the past shift for itself, and even hurry the 

 present so that we may skim on to some improbably pleasant 

 and (it must be) exciting future. " Silver threads among the 

 gold." Every tiny streak is a line of memory ; only a grey 

 liead casts back and kills his beaten fox, while gilded youth 

 flashes forward in vain. Golden Locks, Ambition, and Flurry 

 — Grey Head has often the better of you ! His fox is brushed, 

 his pleasure is assured. Your game is ever slipping through 

 your fingers ; the fruit you grasp is often of the Dead Sea. 



A last peep at foxhounds at work has been offered in the 

 present week b}'- the kindly thought of the Duke of Rutland, 

 who fixed Wednesday last, April 5th, within riding distance ot 

 Melton, Easton Hall, the beautiful residence of Sir HugJi 

 Cholmeley, was tlie trysting place, for the great good coverts in 

 the neighbourhood — a chain of fine woodlands which merge 

 into those of the Cottesmore, the whole forming a lengthy 

 screen 'twixt the Shires of Leicester and Lincoln. 



The meet was not till one o'clock ; and even then, of course, 

 was small. His Grace drove up with INIr. little-Gilmour ; but 

 l)oth wisel}' forbore to take the field against the cold drifting 

 rain. 



To be out with hounds once again, even to ride through 

 coverts side by side with valued conu'ades — and this after the 

 festivities and farewells of C'roxton Park and Burrough Hill — 

 was not unlike recalling a dream that has been partly broken, 

 may be, by the rude entrance of the villain with the shaving 

 water. If little came of it, it Avas pleasant to roam the woods, 

 while the Duke's grand pack drew from brake to brake to the 

 huntsman's cheer. The primrose-carpeted glades, and the 

 blackthorn blossoming in snowy white, lent an air of unreality 



