Mr. George Ashby Ashby, 241 



the peaceful "Naseby Thorns/^ the quiet home of many 

 a gallant fox, the starting-point of many a noble run. 

 Since the day of *^ Naseby Fight," no other cavalry save 

 that attached to the Pytchley Hunt^ or interloping Quorn, 

 has galloped across the tenacious clay surrounding the 

 above-named covert. No tones more warlike than a 

 huntsman^s horn has roused the cattle in the adjacent 

 fields. 



" Anything is fun in the country," said some one who 

 evidently took the same view of rural, and possibly of 

 matrimonial life, as that Duke of Buckingham, who, 

 being bitten by a spaniel of King Charles's, exclaimed, in 

 his wrath : " Oh ! you little brute, I wish you were 

 married and lived in the country," and who had assuredly 

 never found himself in the middle of Naseby Field at the 

 close of a November afternoon, a stranger, on a tired horse, 

 and with the hounds fast disappearing from his view. 

 Unconscious perhaps of his position, with little help to 

 be got from his pocket -map, he would then realize the 

 want of truth in the assertion above referred to. To the 

 native sportsman the situation would not be nearly so 

 depressing. With him would rest the sure and certain 

 knowledge that behind that group of fir-trees, dimly 

 looming through the fog, was to be found excellent ac- 

 commodation for man and horse. Fortunate indeed is 

 the belated and tired hunter, who on his homeward way 

 has to pass those tall fir-trees ! A turn to the right and 

 a hearty welcome and good refreshment will not only rob 

 the remainder of the journey of all its weariness, but will 

 leave upon the mind of the recipient the feeling that the 

 house he has just quitted is the very temple of hospi- 

 tality. Than in its high priest it would be hard to find a 



