250 Saddle and Sirloin. 



clay to sand, and has grown all produce, from white 

 wheat to chicory. The pleasant little town of Pock- 

 lington had just been making merry with a flower- 

 show, and a banner flapped lazily in its honour from 

 the old church tower. We paused at Theresa Cottage, 

 where Neville the racehorse was foaled, and Dalton 

 the greyhound was buried, and then set our face 

 steadily towards Givendale, on the Wolds. It lies 

 about four miles away, on the high road to Malton. 

 Everingham Park, where Tom Hodgson's old black 

 horse of Holderness and Quorn fame lies buried, was 

 deep in woods on our right. The country was once 

 all open from Warter Wood to Mount Farrow, and 

 for sixteen or seventeen miles there was no shelter for 

 a travelling fox. Everything is changed now, and old 

 Singleton, the celebrated jockey and grandsire of the 

 brothers John and James, would look in vain for the 

 springy turf, along which he could canter his horses 

 gently for miles up the valley, before they put on the 

 sweaters at Thixendale. 



•' The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields 

 Are hung, as if with golden shields, 

 Bright trophies of the sun ;" 



and both plains and wolds seemed white unto the 

 harvest. A band of women on Grimthorpe were 

 picking a crop of teasels, which are sown after bare 

 fallow or green crop, and require at least two years 

 to come to perfection, for the Leeds cloth-makers. 

 Owsethorpe is the last farm on the road before we 

 leave the level and climb the wolds ; and our com- 

 panions did not fail to tell us how a Lincolnshire man 

 had moralized over Cousin Bet and her foal, which 

 were " gnawing the pasture," and advised bullocks in 

 their stead, and how the laugh was against him after 

 Doncaster. 



But the eyebrow of the hill is reached at last, and 

 we find ourselves on a sort of table-land, with a lake, 



