BARKBY GORSE TO TILTOX. 63 



Nineteentli Century) ; and tlie very next Jay brought 

 forth Hvlng illustration, in fit sequel to your stirring flight 

 of fancy. May your spirit be with nie while I strive to 

 sketch the incidents of this last great gallop that you 

 have seemed to prompt. Other men say they have 

 seen no such run for three years. Certainly I, in my 

 humble capacity of recorder, have assisted at nothing 

 like it in seasons lately past. 



The morning of Friday, November 23rd, was bright, 

 sharp, and sunny. Rime frost still lingered by the road- 

 side, while the road itself still remained in what miirht 

 be termed rattling condition for the many carriages that 

 rolled into Rearsby Village — the halfway house twixt 

 Leicester and Melton — the meet of Quorn, and the place 

 of gathering of all who could ride or drive from either 

 town and from the countr;/ between. The busy 

 merchant, the smart Meltonian, tlie thriving tradesman, 

 the struggling farmer, the county magnate, the soldier 

 on leave, ^vith many another of lofty and lowly grade, 

 mingled to form the largest meet of the early season. 

 Brougham, victoria, buggy, ponjtrap and taxcart — not 

 excepting many samples of that wondrous Leicester 

 conveyance wherein one couple look straight to their 

 front, while immediately behind them another luuk 

 straight in each other's fjice, as if equally ready to light, 

 flirt, or pla}' cribbagc — all brought their burden of beauty 

 or their contribution to the chase. But, apart from the 

 social aspect and variety of the scene, enhanced, as it 

 was, by the quiet loveliness of the morning and the 

 picturesque attributes of Islw Woodcock's pretty resi- 



