THE JOHN O' GAUNT GALLOP. 165 



skill in tlie Old Country once more. / am near enough 

 to the scene of action to hear at once of each stirring 

 event, to learn It from still excited lips, even to catch the 

 passing enthusiasm ere the flush Is off the cheek or the 

 sparkle has left the eye. The spirits must rise, and the 

 heart must quicken, to the recital — even though a tinge 

 of pain (the dogged refusal of human nature to lay aside 

 all self-regret) loill step in to temper the thrill of sym^ 

 pathy. Ah, it must indeed have been a gallant burst — a 

 quick straight gallop over wild open country — of class 

 enough to make the leading chapter of a season, though 

 only a single specimen page in our well-filled scrapbook 

 of '83, '84. 



To John o' Gaunt, then, a somewhat disconsolate field 

 dragged its way in the early, and showery, afternoon of 

 Friday — disconsolate for the news they had heard — that 

 the flock was to lose its shepherd — and for that they 

 had seen Barkby Holt and various minor coverts already 

 drawn dismally blank. A third of the blackthorn in 

 John o' Gaunt's dozen acres, be it noted, was cut away 

 last spring ; and low brushwood just hides the ground. 

 In this barest portion a strong old fox was fast asleep, 

 and nearly lost his brush before he could gain his legs. 

 He woke with the pack all round him ; almost knocked 

 over a hound that was too taken aback to seize him ; 

 dashed through the very legs of the huntsman's horse ; 

 and well nigh jumped out of his bright red skin as the 

 first view holloa of the day was poured into his astonished 

 ears. With the demon-voice ringing through and 

 through his distracted head, he stopped not lor trick nor 



