220 THE WARWICKSHIRE HUNT. [1892 



blank, and we did not find till hounds were in the dense, thick growth of the 

 Gorse at Wiggington. Away he went across the road and down the hill like 

 a good one. The sheepdogs were there, but they did not run him. A sharp 

 turn to the right, half-way down the hill towards Wiggington Village, up-wiud 

 — or, rather, with a three-quarters mud — and off we went, "went pouring 

 forward with impetuous speed." Lord Willoughby is down over that 

 abomination, a hidden wire. The chesnut, of course, clears the bottom below 

 the Council House Barn, but the next four come down with monotonous 

 regularity. The gallant major is engulfed ; Mr. Fairbrother fijids a place of 

 his o-mi, and clears it ; Mr. Verney and three others keep on the higher 

 gi'ound, and catch the bottom luckily at an open gate. A check, and again 

 another, shows there is but a moderate scent ; but a quiet, quick forward 

 cast on the part of our huntsman — who has come up, fortunately none the 

 worse for the attemj)t at assassination on the part of some desperado in 

 the shape of a wire man — gets us on to the good scenting ground to the north 

 of Hook Norton, which we leave on our left, with Hadley Hill Farm on our 

 right, and we speed merrily on, at no great pace, l)ut much fencing and 

 universal happiness. First the old gi-ey leads, then the chesnut, then the 

 broAvn, and again the Reveller colt. A six-mile point, and forty-five minutes 

 by the old official timekeeper, who has never missed timing a run or a sermon 

 for, shall I say ten, twenty, thirty, forty years. Wliy, I remember a well- 

 known old Devonshire sportsman, still going, and a pony he wanted to sell 

 me ; and I asked him if he would jump a rail or a hedge. " Why, I'd ride 

 him over it myself," said the gallant old man, " if I was ten, or twenty, or 

 thirty, or forty, or fifty, or sixty, or seventy years yoimger." He was eighty- 

 four or eiglity-six. Our timekeeper, fortunately, never gets any older. From 

 Rollwright Coombe Farm we turn up the hill by the Hill Barn, and over the 

 historic road which bounds the two hunts, and over which Jem Hills said 

 we could never kill a fox, the reason, doubtless, being the change from 

 the better scenting ground to the colder Heythrop land. We thought we 

 might prove the old huntsman's shade to be once more in the wrong, 

 but the wind ])lew colder and the scent weaker, and, though we hit it 

 off beyond Great Rollwright, had to give up near the old Pest Hoiise 

 opposite Wark Gorse. " What will you make of this, ' Rusticus ' p " 

 said several who have penetrated my nom cle plume. Well, what can 

 I make of it, except that it was a very pleasant hunt, which everybody 

 saw, including four or five ladies, who rode very well throughout, 

 and it was a treat to see the grey horse and the grey pony fence. 

 No great pace, and no great distance, and not much chance of catching 

 the fox; but very nice all the same, and a good Ijoginning of the new 

 year. It only wanted a kill well in the Heythrop country to put 

 it at the top of the second class. Better I'emained, hoAvever, for those who 

 could stop out. Wiggington Heath was true to its ancient traditions. The 

 broom bushes must have heard a whisper of the sacrilegious insinuations as 

 to their integrity, for they sheltered a second wild good fox, who went away 

 at once down the hill towards Wiggington. Through some mistake, most of 

 the field kept on the Banbury Road, while Lord Willoughby, attended by 

 only a few, inchuling Jack, Mr. Gladwin, Mr. J. C. Gardner, the celebrated 

 oarsman, and one or two others, had sunk the hill. Fast and furious was 

 the i)ace over Swerford Brook, which the huntsman jumped, up the hill, and 

 across the Chipping Norton Road, near the Mason's Arms, into Tew Park. 



