86 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS. 



the Inniskilling Dragoons, joining his regiment at Knuts- 

 ford. For four years lie was quartered in Ireland, which 

 was much more to his taste than the year he spent at 

 Edinburgh. In 1834 he retired from the Army, and in 

 the spring of 1835 went to Barbadoes, in which island 

 and Jamaica the family owned considerable estates. 

 While in Barbadoes, in December of the same year, he 

 married Miss Alleyne, daughter of Sir Reynold Alleyne, 

 of Mesner Hall, Essex, and Mount Alleyne, Barbadoes, 

 who lived subsequently at Field House, Marchington, and 

 Barton-under-Needwood, where he died. It may be 

 interesting to note here that the mother of the Father of 

 Fox-hunting was an Alleyne of this same family, and not 

 a Poyntz, as is generally stated by sporting writers, but 

 his grandmother was a Poyntz. 



After his marriage Mr. FitzHerbert lived for a year 

 at West Farleigh, his father's seat in Kent, and then 

 came back to Derbyshire. From 1837 to 1841 he resided 

 at Willington, where he and a kindred spirit, Mr. Spils- 

 bury, went hunting and schooling young horses to their 

 hearts' content. At the latter's house there was always 

 a cheery party for the Derby week — Mr. Landor, with his 

 tall, gaunt figure, in knee-breeches, silk stockings, and 

 silver buckles on his shoes ; Captain Arden puffing away 

 at his gigantic pipe ; and Lawyer Willington, of Tam- 

 worth, amusing everybody with the life-like likenesses of 

 Meynell people and their horses which he used to cut out 

 of paper. 



From Willington Mr. FitzHerbert moved to Norman- 

 ton, in the Atherstone country, till the spring of 1843, 

 when he stayed at Tissington for a year. Then came a 

 few months on his father's estates in Jamaica, after which 

 he settled down, in 1845, to a long spell of Bench-ing (to 

 coin a word), hunting, and farming. About this time a 

 little boy asked, " What are you, sir ? " and the reply was, 

 "I am a farmer." The Eev. Francis Mosley Spilsbury 

 was curate there, as fond of hunting as the squire him- 

 self. One day hounds were running hard across Somersal 



