48 NIMROD'S HUNTING TOUR 



3-esides. I am not aware that he claims kindred with a Eight 

 Honorable Secretary of the same name, but each, we must allow, 

 is a prime minister i)i his waij. 



One of the hardest riders which Warwickshire has had to boast of 

 is Mr. Edward Gale Morant, who resided for many years at Upton 

 House, near Edge Hill, one of the seats of the Earl of Jersey, and 

 where he kept a clever pack of harriers, to amuse himself wuth on the 

 intermediate days. Mr. Morant is an old Meltonian, and one of 

 the heroes of the Billesdon Coplow. I cannot call him a tine horse- 

 man, but as a determined rider over a country he has few equals ; 

 and no man in England would beat him for fifteen minutes when 

 hounds run very hard, or for fifteen hours if his horses could carry 

 him so long, as he has strength for any exertion, and nerve for any 

 fence. It is, however, "the pace that kills," and this Mr. Morant 

 has too often proved ; for so briskly does he put them along, that 

 he never had but one hunter that could carry him through a run of 

 an hour. This was a thick, little, hard-pulling chestnut-horse got 

 by No Pretender, shewing a great deal of good breeding, and such 

 was his stoutness that it was difficult sometimes even for Mr. Morant 

 to stop him. In the real sense of the words, he was no pretender, 

 for he would go long after nature said " enough." Mr. Morant, 

 however, is of all others the man to ride a horse in distress ; for 

 towards the end of a run it always appeared a matter of perfect 

 indifference to him whether his horse cleared his fences or not, so that 

 by some means or other he could get into the next field. Falls seemed 

 but a minor consideration : his object was to put his horse at the fence, 

 leaving it to chance, or fortune, whether he got safe over it or not. 

 When hounds went their very best pace, then Mr. Morant was in 

 his element. Had he been less severe on his horse, he would have 

 seen more sport ; but the cream of the thing was what he wished to 

 gather, and as long as it lasted he had it in perfection. His pleasure, 

 however, was generally short-lived, for no horse that ever was 

 foaled could sustain his pace long. 



It was sometimes diverting to see Mr. Morant in distress ; and on 

 one occasion in particular he afforded considerable amusement to a 

 large portion of the field. It was in Mr. Corbet's time, and we had 

 had a capital run of an hour and ten minutes, and killed. After 



