54 NIMROD'S HUNTING TOUR 



nerve for the many summers that have rolled over his head. He is 

 in a large way of business in London, and has a house close to 

 Croydon. What is also most extraordinary, he never hunted till he 

 was fifty ; but when on his favorite old King Bladud horse, which 

 he has ridden seven seasons, I am told no man in Surrey can beat 

 him, nor will any fence stop him. He sticks to the old costume of 

 the cap, straight-cut coat, and the leathers, and looks like anything 

 but a quick one. 



The stag-hounds are Mr. Cochran's favorite pack, as the following 

 anecdote will shew : — In one of his rooms he has got the head of a 

 deer stuffed, supposed to be in the act of looking over some park 

 paling, which, for effect, is also introduced in the room. When old 

 King Bladud has run his mortal race, his head in the opposite 

 corner will complete the amusing scene. 



" Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more ! " 



There is an anecdote or two of this gentleman which should not be 

 lost to posterity. Getting a bad fall one day, he was laid out for dead 

 on a hurdle, and a surgeon immediately sent for. " Where shall 1 

 find him ? " said the doctor. " In such a field," said the messenger, 

 " on a liurdla." The doctor found the field and the hurdle, but the 

 "veteran," by the aid of a little cognac from his side-pocket, had 

 re-mounted his horse, and was gone to the hounds again. 



There was another sample of the old costume in the field, who 

 attracted my notice ; and that was Mr. Percivall, father to Veterinary- 

 surgeon Percivall, of the Eoyal Eegiment of Artillery, author of 

 " Lectures on the Veterinary Art." 



There is one member of the Surrey Hunt who deserves a place 

 here as a character which all true sportsmen must admire ; and that 

 is Mr. Hobson. A Jollijfe is known by his licit ; but in the winter, 

 no man can tell Mr. Hobson by his coat ; for, though he never turns 

 it, he changes it as often as Rarlequiii in a pantomime ; for he hunts 

 with three packs of hounds, and wears " the livery" of each, never 

 missing a day. This, however, is not the most extraordinary part 

 of the story. His house is situated at Stamford Hill, five miles 

 north of London, whither he never fails to return every night, after 

 hunting, over London-bridge, though certain to be in Surrey again 



