56 NIMROD'S HUNTING TOUR 



time. The moment a hound challenged on scent, his pulse 

 quickened, his eye sparkled, and I was certain he had been a 

 sportsman in his time ; and I afterwards learned that he had formerly 

 kept hounds. He now keeps a mad-house ; and looks as if he had 

 just broke loose from one himself. Eeader, mark his dress, and I 

 think you will agree with me ! He had a light pepper-and-salt coat, 

 over the collar of which hung his venerable tresses, which, in the 

 language of the stable, wanted trimming. He wore white jean 

 trowsers, which, with apparent difficulty, were pushed down into his 

 boots, and these were gartered above his knees with brown leather 

 straps and buckles. Fortunately for decency, he had breeches under 

 them ; for, as he went over or through everything, they were soon 

 made an example of. All that we can say to this is, that there is no 

 accounting for tastes ; but, as sportsmen, we must all admire that 

 which brings a man a hunting at all at an age when half the world 

 are not even fit to talk about it. All wine, however, we are told, 

 does not grow sour with age, neither does every man ; and it was a 

 pleasure to grow old at Lacedaemon. 



The Union is a very old-established subscription pack of fox- 

 hounds in the county of Surrey, and were for many years under the 

 management of Mr. Bolton, of Gibbins Court, near Leatherhead, 

 whose son now holds that honorable post. Their kennel is at 

 Petcham, one mile from Leatherhead on the Guildford road, and 

 contains about fifty couples of hunting hounds. Their country on 

 the right hand of this road is tolerably good ; but on the left, hilly 

 and flinty. Their fields are not large — seldom exceeding fifty or 

 sixty persons ; but they are, for the most part, of that description of 

 men which one is in the habit of seeing by a covert's side in better 

 sporting countries. They are well mounted, well appointed, and 

 look like gentlemen. 



Of the Union hounds I cannot at present say so much as I wish, 

 having been only out with them a few times. Like many other 

 packs from the same cause, they have suffered of late years from 

 want of a good huntsman — so particularly necessary in such a 

 country as Surrey — and were getting somewhat into disrepute. 

 This defect, however, was remedied when the Worcestershire hounds 

 were given up, by Mr. Bolton hiring Christopher Atkins, who hunted 



