134 NIMRODS HUNTING TOUR 



is an amazing set off to the appearance of them. One week's travel- 

 ling through tlie dirty lanes of Leicestershire, or a good day's sport 

 in the Widmerpool country, would take off much of the polish, and 

 some of the beauty. It is not a little singular, that the names of 

 the two favourite studhounds in this celebrated pack should be 

 Wellington and Waterloo ! and their blood is much in request. 



On Friday the 25th, met the Duke at Sarsgrove, three miles from 

 Chipping Norton on the Stowe Eoad — reckoned a good fixture, but 

 a bad place to get away from with hounds. This being the Duke's 

 first appearance at a good covert — added to its not being a hunting 

 day with the Warwickshire — a very large field were assembled. Our 

 fox took, what might have been supposed to have been, the most 

 favourable country for a scent — running over some low meadows by 

 the side of a brook ; but we had scarcely enough to keep us out of 

 a trot. Since I have been a sportsman, however, I never saw 

 hounds so ridden over, and pressed upon as they were on this day ; 

 and even the Duke's temper would not have stood it much longer. 

 Being on a white horse, and therefore conspicuous, I pulled up into 

 a walk, and saw them get up to their fox by the assistance of a 

 halloo, and kill him after a pretty little ring. 



We found another fox on this day, which having but three legs, we 

 killed in half a mile, and here our sport ended. 



"You have a new performer in Oxfordshire since I was here 

 last," said I one day to Sir Henry Peyton — "Mr. Webb." — "Very 

 good indeed," replied this candid and first-rate judge; "he rides 

 straight and well to hounds." Mr. Webb resided till lately in 

 Hertfordshire, and was a member of the Old Berkeley Hunt, but 

 now lives at Kiddington House. Mr. Webb also knows how to live, 

 as well as to ride, to which I can bear ample testimony ; and 

 he must be considered no small acquisition to that part of the 

 country. 



Monday the 28th, met the Warwickshire at Idlecote, three miles 

 from Shipston-upon-Stour. This has always been esteemed a good 

 fixture, and I have seen many pretty things from it. It is, how- 

 ever, too near the Braills Hills to be certain of sport ; and on this 

 day our fox seemed to seek the very worst part of the country, 

 which got me into a scrape with some of Sir Thomas Mostyn's 



