LORD ANSON 147 



to his usual practice — giving him a fall at about every third fence. 

 It soon, however, was evident that he could only distinguish upright 

 objects ; the consequence was, that whenever the ditch was on his 

 side of the fence, he was as certain to be down ; but gates, stiles, 

 and fences with ditches on the other side, he was able to take to the 

 last; and, strange to say, tJiat althougli he had eleven bad falls, Mr. 

 Kingscote got to the ' end of this terrible run ' before the hounds had 

 worried their fox ! Lord Anson told me that he was lucky enough 

 to change his horse in the middle of it ; but declared it to be his 

 opinion that no one horse could have carried a man with the hounds 

 to the end of it. 



It is not to be marvelled at that so much respect is paid to blood 

 by all breeders of animals, when we see it distinguish itself so 

 conspicuously in men ; where we generally find the old proverb 

 verified, that "like begets like." I shall never forget being in the 

 company of that facetious old sportsman, the late Mr. Leech, of 

 Garden in Cheshire (who hunted that country so many years, and 

 whose society was so delightful to every one), when it was observed 

 to him, that the son of an old and very convivial friend of his was 

 filling a bumper every time the bottle passed him. "Why," said 



Mr. Leech, "I don't wonder at that ; for, got by old out 



of a sister to ... . the lad must drinl\" This anecdote somewhat 

 applies to the gentleman I have been speaking of. He is the son of 

 the late Mr. Thomas Kingscote (brother to the Colonel of that name 

 of sporting celebrity, and founder of the Kingscote Eacing Club), 

 and his mother is a sister of Sir Henry Peyton. Both himself and 

 his brother — who is in the Life Guards — are six feet three inches 

 high, of peculiarly fine form, and most straight-forward riders to 

 hounds. 



I met Lord Anson again the next morning at Coome Abbey, the 

 seat of the Earl of Craven. Lord Craven, we know, is a good friend 

 to fox-hunting ; and the objection to Coome Woodlands used to be 

 the frequent change of foxes ; but on this day we drew it blank ; and 

 the only sign of a fox in the neighbouring coverts was a stale scent 

 which the hounds spoke to for about two hundred yards. 



On the 22nd met the Quorn hounds at Oadby toll-bar, five miles 

 from Leicester on the Market Harborough road. The last time I 



