206 NIMRODS HUNTING TOUR 



One other anecdote passed across my mind here, when speaking 

 of asking a man the question of " tvhat horse do you ride? " The 

 facetious Mr. Edward Goulburn — now exercising his talent at the 

 Bar — formerly hunted in Warwickshire ; and seeing a Worcestershire 

 Squire laughing violently, he went up to him and said, " Quid rides ? " 

 ("what do you laugh at?") My friend, not much of a linguist, 

 replied, " My Magog horse." This liberty with the Latin language 

 was, I think, never excelled but once. An Oxonian was being 

 examined a few years since for his degree, when the following 

 passage presented itself : — Loquehantur Aioostoli miracula Dei — 

 Anglice, "the Apostles set forth the miracles of God." The young 

 one, however, rendered it thus: Apostoli, "Oh ye Apostles" — 

 loquehantur, " look about you " — miracula, " here's a miracle " — Dei, 

 "by God." This, however, was a lucky hit; for the examining 

 master shut the book, and exclaimed, "By G — d, yoii are a miracle, 

 and you shall have your degree." 



We had a beautiful find on Nescliffe Hill, and a very sharp 

 twenty-five minutes with the bitch-pack — to ground. It was near, 

 how^ever, being a day of sorrow. That good sportsman and true 

 friend to fox-hunting, Mr. Lloyd of Aston, got a most severe fall, 

 and very narrowly escaped being killed. To use his own words, he 

 was going "at the rate of forty miles an hour to the tune of the 

 Ladies," when, in some very deep ground, his mare fell with him, 

 and all but broke his neck. When I saw him picked up, his face 

 was as black as his hat, and from the discoloration that afterwards 

 appeared on the vertebrae of the neck, it was evident that it was a 

 " near go." 



Tuesday, went to meet Sir Eichard Puleston's hounds at 

 Petton, about half way between Shrewsbury and Ellesmere, and 

 one of his best fixtures ; but the frost had made its appearance 

 again, and we could not throw off, which disappointed me much, 

 as I was anxious to see my old friend's pack once again in the 

 field. 



On Wednesday Sir Bellingham sent the dog pack to Hardwicke, 

 Lord Hill's seat, to shew them to Sir Eichard Puleston, and we 

 followed them in the drag — frost harder and harder, and neither of 

 us very lively on the road. 



