THE PROVINCES. 269 



1884, when Mr. Charles Morrell took the mastership. En- 

 cirding Oxford in its welcome embrace, this country runs a few 

 miles farther north-west to Islip, while on the south it joins 

 Mr, Garth's borders at Marlow. From Henley to Moulsford 

 it marches westward with the South Berkshire, from Moulsford 

 northwards to Islip with the Old Berkshire, while on the east 

 a pretty straight line from Wendover to Marlow divides it from 

 the Old Berkeley. A small country, it can carry only two days 

 a week, but it is a most unusual thing if on one at least of those 

 two days there is not some fun going. The best of the ground 

 is round about Thame, and that is certainly good enough, for it 

 is in fact a part of the Aylesbury Vale. South of this little 

 town, which shares with Oxford the command of the country, 

 lies the inn of the ' Three Pigeons,' the best of all their fixtures, 

 with its light grass, its flying fences, and — Haseley Brook, name 

 of delight or fear to many an Oxonian, according to the hydro- 

 phobic qualities of himself and his horse. In the immediate 

 neighbourhood of Oxford the country grows worse for riding. 

 Here are the woodlands, those ' Quarters ' already spoken of. 

 ' Wet, grim woods are these,' says a recent writer, ' dark within 

 and cold without ; but they make hounds, and they give a certain 

 amount of sport, though their depths are unfathomable and 

 their rides bid defiance to a stranger.' Yet there is many a 

 green spot in this grim district ; one of the best gallops ever 

 enjoyed by the present writer during his sojourn at Oxford was 

 with an afternoon fox from Stow Wood. 



Directly south of the Pytchley, between the Bicester and 

 Mr. Lowndes's countries lies that hunted by the Duke of 

 Grafton's hounds. Early in the present century this pack 

 had quite a character of its own, thus graphically described by 

 ' The Druid : ' 



They were rather round than deep in their bodies, had good 

 legs and feet, were very stout, but wild as hawks. No fox could 

 live before them if he hung, and they did not change ; but over 

 the open, when the morning flush was on them, they could not 

 hold it, and could never pinch him. They ran by ear more than 



