THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 121 



interesting description of a run with Mr. Meynell's 

 hounds, together with the extraordinary incidents which 

 occurred in it, was listened to with much delight ; more 

 especially by the two young ones, who glanced a signifi- 

 cant look at each other, towards the conclusion of it, as 

 much as to say, " That is the country and those are the 

 hounds for us." Sir John, indeed, began to reflect whether 

 he were not pursuing a losing game by keeping six hunters 

 in hi* own country instead of twice six in Leicestershire, 

 and enjoying fox-hunting in 'perfection. But there were 

 reasons which more than counterbalanced this very strong 

 inducement on his part. Independently of a wish to 

 reside on his own property, in compliance with the death- 

 bed request of his father, his passion for the road quite 

 equalled that for the chase, and for this purpose he could 

 nowhere be so well situated as at home, for reasons that 

 have already been detailed. 



But to return to the journey down the road. The first 

 stop was at Hounslow, where, according to the usage of 

 those days slow compared with the present the bearing 

 reins were let down, and the noses of the horses plunged 

 into a bucket of cold water, with a swallow or two each, 

 and most refreshing must it have been to them, after 

 toiling through ten miles of dust, for there were no 

 watered roads in those days. A glass of sherry and a 

 biscuit were also partaken of by the party, and onward they 

 proceeded towards the course. At the point at which the 

 roads branch off just outside of the town of Hounslow 

 the Baronet exclaimed, pointing to the Oxford fingerpost : 



" That is my old road. There are my old associations ; " 

 and, turning himself round towards Hargrave, and after- 

 wards towards his young friend on the box, he added, 

 " there, no doubt, are yours also. There stands the 

 ' Magpies ' on the heath, where I first milked the bull, 

 and there is to be seen Jack Bailey, my faithful friend 

 and preceptor, coming up with his coach ; and an out- 

 and-out coachman he is. And next, old Baldwin of 

 Slough, whose books were always as open to me as his 

 house, whose tick was as good as his wine was bad. Then, 

 passing by Eton for I was sick of that place, and all its 

 host of learned tyrants what can beat old Shrubb, 1 at 

 Benson, and a good dinner in Xo. 3 ? But I am not 

 going to stop there. Can I forget Christchurch, and the 

 1 The landlord's name, at the head inn. 



