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MR. MEYNELL S HOUNDS CROSSING THE SOAR, February 24th, 1800.

Mr. Musters. jack Raven.

Lord George Germaine. Mr. Loraine Smith.

Photogriij[>Jied, by feriuissiov 0/ Mr. Rollestoii, from an old priut.

BOOK

HUNTING SONGS

SPORT

COLLECTED BY

MRS. CHAWORTH MUSTERS,

AND DEDICATED TO

THE RIGHT HON. EARL FERRERS,

iS8=5.

NOTTINGHAM : PRINTED BY R. ALLEN AND SON, LIMITED, CAXTON HOUSE.

RIGHT HON. EA.RL FERRERS, M.F.H.,

In Remembraxce of

A FRIENDSHIP OF MANY YEARS,

AND OF

" The Mirth, and the Adventure, and the Sport that we have shared."

CONTENTS.

A Hunting Song

January 13th, 1874

" Sende hym along " ..

Quorn Hounds, 1867

Elegy on the Death of Honest Ball

The Forsten Hunt

Letter

The 19th January, 1793

The 22nd March, 1793

Wednesday, February 9th, 1881

Reminiscences of the Shows of Foxhounds at Osbert jn, abuu

The Hur worth Fox Chase ..

The Bedale Hounds in 183S

The Prophet in his own Country ; or, Dufty in Derbyshire .

An exact Account of the Fox Chase on ye znd of December,

A Run with the " West of Fife "

Lord Gardner

Hazleford Ferry ..

The Eufford Hounds . .

The Glory of Motion

" Formosissimus Annus " •• ..

How we beat the Favourite

Notes from Will Stansby's Diary at Badminton, 1843 . .

A Legend of Galway

The Lover's Leap

The Charlton Hunt

Hunting Song for the year 1824 . .

A Run with the S. O.

The Old Hound

The days when I rode with the Quorn

t 1825

745

A Fragment

Thoughts on Hunting

The Hill's Wood Run with the Berkeley Hounds

On the Death of the Fox at Gopsall, 1868

The Stable Boy

"My Old Horn"

" Rouse, boys, rouse "

On the Death of Capt. Berkeley's Horse

The Foremost Flight

Patrick's Bear Slaying : a Parody

In Memoriam

A Day with the Queen's Hounds

Hunting in Durham ..

The Lambton Hounds

A few good Runs with Frank Gillard, 1871 to 1878

A Season's Sport with the Quorn

The Gallant Little Grey

Col. Thomson's best Run with the Atherstone, 1849

The Charndon Run with the Bicester

The Waterloo Run with the Pytchley, Feb. 2nd, 1866

The Lundin Run with the Fife Hounds, November 30th, 1877

Hunting Song of Mr. Meynell's time, about 1790

A Legend of the Quorn Countrie

Hunting Song of Sir Harry Goodricke's time

Billesdon Coplow, Feb. 24th, 1800

Memoir of the Mastership of the Fifth Duke of Buccleuch . .

In Memoriam: George Whyte-Melville

Extract from " Baily," 1871

To Nicolas

My Old Horn ..

A List of Masters of the Quorn . ,

Run with Lord Ferrers* Hounds

Run with the Duke of Rutland's Hounds ..

Run with Mr. Jarvis's Hounds

Run with Lord Galway's Hounds

Letter from Mr. Raynes, of Bawtry .»

Run with the South Notts. Hounds ••

TAGE 79

79 8S 87 89 90 91 93 96

99

lOI

104 107 108 no

117

131 132 133

138

1 48

150 157

160

'63 172 174

^7S

183 184 186 194 196 199

ZOI 202 ZO4

" We were much pleased lately with the snuggery of a great ex-huntsman, where we turned in for a couple of hours to chat of old times. Among the prints was a very characteristic one of old Meynell, sitting in his study-chair and pigtail, and giving orders to Jack Eaven, who stands with a comfortable little corporation at the door. Jack appears in the well-known Billesdon picture on Loadstone, opening the gate with his whip ; but the old horse wants no more, and resolutely puts his foot in the gate, while Mr. Lorraine Smith is wading with his coat, like an old woman's petticoats, in his hand. The drawing is bad, but the song which illus- trates it is so scarce, and those few who possess it seem to have it only in MS., that we reprint it here, simply premising that there are one or two names of which there may be a different reading."

A HUNTING SONG.

Tune — " Deert Down."

Was there ever such work ? as our leaders oft say Was there ever yet seen such a glorious day ? Not Meynell himself, the king of all men, Ever saw such a chase, or will see such again.

Derrv Down.

Billesdon Coplow 's the place where the contest began, And away from the covert bold Eeynard soon ran : Two hours and a quarter, 1 think, was the time — It was beautifully great, nay indeed 'twas sublime.

Derry Down.

At Skeffington earths the villain did try, Then, making all speed, to Tilton Wood did he fly : By Skeffington Town he soon after came back, And at Tugby was near being caught by the pack.

Derry Down.

Then passing by Stretton to Wigstone he went. And at Ailstone we thought that the rogue must be spent ; But for crossing the river he found a good place, And, changing at Enderby, finished the chase.

Derry Down.

Scotch, Welsh, Irish, and English, together set out, A nd each thought his horse than his neighbour's more stout. You must judge by the nags which were in at the end Which riders to judge and which to commend.

Derry Down.

Lorraine and Lord Maynard were there, and could tell Who in justice's scale held the balance so well, As very good judges and justices too. The state of each horse, and what each man could do.

Derry Down.

But if anyone thinks he is grieved in the song, And fancies his case stated legally wrong, To Enderby Hall let him go and complain. But he won't mend his cause if he meets with Lorraine.

Derry Down.

Germaine, the most gallant, was first at tlie river ; Like a spaniel dashed in — how he made our hearts quiver ! And as Albion, as bold, he gave M ellon a pull, And beat thro' the stream like Europa's famed bull.

Derry Down.

Jack Musters, delighted at this bright example, Close on the dun's heels in the water did trample. He held by the tail, and got safe to the bank, Though the water ran over the grey horse's flank.

Derry Down.

Cox stood on the brink, and would fain have gone arter, But the hydrophobia made him turn at the water; So he scrambled away as fast as he could, And got up with the hounds at Enderby Wood.

Derry Down.

"We have not much to say of Morpath and Shelley, They at Skeffington stopped, I suppose, for a jelly. It is true they ride hard, and are said to be keen, But yet in this run they never were seen.

Derry Down.

"What came of Bob Grosvenor no poet can tell ; Not long with the pack did the gay bishop dwell ; He met brother South, and 'twas said by the people, That the parsons were perched up on Skefiington steeple.

Derry Down.

There they sat quite contented, like parson and clerk, And talked over things until very near dark. Till the bishop began to take fright at the weather. And their nags being fresh they reached Melton together.

Derry Down.

As 'twas late in the day the gallant Lord Craven, rinding matters grow serious, kept his eye on Jack Eaven But the old Eaven croaked when his horse was near done. So he changed with Ben Rowland and finished the run.

Derry Down.

In this state of distress my Lord Maddock saw, Who just in his nag had discovered a flaw ; Together they joined, and took leave of the pack ; Maddock trudged home, but the peer got a hack.

Lerry Down.

Of Bobby Montgomery, Messrs. Waddle and Cuft', As they say they can ride, I would fain say enough : Their riding displayed a spread eagle complete, And to those who were near must have proved a great treat. Derry Down.

Charles Meynell got in, but how he got there No sportsman could tell, for he made them all stare. We heard that the waggon had just passed the road — Why did not the waggoner stop with his load ?

Derry Down.

Of Joey Pantigious, 'tis said in a burst He finds it quite easy being second or first. We'd a chase on the pike, and he drove in his gig ; I then bet two to one on the little Pound Pij?.

Derry Down.

Of a mighty great king, how it lowered his pride To be walking on foot when his subjects did ride ; Though they passed by in numbers to no one he spoke. But like Charley the Second got up in the oak.

Derry Down.

Tho' late in the song, yet perish the thought That our gallant friend Villiers should e'er be forgot ; Some disaster, I fancy, his lordship befell, As he did not get in, tho' he rides very well.

J)erry Down.

Lord Charles rode on Marquis, so famed for his blood. And shared in all dangers except in the flood. Charles Ellis came up, but he got a fresh horse. And we saw by the change that he was not the worse.

Derry Down.

By the bye, I forgot to name Lawley of Quorn, Tho' forward at first lamed his horse with a thorn ; And losing a shoe is sometimes the reason "Why a gentleman's beat at the end of the season.

Derry Down.

Tom Smith in the contest maintained a good place. And tho' not first, at last made a famous good race. I'm sure he'd no cause for his horse to abuse. And I wish he'd persuade him to keep on his shoes.

Derry Down.

Mr. Saville and Nat dropped in at the end — Which the best of the nags I cannot contend ; For tho' they breathe high they are still full of fire. For he says they're so stout that they never do tire.

Derry Down.

I think now I've bored you enough wdth the chase. And like Meynell's hounds I have run a good race ; Then a bumper, my boys, to Meynell we'll fill. And to those that ride hard may they never stand still.

Derry Down.

Written by Me. Bethell Cox, from the Sporting Magazine^ 1856. For notes to most of the heroes of this 'po em, see ^'BiUesdon Coplow.''^

JaNIJAET loTH, 1874.

The old Hurworth foxhounds met at Croft Bridge this morning, under the mastership of Lord Castlereagh, who was prevented being present in consequence of a death in the family.

Drew the Willow Garths and the Skerne Banks up to Blackwell Hall, when a beautiful chesnut coloured fox broke away from under the old hollies and laurels in front of the hall. The fox then crossed the Great North Eoad, near what used to be the Angel Inn, and continued along the banks of the river Skerne till he came opposite Black Banks earths, when he crossed over, the horsemen having to go round to a bridge near Croft. He then ran past Kound Hill and Hur- worth Moor Farms, leaving Fighting Cocks covert to the right, crossing the Darlington and Stoclvton railway, near an old dram, in which many a good fox has taken refuge in former runs. And here George Dodds, the huntsman, showed the greatest energy in getting the hounds stopped, in consequence of a long mineral train running up the line, the driver taking no notice of signs to slacken. However, no harm was done, and the hounds picked the scent up quickly on the other side of the railway, and away to Little Burdon, where he was viewed in a field adjoining the earths. On he went to Great Burdon, crossed the Skerne to Wimbush, leaving Barmpton to the right ; he then re-crossed the Skerne, and, after running along the banks, crossed it again near Little Ketton, where he was viewed again on the Barmpton side into a small plantation, some of the field having to go round to a bridge near Ketton Hall, others having got over the Skerne at Barmpton. However, we all got together again near Newton Ketton. Hounds at check, in consequence of coming across some greyhounds

coursing here. They picked the scent up again, and on to Great Stainton with a rattle, turned towards Stelling- ton, then to the left to Elstob Hall, and crossed the Hartlepool railway to Bog Hall ; he then took a road for about a mile to Morden Moor, crossed in front of Sands Hall, and on to Sedgefield station, where he crossed the railway, ran for two or three fields and re- crossed the railway back to Morden, and then to Bog Hall covert ; never went in, but turned again to the north, and after viewing him for a few minutes the hounds ran into him at Brechon Hill farm. Time, 3 hours and 5 minutes. From point to point, 12 miles ; as the fox ran, about 22. There were five checks, the longest near Newton Ketton, and another when he turned from Stellington towards Elstob, where there is a fox earth, but he never went near it. In at the finish were a friend of Lord Castlereagh's on a chesnut horse, W. O. Elliot, M.P., T. Wilkinson, E. L. Ward, C. Backhouse, A. Park, J. W. Smith, J. Brown, George Dodds the huntsman, a whip, and a servant.

Written by Eev. J. "W. Smith,

Rector of Dinsdale.

"SENDE HYM ALONG;

OR,

Ye counsatle of olde Eobert to Matstee Henrie,

TE SONNE TO SqUYER NyMEOOD."

" Come, tell me, old Eobert — you can if you will — How to go to the fore with the best of the throng ;

I can sit on Bay Jerry, don't care for a spill.

And I just want to know how to send him along.

" Aye, aye, Mayster Harrie, I'll tell you with glee —

For I'm right glad to see to th' old stock you belong ; So now for a moment just listen to me. And you sha'nt be the last as you send him along.

" Be in time — then drop down to the covert's lee side ;

Throw away your cigar, leave the jest and the song ; Creep in and keep quiet in some likely ride ;

Sit still — but be ready to send him along.

" Watch closely the hounds as they carefully draw — Mark the note of the true one that now throws his tongue ;

Ears attend for the holloa — ' away, gone away ! ' — Then down like a lightning flash send him along.

" He's away, he's away, and you're well away, too ;

You've got a good start, and there's nothing gone wrong ; The pack's all before you, all mad for a view —

Up, up in your stirrups, and send him along.

" You're well over some big 'uns, and in the first flight ;

Never heed those that follow, pell mell and ding dong ; Never look to the left, never look to the right,

But keep your eyes for'ard and send him along.

'* The country gets closer, the brooks deep and wide, And some timber it looks most uncomfortably strong ;

But the low viewing nag will take each in his stride As you sit down upon him and send him along.

" Near an hour you've been at him, the pace 'gins to tell, And tails they are shaking like tails in Hong Kong ;

So look to your hand, and your head, too, as well, As you sit close and nurse him, yet send him along.

•' He's now sinking fast — they are close at his brush — ' Whoo-oop ! ' they have got him ; one crack from your ^ thong,

Then jump off — get away from the wrangling rush,

And thank Eobert, who taught you to send him along."

Written by the late Ret. H. 0. Coxe,

Librarian of the Bodleian.

QUOEN HOUNDS, 1867.

Tune — " Who can tell,"

When \^ill the *Marquis come ? Who can tell ?

Half-past twelve or half-past one ? Who can tell ?

Is he sober, is he drunk ? Nipping "like Mjn heer von

Dunk? Will he ride or will he funk ? Who can tell ?

Shall we have to wait again ? Who can tell ? In the wind and in the rain ? Who can tell ? While the Marquis, snug and warm, in the hall where

toadies swarm, Leaves us to the pelting storm ? Who can tell ?

Where'll he draw by way of luck ? Who can tell ? Gartree hill, or Bradgate Park ? Who can tell ? Sport regarding as a jest, which will suit his fancy best — North or south, or east or west? Who can tell?

Harry, last Marquis of Hastings, died iS

10

Where, oh where, rings G-oodaH'sf horn ? Who can tell ? Whj came I with this cursed Quorn ? Who can tell ? Marquis, this is not a race ; Can you look us in the face, And declare you love the chase ? Who can tell ?

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OE HONEST BALL.

Scene — The Close next the Eoad at Aston.

'Twas on a verdant pasture's side, Thro' which the tinkling riv'lets glide,

And sportful lambkins play ; Where ever steady faithful Ball, Obedient to his master's call,

His time had grazed away.

When lo ! a huntsman's voice was heard. His head old Ball in transport reared,

He hailed each choral hound ; The conscious snort his pride declared, In ev'ry neigh his joy appeared —

He spurned the trembling ground.

Of fond ideas what a train,

Of blissful pleasures \vhat a chain,

Then sprung into his heart ! All rapture will abound, says he, To my good master and to me,

That hunting can impart.

t Mr. Tailby's huntsman.

11

He mused, and musing called to mind Each end- way chase with stag and hind,*

And eke with wily fox. Eeflection echoed back the tale f Of every hill and every dale,

01 woods, and crags, and rocks.

Still had he mus'd, but cross his thought, "With worth intrinsically wrought,

Stept forth a Mundy's name ! Till now Ball never knew the laws, Nor the criterion, nor the cause

Of modern hunter's fame.

He starts, displeas'd with bootless lore, AVhich Burdett us'd in days of yore.

Displeasure makes him rave ! Ye gods, says he, what time I've spent. And never knew what hunting meant

Till one foot's in the grave !

Again he cools ; the gods implores, That e'er he reach the Stygian shores

One good day's sport be given. He vows a day to Ticknall gorse Will make him happier than the horse

Which Mah'mett rode to heaven.

* Alluding to divers chases, in which Ball attended Mr. Shutlleworth's deer hounds.

•t Alluding to a famous chase with Sir Robert's old foxhounds from Gorsty Leas quite away to Anchor-Church Rocks.

12

He spoke, when, bursting from a cloud, A phantom in a silver shroud

Forewarned him of his end. It cried out, ' Ball, thou'rt quite undone, And, as thy loving master's gone,

A fav'rite has no friend.'

Ah ! presage sad, 'twas but too true — For see, the ruthless Jack's in view —

Behold his bloody knife ! The fatal sisters gave the word, Which Jack observ'd with fell accord,

And clos'd the Book of Life.

Ungrateful man ! is this the need That's due to each old gen'rous steed

For ev'ry kind relief? Was it for this that heaven gave Each brute to thee to be thy slave

When thou'rt of brutes the chief.t

+ I owe this curious old poem to the kindness of Mr. Rolleston, of Watnall. who found it among some family papers. The individuals mentioned in it I take to have been Sir Robf.rt Burdett, of Foremark, who died in 1797 ; Francis Noel Clarke Mundt, Esq., of Markeaton, who married Sir Robert's daughter, Elizabeth, and kept a pack of hounds in Derbyshire within the memory of persons still living; and James Shuttlhworth, EsQ.,of Gaw- thorp, M.P., who married Mary, the daughter and heiress of Robert Holden, Esq., of Aston, the scene of the song. I should imagine "honest Ball" to have been the property of the Rev. John Rolleston, who was for forty years Rector of Aston, and married Dorothy, the youngest daughter of Sir Robert Burdett, and died 1770.

13

THE FOESTEN HUNT.

Ax IMITATION OE PAEODT OF AN IeISH HUNTING SoNG, ADAPTED AT EoESTEN, IN THE YEAE 1761.

Hark, hark, jolly sportsmen, awhile to my tale, To pay your attention I'm sure you can't fail ; 'Tis of dogs, and of horses, and lads who ne'er tire O'er downs or o'er heaths, thro' furze, brakes, or mire. A pack of such hounds, and a set of such men, 'Tis shrewd chance if ever you hear of again. Had Nimrod, that mightiest of hunters, been there, Egad ! he'd have shook like an aspen for fear.

In seventeen hundred and sixty one,

The month of December was scarcely begun ;

At eight in the morning by most of the clocks

We set out from Eorsten in search of a fox.

Jack Trenchard and Simnes, that parson in grey.

And Furber, the farmer, were with us that day,

^ Jack Fane and tNed Phelips, those hunters so stout,

Blair, Jones, and Tom Meggs, and so we set out.

We cast off our hounds for an hour or more,

When Piper set up a most tuneable roar.

" Hark to Piper," cries Scott ; the rest were not slack.

For Piper's no babbler esteemed by the pack.

Old Miller and Polly came merrily in.

And all the hounds joined in the musical din ;

Had Diana been there she'd been pleased to the life,

And one of the lads got a goddess for wife.

• Jack Fane, afterwards gth Earl of Westmoreland, t Ned Phelips. — Edward Phelips, Esq., of Montacute.

u

Ten minutes past ten was the time of the day When Reynard unkennelled, and this was the way : From G-range to Mount Silver and Clenger he past, Thro' Hawkham and Hackham to Kingrose at last ; O'er the hill to Fair Mile and Puddle's smooth down — In Wootton's strong brake the caytiff did run ; The turnpike he crossed, leapt Lord Ilehester's wall, And seemed to say, " Little I value you all."

Then close by Will Pitt's to Gallam he runs,

Blair, Jones, and Tom Meggs kept leading by turns ;

The earths were all open, yet he was so stout,

Tho' he might have got in, yet he chose to keep out.

To Elsington wood like a bullet he flew —

At Tinkleton parish we had him in view ;

To Frampton's bog next, o'er heaths wild and dreary.

Where Meggs and the parson and Trenchard grew weary.

Then away to the cliffs like an arrow he past, And came near the Castle of Lulworth at last, Where he valiantly plunged himself into the sea, And said in his heart, " Who dares follow me?" But soon to his cost he perceived that no bounds Could stop the pursuit of the staunch mettled hounds. His policy here did not serve him a rush — Five couple of tartars were close at his brush.

To recover the shore again was his drift.

But, e'er he could get to the top of the clift,

He found both of strength and of cunning a lack —

Killed, worried, and torn by the rest of the pack.

At his death there were present the lads whom I've sung.

Save poor Jacky Trenchard, whom Badger had flung,

And thus we concluded this delicate chase,

Which lasted three hours and ten minutes' space.

15

At eve we returned home to Forsten again. Where dwells hospitality, truth, and Jack Fane. We talked o'er the chase, and we toasted the health Of the man who ne'er varies for places or wealth. " Charles Blair* baulked a leap," says Phelips ; " 'twas

odd;" " 'Twas shameful," cried Jones, " by the great living God." Says Meggs, "I halJooed, get on, tho' you fall. Or I'll leap over you, your blind stone horse and all."

To the drawing room next, for Augusta,! the fair,

And VVoodford, the merriest of damsels, were there ;

Ned Phelips' sister, Maria, his wife,

And the girl Ben Simnes had just taken for life.

No scandal or folly their converse dispense.

But wit with good humour, and mirth with good sense.

As Pallas and Dian the hunters befriend,

The muses and graces these ladies attend.

Our evening, devoted to freedom and sport, All party affairs we consigned to the court. The ladies, the fairest Britannia can boast. Were each in their turn proclaimed as a toast ; And thus we concluded the day and the night Jn jollity, sport, and in social delight. And as Phoebus befriended our earlier roam, 80 Luna took care to conduct us safe home, t

•Charles Blair afterwards married Lady Mary Fane, and, with "Jones," was guardian to John, loth Earl of Westmoreland.

t Mrs. John Fane, daughter of Lord Albemarle Bertie.

tForsten, "where dwelt hospitality, truth, and Jack Fane," is three miles north of Dorchester. From Grange Wood, where they "unkennelled" their fox, to Lulworth Shore, where they killed him, is twenty and a half miles, as the crow flies.

16

DeAE MeS. MuSTEIiS,

I am no hand at writing a run, but can give you the following particulars of the one you mention. The date was Monday, January 28th, 1878. The Blankney hounds met at the 7th milestone, Newark road. We found directly in Tunman's Wood, and came away over the Newark and Lincoln road, ran past Haddington to Hykeham plantation, which we left a field to the left, and on past South Hykeham, over the line close to Wad- dington station, and up the hill into Waddington village. Here all the rest of the field got some wrong information, and lost the hounds, and I had them all to myself over the heath past Giles' Grorse to Branston, where we had a check, and Harry Dawkins, the hunts- man, and the first whip, who had ridden by my tracks over the heath, caught me up. We went straight on through the Park at Long Hills, past the end of Potter- hanworth wood ; but our fox was headed a field ofi" the wood, and turned to his left and got to ground in a rabbit hole in a small plantation, called Curtis', about a mile further on. Only Harry Dawkins, the first whip, and myself, were with the hounds when they stopt. Mr. Cooke, a. farmer from Scarle, came up afterwards, and Ave never saw anybody else. It is an eleven mile point, and was all down wind, and was the straightest run I ever saw ; none of it very fast, bub a good holding pace. The fox never touched a covert from find to finish.

Edwaed H. Nevile.

17

The 19th January, 1793.

Mb. Metnell's hounds met at Alsop's house (near Wymeswold), and found in the old cover; went away by Mr. Gooden's cover to Hell Hole, over part of Grotham Moor, over Leak Hills and Field, by Wysall, Keyworth, Kinoulton, Hickling, by Nether Broughton, Holwell, Scalford, to Goadby Park, and killed.

The hounds ran very hard for two hours and a half, all the horses being tired except Mr. Deverill's grey mare, Gaylass.

The 22nd of Maech, 1793.

Me. Metnell's hounds met at Whitehorse Wood. Found in .Bardon Hill; came away over the Eocks, Gracedieu Park, Oakley "Wood, Donington Park, and run to ground at Gorsty Leas. (This is a ten mile point, and most unusual line.)

From the diary o£ J. Jones, Mr. Meynell's whipper-in.

"Wednesday, Febeuaey 9th, 1881.

The snow, and frost, and fog were gone, And *' cheerly smiled the morn ;"

And many a sportsman's heart beat high To hear the well-known horn.

18

To the Magna Charta, Lowdham, From far and near they come ;

Some kindred souls from Derbyshire — Across the river, some.

Then, as the phalanx moved along

The road to Bleasby Gorse, With a watchful eye I scanned them,

Ev'ry man and ev'ry horse.

Like a lovely chequered ribbon

The little pack advance ; Fresh as paint, and bright as satin,

They long to lead the dance.

First comes Rolleston (r) upon Eocket, With a thoughtful huntsman's air ;

Taking counsel with George Shepherd, (2) Neat and jaunty as his mare.

Next, noblemen in scarlet coats,

A nd gentlemen in black, And ladies fair, and riders rare,

And Lielly (3) on a hack.

But Bleasby holds no customer — They cheer and " haicks " in vain.

While we sit cooling visibly, Predictino: it will rain.

1. Lancelot RoUeston, Esq., master and huntsman of the South Notts, hounds from 1876 to 1882.

2. George (really German) Shepherd, first whip and kennel huntsman to Mr. Musters, Mr. Rolleston, and Lord Harrington successively, and deservedly respected by all in the South Notts, country.

3. John Liell Francklin, Esq., of Gonalston, late M. F. H.

19

Halloughton "Wood — " but shall we find here ?"

Some say doubtfully and low. Hark ! that piercing scream is George's —

Now then, Talent, you may go.

How they race to get a start — see,

Straight a^ the fox they ride ! And thrust and sputter in the ploughs

That skirt the Dumble side.

Up to Bleasby, out towards Morton, Then round through Southwell parks,

"Where o er a gate Lord Petersham (4) Had one of his old larks.

And FDlingham, (5) that crafty man,

Here jumped a fence with glee ; And Howett (6) still, thro' good and ill,

Is riding wild and free.

The doughty Daft (7) is here o'erthrown,

Not by Australian ball ; But always quick on greensward,

Hurries Peter to a fall.

The master's down and up again,

And Rocket's pulling still ; And Henry Smith (8) is close behind.

Sinking the Halam Hill.

4. The present Earl of Harrington, born 1844. Now hunting the South Notts, country, 1883.

5. George Fillingham, Esq., of Syerston, a well-known and thorough sportsman.

6. Mr. Robert Howett. of Woodborough, a great promoter of hunting.

7. Mr. Daft, of Radclifife, the celebrated cricketer.

8. Henry Smith, Junr., of the Grove, Cropwell Butler, a keen and hereditary sportsman.

20

But when the hounds swing left again,

And past the Ash-Holts race, And circle right round Halloughton Wood,

What tells at last is pace.

Tor oh ! that eager morning field,

So gallant and so gay. Now hounds seem running for their fox,

Behold their sad array :

They scarce can trot, and far less jump —

The prudent now go home, Never thinking that the best fun

Is only yet to come.

But who is here so full of cheer —

A fresh horse full of ride ? Squire Sherbrooke, (9) who has nicked them,

Running the Dumble side.

Por an hour and forty minutes

They have hunted through the plough — See, the fox lies down before them !

They surely have him now.

Not a bit ; for over Halam,

On towards Edingley they stream ;

Onward, onward over Hexgrave — 'Tis a run we sometimes dream.

Now they're checking, we thank goodness. As we reach the welcome sand ;

Gallant Eolt (lo) has had a crumpler; Oxton's Squire embraced the land.

9. Henry Sherbrooke, Esq., of Oxton, who had been attending the Rufiord Hunt meeting at Ollerton ; and on his return, coming out to look for the hounds, by the greatest good luck fell in with them at this point.

10. Captain Rolt, a writer in the sporting papers.

91

They've hit it off through Inkersall,

Culloden's looming near ; Sporting Skelton, (n) thrusting Meeson,

Look grave when they get here.

Pittance Park they now are skirting, Where our fox finds many a friend ;

Like the Coplow run of history, Without a kill we end.

Two of Thoresby's worthy scions, (12) Two of Derby's sportsmen true, (13)

One descendant (14) of Jack Musters Saw this fine run fairly through.

Prancklin, Charlton, (15) Mills, {16) and Hibbert, (17)

Who besides must others say, Por I long had been defeated

On my little mare so gay.

Eleven miles from point to point,

Pull thirty all they ran ; Let us drink their healths this evening —

Pox and hound, and horse, and man. (i8j

L. C. MUSTKES.

11. Mr. Skelton, the steeplechase rider, and Mr. Meeson, a friend of Mr. Howett.

12. Lord Newark and his brother, Hon. Henry Pierrepont, who died the following year.

13. Lord Petersham and Mr. Palmer, of Stanton. 74. Miss Catherine Chaworth Musters.

15. Nicolas Charlton, Esq., of Chilwell.

16. Mr. Mills, of Burton Joyce.

17. Mr. Hibbert, of Nottingham,

18. From Bleasby Gorse, the furthest point to the south, to Culloden plantation, near Rufford, eleven miles.

22

EEMINISCENCES OF THE SHOWS OF FOXHOUNDS AT OSBERTOIST,

ABOUT 1825.

Oh Charley,* from Betley, how dare you appear With your Staffordshire turnspits in Nottinghamshire, And before the fine judgment of Lambton to bring A son of your Joker — some poor wretched thing — Against Pipers and Nestors to bear off a prize. Oh Charley ! hold hard, lest a thought should arise, That hunting in coal pits has blinded your eyes. The praises of Joker you've trumpeted forth O'er London's grand city and far thro' the north, Till you've cheated yourself into thinking, alas ! That a trumpet of silver you'd gain for your brass ; Or if broadcloth has tempted you hither to come, How dismal the prospect next winter at home : No saddle to shield you, no cloth will you win, And Joker will prove a bad jest for your skin.

E. HODSOF.

This was a letter from Mr. Hodson to Mr. Wick- sted before Mr. Foljambe's hound show, at which Mr. Wicksted's hound, Joker, took the prize of a horn for the master and a saddle and broadcloth for coats for the men.

* Charles Wicksted, Esq., of Betley, born 1796 ; also mentioned in "The Woore Country," which he hunted. He afterwards kept a most beautiful pack of harriers, a few of which his son, the present George Wicksted, brought to Oxford, and with them established the Christchurch harriers. Mr. Wick- sted died in 1870. His second son and namesake is the present master of the Ludlow hounds, and to him I am indebted for these amusing epistles.

93

Me. Wicksted's Eeplt.

Oh Nestor ! to joke thus how can you begin ? Forgetting the proverb, " let those laugh who win." Tour trencher-fed puppies won't win you one prize — Saddle, broadcloth, or trumpet, to gladden your eyes. Ere old Wells's coat shall be shorn of its skirts Both you and Will Danby shall work in your shirts ; Tor no Holderness tailor shall measure a stitch Of the broadcloth that's won by Holderness bitch. Ton must use your old saddles and break your old reins With pulling old screws thro' the Holderness drains. Of the silver-tongued trumpet depend on't no hound On the far side of Humber will e'er hear a sound. So from joking forbear — it will prove a wrong cast — For you're sure to be beat by a Joker at last.

THE HFEWORTH FOX CHASE :

A BALLAD, WRITTEN Olf THE OCCASION OF A MOST

EEMARKABLE EUN WITH Mr. ChAELES TuRNEE's

HOUNDS ON THE IST DAY OF SePT., 1775.

Attend, jolly sportsmen, I'll sing you a song, Which cannot fail pleasing the old and the young. I'll sing of a famous old fox and his wiles, And lead you a dance of at least fifty miles. I'll tell you a tale of such men and such hounds, With what courage they bound o'er all sorts of grounds How dogs vie with dogs, and how men with men strive- Old Draper may rue that he was not alive.

24

At Hurworth, fam'd village, as soon as 'twas light. We feasted our eyes with a ravishing sight : Each sportsman had pleasure and health in his face, And horses and hounds were all ripe for the chase. But first, the commander-in-chief I should name. The lord of Kirkleatham, of right honest fame, A friend to good men, but profess'dly a foe To villains of four legs as well as of two. We had not tried long before Rafter gave mouth — Esteemed by the pack as the standard of truth. They quickly fly to him, and instant declare That Kafter was right, for a fox had been there ; And, trust me, he proved a notorious blade. His name was Old Caesar, and plunder his trade : His namesake, in all the great battles he won, Spilled less blood by gallons than this rogue had done. Unken'lling at Eyreholme, he first tried a round In which he might run about four miles of ground. Then back to the earths, but the stopper took care To baulk him from making his quarters good there. Disdaining such treatment he flourished his brush. And seemed to say, " Sportsmen, I care not a rush ; I'll give you such proofs of my stoutness and speed That Nimrod himself would have honoured the breed." By Smeaton and Hornby he next took his way, Eesolved to make this a remarkable day ; Then wheeled to the left for the banks of the Tees, But there he could meet neither safety nor ease. Now finding with what sort of hounds he'd to deal. And that his pursuers were true men of steel, He pushed to gain shelter in Craythorne Wood, The hounds at his brush all eager for blood. The field all alive, now we smoaked him along, So joyous the music, each note was a song — All round us was melody, spirit, and joy.

25

Next passing by Marten and Ormesby Hall,

He seemed to say, " Little I value you all."

JFor many a stout horse was now dropping his speed,

And to see them tail off was diverting indeed.

Now found to be thought no contemptible fox,

He dared us to follow up mountains and rocks ;

But th' ascent was so steep and so painfully won,

That few gained the Eston Hall before he was gone.

To Kirkleatham Park he nexts points his career,

Hard pressed by the owner to spend his life there ;

Assuring him he and his guests would not fail

All possible honour to render his tail.

But Turner being now left alone on the field,

And finding Old Caesar unwilling to yield.

At Kilton thought proper to finish the strife,

So called off the dogs to give Caesar his life.

But Blue Bell and Bonny Lass would have a meal —

Whose hearts are of oak, and whose loins are of steel —

So followed him up to his friends of the mill,

Where triumphant they seized him and feasted their fill.

Then, just like attraction 'twixt needle and pole.

All center'd that evening in Kirkleatham Hall,

Where the bottle of red and the fox-hunting bowl

Not only refreshed but exalted the soul.

Then may the kind host long continue to grace

His country, his mansion, and also the chase ;

And, long as old Time shall be measured by clocks,

May a Turner for ever prevail o'er a fox.

By the Key. Me. Bramwell,

Eector of Hurworth.

26

THE BEDALE HOUNDS IN 1838.

Here's to the old ones of fox-hunting fame, Cleveland, Kalph Lampton and Harewood ;

Here's to the young ones that after them came Who will not say that they are good.

Here's to the master, (i) well skilled in the art

To kill an old fox in all weathers ; Here's to the riders, all ready to start,

Brilliant in boots and in leathers.

Here's to the hounds, all vigour and bone,

In condition excelling all others ; Here's to old Barwick,(2) who stands quite alone

In cheering them on thro' the covers.

Here's to the Sportsmen, I give you each name, Their feats and their fortunes in detail ;

North Riding heroes, all eager for fame. To be reaped in the country of Bedale.

On Borderer mounted see Milbank ride.

Three hundred won't buy such a horse, sir ; Limbs with no check to their freedom of stride,

Wind without whistle or cough, sir.

*' Tally Ho ! Toot a toot ! he is gone," says the squire —

Let any one catch them who can, sir : Who rides with my hounds a good horse will require,

And himself he must be a good man, sir.

Here's to the Duke,(3) if he leads not still Leeds,

To borrow a joke from his grace, sir; A nobleman true, both in word and in deeds.

And the firmest support of the chase, sir.

I. Mr. Milbank, of Thorp Perrow, died 1883. 2. Mr. Milbank's first whip.

3. The 6th Duke of Leeds, of whom Lord Darlington says, "The bril- liancy of the duke of Leeds's strict and assiduous preservation of the noble animal, the fox, showed forth most conspicuously to-day, and was as bright a gem as any in his grace's star, and most thankfully acknowledged by me."

27

Here's to the Gr8eme,(4) wlio does not disdain In a north country province to ride, sir ;

ITorgetting that once, thro' the Leicestershire plain, Scarce a rival could live by his side, sir.

Here's to the Colonel,(5) if warm be his name,

Both that and his heart go together ; In pleasant discourse, whilst we ride down the lane,

Let us be in no hurry to sever.

Here's to friend George, the beau of CamphilJ,

A good one, if fast be the chase, sir ; To pass him, 1 tell you, requires as much skill

As Fieschi, when he won the race, sir.

Here's to the Baron of Sawley so sly, —

Here's to his horse that is black, sir ; [Forgetting that always a crow cannot fly,

He fell o'er a fence on his back, sir,

Here's to Straubenzee, the dashing and bold. Taking all in his stroke like a man, sir ;

And the pith of the story remains to he told — You can't shake him oif from the " Van," sir.

Here's to the Major, the gallant and true.

In riding to no one he'll yield, sir ; See, he brings by his side a young damsel in view.

To beat half the men in the field, sir.

Here's to Dundas's,(6) both Thomas and John,

They come but to make us remember How short is their stay — for to London they're gone

Ere the end of the month of November.

4. Sir Bellingham Graham.

5. Colonel Arden.

t. Sons of the first Earl of Zetland.

28

Here's to the young ones, whose race scarce begun, Young Mark, and the ensign, his brother ;

They show of a stock most goodly they come, As they tread in the steps of their father. (7)

The gallant, the ardent, of promise so fair,

The Beresford brothers they bring ; A word from my pen must give them their share

Of the honours and glories I sing.

Many good ones remain — Hodson, Crompton, and Tower, Fox, Ward, and the young one from Norton ;

But to mention them all is not in my power, So, surely it cannot be thought on.

And here's to the squire of Thirsk, Jack Bell, (8) Who supports both the chase and the turf, sir ;

He will not, unless he likes it, go well, Tho' the hounds may run ever so fast, sir.

Here's a bumper to Milbank, the source of our sport —

A bumper to him and his hounds, sir ; Brim-full it shall be of the finest old port.

Where health and good humour abound, sir.

And may we all flourish till green our old age is,

Such fun and such sport to pursue, sir ; And your ''lame" humble poet to be hanged now engages

If his composition 's not true, sir.

By the Rev. John Monson, from " EecoUections of Sportsmen," &c., by Colonel Van Straubenzee.

Mr. Milbank's sons.

Master of the Hambledon hounds.

29

THE PEOPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY;

OE, DUFTT IN DERBTSHIEE.

187—.

In tlie days of Percy Williams, (i)

In the time of Scarbro's peer, (2) Lived at Epperstone a sportsman

Keen of sight and quick of ear. Looking down a grassy riding,

Or across his Dumbies dear. Never could a fox evade him.

Or escape his ringing cheer.

Ear away in Winkburn woodlands,

Or in Eufford's forest glade ; Erom the ancient gorse of Bleasby

To the Blidworth fir trees' shade ; Ev'ry earth and smeuse he knows them,

Ev'ry hole that e'er was made. " What a whipper-in is lost there,"

Wond'ring at him, people said.

By and by, when Squire Musters, (3)

Who to sport did ever lean, Wanted to revive the glories

That in South Notts, once were seen ;

1. Captain Percy Williams, the celebrated gentleman huntsman, master of the Rufiord hounds from 1841 to i860.

2. John, 8th Earl of Scarbro', died 1856.

3. John Chaworth Musters, born 1838. Hunted the South Notts, country from 1861 to 1868, the Quorn from 1868 to 1870, and, returning to South Notts, in 1871, hunted that country till 1876, when he was obliged, through ill-health, to give up his hounds.

30

Saying, " Let us liave some foxhounds — That may be which once has been."

Who so full of zeal as Dufty ? (4) Who so anxious ? who so keen ?

Still the same as years pass o'er him.

Clad in sportsmanlike array ; Hunting always j&nds him ready

With a scent to sail away. Does a flooded brook need fording ?

Dufty's here and knows the way. Does a straight-necked fox want finding ?

What has Dufty got to say ?

So at last we grew to think him

Filled with wisdom more than man ; Wily in the ways of creatures —

Fause as any fox that ran. One fine day our master, Eolleston, (5)

Hunting always all he can, Thinks to please his good friend Dufty,

And unfolds to him this plan : —

'' On next Saturday we're going

To a country rich and rare ; Full of covers, grass, and foxes —

Oh ! the scents that we have there ! You shall bring your horse to Gedling —

Place him in the train with care, Then be wafted smooth and swiftly

To that land beyond compare."

4. Thomas Dufty, of Epperstone, one of the best of sportsmen, and the hero of this poem.

5. Lancelot Rolleston, of Watnall. Hunted the South Notts, country from 1876 to 1882.

31

To the tempter Duffcy listened.

When the morning came he went, Travelled by Great Northern Eailway,

Still on Horsley Car intent. When he got there, quite delighted,

(Covers, foxes, grass, and scent,) All he found that he'd been told off —

" This is what the master meant."

Later on, that winter evening,

Coxbench covers must be drawn. " Dufty, you stand here to view him,

Close beside that black old thorn." You, I know, won't let him slip you ;

You're a man one need not warn." Small this cover is, and hollow —

Foxes here must soon be gone.

Hark ! the joyful news proclaiming !

Foxhounds' music fills the air ; Ev'ry heart beats loud and gaily,

Waiting Dufty's welcome cheer. Strange ! the silence still unbroken —

To that end he ran 'tis clear ; Hounds come pouring to the corner —

" Sir, I'm sure he's not gone here."

Can I tell this wondrous story :

How he passed 'neath Dufty's nose : Ean right down the ditch below him,

Almost grazed his horse's toes ? Sad and scornful were the murmurs

From the strangers there that rose. South Notts, men must now knock under —

Derbyshire o'er Dufty crows.

L. C. MUSTEES.

32

An exact account of the Fox Chase on ye 2nd of

Decembee, 1745, by his Grace the Duke of

Grafton's hounds, as follows : —

Unkenneld at half an hour past nine of the clock in the forenoon at Ladis Carr, near the Decoy in Euston, and from thence came away over the Heath to the Marie Pit, through Honington and by Sapson Carr. From thence to Bangor Bridge, came along the late Mrs. Eeade's Carr, and cross the road by Back Bridge. Went away for Stanton Chair, over the deal, and past Stanton earth, and then through ye corn grounds, the back side of Hepworth common to Seacey's hole, when we turned towards the right, and came thro' Walsham- le- Willows ; and then for Langham common down to Stow-langtoft, and across the river between Wayley poole and Stow bridge, and then to Packenham wood, and from thence to ye Kiln grounds, the back side of Thurston common. From thence to Beighton groves, and on to Drinkston and Hesset groves, and near Moule wood, and past Drinkston Hall ; and from thence to Eattlesden, between the great wood and the street, and thro' Haisel grove to Wood Hall, when ye hounds were at a check for two or three minutes, which was ye only check during the whole chase. The huntsman took a half cast, and hit it off, and came away across Buxhall, Fen Street, and from thence to Norfield, and by Fox Hill Grove, and across the Stow Market road to Day- worth hills, and thro' old Newton and bear-gipping wood ; then away for Stow upland, and from thence to West Greeting, over the green by Eay- don Hall ; then we turned on the right and came down to Combs, and across the two rivers by Cook's ivater mill, and across the road between Combsford and

Stow Market wind mills, and then thro' Mr. John Baylis' cheny yard to the sign of the Shepherd and Dog in one house, and killed by some hop yards, near William WoUaston's, Esq., at four of the clock in the afternoon.

N.B. — This is as Brief an account as can be given, notwithstanding there was several Rings and Turns too tedious to insert here. Ean through twenty-eight Parishes, which in whole, upon a moderate computation, is sixty miles by care.

John Goodrich.

Copied by the Duke of Grafton from an old sporting book at Euston Hall, 1860 (from A. Hamond).

Euston to Greeting is seventeen miles as the crow flies.— L. C. M.

A EUN WITH THE « WEST OE FIEE."

Eebeuaet 2nd, 1877.

Loud blows the wind around the house, Eain dashes on the pane ; The Western Hunt bemoan their fate, Eor the meet is Pitfirrane.

But, nothing daunted, on they pull Their breeches, spurs, and boots ; And come in Eed, and some in Black, And some in other suits.

84

A few appear on wheels that day. And two have come by rail ; But if I counted all who came, 'Twould make too long a tale.

The Hounds were brought before the door,

And gathered in a cluster ;

Their eyes shone bright,

High waved their sterns.

Their coats all shone with lustre.

The Master in the middle sits Upon his mare " Gazette ;" Says he, " The ground is very deep, " But I'll be with em yet."

Jack Shepherd, on the kicking mare, Is eager for the fray; And Harry Sinclair, second whip, Is on the snorting grey.

But time is up, so let us move, Lead on to Wood of Dean ; " Look out for riot," Harry, Jack ! " For hounds are very keen."

Then in they dash, and quest about, A fox can never rest here ; But hark ! a Hound two miles a-head ! No matter that, «'Tis ' Nestor.'" *

But now, a deep and solemn note

Is heard within the wood :

" 'Tis ' Roe,' " says Jack ; " 'Tis not," said I,

" 'Tis ' Eorester,' the good."

An incorrigible hare hunter, but afterwards turned out well.

35

" 'Tis ' Forester,' the good old Hound, " And hark, hark to his cry ;" Away they scramble through the brake, And quickly to him fly.

A whimper from a younger Hound, Who's rather in a fright, But " Reginald " and " Lurgan " come. And quickly set him right.

And now the chorus loud resounds Throughout the forest glade ; The fox begins to think that he Must leave its welcome shade.

Away he goes, and pointing south. As if for Shores of Forth, Holds on to Torrie Park, and then He bends a Httle north.

Through Oakley Woods and past the house, He leads a merry dance ; The owner would have liked the fun, Bat he's away in France.

On o'er the railway, up the hill. And past a farm he speeds ; " 'Twill put," the farmer loudly shouts, "My cattle ofl" their feeds."

Blair Wood appears, they do not dwell. But steady hunt him through ; Kinneddar's strips and policies Now burst upon the view.

36

Across the road bo Bandrum Hill, But here he runs his foil, A check ensues, we're all at fault, So round the hill we toil.

A shepherd waves his cap on high, " The Tod is north !" shouts he, " The biggest one that e'er I've seen ; *' He's near as long as me !"

Across the road we get a scent, Yes ! surely that's his line ; They score to cry ; away they go ; My certes, but it's fine.

Now " Eioter," he shoots a-head. Who once was fond of Hare, But now a fox is scarce afoot, But " Rioter " is there.

Still up the hill they stream away, " Excelsior" is the cry ; And some of us begin to think Our nags will surely die.

" Come up, good horse, we will be there, *' The hill we must get round," They cock their ears, their bristles rise, "We'll have him for a Pound !"

Now cast your eye along yon hedge, Which leads to Milton Den ; " 'Tis he ! I see his drooping brush ; *' He's mine for Three Pounds Ten !"

They view him now, and what a rush ! It is a glorious burst ; 'Tis " Saffron " now, 'tis " Stormer " yet ! Ah ! " Gaylad" has him first.

" Give me a pad," young Oswald cries, His riding was a caution ; His sister, who went well, is there. The Brush shall be her portion.

'* Give me a pad," George Prentice said, " To nail upon my door ;" " And me, and me," the others cry, Alas ! he has but four.

" The Hounds all up but one," says Jack, A Hound of evil habit ; Ha ! what's that going o'er the hill ? 'Tis " Kestor " with a rabbit !

But we must let him off this time, Nor Avhip, nor rate be heard ; 'T would never do to damp our joy — His punishment's deferred.

And now for home ; and though they say The " Eastern "f pack's the best. Then come and try, ye Eastern swells, A gallop with the " AYest."

Erom SiE Arthue Halkett. Pitfirrane, Feb., 1877.

t Colonel Anstruther Thomson hunted the East of Fife ; Sir Arthur Flalkett the West.

38

LOliD GAEDNER.

In the " Sporting Magazine," forty-five years ago, there appeared a poem called " The Chaunt of Achilles/' con- cerning the authorship of which no slight curiosity was expressed at the time. The lines in question purported to issue from the bronze lips of the Achilles statue in Hyde Park, and to satirise the appearance, character, and antecedents of all the most conspicuous persons of both sexes who frequented " the Eow," upon which the Grecian hero still looks down. Shortly after the death of Mr. Bernal Osborne, some papers were found which seemed to establish that *' The Chaunt of Achilles " came from his pen, nor is there any lack of internal evidence to show that this surmise, if not correct, is at least not wanting in probability. The anonymous author was certainly of a sarcastic and censorious turn, and among the well-known personages of the day who came under his lash none fared worse or received harder measure than the third Lord Gardner, who died last week. In 1838, when '* The Chaunt of Achilles " was written, Lord Gardner was in his twenty-ninth year, and had already established for himself the reputation of being one of the best and hardest riders that ever sailed across country with the Quorn or Pytchley hounds. Achilles exclaims —

*'But lo! where, following on chesnut dark, The grinning Gardner canters down the park, Slow in the Senate, though not wanting sense, Quick at retort, but quicker at a fence ; With him no hunter ever dare refuse. So good his hand, though damnable his muse. Strange, though for years I've listened to the crowd Who canvass character, the rich, the proud,

39

Of him alone I never yet have heard

One kindly action, one approving word.

Sparing of cash, he ne'er outruns the bounds,

And Suffield keeps while Gardner hunts the hounds."

The pack here alluded to was, of course, the Quorn, which Lord Southampton had given up at the end of the hunting season of 1830, to be succeeded, first by Squire Osbaldeston, and then by Lord Suffield. It is a melancholy reflection that the deaths of Lord Wilton, of Mr. Stirling Crawfurd, and Lord Gardner, have so thinned the ranks of the first-flight men who flourished at Melton about the time when her Majesty ascended the throne that, with the exception of Mr. Little Gil- mour, of Colonel Forester, and of that evergreen veteran, the Eeverend Mr. Bullen,* of Eastwell, there are none others now left.

Another death has lately taken place — that of a lady — which reminds us of the vast changes that English fox-hunting has experienced since the day when, nearly seventy years ago, the Honourable Barbara Annesley, great-aunt to the present Lord Valentia, married Squire Drake, of Shardeloes, who was for many years Master ot the Bicester hounds. "What recollections will not the decease of Mrs. Drake, in her eighty-sixth year, call up in the minds of many generations of Oxford undergraduates, who hunted with her husband's hounds when Plancus was Consul ? Within the memory of many who have scarcely passed middle age, the Peck- water quadrangle at Christ Church, and the gates of nearly every other College in Oxford, were alive upon a hunting morning with cover hacks, upon the backs of which scores of eager undergraduates proceeded to mountain order to make

* Mr. Bullen is since dead, 1884.

40

their way at full gallop to Stratton Audley, or Bletcliing- ton, or to other well-known meets of Squire Drake's hounds. Even the strict discipline of Baliol College when Dr. Jenkins was Master did not restrain the present Duke of Westminster, the late George Law- rence, author of " Guy Livingstone," and ISir Henry Des Voeux, from hunting with Mr. Drake or with the Heythrop hounds three or four times in every week ; while University College habitually sent forth a host of her sons, with Mr. George Glyn, now Lord Wolverton, at their head, to try their luck with the Berkshire pack. When the late Sir Robert Clifton came up to reside at Christ Church in 1844, he brought fourteen hunters with him, and in those days the life of an undergraduate, especially if he was a " tuft," or a gentleman commoner, differed little from that of a regular habitue of Melton Mowbray or Market Harborough. The " dons " did not interfere much with the pleasures and pursuits of fast and opulent men, so long as they got home before midnight and slept in college; and it required no sUght amount of ingenuity for an undergraduate to get rusticated in those easy-going times. It was reserved for half-a-dozen men belonging to the fast set at Palliol in 1846 to draw the displeasure of the Master upon their heads, by riding a steeplechase among themselves, which led to their being sent down for the rest of the term. On the Derby Day undergraduates were com- pelled to dine in hall at five o'clock, so that it should be impossible for them to attend the great race at Epsom ; but the penalties attached to disobedience did not prevent Sir Tatton Sykes from going to Epsom in Pyrrhus I.'s year; the result being that his career as an undergraduate came prematurely to an end.

The picture of "Melton in 1830," drawn by Lord Gardner's hand, would not fit the Melton of "to-day.

41

and the fields in which he was a protagonist were small indeed as compared with the swarming hosts of well- mounted men who now attend the meets of the Quorn and Cottesmore hounds. As regards hard riding, we do not believe there is much difference between the best perform- ers of forty and fifty years ago and their successors of to-day. \V'e are told by croakers that the days o£ fox- hunting are numbered in these sporting islands ; but so long as Melton and every other hunting centre boasts the presence of riders who are not inferior to Lord Wilton and Lord Gardner when at their best, we do not expect to see any diminution in the number of packs which take the field in each successive November. Lord Grardner died ^November, 1883.

Erom a newspaper cuttin*

HAZLEEOED EEERT :

a tale of disastee.

Eebruart 5th, 1877. ■ The mirth, and the adventure, and the sport that we have shared.'

Of those who met at Epperstone on Monday last I tell, The changes and the chances which that motley crew

befell; Erom the gentlemen in scarlet coats w^ho o'er the fences

sail To the little boys on ponies and the tagrag and bobtail.

42

The north-west wind was blowing on that Februaiy

morn, And at Thistley when they went away we could not

hear the horn. Then such galloping and questioning, such riding and

such rage, Till at Thurgarton we find them, and at once our wrath

assuage.

On to Bleasby, slowly hunting, we come up by twos and

threes, And, o'er the ploughs performing, we arrive by slo\^

degrees. From the gorse a change came over the spirit of our

dream. As downwards o'er the railway the hounds began to

stream.

How we cantered, how we galloped, and how down the

lane we rode ; How we saw the scent improving as a gallant head they

showed. I cannot well describe it, for my timid heart beat fast, When I saw the Trent before us, and I felt the die was

cast:

One moment in the meadows close beside the flood w '

shrink. And we anxiously watch Eolleston as he casts them on

the brink ; But the voices of the bargemen that rise above the roar, And their cruel gestures show us that he's reached tlK'

further shore.

43

The river's running. swift and strong, the current it is

wide, Yet we must chance the danger — we must reach the

other side. So spake each sportsman hardy as he joined the pushing

mass That down beside the water scarcely let each other pass.

A sportsman of experience thus to his daughters spoke, " If w^e wait till all are over, I can see 'twill be no joke ; Supposing down the river we were craftily to ride, Over Iiskerton we rapidly shall reach the other side."

Meanwhile the hounds and huntsmen had been ferried

o'er the flood, And their voices, gaily chiming, we could hear beneath

Stoke "Wood, As we hurried on to Fiskerton vdth souls intent on sport, Thinking gladly we should nick them as they down the

wind turned short.

0 ! how vexing was that tow-path, with its heavy double

gates, And the best of men how trying when about his horse

he prates. But at length we reach our ferry — no wall difficulty's o'er. " Hi ! boatman ! come, look sharp, I say, and punt us

to yon shore."

Just conceive our indignation, and the blow that we

were dealt : " Yery sorry, sir ; impossible ; the bottom can't be felt." Quite remorseless, full of enterprise, we onward dash

again. Scarcely thinking, never caring if our errand is in vain.

44

Fortune seems to smile upon us when we reach the

-Parndon shore. Here's a chain — boat, strong and likely, will hold six

or even more. With reckless haste we crowd in — seven mortals, horses

five — With a guilty sense of triumph that we sooner shall

arrive

Than the sportsman of experience who waits the second

turn, With his daughter sadly watching as their hearts within

them burn. But ah ! what horrid noise is this that breaks upon my

ear ? A rasping, and a rattling, and a snapping sound I hear.

Then in that laden ferry boat was tumult and affright, For alas ! the chain had broken ! we were in a helpless

plight. With our broadside to the water, while the horses stamp

and snort — An unpleasant situation, and, you see, with danger

fraught.

So rapidly we glide along the eddying stream straight

down. It doesn't seem unlikely we shall soon reach Newark

town ; Unless upon a sand-bank we are left to pass the day In a sort of picnic party, but without the bill to pay.

45

But by dint of poles and punting, and of myrmidons

with ropes. It appears of landing safely we may entertain good hopes. But we must take farewell of those we leave the other

side. As on the sodden grass we leap with thankfulness and

pride.

Now after such adventures and disasters who could

guess That we found our trouble wasted — was there ever such

a mess ? We galloped down the old Foss road, we galloped o'er

the plough, But hounds and huntsman all are gone — we cannot hear

them now.

The gallant fox swam back, they say, and lives to run

again, And if we're there to hunt him we'll forgive the broken

chain. The sportsmen on the other side who saw the evening's

run With us will wish these hounds good luck and " years

of future fun."

L. C. M.

THE ETJFFOED HOUNDS.

SiR^ — On Tuesday, Nov. 29, these hounds had a remarkable run, which will long be remembered by those who were fortunate enough to see it^ and which has

46

never been surpassed in the annals of fox-hunting in the Eufford country. The meet was at Caunton Manor, and, after the usual chat with Canon Hole, who loves fox-hunting, as does his good lady, the Master decided to draw Werner Wood instead of Caunton Park (where the Canon can generally find as good a fox as most folks). His reason for so doing was that Werner Wood held twice this season a wild fox who was off before hounds were fairly in the covert. On this occa- sion the Master viewed him away just as Hayes was about throwing his hounds (the dog pack) into the wood, and soon every hound was on his line and away for Caunton Park, where he did not dwell a moment, but held on to Ossington High Wood. Just before reaching this covert a sheep-dog coursed him, and hounds checked, as they always do when these brutes interfere ; but Hayes hit him off into the wood, and, getting a holloa away from Harry on the other side, was soon at Knee- sail Green Wood. Through this covert hounds hunted him steadily and well, and again was he viewed away by Harry pointing for Wellow Park ; but, turning short of it, he ran through Finder's Farm, and made as if for Kirton Wood, turned down the hill into the village, and hounds nearly had him in the orchards, but he slipped through a yard and over the fine grass meadows and the brook, which proved fatal to more than one, and a bridge breaking in likewise, the field was considerably reduced, and set his head straight for the forest, hounds running hard over Boughton Brake, and through the small covert alongside the river, past Conger Alders, over the Ketford-road, as if for Patmore, in Lord Gralway's country, but his strength was failing, and soon the Master viewed him struggling on before the hounds, who were now running for their fox past Peck's Farm,

47

through Blyth Corner, into Clumber, where again he is viewed by Hayes, who was, as he invariably is, close to his hounds, and just before they reached the boundary of the Kufford country, the hounds (whose work from beginning to end had been beyond all praise) ran into him in fine style close to the Clumber Nurseries, and not a stone's throw from Normanton Inn. A select few, good men and true every one, saw this grand old fox given to the good hounds, who so well deserved him, and all turned homewards, believing they had seen such a run as they could hardly hope to see again. With a long experience of the country, I may say that I never remember a " clay" fox coming so far into the forest, and I never recollect scent being equally good on both " clay " and " sand." The distance as the crow flies is twelve miles, as they ran, fourteen. Time, one hour and fifty minutes.

Sheewood J^'orest. (T. H. D. B.)

THE GLORY OF MOTION: South Oxfordshiee.

Three twangs of the horn, and they're all out of cover —

Must have yon old bullfinch, that's right in the way :

A rush, and a bound, and a crash, and I'm over ;

They're silent, and racing, and for'ard away !

Fly, Charley, my darling ! away and we follow !

There's no earth or cover for mile upon mile ;

We're winged with the flight of the stork and the

swallow — The heart of the eagle is ours for a while.

48

The pasture land knows not of rough plough or harrow, The hoofs echo hollow and soft on the sward ; The soul of the horses goes into our marrow — My saddle's the kingdom, whereof I am lord ; And, rolling and flowing beneath us like ocean, Gray waves of the high ridge and furrow glide on ; And small flying fences, in musical motion, Before us, beneath us, behind us, are gone.

Oh, puissant of bone and of sinew availing.

To speed through the glare of the long desert hours ;

My white-breasted camel, the meek and unfailing.

That sighed not, like me, for the shades and the showers ;

And bright little Barbs, with veracious pretences

To blood ^ the Prophet's and Solomon's sires ;

You stride not the stride, and you fly not the fences.

And all the wide Hejaz is naught to the Shires.

0, gay gondolier ! from thy night-flitting shallop I've heard the soft pulses of oar and guitar ; But sweeter 's the rhythmical rush of the gallop, The '' fire in the saddle," the flight of the star. Old mare, my beloved, no stouter or faster Hath ever strode under a man at his need : Be glad in the hand and embrace of thy master, And pant to the passionate music of speed.

Old Beauty — how quickly, as onw^ard she races

And " comes through her horses " in spite of my hold,

I catch the expression of jolly brown faces

Of parties a-going it over the wold.

They mostly look anxiously glad to be in it.

All hitting, and holding, and bucketing past ;

O, pleasure of pleasures ! from minute to minute —

The pace and the horses — may both of them last.

49

Can there e'er be a thought to an elderly person

So keen, so inspiring — so hard to forget —

So fully adapted to break into verse on

As this — that the steel isn't out of him yet ?

That flying speed tickles one's brain with a feather;

That one's horse can restore one the years that are gone

That spite of gray winter and weariful weather.

The blood and the pace carry on, carry on !

E. St. John Tyewhitt,

In "Our Sketching Club."

'' rOEMOSISSIMUS ANNUS." Atjtumn, 1884.

They have done with the beans, they have carried the

corn, The white Autumn furrows are glittering and shorn ; The seven-o'clock sunshine is cloudless and clear, And sweet to the end is the Beautiful Year.

The Port Meadow turf echoes low as we ride, And light is the gallop by Isis her side ; Down float on her waters, more scarlet than sere, The sun-tinted leaves of the Beautiful Tear.

Black rooks and grey starlings are mustering on high, The blue heron wings over with desolate cry; The lapwings they whistle and wail far and near; Are they sad for the wane of the Beautiful Year ?

50

Not they — nor we either — in Wytham once more The O. B. are out, with a stout cub before ; Push up the long hill thro' the cover, and hear Their earliest chime, in the Beautiful Year.

Sweet birds and light leaves — ye may glitter and fly : We send a sigh after, but only a sigh : Thy death has a beauty that casteth out fear With hope in thine ending, O Beautiful Year.

K. St. J. T.

HOW WE BEAT THE EAYOUEITE.

*' Ay, Squire," said George Stevens, "• they back him at evens —

The race is all over bar shouting, they say : The Clown ought to beat her — Dick Neville is sweeter

Than ever ; he swears he can win all the way."

A gentleman rider ! well, I'm an outsider ;

But if he's a gent, who the deuce is a jock ? Your swells mostly blunder — Dick rides for the plunder ;

He rides, too, like thunder — he sits like a rock.

He calls *' hunted fairly " a horse that has barely Been stripped for a trot within sight of the hounds ;

A horse that at Warwick beat Birdlime and Torick, And gave Abdel Kader at Aintree nine pounds.

They say we have no test to warrant a protest :

Dick rides for a lord, and stands in with a steward.

The light of their faces they show him his case is Prejudged, and his verdict already secured.

51

But none can outlast her, and few travel faster ;

She strides in her work clean away from " the Drag." You hold her and sit her — she couldn't be fitter —

"Whenever you hit her she'll spring like a stag.

And perhaps the green jacket, tho' at odds they may back it,

May fall, or there's no knowing what may turn up. The mare is just ready — sit still and ride steady ;

Keep cool, and I think you may just win the cup.

Dark brown with tan muzzle, just stripped for the tuzzle. Stood Iseult, now arching her neck to the curb :

A lean head and fiery, strong quarters and wiry ; A loin rather light, but a shoulder superb.

Some parting injunction, bestowed with great unction, I tried to recall, but forgot like a dunce,

When Eeginald Murray, full tilt on White Surrey, Came down in a hurry to start us at once.

" Keep back, in the yellow ! " '' Come up, on Othello ! " " Hold hard, on the chesnut !" " Turn round on the Drag!"— " Keep back there, on Spartan ! " " Back you, sir, in tartan !" " So, steady there, easy !" and down went the flag.

We started — and Kerr made strong running on Mermaid Through furrows that led to the first stake and bound ;

The crack, half extended, looked blood-like and splendid, Held wide on the right, where the headland was sound.

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The fourth fence^a wattle — floored Monk and Blue- bottle—

The Drag came to grief at the black thorn and ditch. The rails toppled over Redoubt and Eed Eover —

The lane stopped Lycurgus and Leicestershire Witch.

She passed like an arrow Kildare and Cock Sparrow, And Mantrap and Mermaid refused the stone wall ;

And Giles on the Grayling came down at the paling. And I was left sailing in front of them all.

I took them a burster — nor eased her, nor nursed her Until the black bullfinch led into the plough ;

And thro' the strong bramble we bored with a scramble — My cap was knocked off by a hazel tree bough.

Where furrows looked lighter I pulled the rein tighter, The dark chest all dappled with flakes of white foam ;

The flanks mud bespattered — a weak rail we shattered — We land on the turf with our heads turned for home.

She cracked a low binder, and then close behind her The sward to the hoofs of the favourite shook.

His rush roused her mettle, yet ever so little — She shortened her stride as we raced for the brook.

She rose when I hit her — I saw the stream glitter — A wide scarlet nostril pushed close to my knee.

Between sky and water the Clown came and caught her, The space that he cleared was a caution to see.

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And forcing the running, discarding all cunning, A length to the front went the rider in green.

A long strip of stubble, and then the big double — Two stiff flights of rails, with a quickset between.

She raced at the rasper — I felt my knees grasp her ;

I found my hands give to the strain on the bit. She rose when the Clown did — our silks as we bounded

Brushed lightly — our stirrups clashed loops as we hit.

Arise, steeply sloping, a fence with stone coping — The last : we diverged round the base of the hill.

His path was the nearer — his leap was the clearer — I flogged up the straight, and he led sitting still.

She came to his quarter, and on still I brought her, And up to his girths and his breast-plate she drew,

A short prayer from Neville just reached me — "the devil ! " He muttered — locked level, the hurdles we flew.

A hum of hoarse cheering — a dense crowd careering — All sights seen obscurely — all shouts vaguely heard :

"The green wins!" "the crimson!" the multitude swims on: The figures are blended — the features are blurred.

" The horse is her master ! " " the green forges past her !" " The Clown will outlast her — the Clown wins ! the Clown ! "

The white railing races, with all the white faces — The chesnut outpaces, outstretches the brown !

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On still past tlie gateway, she strains in tlie straight- way— Still struggles the " Clown by a short neck at most : " He swerves ! the green scourges — the stand rocks and

surges, And flashes, and verges, and flits the white post.

Ay, so ends the struggle. I knew the tan muzzle

Was first, tho' the ring-men were yelling dead heat. A nose I could swear by, but the judge said, " the mare

by

A short head," and that's how the favourite was beat. From Majoe Paget Mosley.

NOTES FEOM WILL STANSBT'S DIAET AT BADMINTON, 1843.

Amongst ye changes this spring are ye following : —

April. — Te East Sussex hounds sold for debt. Lord Ducie bought most of them, and gave to Lord Giffard.

The first whip from ye Q^io™, B. Boothroyd, goes as huntsman to the Marquis of Hastings, succeeding Will Derry, who goes to hunt Lord Southampton's, vice Taylor.

Charles Treadwell leaves Mr. Eobertson, and goes to hunt Earl of Harewood's.

Mr. Eobertson, of Lady Kirk, gives up ye Northum- berland country, and sells his pack to Lord Elcho, who resigns East Lothian to hunt ye country vacated by Mr. E. in Berwickshire. I hear the distemper has been very favourable with Lord Elcho this year, not

55

having yet lost one young hound. They put forward 22 couples.

r. Flint leaves Lord Southampton (first whip), and goes to hunt the Duke of Cleveland's stag hounds. He lived some years with the Duke of Eutland as first whip, and left on Goosey's retirement from ye post of hunts- man, and Goodall's (Wm.) promotion from second whip to Groosey's place, in ye spring, 1842.

The ]S"orfolk hounds given up this spring through scarcity of foxes and want of support.

Lord Portman gives up his " wee " pack, which are bought by Earl Shannon to hunt in Ireland, in addition to what he bought of Lord Bruce, and hunted in Ireland with last season. Thos. Bown went to him last season as huntsman, or rather latter end of ye summer. He had lived with Sir Thomas Stanley.

Mr. Cockburn gives up ye Tiverton country (Devon), and takes ye Kursley country, Hants.

Charles Bridges goes from Badminton as second whip to the Duke of Eutland.

The past season, the Heythrop hounds had most excellent sport. Captain Anstey told William Long, in my hearing, that it was worth any two seasons he ever remembered to have seen.

Earl Eitzhardinge's killed 76| brace of foxes; but Harry Ayris told me they had not a succession of sport; in short, that it was with them a very indifi'erent season. More blood I never heard tell of any one pack getting in one season.

William Todd, at ye beginning of ye past season, went to Sir Ilichard Sutton as huntsman, on Shirley giving up, and Sir Eichard taking ye Cottesmore country. He, however, soon left, and went back to Mr. Harvey Coombe (whose hounds he had been hunting in

56

the old Berkeley coimtry) as groom. Sir Richard had a very unfavourable season indeed. Great complaints. I saw a letter from Mr. Gilmour to John Campbell, Esq., of Glensaddel, wherein he says the hounds seldom find their fox, but are daily halloo'd to them after draw- ing the coverts ; instancing one day in particular, when they drew Woodall Head,* a very favourite covert, without finding. On leaving it they were halloo'd back, a fox having been viewed in ye covert. On their taking to ye scent, a brace more, making a leash, were proved to be there. "This," says he, "occurs daily."

Mr. Campbell, after hunting with the Duke of Beaufort, at whose house he stayed ye season, sold his stud of eight horses at Tattersall's, excepting that rare old horse Paganini, which was taken back to Scotland, and afterwards sold to J. O. Tairlie, Esq.

Eriday, September 9th, 1842. — Duke of Beaufort's hounds. — Killcott. Ye morning very wet and stormy. Went home at nine o'clock. At half-past ten went out on ye lawn with 22| couple fresh hounds, to draw Swan Grove, ye Duke, Prince Leichtenstein, and several foreigners, being at Badminton. Te day turned out very wet; and as it was intended for a day for ye Princess and ladies, postponed till ye morrow.

Saturday, Sept. 10th, 1842.— Met on ye lawn 22^ couple. Went to Swan Grove. Found a brace of mangy foxes ; had some little running backwards and for\^ards, and finally killed one in ye gorse by Eagged Castle. Went to Bodkin Wood. Eound at least 3 brace of cubs ; killed a brace in covert ; went away with a third over ye corner of ye Park piece to Badminton Village, by ye green pond into ye Vicarage, nearly to

Woodwell Head.

57

ye pleasure ground ; got in ye ditch, jumped out in view, and soon killed. Three couple of hounds had been left at Bodkin Wood. James Watts, the feeder, got them away. Met a fox in Mr. Sydney's turnips. Erankfort seized and nearly killed him ; took him home alive. A single hound, aided by numerous bipeds, caught another in ye Park piece, whilst trying to get in a drain. Sent him back sound to Bodkin Wood. This was an eventful and butchering day. Prince Leichten- steinand Princess, Count Esterhazy, Baron Nieuman, &c., out. I thought ye Princess Leichtenstein the finest woman I ever saw, and handsome withal.

Wednesday, January 11th, 1843. — Iron Acton. Eighteen couple dogs. Draw'd Parsons Wood, ye Marl Pits, &c. No fox. Came on to Tate Eocks ; drew ye Coombe, and both Brinsham coverts, and Maple rudge. No fox. Got on a scent in Bays ; hunted over ye Broad Trench ; got up to a brace of foxes in Horton side. Hounds divided for a few minutes ; got together, recrossed ye Trench, thro' Bays and Bed- fords ; very quick over ye brook, and up ye hill nearly to ye turnpike road, to ye left by Bird's Bush, crossing ye road by Mr. Goodwyn's into ye vale below ; bore to ye left thro' the Coombe, and over ye \rood again by ye lime kiln at Yate Bocks, skirting ye lesser Brinsham covert, to ye Maple rudge bushes ; to ye right and away, at a good pace, across ye vale under Horton, nearly to Chalkley ; bore a little to ye right, leaving ye old man- sion and Horton Church close on ye right ; up ye hill, thro' ye Walk Wood, and on for Bodkin Hazle, running ye green lane nearly to ye end of ye covert, just entered, and away over ye Bath road, thro' Bodkin Wood, and on towards Little Badminton; bore to the left, pointing for Swan Grove, was headed.

58

back touching Bodkin Wood, near Petty France, and back thro' ye Hazle. I viewed him from hence, some distance, apparently in difficulty — ye hounds follow- ing steadily thro' ye covert on his line, did not get so quick away as I could have wished. On leaving Chalkley on ye left, into ye vale again, when we had a check of two or three minutes, hit off, and went a good pace over ye lower end of Hawkesbury Common into Littley, and up ye woods to ye further end of Maple rudge, back along ye covert towards Bays. 1 here viewed ye fox away, and was damped to find we had changed our fox ; hunted down into Bays, and stopped ye hounds. Yery good day's sport — worth 1000 o£ your 10, 19, or 15 minutes' skurries to a lover of hunting. Mr. Campbell, Mr. J. Bailey, and Mr. R. Kingscote went as well or rather better than any other ; Mr. Campbell screaming in raptures as we got near Bodkin Hazle. Blood only was wanting to render this run all that could be wished by a sportsman.

C.(Chas. Bridges) Gamecock Miss Tree

(Long) L. (Stansby) S.

Milkman Marion

Archduke Etonian

1845. — This season we have an addition to our country of Stoke Gilford coverts, &c., conceded by Earl Eitzhardinge. Though some of them ye Duke of Beau- fort's property, they have been hitherto a part of ye Berkeley hunt. Eood Ashton, near Troubridge, also belonging to Walter Long, Esq., and hitherto hunted by Mr. Horlock, is now to be hunted by the Duke of Beaufort.

There was an immense quantity of corn grown this year. The spring was everything that could be desired ; crops most luxuriant; in fact, I believe most people will admit that they never remember to have seen the

59

land so heavily covered with both hay and corn. Ye early hay harvest was good, but the July month was very wet and cold, and also the first week in August ; and there is yet (although ye bulk of corn is housed in ye best possible condition) a good deal of wheat and barley not only in ye field, but uncut. (September 23rd.) Beans are famous crops. Nuts plentiful ; acorns scarce. Potatoes infested with a disease throughout ye country, and ye price of corn kept up in consequence.

When I was a lad in the stables at Calke, in 1817, 1818, 1819, on the door of a passage, in the N.E. corner of the stable yard, were the jDlates of several race-horses nailed to the door, and a name under each. I think there were five of them. I remember one of Dairymaid, one of Mixbury, one of Juniper, and one of the famous Skewball. The names were cut in the wood, apparently with a knife ; and I fancied these horses must have stood in this stable, and belonged to the Sir Harry Harpur, Bart., of that day ; and I used to look on the plates with considerable interest, and longed to know something about them. Many years after, and far away from Calke, I heard several times a doggerel song in praise of Skewball. I used to listen to it attentively, as it recalled to my memory the plate with his name on the old door where I strapped many an hour with a wet shirt. Since then I found the following in the Sporting Magazine of May, 1834 : — "Skewball foaled in 1741. Bred by the Earl of Grodolphin. Sold to Sir Harry Harpur, Bart., at whose death he was purchased by Lord Eobert Sutton Manners. His next master was Mr. Elston, who dis- posed of him to Arthur Mervin, Esq., who raced him in Ireland, where he beat Sir Ealph Gore's grey mare by

60

Victorious over the Curragh of Kildare for 300 guineas each, and was also the winner of a great number of plates and prizes.

June, 1843. — William Collins, of Badminton, labourer, aged 83 years, hearty, having the use of all his faculties, and working on ye road, tells me he can remember when foxes were destroyed at Badminton, ye keepers being paid for it ; that ye Duke of that day kept stag hounds and harriers, and that the deer were penned at Oldham-on-the-Hill. That he remembers all ye hunts- men, as under : —

Baldwin )

Wilts J- Stag hounds, &c.

Hellier J Crane (began keeping foxhounds — a heavy man). Kench. Alderton. Dilworth.

Philip Payne. William Long.

Then followed the 8th Duke of Beaufort and William Stansby, Thomas Clarke in 1858, and left somewhat suddenly before the close of the season 1867 — 1868. The Marquis of Worcester then took the horn.

^<f.

61

A LEGEND OE GALWAY.

Erom tlie gorse of Ahascragli* the hounds broke away, "With the " grey fox " on foot and a warm scenting day. The cracks of Roscommon are here, and they swear. Come life or come death, to beat Valentine Maher. f

He's last thro' the clay and the deep of the vale, Not seen at the gap in the third post and rail ; And, still with the lead, the Boscommons ask, " where Is the pride of your country, bold Valentine Maher 1 "

Then, smiling aside, the old huntsman spoke low,

'* With the grey fox on foot we've a day's work to do ;

You'll have nerves of the strongest, nor steel must you

spare If you ride to the finish with Valentine Maher."

All the while his hot chestnut was chafing in vain, Till the foam from her nostrils speck'd breastplate and rein But cool, as at first, " take your time, never care ; We'll catch 'em yet, Kathleen," said Valentine Maher.

* Ahascragh, Lord Clonbrock's place in Galway.

" Many thanks for sending me the Legend of Galway. The lines read very spirited, and make one fancy a bygone delusion, viz., chancing it at a rasper. Valentme Maher carries me back to the days of my childhood. I recollect so well when he came to stay with my father at Stapleford, and after that he came to Glaston on his way to Newmarket, making his journey to the turf metropolis on foot.

" Sir Thomas Whichcote, Jan., 1884."

+ Valentine Maher, of Turtulla, Co. Tipperary, and M.P. for that County. Born 1780 ; died 1844, unmarried.

"One of the leading men on these occasions (viz., "larking") is Mr. Maher, a brilliant performer with hounds ; but without hounds, in Leicester- shire, few men have a chance with him, from his perfect knowledge of the country. On the Widmerpool day, of which I have been speaking, he led about a dozen of them a dance ot upwards of nine miles, over a beautiful country, in little more than half an hour."— Nimrod, in Sporting Magazine, 1825.

62

They near'd the Black Kiver, they heard its dull roar — They mark'd the thick mist-wreaths that brood on its

shore ; When his laugh, close behind them, rang cheery and

clear — " Here's food for the fishes," quoth Valentine Maher.

While they stood on the bank, and the boldest held

breath As he gazed on the torrent, three fathoms beneath ; When the best of E/Oscommon drew rein in despair, With a rush to the front came Valentine Maher.

He called upon Kathleen — one snort and one spring, She clove thro' the air like a swallow on wing. He turn'd in his saddle — " now, follow who dare ! I ride for my country," quoth Valentine Maher.

The hounds left the valley — they strain'd up the hill — But one rider remains, and he sticks to them still. They check'd on the brow of Kilconnel, and there. To turn them and cast them, was Valentine Maher.

Where the coverts of pine over A.thenry frown. Within one mile of home, the grey fox was pulled down ; And rock, hill, and valley sent back the death cheer. As they rang to the halloo of Valentine Maher.

So we'll drink with nine cheers to the old county's breed — To the blood in the veins of both rider and steed ; And here's, " The next time that Roscommon shall dare Go straight across Gal way with Valentine Maher !"

Atjthoji of "Gut Livingstone."

63

THE LOVER'S LEAP.

Quid Fcemina Possit.

Well, tliougli I love not boasting,

Sith all will have it so, You shall hear how we left the field behind

A score of years ago.

Time will unclasp his fetters,

And age grow young once more, When we think of all that was dared and done

In the mad days of yore.

But, first fill up another cup

Till o'er the mantled brim. Sweet as the dew of a red ripe lip,

The glittering bubbles swim :

"To the loving and the lov'd" we'll drink,

" The frank, the kind, the bold ; To all warm living hearts, and those

That never till death were cold."

'Twas a dull November morning.

South wind and cloudy sky. When, if scent were ever certain,

A fox was doom'd to die.

We met at Bolton Thicket,

That never blank was drawn ; Eresh lies the scene before me now

As it were but yester'-morn.

64

Ten acres of copse, on a gentle slope,

By a belt of gorse surrounded ; All grass, as far as the eye could reach,

By the low, blue hill-line bounded.

That day my mount was Thunderbolt,

Of black Prunella's breed, Who, thro' toil and peril never yet

Had fail'd me at my need ; With strength for the deep, and wind for the down.

With a racing turn of speed.

Ere long a challenge and a cheer

Came floating down the wind, 'Twas Mermaid's note, and the huntsman's voice —

We knew it was a find. The dull air woke as from a trance,

As sixty hounds joined chorus ; And away we went, with a stout dog fox

Not a furlong's length before us.

A quiver shot through my strong horse

I'rom his hoof to his swelling crest, As a stout ship thrusts the waves aside,

Thro' the meaner crowd he prest. Till he took the place that was his by right,

And we settled down in the foremost flight To hold our own with the best.

The sight of a hound or the sound of a horn

Warms my old blood even now, And this was when the tide of youth

Ran foaming at its flow — No trifle in those merry days

Turn'd me and my peers I trow !

65

Yet a shudder, such as cowards feel, Thro' my very marrow crept,

When I saw a feuce that cross'd our line, As down the hill we swept :

And well the firmest cheek might blanch,

The sternest courage fail At the bullfinch, with its yawning drain,

A deep drop iuto a stony lane, And a four-foot oaken rail.

Each look'd on each, till thus spoke out

The Nestor of our band, A veteran of war and chase

Who rode at my right hand :

" The churl who yonder man-trap laid

By an ill-death may he fall ! If the fox has headed across the road

The hounds will leave us all ; !For a tougher brush it were to face

Ton blackthorn's venomed spears. Than ever we had in the olden time

With Kellermann's cuirassiers.

In the pasture just below us

A knot of gazers stood, Whose eyes had never left us

Since we broke from Bolton Wood. The best blood of two counties

Made up that bright array, And there the queen of all our hearts

Sate on her fiery grey.

(16

Hither and thither rode the field.

Seeking an easier place — I, too, had turned me, when I met

My mistress face to face : I bounded in my seat like one

Death-stricken thro' the brain — Sweet wife ! the bliss of after years

Scarce paid that instant's pain.

There was scorn upon her curling lip,

In her dark eyes angry flame, On the marble of her polish 'd brow

Red rose the flush of shame.

The veriest dastard had grown brave

There — face to face with her : I bit my lip through as I wheel'd,

And drove home either spur.

Sprang to the steel old Thunderbolt,

And snorted savagely ; The blood-gouts dripp'd from his dusky sides

Like rain from a low'ring sky : I felt .as I rusli'd him at the fence

He was as wild as I.

Then came, too late, a warning shriek,

And then such crackling sound As echoes through a burning house

When beams are splint'ring round.

But o'er crash and cry, rose clear and high The voice well loved and known,

Though not a silver note was strain'd — *' O Charlie ! bravely done.''

Of six score men, there was but one

To follow where I led — Good faith ! his daring cost him dear,

For as I turn'd my head, He was writhing 'neath his mare, who lay

With a broken neck, stone dead.

No time to pause, for over the meads v\ e swept, with a scent breast-high;

Six more good miles we carried it on, The brave bitch pack and I.

And when we turned him up, my cheer.

Borne on the rising wind. Came faintly to the nearmost ear,

A long half league behind.

'Twas a cold November evening,

And the homeward way was dreary ;

For a score of miles before us lay. And man and horse were weary.

But my heart was warm as I thought of the smile

That my return would greet, When she heard the story of the day,

With its trophy at her feet.

Atjthoe of " Guy Livingstone."

68

THE CHAELTON HUNT.

Some years since, in an old farm-lionse at Euntington, in West Sussex, a precious document was discovered, relating to the Charlton Hunt, and consisting of a man- uscript account of a run with the hounds. Commencing with a heading, it is as follows : —

"A rULL AND IMPARTIAL ACCOUNT OF THE 31EMAEKABLE

CHASE AT Charlton, on Eridat, 26th Jan., 1738.

" Present in the morning : the Duke of Eichmond, the Duchess of Eichmond, Duke of St. Albans, Lord Harcourt,the Lord Henry Beauclerk, the Lord Ossulston, Sir Harry Liddell, Brigadier Henry Hawley, Ralph Jennison, Master of His Majesty's buckhounds, Edward Pauncefoot, Esq., William Earquhar, Esq., Cornet Philip Honey wood, Eichard Biddulph, Esq., Charles Biddulph, Esq., Mr. St. Paul, Mr. Johnson, Billy Ives, yeoman pricker to His Majesty's hounds, David Briggs and Mnn Ives, whippers-in.

" At a quarter before eight in the morning the fox was found in East Dean Wood, and ran an hour in that cover, then in the Eorest up to Puntice Copse, through Heringdean to the Marlows, to Covey Coppice, back to the Marlows, to the Eorest West Gate, over the Holds to Nightingale Bottom, to Cobden's Draught, up his Pine Pit Hanger, where his Grace of St. Albans got a fall; through West Dean Eorest to the corner of Collar Down (where Lord Harcourt blew his first horse), crossed the Hackney-place Down, the length of Colney Coppice, through the Marlows to Heringdean, into the Eorest and Puntice Coppice, East Dean Wood, through the lower Teglease, across by Cocking Course, down

69

between Graffham and Woolavington ; through Mr. Orme's park and paddock, over the heath to Fielding's Furzes, to the Hurlands, Selham, Ambersham, through Todham Furzes, over Todham Heath, almost to Cow- dray Park, there turned to the limeldln at the end of Cocking Causeway, through Cocking Park and Furzes, there crossed the road, and up the hills between Bepton and Cocking. Here the unfortunate Lord Harcourt's second horse felt the effects of long legs and a sudden steep. The best thing that belonged to him was his saddle, which my lord had secured ; but by bleeding and Geneva (contrary to Act of Parhament), he re- covered, and was with some difficulty got home. Here Mr. Farquhar's humanity claims your regard, who kindly sympathised with my lord in his misfortunes, and had not powder to go beyond him. At the bottom of Cocking Warren the hounds turned to the left, across the road, by the barn, near Heringdean, then took the side to the north gate of the Forest (here General Hawley thought it prudent to change his horse for a true blue that staid up the hills. Billy Ives also took a horse of Sir Harry Liddell) ; went quite through the Forest ; went through the Warren above West Dean (where we dropped Sir Harry Liddell), through Goodwood Park (here the Duke of Richmond chose to send three lame horses back to Charlton, and took Saucy Face and Sir William, that were luckily at Goodwood ; from there, at a distance, Lord Harry was seen driving his horse before him to Charlton). The hounds went out at the upper end of the park, over Strettington road, by Scaly Coppice (where his Grace of Eichmond got a summerset), through Halnaker Park, over Halnaker Hill, to Seabeach Farm (here the master of the staghounds, Cornet Honeywood, Tom Johnson, and Mnn Ives, were

70

thoroughly satisfied), up Long Down, through Eartham Common i'ields,and Kemp's HighWoods (here Billy Ives hired his second horse, and took Sir AVilliam, by which the Duke of St. Albans had no greatcoat, so returned to Charlton). From Kemp's High Wood the hounds took away through Gun worth Warren, Kent Eough Piece, over Slindon down to Madehurst Parsonage (where Billy came in with them), over Poor Down up to Made- hurst, then down to Houghton Porest, where his Grace o£ Eichmond, General Hawley, and Mr. Pouncefoot came in (the latter to little purpose, for, beyond the E,ace Hill, neither Mr. Pauncefoot nor his horse, Tinker, cared to go, so wisely returned to his impatient friends) ; up the Race Hill, left Sherwood on the right hand, crossed Offham Hill to South wood ; from thence to South Stoke, to the wall of Arundel Kiver, where the glorious twenty-three hounds put an end to the campaign, and killed an old bitch fox, ten minutes before six. Billy Ives, his Grace of Bichmond, and General Hawley, were the only persons in at the death, to the immortal honour of seventeen stone, and at least as many campaigns."

The Charlton Hunt came to an end, and the kennel was removed for a short time to Goodwood, afterwards to Petworth, whose owner, Lord Leconfield; is still the M.F.H. of his locality.

H. E. I]!^ " FOEESTEY."

HUNTING SONG FOE THE TEAK 1824.

I am a jolly huntsman, and rise before 'tis day; Let loose my dogs, and mount my horse, and halloo come away.

And a hunting we will go.

71

Of all our fond diversions a hunter's is the best ;

In spite of wars and party jars the sport is to the test.

Brisk action cures the vapours, th' elFects of lazy sloth, And music makes us cheerful, so hunting 's good for both.

Of Nimrod and of Esau what mighty feats they tell — On foot they followed hunting, they loved the sport so well.

Had Dido not loved hunting, the amorous Trojan brave Her Highness ne'er had solaced in Juno's friendly cave.

Eurypides ! had hunting been minded like thy books The hounds had ne'er devoured thee — they know a sportsman's looks ;

And hadst thou, brave ActEeon, have minded but thy game , Thou ne'er hadst paid so dearly for peeping at the same.

Orion, foolish hunter, lured by a petticoat.

In the mid chase he loitered, and so his fate he got.

But after this disaster he 's made a heavenly sign, That he at least may view the sport he can no longer join.

The British King 's* a hunter, and frequent in the chase ; He minds no more than we do a weather-beaten face.

Then fill your sparkling glasses, and take them off with

glee—

" Here "s to all brother sportsmen, in course His

Majesty." a j i ..

And a hunting we will go.

Sporting Magazine, 1825.

* King George the Third.

72

A EUN WJTH THE S. O., And a woed on Paesons hunting.

It was, I believe, in November, 1873, (when I was clergyman at Albury, and possessed of an old roaring dun mare, a capital fencer, but not particularly fast,) that the hounds met at the Three Pigeons, one of their Monday meets. It was in my parish, and I always went to the meet when they met in the parish.

We had a little run in the morning, and about one o'clock got away with a big fox from Fernhill, a cover which was just opposite my house, and had some strong earths. I knew this old fox, having seen him about on the glebe. The foxes used to come all round my house. I have had them after the fowl at eleven o'clock in the middle of the day — the fowl all flying on the roof of the house — and quite late in the day. There was a fox in the stable yard one evening about eight o'clock. I generally had a litter in my own plantation near the church. The big fox crossed the rail close under Albury, across the Draycot and Waterstock Meadows, crossed the river Thames under Waterperry House (Mr. Henley's) — the field crossing by Waterstock Bridge — and so into Waterperry Wood, by Park Farm ; crossed the road into Hell Copse, and so into the quarters. I went down to the corner of the big wood, Shabbing- ton Wood, towards Worminghall village, and while standing there with Mr. Bull, of Albury, saw something go away two fields off". I rode as hard as I could for a better view, but though I was almost sure it was a fox, dare not halloa without being certain. After waiting about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, the hounds came down on his line — the field soon got round after

the hounds, for we got away very slowly, the fox having been gone so long, and well we did ; for, after crossing the Oakley and Worminghall road, the fences were very big, one or two being boreable and not jiimpable; but alter leaving Oakley on the left, the scent improved in the big grass meadows under Brill, and we had to gallop to keep with hounds. What beautiful meadows those are ! We crossed the Chilton and Dorton road, close to Dorton, and down to the Chearsley brook, where there Y^as a good deal of grief. I and three others were riding rather wide on the right, and we had it at a good place. George Castle first, Lady Adelaide Parker second, a man on a cob third, and I fourth. I could see it was something big by the way George Castle and Lady Adelaide went at it. My dear old father got in higher up on Baronet, an old horse he had bought of Lord Macclesfield, and which Lady Adelaide rode for six sea- sons ; and he then had a post rail, which he rode at three times before he got over. Colonel Ruck Keene told me afterwards that he halloed to my father, " I hope I shall ride like that when I am your age." And so to Chearsley Gorse, where we did not check above two or three minutes ; back over almost the same line to the brook — but this time nearer the bridge to Chearsley village — which I believe nearly all went over, and then up the hill to Chilton village very fast, the hounds almost racing away from us. 1 remember going up one fence, looking for a weak place, but it kept getting bigger, and at last I turned at it in despair, my father following. He said afterwards it was a very big place. We checked at Chilton village for a minute or two, and then ran on to Chinkwell Wood, under Brill Hill, where they lost him, going to ground, I think.

74

The distance from the woods was not so very great, and we may very likely have changed in them ; but the hounds never ceased running after leaving Fernhill. My dear old father did not leave Oxford very early, and just came up as we were getting away. How he did enjoy it. He would sometimes come out for half a day in the afternoon, having his horse to meet him at the door of the schools (the old schools under the Bodleian library). Old Baronet was then eighteen, and went well. Lord Macclesfield said that day, " If I had known he could go like that, you never should have had him." My father had him for three years, but he fell and broke two of his ribs, larking in Wytham Park, over some of Lord Norrey s' made-up fences, and then he came to me for three years more, and taught my wife to ride, before he went to his old home at the kennels.

The distance from Fernhill to Chinkwell Wood, as we ran, is about 15^ miles by the ordnance map, but from the corner of Shabbington Wood to Chinkwell, about nine miles, via Chearsley and Chilton, and this was the best of the run. It does not look much upon paper, but it was over a beautiful line of country, and the hounds, after the first mile, ran very fast. The only bit of plough I remember was between Chearsley and Chilton, coming back. In going to Chearsley we ran to the north of Chilton village, and coming back to the south. It is so long ago I can hardly remember who was out, but I remember Jack Thompson was at the corner of Chearsley cover when I got there ; and I remember one of the Parkers — Algy, I think — giving the field a lead over a rail under Waterperry in the first part of the run. Prank Davenport was always there or thereabouts, going slow at his fences, till he retired to Mexico. Prank Gale, Fred Turrill, and the four

75

Castles, made up the hard riding division of the farmers. Mr. Herbert Parsons, Colonel Kuck Keene, and Willy Ashhurst, were out that day. Lord Macclesfield was hunting the hounds as usual ; Garsden, kennel hunts- man and first whip ; Charley Shepherd (the present kennel huntsman), second whip.

Garsden always seemed to take it rather easily in the field, and Lord Macclesfield and Charley did the most of the work. But I remember one day, when his lordship was out in 1872, Garsden and Charley, with Jack Thomp- son as field manager, did just about push them along. I had then a pupil not all there, wlio wanted careful handling, and who sometimes would do nothing, and you could make do nothing. He was in one of those fits that morning, so I put my man in a chair in the hall to look after him, he being up in his room, and got on my horse. I just caught the hounds going away from Hell Copse. There were three couple running another fox, which I foolishly tried to stop ; for I have found by experience it is not much good for a stranger to try and stop hounds by himself. The hounds ran through Horton Wood, and came away by Bechley for the top of Stow Wood (where I caught them), then by Barton village, under Headington, and ran to ground under Shotover, after rising the hill — Jack Thomjoson and Frank Davenport well to the fore all the time. We did not wait a moment after he had gone to ground, but w^ent straight back to the quarters where we had left the three couple; found them still running; got away at the corner of Shabbington Wood, through Oak- ley village, under Brill, and killed him in the open under Dorton. I got a bad start again from Shabbing- ton Wood, and did not know they were away till I saw Garsden's grey horse going away three fields off*, and had to ride to catch them ; but as luck had it I was in

76

at the death, the hounds turning in my favour, and saw them catch him in a hedgerow, along with Charlie, Gars- den, Jack Thompson, and Frank Davenport. It was a capital day's sport How Jack did ride and bustle along that day. My horse was nearly beat.

May I say a word about parsons hunting ? A man has no right to neglect his parish, or run into debt, but if he can hunt without doing either of these things, I cannot see the harm. Since I married I have, for pecuniary reasons, given up hunting, but I am quite sure of this, that neither my pupils or my parish are so well looked after as when I hunted. I lack energy. Hunting does put such life into you. The energy that you have to use in hunting seems to pervade all your other work. My dear father, H. O. Coxe, Bodley's librarian, and rector of Wytham, always had a few half- days every season, and no man ever worked harder or was more loved in his generation. I cannot think it wrong. I do think it wrong to run into debt, and, therefore, I find an oak walking-stick cheaper to keep than a hunter, and the bootmaker's bill less than the blacksmith's.

HiLGEOVE Coxe,

Jan. 28th, 1884.

THE OLD HOUND.

My brave old hound, my bonny old hound,

Here's a health, here's a health to thee ! And as years roll round mayest thou still be found

Alongside in the chase with me. Many's the day we have hunted away.

And many's the track we have set ; And now I am told that thou art grown old —

But there 's life in the old Hound yet.

How oft has thy voice made the hunters rejoice,

When its deep mellow notes were heard, For well did they know that thy startled i'oe

Must go his best pace on the sward. Thou hast followed the chase with untiring pace

From morn till the sun has set ; Thou hast lain at my feet when thy heart scarcely beat —

But there's life in the old Hound yet.

Once did I think, when on the steep brink

Of a dark shining rock thou stood. That thy race was run, that thy life was done,

As thou leaped o'er the yawning flood : When thou fell on the rocks with the beaten fox

I thought a hard fate thou hadst met, But we found thee below with thy conquered foe —

Aye ! and life in the old Hound yet !

Thy coat is now grey, and thy strength doth decay,

But thy heart is as brave and as true As when first we went forth on the hills in the north

In pursuit of the fleet-footed crew. Men are to be found who would kill the old Hound,

And his long years of service forget ; But a hand I'll ne'er lend to destroy my old friend,

While there 's life in the old Hound yet.

There 's many a lass I have loved is dead.

And many a friend grown old. And unless with thee to the woodlands led

This weary heart grows cold. But as o'er hill and dale I fly.

With thy voice to madden my brain, All, all 's forgot as to thee I cry,

" Toicks ! have at him, old Hound, again ! "

From LoKD Febrees.

78

THE DATS WHEN I RODE WITH THE OUORN.

O ! bright are the fancies, and sweet the regrets,

That arise at the sound of the horn ; The friends of my youth, and the years of my fun,

The days when I rode with the Quorn.

When I cantered away on the quickest of hacks

To Six Hills so late in the morn, And hunted unwearied o'er pasture and plough,

"What sport we had then with the Quorn !

What stories were told of the deeds of Tom Smith, Of the time ere Lord Stamford was born ;

We talked of Sir Eichard, and followed the Earl, In the days when I rode with the Quorn.

How Treadwell would gloat o'er an oxer or brook ;

We, boy-like, the obstacles scorn ; How we fell and got up, and were never the worse,

In the days when I rode with the Quorn.

Were the horses then really so stout and so good ?

The covers of thicker blackthorn ? The hounds truer-tongued, and the foxes more straight.

In the days when I rode with the Quorn ?

And when we came back into JVIelton at night.

Tired, happy, and draggled, and torn. Were the ladies then really more lovely and kind

Than those who now ride with the Quorn ?

79

Ah ! youth, make the most of your day while it lasts —

No sunset can equal the dawn ! I'd barter ten years of a peaceable life

For a day when I rode with the Quorn !

" Old SpoRTSMAif," In Baily's Magazine, March, 1884.

A FEAGMENT.

Though the life-blood of Beauty with terror may curdle

While brooding o'er risks which the sportsman must run, Now imagines him lying in state on a hurdle.

And turns but with sighs from the trophies he's won ; Yet, when England at tyrants would level defiance,

Say what makes her sons so undauntedly bleed? 'Tis the chase — 'tis the study of this noble science

Gives spirit, and vigour, and health to the breed.

Yarvicexsis.

THOUGHTS ON HUNTING.

BY AN OLD HOTJND.

It is some years now since Mills wrote the " Life of a Foxhound," no doubt from authentic sources, and gave to the outer world some of those thoughts, feelings, and instincts which are freely passed to and fro within the kennel walls, though they seldom reach the world beyond. Times have changed since then ; and it may

so

not be uninteresting to those who would aspire to the name of sportsmen to know what we, who are certainly the parties most interested in the chase, think of the changes which have been introduced. Being somewhat young and inexperienced myself, I will not presume to give my own ideas on the subject, but fiiithluUy record a conversation I had with a wise old hound who had seen many countries, during one of the hot days of the past month. He had come to our kennel, situated in a rare sporting but somewhat rural country, as Nimrod would have termed it, the autumn before, from the grass, for which I have my own suspicions he was getting rather slow, although he never would own to it, and consequently was looked up to with respect, and treated as an authority by all of us — an honour he well deserved, not only on account of his high Hneage, but also for his really excellent qualities ; for once or t\\ ice during the preceding season he had set us right when our fox was nearly lost, and been the means of killing him.

Our huntsman, as was his wont, had walked out with us in the park, and allowed us an hour of thorough enjoyment, rolling in the short crisp turf, or stretched under the shade of the stately elms ; when, seeing old Rally wood was not disposed for his usual nap, I ven- tured to ask if he did not think hunting in our land of ploughs and big woods a very tame affair in comparison with \\ hat he had been accustomed to on the grass.

" Why, no, youngster," was his reply ; *' though, I tell you, I did not much like the thought of exchanging

N for D shire, and quite intended the first

day I was taken out to give the lot the slip, and make the best of my way back to my old kennels. I was so pleased with the fun (you remember it was a rare scenting day) and the sportsmanlike behaviour of

81

master, huntsman, and field, that I determined to stop and have a httle more of it, and, as you see, here I am stiU."

" But it must be much better fun running over the grass than toiling along, all mud and wet, in our greasy fallows, often with not scent enough to enable you to hold the line ?"

" You are quite right there ; and on some days, when there is nothing to interfere with us, the sport is glorious. I remember one day in particular, when we slipped away from every one, in a dense fog that sud- denly came over, and killed our fox after forty minutes without a check or crossing a yard of plough ; but then such a thing may not happen once in hounds' lifetime, and as a rule after cub-hunting is over, we seldom have any real fun — at least such is my experience. I like to hunt, and nothing disgusts me more than having to gallop about after the huntsman's horse, without being allowed to put my nose down, and the constant danger of being half laid open by the whipper-in's thong if I try to do so. However, I never let that hinder me. And once having slipped through a big ox-fence out of the way, that young Jack Mas afraid to charge after me, I hit off the line, and, with two couple and a half more that came to me, had a good three-quarters of an hour, and pulled down our fox, while A¥ill, the huntsman, was galloping and halloaing right in the opposite direction, and, after having ridden his horse nearly to a standstill, blew his horn at a rabbit burrow, and swore the fox he had lost six miles back was gone to ground. Not that Will is a bad fellow, and I believe he would like to see us hunt ; but then he is vain of his riding, and, as it is the fashion for all the swells to ride at him and try to cut him down, he soon loses his head, and thinks more

82

of his horse than his hounds. On one occasion both he and his field lost the pack entirely through jealousy, and were staring about on the top of a hill to know where we were gone ; at the time we were quietly eating our fox in a hollow a mile behind them. Then the men who come out on the grass are, many of them, a great nuisance, and often have I been prevented making a hit by fifty or sixty pounding up a green lane, and then, seeing they had got too forward, pulling up in the very spot the fox had crossed. In fact, I hardly know which are the most tiresome to hounds, the hard riders or the shirkers ; for one party drives them over the scent, and the other cuts them ofi" and foils it. Again, the danger to hounds in the grass countries is not to be lightly estimated ; and if you think that one half the field would alter their line at a fence because a hound was in the way, you are very much mistaken. Then, half of them are not so particular about the horses they ride as every one who hunts ought to be, and I, in my first season, was left for dead from a kick received from a celebrated grey. Kick hounds or horses either he would if he had the chance, and no doubt you will wonder why his owner, who was really a good sports- man, continued to ride him ; but he was the best water- jumper in the hunt. I do not say, mind you, that there are not first-rate sportsmen, and many of them, in the shires — in fact, you would find more good sportsmen at a meet there than anywhere: but they are so largely leavened with those who are not sportsmen — men who go out because it 's the fashion — men who go out to show their horses, or their boots, or to ride against each other — that it becomes, in the regular season, anything but a paradise for hounds.

" Why, I once knew a man gallop and halloa like a maniac, to get us on to a fresh fox that jumped up from

83

a hedgerow where our hunted one had turned short, although anyone half asleep might have seen the differ- ence in them ; and thus he got up the heads of my companions, and lost us our reward of blood, which was nearly earned after a cold hunting run of over an hour- and-a-half. Then I had a fellow throw down the end of a stinking cigar just as I was feathering on the line past him up a lane, and the vile smell so affected me, that I could not hunt a yard for the rest of the day. I beheve I could have killed our fox had it not been for him. Another — and, I believe, he wrote as an authority on hunting— said that my poor old sister Eeckless ought to be hung when she got home, because she stuck persistently to the line of her hunted fox when all the rest had given it up, and he wanted to go and find another. However, as I told you before, there are real good men who understand us, our instincts, and our ways; such, for instance, as M or T , but they want elbow- room on the grass. Now, here you have small fields, and, as far as I can see, every man who goes to meet hounds is a sportsman. Our huntsman, it is true, does not ride so hard as Will, and I have seen him get off at a big bank, or make for a gate, when a little more quickness on his part, and the sound of the horn on the right sj>ot, at the right moment, would have put us on better terms with our fox (for he never deceives us, and when he does tootle, it is always a saving of time to fly to the sound at once) ; but then these are sins of omission, and he never loses a fox for us by unnecessary interference. Then, look at our master ; his object is neither to jump the biggest fences or race for twenty minutes ; but he likes to see his fox well found, well hunted, and handsomely killed. He knows where and how to draw

84

so as to give us the best chance of finding ; and if you hear his horn or holloa, you may swear it is gospel. And, as you know, last season, Tom, the second whip, was sacked, at a few minutes' notice, for punishing a hound unnecessarily, and when it was plain that the hound was right and the man wrong. No, no, young- ster, you be contented here ; the grass must have been a perfect elysium for hounds in the old days, when Meynell hunted from the borders of the Pytchley to JSTottingham, and fields were small, and composed of only sportsmen ; but the day is gone, the shires are the fashion, and a reasonable hound, who knows what sport is and hunting ought to be, is better out of a fashionable crowd than in it.

" Then, look at your country here : plenty of heathy which carries a scent second only — if second at all — to grass ; no game to distract the attention of the young ones, and cause them to ' eat stick ' before they really know what to hunt, chase, and avoid ; and, above all, those magnificent hills and gulleys, which form no impediment to us, but stop those brutes of horses, whose greatest enjoyment, I firmly believe, is to gallop our sterns ofil Think of the glorious bursts we have ' all alone,' while they are toiling and straining under their burdens up the miry, slippery hill-sides, and be thank- ful that there is no chance of your having a broken back because A has determined to be through that bull- finch before B . Then, besides our master, hunts- men, and whips, all of whom are heart and soul in hunting, and think more of our work than their horses' fencing, have we not that glorious old parson J. E-. to help us out of a dead lift when no one else is handy ? and no man in England knows better how to do it. Now, youngster, don't ask any more questions, for I am sleepy." N.

Baily's Magazine.

85

THE HILL'S WOOD UVN WITH THE BERKELEY HOUNDS,

25th of January, 1864.

Have you heard of tlie run with the fam'd Berkeley pack ? Of all our good things you'll admit 'twas the crack. Our meet was at Kineton, and Thornbury Park Held a fox who meant going, if need be, till dark ; And crossing the grounds, in his enemies' view, Eor twenty-five minutes straight onward he flew. The Colonel (i) rides first down a bank wide and steep On " Charcoal" (who doesn't mean going to sleep) ; Next the Huntsman, (2) whose cap is knock'd off and

nigh stamp'd on — Never mind, we are sailing away for Bockhampton. Very few get a start, but, whoever they be. Their number soon after increases by three: — Three Nimrods, who late at their breakfast did tarry, (xot a "Nick" that conducted them straight to " Old

Harry !" For this fox we however now failed in our search — P'r'aps a sanctum he found in the woods of the church.(3) Now return'd from the Severn all ready we stood. While the pack is preparing to rattle Hill's Wood. Hark, a crash ! they're away ! thro' the park is his line — A fair start, and no favour for your horse or mine ; Thro' Stone's verdant meadows right onwards we sail, Those meadows describ'd as the Cream of the Yale. On to Tortworth we press'd him without hesitation, And foUow'd our fox thro' the belt of plantation ;

1. Colonel Berkeley, now Lord Fitzhardinge.

2. The huntsman, Harry Ayris.

3. Church Wood, a covert near Rockhampton.

86

But Tortworth's home coverts he gallantly spurns,

And ere we could reach him for Charfield he turns,

Cross the railway, and brook where most of the field

Still faintly pursuing, are destin'd to yield ;

Then forwards to Ozleworth's coverts he bore.

Where the hunting continues, tho' riding is o'er ;

Like leeches on flesh did the blood-thirsty pack

Up to Alderley hunt him, from Alderley, back ;

Till near Wotton's old town, brave reynard dead beaten,

Ean to ground in a drain, was dug out, and eaten —

And now, who went best ? Time fails me to tell

The separate deeds of each man that went well.

We had all (as the classics observe) " quantum suff,"

Or in English, our horses had had quite enough.

For the fences were tall and the lawyers not short.

But one lawyer (4) disposed of them all (out of court) ;

For leaving the merits of blood in abeyance.

This lawj'^er possess'd a trustworthy conveyance.

I shall ever remember that huge equine figure —

May his shade ne'er grow less (it can never grow bigger).

No ladies enlivened the scene with their faces,

Which perhaps may account for the absence of" Graces;"

But a skirter from Hill's wood beholding us, said,

" Why, surely some Miles's (5) are some miles ahead !"

Tho' the Banker,(6) on " All Fours," exclaimed," What

a pity These banlvs are not solid like those in the city ; For tho' clever my horse is considered, by heavens At one time ' All Fours ' was * all sixes and sevens.'" Brave Charcoal (7) fell lame before reaching the goal. But a Colonel (8) was there from a neighbouring Knole,

4. Edward Burges, Esq.

5. P. W. S. Miles, W. H. Miles, and R. H. Miles, Esqs.

6. W. H. Miles, on "All Fours," a favourite hunter.

7. " Charcoal," a favourite hunter of Colonel Berkeley's.

8. Colonel William, master of Knole Park.

87

And you'll understand what I mean if I say,

That he rode in his usual masterly way ;

While we all must admit, that in quest of sly reynard,

There's no one rides straighter or lighter than Lennard.(9)

Then " a health to the pack " must conclude this long

letter, Eor where is the country can show us a better ? Where lives there an owner more popular ? where is The huntsman to vie with the bold Harry Ayris ? Long may Berkeley's wide coverts re-echo his voice, And many such fox bid his old heart rejoice ! And oft may he talk of the run from Hill's Wood, Till the day when he shows us another as good. That you, reader, and I may be there on that day, Is the prayer of the man (lo) on the thoro' bred grey.

P. K. B. Oliphant.

ON THE DEATH OF THE EOX AT GOPSALL,

1868.

Not a halloa was heard, nor a blast of the horn,

As away thro' the cover he scurried ; Not a bay from a hound, nor a who whoop was borne

O'er the grave where poor reynard we buried.

We buried him silently, holding our breath —

To sportsmen in future a warning ; But murder will out, and his untimely death

Was known everywhere in the morning.

9. T. Lennard, Esq., of Bristol. 10. P. Kington Oliphant, Esq., (the author of the poem.)

88

His skin was unrent, his bones were unbroke ;

We laid bim down just where he fell None at first had the spirit to venture a joke,

Or laugh at so awful a sell.

Not loud but deep were the curses we said, And our hearts were o'ercome with sorrow,

As we thought on the fox that before us lay dead, And our hunt that was lost on the morrow.

We thought as we smoothed down his narrow bed,

And arranged each muscular limb. That the horn of the huntsman might sound o'er his head,

But never in honour of him.

Loudly they'll talk of the deed that's been done,

And Appleby's * squire much abuse ; And the people all round will be poking their fun,

As soon as they get at the news.

But scarcely our mournful task was done, And we thought of resuming our firing,

When the vulpecide vowed he would give up his gun, And homewards talked of retiring.

Slowly he left, amid many a sneer,

The field of his fame fresh and gory ; Tho' oftered the brush, he declined with a tear,

Such a basely-earned trophy of glory.

MOEAL.

All ye who chance to read these lines,

This moral may espy : If with old gentlemen you shoot,

Take care to wipe their eye.

Old George Moore, of Appleby, shot a fox accidentally. From Col. J. Anstruther Thomson.

*George Moore, of Appleby.

89

THE STABLE BOY.

Cima Eosa ! Yallombrosa ! Citron groves, sir ?

Songs ! Vines ! Joy ! Grander far is High Leicestershire

To the heart of a Stable Boy.

I rise at dawn, nor feel forlorn.

But whistle for cheerful joy ; I look on all other pursuits with scorn,

Because I'm a Stable Boy.

All people that on earth do dwell

Hunt fallacies that cloy : Oh ! let them learn the way to do well

Is to copy the Stable Boy.

Drop ostentation and fiddle de dee.

Drop worries that annoy. And set you down at the Coplow, free

Like a true born Stable Boy.

Pictures, and gems, and bric-a-brac stuff,

And every other toy — Sell all, and buy a clean thoro' bred horse,

For so would a Stable Boy.

Thomson and Tailby could sweat their brow

In zeal for others' joy, And toiled as hard for "the Midland sport

As ever a Stable Boy.

Sent anonymously from Maeket Haeborough

TO Col. J. Ansteuthee Thomson, Nov., 1880.

90

Lines weitten by Geoege Templer, of Stover, on

HIS GIVING UP THE SoUTH DeVON HoUNDS.

" MY OLD HOEN."

Tho' toil hath somewhat worn thy frame, And time hath marred thy beauty,

Come forth, loved relic of my fame. Thou well hast done thy duty.

Time was when other tongues would praise Thy wavering notes of pleasure,

Now miser-like alone I gaze On thee, a useless treasure.

Some hearts may prize thy music still, But oh ! how changed the story

Since first Devonia felt the thrill That roused her sporting glory.

Grace still in every vale abounds, But one dear charm is wanting ;

No more I hear my gallant hounds In chorus blithely chaunting.

And there my steed hath found a rest

Beneath the mountain heather, That oft, like comrades sworn, we've prest

In pleasure's train together.

And some, who at thy call would wake, Hath friendship long been weeping ;

A shriller note than mine must wake Their deep and dreamless sleeping.

91

I, too, the fading wreath resign, jFor friends and fame are fleeting,

Around his * bolder brow to twine AVhere younger blood is beating.

Henceforth be mute, my treasured horn, Since time hath marred thy beauty,

And I, like thee, by toil am worn : Thou well hast done thy duty.

"EOUSE, BOYS, EOUSE."

Rouse, boys, rouse, 'tis a fine hunting morning ; Rouse, boys, rouse, and prepare for the chase ; Let not the time fly that's spent in adorning, But on to cover hie at a good pace.

There when you find, sir.

The country's divine, sir. The fences are whackers, the brooks are not small ;

But w^ere they larger, sir,

Boldly we'd charge 'em, sir, Nor care a farthing, sir, how oft we fall.

Now from the fox he is driven, sir :

Hark how the valleys re-echo the call ;

'Tis Osbaldeston's (i) voice reaching the heavens, boys,

Hallooing " forrard " loud as he can bawl.

Then there's such spluttering,

Spurting and sputtering, Each one so anxious to be in the van ;

At the first rattling leap,

Ox-fence or field of deep. Onward the good ones creep — catch them who can.

•The late Sir Walter Carew, of Haccombe, Devonshire. I. G. Osbaldeston, the celebrated " Squire."

92

White (2) on the "Wright," sir, is in the first flight, sir, And quite out of sight, sir, of those in the rear ; And with him goes Neville, and Berkeley, (3) that devil Who of good or evil knows no hope or fear.

Molyneux strives at

What horse scarce dare rise at. Bold Plymouth (4) bullfinches close at his side ;

Musgrave (5) on Antelope,

Baird (6) upon Jenny Hope, Over the grassy slope forward they ride.

Coke (7) on the pony, sir, scarce has a crony, sir, Standish has distanced the crowd very far ; Whilst at a place, sir, that few men dare face, sir, Without checking pace, sir, drives Valentine Maher. (8) Prince of the heavy-weights, Tweedale, (9) is bruising; Maxse, (10) on Cognac, cannot be beat; Poor Johnny Campbell's (n) horse long since refusing, In struggling convulsion fits, dies at his feet.

2. " That well-known performer over a country or over a course, Mr. John White."

3. Sir Maurice Berkeley, afterwards Lord Fitzhardinge.

4. Lord Plymouth.

5. Sir James Musgrave.

6. Sir David Baird.

7. Mr. William Coke, of Norfolk, owner of "Advance."

8. Valentine Maher.— See Ante.

9. Lord Tweedale.

10. Mr. Maxse rode Cognac nine seasons.

11. Mr._ Campbell, of Saddell theauthor. He was riding a friend's horse, and the animal having unfortunately died, Mr. Campbell, hoping to conceal the disaster, begged the owner to put a price upon him, but the gentleman declining to do so, Mr. Campbell was obliged to reveal the calamity.

93

But our pace is the best, sir; the fox is hard prest, sir : The hounds run with zest, sir^, heads up and sterns

down; He can't reach yon cover ; no, no, 'tis all over — Hark how the death-peahng tallies resound.

Dined — o'er our claret

We'll talk of the merit Of ev'ry choice spirit that rode in this run ; But here the crowd, sir, can be just as loud, sir, As those who were foremost enjoying the fun. Faster and faster they tell each disaster Of bunglers and tumblers, and tailors who shun ;

While we drink round, sir,

And drink to these hounds, sir, Who over such ground, sir, could show us such fun.

ON THE DEATH OE CAPT. BEEKELET'S

(ATTEEWAEDS SIE MAUEICE and lord riTZHAEDINGE)

HORSE.

He turned to take a last long look, the evening sky was

red. The leading hounds already must have been two fields

ahead. Their fox was sinking rapidly, the chase was nearly done. And he had gone the best, the first, throughout that

glorious run ; And then in sadness down he looked to where beside

him lay The steed who'd borne his lord so well through all that

wondrous day !

94

That morn lie bounded fresk and fair, but now witbi

stony eye, With nostril stretch'd, and heaving flank, he'd lain him

down to die ! 'Twill soon be o'er, just one short neigh, a quiver and a

groan, His eye was set, his heart was full, 'twas thus he made

his moan :

And is it come to this at last, my own my gallant steed?

Although I see, 1 scarce believe that thou art dead indeed.

And can it be that thou and I no more shall lead the burst ?

No more cut down the customers, the fastest and the first?

No more shall fly the biggest fence that thins the horse- men's ranks ?

No more shall charge the widest brook, though brimming to its banks ?

Oft, olt, for many a rapturous mile, throughout the live- long day,

O'er many a field, o'er many a fence, we two have sailed away !

And now it almost breaks my heart to see thee lying there.

To know I cannot help thee with my fondest, tenderest care!

To feel that all is over, that thy bright career is past,

That spite thy form, and spite thy fame, this field has been thy last !

95

Ijbought thee as a yearling, and the promise of thy youth For stoutness, speed, and gentleness, was well fulfilled

in truth. Right worthy of thy line, thy sire, whom o'er the

Beacon Course Newmarket well remembers as a good and honest horse ; Thy dam, whom legs and bookmakers all voted was a

hoax Until at Epsom she came out, the winner of the Oaks. And all their qualities were thine, unlike each meaner

steed There was the pride of conscious power, the ease of

conscious speed; Like them thou did'st not fret and chafe before hounds

went away, But when the pace became severe, how far behind were

they!

Though high and strong the rails, on thee I needed not

to crane; Though wide and deep the ditch might be, for thee it

gaped in vain ! When horse and man were going down, though good

and stout they were ; As if thy very feet were winged, thou'st borne me safe

and fair ! When hounds were racing for their fox, fast running

into view. Still was thy mettle high and keen, still was thine action

true. Foxes may fly and hounds may run, and horses still will

tire, Yet 'twas not so with thee, my steed, thou wast indeed

a flyer !

96

I'rom Tilton "Wood to Loddington the hills are wou-

drous steep. The vale of Belvoir, too, we know, will oft ride

wondrous deep ; Fences are strong at Skeffington, and Belton seldom fails To give account of sobbing sides, lost shoes, and quiver- ing tails. From Barkby Holt to Stapleford, from Owston Wood

to Glen, I'll think of many a glorious run we ne'er can see again. I'll think how many a hunting morn I've mounted thee

in pride. How many a dark December night we've plodded side

by side. Seasons roll on, and years pass by, so life flits day by day. And others, too, will bear me well, though thou art

passed away. There'll still be music in the hounds, and pleasure in

the chase When other limbs beneath me bound, and others fill

thy place ; But often shall I think of thee, and oft regret in vain The favourite one, whose like I ne'er can hope to ride

again.

THE FOKEMOST PLIGHT.

I am a jovial sportsman, as every man should be,

A hunting life and a country life is jnst the life for me.

Our ^horses and our hounds are such no other clime

can show, For 'tis their delight, in the foremost flight, with a

flying fox to go.

97

We are sucli plucky fellows we never fear a fall,

But boldly face the fence or gate, the spreading brook,

and wall ; And those who crane or ride the lanes we hold are shy

and slow, And wdll ne'er delight in the foremost flight hke birds

with us to go.

And when we greet the well-known meet we quickly

leave our hack, And jump upon our hunter who is waiting with the

pack. Then crash into the cover both hounds and huntsmen go. [Line omitted.]

Hark there ! I hear a challenge ; it is old Music's note ! A chorus joins — what joyous sounds now in the breezes

float. " Hark ! halloa !" cries the whip, for he has heard the

huntsman blow — The scent is good, and thro' the wood, by Jove ! how

they do go.

The huntsman cries, '•' Now, gently, pray hold hard, for

there he breaks, And straight across the open now his line he boldly

takes : He's fairly gone, so now we'll give a rattling tally-ho ; And now we're right in the foremost flight, with a right

good start to go."

And now for twenty minutes w^e have had a glorious

burst — The pace begins to tell on them who yet have gone the

first. A check — so now w^e'll take a pull, and let our horses

blow, And set them right in the foremost flight again like

trumps to go.

" Hark, Eanter ! hark !" the huntsman cries. They hit him off again —

A sheet would cover all the pack now racing o'er the plain.

A view ! it is the hunted fox, I know by yonder crow,

For 'tis her delight in the foremost flight with a sink- ing fox to go.

To reach yon distant cover, now, in vain game reynard

tries ; Old Venom runs into him, and he gamely fighting dies. " Who whoop !" now cries the huntsman, who late cried

"tally ho!" Oh ! 'tis pure delight, in the foremost flight, in a run

like this to go.

" Here's fox-hunting and fox-hunters ! and may we

never trace The man within old England's shores who would put

down the chase ; For such a man at once I scan as British sportsman's foe. Who still delight in the foremost flight like bricks and

trumps to go."

From Colonel Anstruthee Thomson.

99

PATEICK'S BEAE SLAYING.

A PARODY.

Sing we how the mighty hunter, He, the very strong man, Patrick, Went to Norway at all seasons, Crossed the North Sea in all weathers ; Very sick was in the steamers, Very cold was on the fjelds. Very hot was in the valleys, Very hungry, very dirty. Sleeping in a reindeer skin bag, SHding down the slopes in snow-shoes, Sitting in hay-houses filthy, Eating of the flad-brod flabby. Dancing with Norwegian Piges, Talking to the drengs and bonders ; Walking, toihng, night and morning, In the snow and in the sunshine Of the great lone land o£ Norway, Of that flea-infested clime.

Three long years the mighty hunter. He, the very strong man, Patrick, Went to Norway in this fashion, Suffered all this pain and hardship, Till his friends began to mock him. Till the world began to jeer him, Saying, " What a fool is Patrick ! Almost like an idjot seems he."

Why did Patrick all these strange things ? Why commit these wondrous follies. Leaving home, and peace, and plenty, Horses, hounds, and fields and woodlands.

100

Deer and pheasants, game and foxes,

Beef to eat and Southdown mutton,

All that any man could wish for ?

Why ? because the bear, the " Feld-Kong,"

He, the " gammel man," the " Bjorn,"

Wandered free upon the fjeld,

Laughing at the drengs and bonders,

Taking sheep, and cows, and piges ;

Caring nothing for their shot guns.

For their shouts, and shrieks, and bowlings ;

Living as he did aforetime

In the days of song and saga,

King of all the beasts in INorway,

Fearing no man, royal " Feld-Kong."

This it was that Patrick pondered

Three long years in vain endeavour,

Face to face to meet the monster,

And with gun or rifle slay him.

So at last in Surendalen,

He, the gammel man, the Bjorn,

Killing lambs and biting tree-tops,

Came too near the mighty hunter.

Came too near the strong man, Patrick.

In a reindeer skin bag laid he,

On the fjeld two nights watched he.

Till at last the bear, unthinking.

Caring nought for dreng or bonder,

Came too near the wily Patrick —

Came and sat down chewing dead lamb,

Pawing up with joy the pieces

From the earth where he had laid them,

Till a shot, well aimed and steady,

Lowly laid the bear, the Bjorn ;

101

Till his giant form rolled over, And his red eyes glittered strangely, And the hunting knife gleamed o'er him. Ended were his wild adventures, Ended all his thefts and murders. And his gambolings ungainly. Now his skin is Patrick's sofa, And his head hangs up with honour In the house where, sung in story, All his feats will be remembered.

L. C. M., Jflt, 1882.

IN MEMORIAM.

" Great Hopes :" foaled 1854, died 1875.

Nay, reader, don't start at the title,

'Tis of only a horse — nothing more ; Only one of the lower creation.

Whose loss 'tis my lot to deplore. " Only a horse ! well, what matters ?"

Quoth Dives ; " 'tis done in a trice : Draw a cheque — the best horse that e'er hunted

Can always be bought at a price."

Ah ! Dives, men envy your fortune,

Tou are floating through life with the stream ; Tou have got twenty hunters at Melton,

And the pride of the Park is your team ; But I want just to ask you a question,

So kindJy one moment attend : Be it man, be it woman, or horse.

Can you ever replace an old friend ?

102

Such a friend as we owe now and then

To the sympathies born of the chase ; Eaising horse to the level of rider —

Such a friend we can never replace. The box that stands empty and chill

May shelter as perfect a frame, But 'twill always seem sacred to him —

'Twill always be called by his name.

Chesnut coat, sloping shoulders, small head ;

Legs that feared neither spavin nor sprains ; A mudlark when going was deep,

With the blood of Small Hopes in his veins. When Andover landed the Derby

The theme of my song first drew breath, And, as good on the road as the grass.

Hunted up to the day of his death.

He had gone with the Queen's, when Charles Davis

With horn made the forest to ring ; He remembered the bay Pantaloon,

Bestridden by bold Harry King. Since the day of that clipper from Denham,

How many good men have departed, When to Willesdon we ran in the hour.

And Harrow Boy first was uncarted.

Not unknown where the doubles of Blackmore

Lay many a steed on his back ; He had followed Jack Eussell from Catstock

With Poltimore's wonderful pack. How oft with old Sam and Sir Maurice

O'er Berkeley's green pastures he strode, Heard the cheer of the keen Harry Ayris,

Best huntsman, I wot, that e'er rode.

103

But dearest of all recollections —

Old days now recalled to my view — Are those when we hunted together

In the land of the Badminton Blue : The days of John Bayly and Triller ;

(What tales of their prowess are told !) The days of the Merchant and Bobber;

The day ere grey Beckford was foaled ;

When the Unicorn stood by the Lion,

And Little was there on Champagne ; When the Colonel was great on Blue Pill,

And Clark swore by Saffron and Jane ; When Methuselah carried the Marquis

Thro' the longest and hardest of days ; When Alderley's gallant old owner

Bode the first of his wonderful greys.

Unwelcome, perhaps, to the fair ones,

Is the tale of what seasons have flown, Since they first donned the Badminton button.

And the " goddesses " yet were unknown : Lady Blanche was the rising Diana,

And one figure remembered will be. That skimmed o'er the country on "Sunbeam,"

With Jack Savile in front on B. B.

"Woe worth," wrote Sir Walter, "the chase,"

When he sung of the hunting that kills ; Woe worth forty minutes' full pace.

From Allen Grove up to the hills. 'Twas my gallant old horse's last efiTort —

'Twas a mixture of pleasure and pain. In that gallop where G-race's " blaze chesnut "

Jumped walls, and ne'er jumped them again.

104

Farewell, gentle reader ! If you

These tales of past sport can endorse, I will wish you no better than this,

That some day you may own such a horse. His name is inscribed underneath ;

His years were one over a score ; He was faithful and noble till death ;

His like I shall ride nevermore.

From Baily's Magazii^e.

A DAY WITH THE QUEEN'S HOUNDS, Feom Poll Hill, Feb., 1843.

Here's a health to Frank Groodricke, (i) of Pytchley

the pride ; Here's a health to gay G-ardner, (2) fam'd Melton's chief

crack ; Here's a health to the high-hearted sportsmen who ride Over Cheshire's deep fields with Jack White's (3) gallant

pack ;

Here's a health to the Scarlett (4) that gloriously shines In the front of each field, where crack hunting is seen ; But the toast that best honours a bumper of wine Is " Success to the staghounds, and long live the Queen."

T-welve o'clock was the hour, the meet was Poll Hill — Noble " Hampton" had long been reserved for that day ; Close at hand stood the hounds, all expectant and still. And thick gathered round them the brave and the gay.

Sir Francis Holyoake Goodricke. 2. Lord Gardner.

3. Captain John White. 4. Sir James Scarlett.

105

There was Eosslyn, (5) the rough, with the kindest of

hearts ; There was gallant young Cambridge, (6) the loved of the

land; And, as beauty from valour and worth never parts, Fair Theobald rode at the Prince's right hand.

There was Makepeace, (7) the merry, and Worley, the

neat, Dicky Vyse, thro' the water that swims like a duck. And blithe-hearted Seymour, (8) a sportsman complete, Only somehow this season he is not in luck.

There was well-mounted Wankelyn, and hare-hunting

Poole ; Little Harford was there, too, that thinks he can ride ; Honest James, a true sportsman, courageous and cool ; Long Cox, (9) and a hundred good fellows beside.

From Windsor, from Hounslow, came guardsmen at

score, Bright souls never dimm'd with the vapours of fear ; Lucas (10) and Ogilvie, Holmes and Balfour, And E-icards, that thinks of himself no small beer.

Time's up ! lay them on — off like lightning they fly ! Grrasps his rein, grips his saddle each hard-riding man ; And loudly rings Davis's (u) voice thro' the sky, ''Now catch 'em, ride over my beauties, who can."

5. Lord Rosslyn, master of the buckhounds.

6. The present Duke of Cambridge.

7. A leading man with the Queen's. 8. '* Neighbour Sej^mour."

g. The banker.

10. Lucas, 2nd Life Guards ; Ogilvie, ditto ; Balfour, of Newton Don.

II. Davis, the Queen's huntsman.

106

Twenty minutes have passed — Harrow steeple is near — And of the three hundred that met at Poll Hill, Like a regiment that's broke by the foeman, I fear, But thirty are left that can live the pace still.

In Euishp's deep meadows some come to a stand ; By Pinner's high fences some find their course barr'd ; And a loud swearing rustic, with pitchfork in hand, Has pounded fat Hawkins fast in a farm yard.

" My horse lacks condition " — " Pve lost a fore shoe" — " Our efforts to catch them are hopeless and vain ;" " I really believe the best thing we can do Is, in hopes of a check, to jog on in the lane."

Now Northolt, now Grreenford, are left far behind ; Twyford Abbey we've reached in our glorious career. Still unflagging in strength, still unfailing in wind, Over hill, over dale flies the matchless old deer.

O Elmore ! (12) O Anderson ! how could ye say Of the horses ye sold us the thing that was not ? Piccadilly's proud cattle are dying away, And TJxendon's flyers drop down to a trot.

Macdonough, (13) and Mason, and Bardolph-nosed Bean — Of steeplechase riders at first we had plenty. 'Tis one thing to go for ten minutes, I ween ; 'Tis another to go for two hours and tw^enty.

Stout Stanley, (14) bold Errington, gallant Southampton, Clauricarde, the dashing, and Pembroke, the kind, Over Harrow's deep meadows in chase of fleet Hampton — 'Tis the pace that has left the foxhunters behind.

12. Elmore and Anderson, horse dealers. 13. Celebrated steeplechase riders. 14. Celebrated riders to hounds.

107

'Tis done ! the brave quarry is hoiis'd safe and sound, Eegent's Park to the long lasting chase puts an end ; And of all the rare runs with this pack so renowned, A faster and finer one never was penned.

l^i]l, fill up your glasses ; a toast I propose — No heeltaps, no daylight, no shirking be seen ; " Here's a health to Lord Kosslyn, wherever he goes ; Here's success to the staghounds, and long live the Queen."

From Col. Ansteuther Thomson.

HUNTINa IN DUEHAM.

Old fighting Durham ! stubborn border land ! Leagued with thy sister, fair Northumberland ! From thy time honour'd battlements we trace, From blood to blood, an honour'd sportsman's race — Thro' Grindon, Carlton, Hartburn, to Fox-hill, The name of Lambton * is re-echoed still !

If I could live one hundred thousand years

Amid this vale of sorrow and of tears,

Dash from my brow each cankering thought and be

What once I was, in youth and jollity !

At all Fortuna's coldest, hardest knocks,

I'd sneer, if Hartburn Grange holds in her gorse a fox I

*The celebrated Ralph Lambton.

108

Still as a whisper ! no d — d loud hollo !

Nor cursed clodpole roaring, Tallyho !

No, not one word ! Now then, ye hunters fleet !

The hounds are on him like a winding sheet :

Kide o'er them ye who can ! their dappled sides ride over,

Burnhope and Elton, straight for Oxeye cover !

For him the ox-eyed goddess hath no charm — See, on the road the ruthless furies swarm All in a patch ! just look ! nay, never wait — Crash goes the top-bar of that ill-hung gate ! By Jove ! they're on him, see old Venus strive — Have at him, beauties ! Eive his life out, rive.

G. M. SlJTTON.

THE LAMBTON HOUNDS.

A SoKG. Tune — ""Weave a G-aeland."

Tho' midnight her dark frowning mantle is spreading,

Yet time flies unheeded where Bacchus resides ; Eill, fill then, your glasses, his power ne'er dreading.

And drink to the hounds o'er which Lambton presides ; Tho' toast after toast with great glee has been given,

The highest top-sparkling bumper decides That, for stoutness, pace, beauty, on this side of heaven,

Unrivalled the hounds o'er which Lambton presides ! Then drink to the fox-hounds. Those high-mettled fox-hounds ; We'll drink to the hounds o'er which Lambton presides.

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Let Uckerby boast of the feats of the Kaby,

And Kavenscar tell what the Hur worth have done, But the wide-spreading pastures of Sadberge can swear to The brushes our fleet pack of fox -hounds have won : Tben that Sedgefield, our country, all countries outvies, sir, The highest top sparkling bumper decides, That we've foxes can fly, sir, or sinking must die, sir, When pressed by the hounds o'er which Lambton presides !

Then drink to the fox-hounds, Those high-mettled fox-hounds ; We'll drink to the hounds o'er which Lambton presides.

Of their heart- bursting "flys" let the Leicestershire tell us. Their plains, their ox-fences, and that sort of stuff ; But give me a day with the Sedgefield brave fellows,

Where horses ne'er flinch, or men cry 'hold, enough ;' While the blood of Old Csssar our foxes can boast, sir.

May Lambton their only dread enemy be ; And the green weaving whins of our covers my toast, sir — Oh! the hounds and the blood of old Lambton for me! Then drink to the foxhounds, Those high-mettled foxhounds ; We'll drink to the hounds o'er which Lambton presides.

G. M. SuTTON".

4g%^.

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A FEW GOOD EUNS WITH FEANK GILLAKD.

1871 to 1878.

February 15th. — Met at Croxton Park. A large field assembled, and his Grace the Duke of Rutland gave the order to draw Coston Covert ; and no sooner were hounds put into it, than three or four foxes were afoot. One bolder than the rest quickly went away southwards ; the pack was not long in getting away after him, and it soon became evident that there was a scent. Passing just to the left of "Wymondham and Edmondthorpe, at a rattling pace, we bore round for Woodwell Head, which covert this good fox disdained to enter, leaving it to our right hand, and the pace continued first-rate. We were not long ere we reached Gunby Gorse, through it like a shot, and from this point we made as straight as we could go for Morkery Wood, no one going better than the Duke, though there were many more in the front rank. A few fields before reaching the North Eoad, the hounds were in the same field with their fox, and were gaining upon him so fast, that it looked fifty to one upon a kill then and there ; and Custance, the jockey, made so certain of it, he asked me for the brush ; and reynard might have heard the request, for he put on a spurt, and reached Morkery Wood in safety, in which scent was not quite so good, which enabled him to dodge about for forty or fifty minutes ; and as there were fresh foxes seen, it was feared our run one would beat the hounds, but they stuck to him, eventually driving him out away past Mickley Wood to the east corner of Witham Wood. Instead of entering it, this cunning old customer ran along just on the outside until reaching the south corner, and away over the North Eoad by N. Witham, after which we were brought

Ill

to slow hunting ; but with great perseverance on the part of the hounds, we reached Gunby AYarren, where we killed this stout fox, after running upwards of three hours.

January 26th, 1872. — Met at Haverholme Priory. An excellent day's sport — two good runs, both ending with blood. The first run commenced from Eveden Wood, ending at Swarby. This was a splendid gallop, in which Sir Thomas Whichcote certainly had the best of it. He was in front of a hard-riding field most of the way, and, with but few, saw the pack run into their fox. Time, forty-seven minutes ; distance, from point to point, six miles — much further the way hounds ran. Second gallop started from Osbournby Hill Top. Ean to Aswarby Thorns, then in a backward direction as far as Aswarby Park ; from thence straight away by Silk Willoughby and Quarrington to Eauceby, when our fox ran right away back on his foil to Aswarby Park, and we killed him in the shrubbery by the gardens, thus ending a fine day's sport. Time of this run, an hour and twenty minutes. Sir Thomas Whichcote declared it was the best day's sport he had seen for a great number of years, and thought the first gallop the best he had seen since Goosey's time.

January 14th, 1873.— Met at Bottesford. A fine scenting day, which resulted in excellent sport. Our first draw was Normanton little cover, and a fox being at home, hounds were soon at work in good earnest ; but in spite of this, reynard stuck to his snug covert for five minutes, when away he went to the left of JS'orman- ton village, after which he turned first one way and then another, but all to no purpose, the pack was able to turn

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equally quick and sharp. On nearly reaching the Debdales, the fox found out it was no use twisting about any longer, so he shot away to the right, crossing the Nottingham and Grantham railway, and over the river Devon, and straight for Scrimshaw's mill, when he suddenly changed his course by turning sharp round past Muston, leaving it away to the left, re-crossed the river Devon, on to and through Shipman's plantation, close past Breeder Hills, when our fox was viewed by the field only a field ahead of the hounds, and they were not long then in racing into him ; caught him just before reaching "Woolsthorpe wharf, thus ending as fast a gallop as I ever saw, lasting thirty-five minutes. Hounds did not require the least assistance from begin- ning to the finish. As good a gallop as this was, it proved only a pipe-opener for a fox, who was found at Jericho, going straight away past Elton and Orston at a pace quite fast enough over those ploughs for the horses to keep with them. Getting on to the grass, they raced on passed Thoroton, and forward to the Coronation cover (Flintham), where we unfortunately changed to a fresh fox, but scent being so good, and our horses a bit pumped, nothing could be done to right matters ; all we could do was to keep pegging away; and on reaching the lied Lodge, a turn took us by Screveton and Scarrington to Whatton, when it became dark; and with difiiculty we succeeded in stopping hounds, thus ending a real good and very hard day for both hounds and horses. Mr. George Drummond was the only gentleman to get to the end of this good run.

January 6th, 1875. — Met at Piper Hole. A fox found at Clawson Thorns, did not give much sport; our next was found at Harby Hills, and was run over the

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vale to Hose Gorse and lost. Sherbrooke's gorse was then called upon, and it supplied us with a good stout fox, who went away over the Smite as bold as a lion, and getting a good start after him, hounds ran tremendously hard for forty-five minutes, without a check. The line which we ran was pretty straight as far as Widmerpool New Inn, being just to the left of Hickling, and over Hickling Standard, through Parson's Thorns without dwelling, and straight for the New Inn. Then he turned for Kinoulton Gorse, through it, and straight to and through Owthorpe Borders to the JVJain Earths (this was reached in the time above mentioned, viz., forty-five minutes, and out of a large field very few were to be seen with hounds, many coming to grief). Fortunately hounds were stopped, and reynard then made straight for Hoe Hill, but some boatmen on the canal prevented him from going into the covert, and, being only a field ahead, it seemed a certainty we should kill him directly ; but this game fox struggled on field after field, to the left of Eatcliffe, and then for Cotgrave Gorse, and it being quite dark, we knew not what had happened, whether hounds killed their fox, or ran him to ground, but it was one or the other. We were afterwards informed many of the Melton horses were left out all night in the AVidmerpool country.

April 12th, 1876.— Belvoir. Splendid finale to the season, on the Leicestershire side. Through a heavy snowstorm we failed to do any good with a fox which was found on Saltley Heath, but late in the afternoon we found a good one in Bescaby Oaks, who first of all took a turn over Croxton Park, when away he went past Sproxton Thorns and Coston Village to Coston Covert, and through it, without dwelling a moment. Up to this

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point the pace had not been very severe, though we always had to keep pegging away ; but after getting clear of the last-named covert, hounds raced past Wymondham, then, bearing to the left, made for Woodwell Head, but no dwelling there. By the time we galloped to the south end, the pack was streaming away towards Cottesmore Grorse, just skirted it, and ran round by Teighj and killed near Edmondthorpe, thus making a good finish to a capital run of something over two hours. Distance, as the crow flies, from Croxton Park to Cottesmore Gorse, is ten miles. Those whom I noticed to the end were Miss Miles, (who was on a visit at Belvoir Castle, and was riding a horse of his Grace's,) Captain Longstafte, Mr. John Hardy, Mr. Turner Farley, Mr. James Hutchinson, Captain King, and the Rev. Mr. Mirehouse.

January 22nd, 1877. — Easton Hall. Eound at Easton Wood, and ran a ring first of all round by Burton Sleights and Stoke Park Wood, turning back to where we found, and then changed to a fresh fox, who led us a nice dance, or rather gave us a splendid run. He went away much the same line as the first fox, but instead of entering Stoke Park Wood, he skirted it, and crossed over the railway, and away for Boothby — hounds run- ning through like shots and away like a flock of pigeons for Humby Woods, passing just to the right of them. We rattled along and soon crossed the famous Lenton Brook, and leaving the village to our right, we ran for Keisby Wood, just running through the north corner, when we were fairly landed in the finest country in the Belvoir hunt, going as straight as we could go for Aslackby village. A field or so before reaching it we were in the same field with our fox, and it looked fifty

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to one on a kill then and there, but unfortunately a large flock of sheep were running between the fox and the pack, which not only prevented a view, but the sheep molested the hounds by running all amongst them, which enabled the fox to reach Aslackby village, and the natives then took up the chase as long as they could view him. This circumstance bothered us more than the flock of sheep, and some minutes were lost before we recovered the line, and when we did, hounds could never do much more good ; still we hunted on by fits and starts past Dowsby, and away over the Fen district to within two miles of the I orty Foot. Distance, as the crow flies, is not less than fourteen miles, and it is impossible to run over a finer line of country.

March 17th, 1877.— Three Queens. The Heath coverts all proved tenantless, but we found a good fox at Buckminster, who made away over Saltby Heath, thence by Wyville to Stoke Rochford Park, and from thence away between Skilhngton and Woolsthorpe to G-unby Warren, to ground. Some fields before reach- ing this covert, we several times viewed our fox just ahead of the pack, and he was dead beaten. Just at this critical moment a very dark cloud passed over us, when there was not a particle of scent, which enabled reynard to reach the earths in safety. The time of this good sporting run was an hour and forty-five minutes ; distance, about fourteen miles. Lord Gran- ville, Lord Wolverton, and Major Whyte-Melville were out ; the latter gentleman expressed himself to me as being very pleased with the sport.

December 12th, 1877.— The House, Melton Mow- bray. This day will be remembered as the "Pink

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wedding day." His Grace arranged for the hounds to meet in honour of the marriage of Mr. Cecil Samuda and Miss Cecile Markham. The Duke of Rutland and , members of the hunt went to church in hunting costume, and after the grand ceremony and breakfast were over, a very large field accompanied the i^ack to Burbidge's cover, where a fox was found, who proved quite equal to the occasion. A crowd of foot-hunters had stationed themselves on the high ground overlooking the cover, and bold reynard swam the river and ran through their very midst. Once clear of them he ran a bee line, with the hounds pretty close to his brush, away b}' Burton Lazars, Berry Gorse, Laxton's Spinney, crossed the Whissendine brook, and passed just to the right of the village, and from thence, forward nearly to Ranksboro' Gorse, then wheeled round, running by the Punch Bowl and Wheat Hill planting. Here there were two or three foxes, but the pack stuck to their game fox, who made his way back by Wild's Lodge and Burton, to ground, by the Dalby Road near Melton. Time, an hour and fifty-three minutes ; a good sporting run.

March 6th, 1878. — Ash Wednesday. Met at Piper Hole. In a gale of wind we ran a fox from Holwell Mouth at a rattling pace, away over the vale, and passed to the right of Nether Broughton, and forward for some distance in a direct line for Hickling, when we wheeled round, running between the two Broughtons, and nearly reached Old Dalby, when a turn, right handed, took us over the hill ; after which, we took a straight line for Willoughby-on-the- Wolds, killing our fox close to the village. Time, one hour after leaving Holwell Mouth.

On Ash Wednesday, 1867 — From Clawson Thorns we ran over nearly the same line of country, and then killed close to Willoughby.

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March 29th, 1878.— Met at Weaver's Lodge. For the first time this season his Grace hunted with his hounds on the Lincolnshire side of the country, and we were lucky enough to have a real good hunting run, which was quite unexpected through the very dry weather. There were no less than two and a half brace of foxes at Newton Woods, and, strange to say, the one I viewed away in front of the pack, I remarked, was our Hose Gorse fox, who had, during the season, given us three nice gallops from that cover, in the direction of Croxton Park ; and it appears I was right, for he ran almost a straight line for Croxton Park, though he ran us out of scent between Wyville and Stoke Pasture. The line was away through Haydon's Southings, Ropsley Pvise, Ponton Park wood, crossing the Great Northern Railway between the Pontons, and passing to the left of the school Plats to where he beat us. Distance, eleven miles as the crow flies.

P. GiLLAED.

A SEASON'S SPORT WITH THE QUOKN.

T o covert, brave sportsmen, on on, and away ! H ark ! hark ! to the cry of the hounds ! E ach one in his musical note seems to say :

Q uick ! for'ard, my comrades ! we mean it to-day,

TJ ntil the death holloa resounds !

O ne shake of his toilet, the bold, but the sly

R eynard takes up the cue, and he sails —

N ow to bafile and beat them his hardest he'll try.

H ave at him, my beauties, as onward we fly O ver hedges and ditches and rails ; U p hill or down dale, through woodlands, o'er rill, N 0 matter what comes in the line, D 0 your best to be with 'em, your motto be still, " S traight forward " to the ending of time !

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The season of 1883-4 commenced on Monday, November 5th, at Kirbj Gate, as nsual. There was, as may be expected, a large field out, and many carriages and other vehicles well filled, all bent on seeing as much of the fun as possible. Fortune invariably favours the Kirby Gate meet, and this was no exception, for a good fox was found in Gartree Hill, who went away like wild- fire, at a minute's notice, over the Burton flats, then round to the right by Leesthorpe, Wheathill spinney, and into the shrubberies at Little Dalby, where many of the sportsmen were left, this being such an awk- ward place to get away from on account of the wire fencing which runs around it. Hounds were quickly away, and hunted their fox beautifully back by Wheat- hills, Berry Gorse, and on past Whissendine, thence by Ashwell (having ran within a few fields of !Ranksborough Gorse) to Teigh, where he was rolled over in among the cabbages in a cottage garden, after a really nice run of an hour and twenty minutes. Being a long way in the Cottesmore country, we had a good trot back for another draw. A sharp twenty minutes from Thorpe Trussells, ending the day close to Mr. Chaplin's house at Burrow Hills.

On Friday, November 16th. — Baggrave Hall. The first time of meeting here since the lamented death of poor General Burnaby. A leash of foxes were in the covert ; hounds quickly killed one, and went away with another — being close at him, they ran, at an awful pace, a ring by Hungerton and back ; then, passing the hall, took us over a nice line of country, by Thimble Hall, and, leaving Twyford on the right, crossed the brook (which brought the usual fun and grief), and then ran pretty direct to Thorpe Trussells, away without dwelling a

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second, and then, turning to the left hand, they ran through Ashby Pastures and Cream Grorse, the fox going to ground just beyond. Time, forty-five minutes.

Priday, 23rd. — Eearsby was the fixture. After a gallop in the morning to ground, we found as good a fox as ever ran in Barkby Holt, and such a scent did he leave, that hounds quickly ran away from almost every horse. He was a wonderful fine fox, and could be plainly seen now and then about a couple of fields ahead. Kunning to the right of South Croxton, he turned up to Baggrave, and, darting through the covert like a shot, he passed the hall, hounds racing as if they had him all the time in view, and everyone riding apparently for their very lives ; in fact, I hardly ever remember seeing a field so determined and yet so quickly squandered. The beautiful grass valley by Car Bridge and Lowesby was crossed at a terrific pace, and when Springfield Hill was reached, a half-dozen horsemen alone were in sight. It is my belief that foxes were changed here, for there was a shght check on the railroad, down which I fancy our fox had gone, but a holloa just ahead took hounds to it, and, catching up the line, they ran past Tilton, thence by the Skeffington Vale and Whatborough Hill to the Cottesmore Woodlands, just before reaching which we found that a brace of foxes were in front, and both fresh ones, so this fine run ended without blood. Time altogether, about an hour, the first half being much the quickest.

Monday, 3rd December. — Six Hills. A nice gallop, from Ella's Gorse to ground in Shoby Scholes occupying the first part of the day; after which, we went to Thrussington Wolds ; found at once, and had a charm-

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ing fifty minutes, killing him in the open near Long Clawson; the line being first towards Six Hills, then sharp to the right towards Shoby and Lord Aylesfiard's covert, keeping both just on the right hand ; and after pointing towards Grimstone, a turn to the left took us by Old Dalby Wood and Holwell Mouth, and up to the Clawson road, where our fox was headed and turned into the Vale — not, however, to travel far over it, for he was dead beat, and hounds getting a view quickly after, rent his jacket.

A very fine hunting run was brought ofif on Saturday, December 22nd, when the fixture was Costock. The meet itself was a small one, but late comers, including several ladies and gentlemen from Nottingham, made up a good-sized field ere a fox was found. Among those present, as far as I can now remember, were Mr. Coup- land and Mr. Duncan Coupland, Miss Brooks (Whatton), General Chippendall, Mr. Wm. Paget, Mr. C. and Mr. A. Martin, Mr. J. D. Cradock, Capt. Fowke, Mr. and Miss Tidmas, Capt. O'Neal, Major Eobertson, Mr. Cockrayne, Mr. G. Farnham, Captain Warner, Mr. H. and Mr. M. Lewis, of Nottingham, also Mr. John Robinson and his son, who went wonderfully well through the run, and saw almost as much of it as anyone.

Our fox was found in Bunney Old Wood, and went first towards Windmill Hill, but, being headed (and nearly killed) he turned back, and got clear away to the Intake Wood, then, without dwelling a second, made his point towards Wysall. Mr. Charles Martin, viewing him away, said, " what a very fine fox he was." Turning to the right from Wysall, hounds hunted him beautifully pretty direct to Prestwold, taking Wymeswold in the line. On getting to within a field of Hoton covert, a

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very sHort and peculiar turn was made (it being near here that Major Eobertson, in jumping through a thorn fence, unfortunately got struck in the face, and lost an eye in consequence). The turn mentioned took us short back for two or three fields towards Ella's Gorse, then another turn to the right took us slowly on by Burton — scent at this time being bad, hounds had to keep their noses down to make it out until after passing Walton Thorns, Mr. Cradock's ash spinney, and reaching Mr. Coupland's farm at Six Hills. A brace of foxes were immediately after this in front of us, and it was impossible to tell whether we went on with the right one or not. Scent all at once improved, and the pace was really good for the next thirty minutes. Old Dal by being kept a field or two on the right hand, we pretty quickly reached Broughton station, near where the railroad was crossed, and hounds pointed for Curates Gorse. This latter covert was kept some little distance on the left, while the pack swept gaily on, with not more than two or three followers any- where near. I may mention, the field began to tail the moment hounds increased the pace on Mr. Coup- land's farm, and I never saw a whipper-in afterwards ! After crossing the Broughton road, on the right of the Curate, hounds dipped into the valley, then, swinging round to the left, soon climbed the hill of Hickling Standard, and passed on the very edge of Parson's Thorns, but not a hound entered, the hne being carried on towards Kinoulton Gorse ; but about midway between the two they (the hounds) turned to the right, and the two villages of Hickling and Kinoulton were passed and left behind. Soon after this my hopes were raised very high, for I saw the fox, with his back up, not more than a field ahead, and not unnaturally the thought of a speedy termination, with a glorious kill in the open, at

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once crossed my mind ; this, however, was not to be, although we kept close at him for some time yet to come. He having crossed the canal by the swing bridge, I was put off the line for a few valuable moments by two labouring men, who said they were quite sure he had not gone over ; and, as another instance of how little notice should be taken of such people, the fox had crossed under their very feet, and they had not seen him. Immediately after this I got another view at him, crossing a stubble field, and luck was again against me, for Mr. Coupland, who would no doubt have been a great help, got a very nasty fall over a stile, and was prevented coming on for some little time. At the next road hounds again checked, the fox having ran down it for some distance, and some traffic being between him and the hounds, made it more difficult for them to own the line. Three or four fields further on, and the canal was again reached, at a very sharp turn which there is in it. Up to this the fox had ran, but, instead of swimming over, had turned short to the left along the towing path, on which he kept for perhaps a half-mile. Directly after leaving this, the Smite crossed our line, and, in addition to the brook itself, there was a fence on the landing side, which made it almost im- possible to jump at that end of the day. Having a quick eye, Mr. A. Martin soon saw a place where the rail on the far bank could be broken, and the brook being narrowish just here, we landed over safely, and pounded along after hounds, who were running again very smartly now in the direction of Kaye Wood, and eventu- ally passed it close by the keeper's house. Keeping a straight course we were not long in reaching Colston Bassett, where the fox had been seen two minutes

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before, and dead beaten ; still he managed to struggle on, and at Langar darkness was coming on at such a pace that it was found impossible to continue the pur- suit; and however richly hounds deserved their fox, they had to be stopped, and come home without him, after hunting him for three hours and forty minutes in the most persevering manner possible. Although the longest point would not be more than thirteen miles, the country crossed would not measiu'e less than t\^-enty- three, and this all grass, with the exception of ten or twelve fields, and one covert only touched, viz., Mr. Cradock's ash spinney, near Six Hills, near where it is most likely foxes were changed.

A short description may be given of a very long run which took place on Monday, Dec. 31st, when the meet was at Widmerpool New Inn. There was a good- sized field out, and the favourite covert, Curates Grorse, was the order, where we at once found. Going away by the meeting place, our fox then turned to the left, and ran parallel with the Fosse road as far as Willoughby, then bearing to the left, re-crossed it, and then steering for the Vale, he passed the Broughtons and Mr. Sher- brooke's covert ; after which he bore round to the right, and ran up to the Wartnaby hills, and passing Little Belvoir and Hoi well Mouth, got again into the vale by Clawson, from which another turn took us over the hiUs, this time to keep straight ahead. Having passed Grim- stone Gorse and Lord Aylesford's covert, we kept on thence by Eagdale, and were soon afterwards treated to a shy at the Hoby raspers, at one of which Count Kinsky got an awful fall, a bottom which looked to be eighteen or twenty feet wide, with stake and bound

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fence on taking off side. He was picked up insensible, but soon came round, and joined hounds again after they had passed Cossington Grorse, and reached Sea- grave village. Hounds threaded the village, and then pointed for Barrow-on-Soar, but, turning again to the right, crossed over by Pandy and Burton, got within a few fields of Wymeswold, and were stopped in the dark when nearing Old Dalby. About four gentlemen only got to the end of this run.

Friday, Jan. 11th. — Great Dalby was the meet, and after running a fox to ground at Leesthorpe, we found in Thorpe Trussells, and ran a cracker, the line being by Adams' Gorse, then over the beautiful and good- scenting old Burrow hill steeplechase course, thence to the left by Sir Francis Burdett's covert, Gartree Hill, over the Burton Flats to Burbage's covert, where we dwelt not a moment, but running straight through, hounds kept up the pace towards Stapleford Park, rolling their fox over handsomely when within three fields of it. Time, just over an hour.

Monday, 14th, was productive of another good run of about the same time. Six Hills being the meeting place. A slow hunt from Cossington Gorse was all that was done in the morning, when we went on to Thrussington New Covert, and found as fine a fox as is often seen. He went away by Six Hills, and then, turning to the right, got close up to Shoby Scholes, when another turn to the left took us over the Wartnaby road, and pointing in the direction of Wymeswold, from which he turned, and shortly after passed Old Dalby, thence on by Lord Aylesford's Covert and Shoby, worked back by Eagdale, where he was rolled over in the open. The following

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sketch will show that he must have been pretty stiff, for he stood up perfectly straight when dead, and without

the slightest assistance.

Another fox was found in Walton Thorns, and killed in the open, in fifteen minutes ; and another being halloa'd for'ard at the same time, gave us a remarkably pretty gallop, running by Wymes wold, Ella's Gorse, Willoughby, Wysall, and beat us at or near to Widmerpool just as darkness was coming on.

The thirty-two minutes which was so thoroughly enjoyed on the day after the Loughborough ball should, I think, be mentioned briefly.

Thursday, 17th Jan. — Prestwold, at 12. Of course there was a much larger field than is seen on this side on any ordinary occasion. Our first fox was found in Willoughby Gorse, and bowled over just before reaching Widmerpool. Time of this spurt, fifteen minutes.

All were pleased when the master now gave the order for Curates Gorse, which has been the starting point of

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so many good runs. A fox was quickly found, but on account of the number of people he could not get away so quickly as usual, and indeed he was nearly chopped, through being headed and turned back from the road, which was lined. Making his next attempt on the upper side, he got clear away, and nothing could be more lively than the run which followed. After pointing for Upper Broughton, he swung round to the left, crossed the road, and dipped at once into the valley — hounds racing and shooting through each succeeding fence like so many arrows. A turn to the right taking us under both the Broughtons, and the brook which crossed our path, had the effect of thinning the field most unmistake- ably, one gentleman getting a fearful ducking, his horse walking about on the top of him while he was under water, and he eventually had to ride home to Leicester minus hat, whip, and one stirrup, while a dozen or fourteen others helped to fill its banks. Hounds in the meantime were racing away and waiting for no one, their line being by Mr. Sherbrooke's Covert, and pointing their heads in the direction of Kaye Wood ; but again turning to the left, they wheeled round, and running beside the canal up to Hickling village, they were seen, fox and hounds, tumbling over and over down the em- bankment, when a real hearty whoo-hoop rent the air. Among others, Mr. L. EoUeston went remarkably well, and was one of the first to see the fox rolled over.

On the day following, viz., Friday, 18th, the fixtui'e was Quenby Hall — and another grand day's sport was the result. The first fox was put up in the open by foot people, but he went to ground at Ingarsby, and we went on to Botany Bay. A traveller was quickly found, and, dashing through the Coplow, made at once '* over

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tlie hills and far away." Passing by Tomlin's spinney, and climbing the next hill, the pace was too great for the horses, and hounds literally ran away from them. They ran at a tremendous pace, leaving Billesdon on the right, and Skeffington on the left, to Eolleston. Time up to this, twenty minutes. Scent now failed consider- ably, and the rest part was hunting, although at a fair pace. A lot of country was ran over by Keythorpe and -East JSTorton, the fox being finally killed in the open near Loddington, in the Cottesmore country, after having ran through a good portion of Sir Bache Cunard's. This made the sixth fox killed in the open dunng the last four days.

On Friday, Jan. 25th, the meet was at Ashby Folville. A fox was found first in Thorpe Trussells, and hunted steadily by the Punch Bowl, Pickwell, and lost at Cold Overton, when we came back to Ashby Pastures, and found w-hat had proved to be, on two previous occasions, the worst fox ever seen, for he ran the whole time like a very bad rabbit ; and it is most surprising that such a fox could have behaved so badly, for he knew a great deal of country. He went away this time the same line as before, and w^as trying his twisting dodges, when he must have found this time it would not pay. Coming away beside the road towards Gaddesby, the pace was terrific as they skirted the end of that village, and swung round over the grasses by Ashby Folville. Another turn to the left took them up the hill, and, after running between the two coverts of Thorpe Trussells and the Pastures, they pointed for Kirby, but turned before reaching it, and taking in the line Gaudilope and Burton Lazars, after which hounds quickly entered Mr. Burbage's Covert. So far it had been capital, but was

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not yet over. As hounds were going in on one side, the fox was going out at the other, and coming back to the river, which saved us the trouble of crossing it. The line was now direct across the Burton Elats to Staple- ford Park, which the fox reached not two minutes in front of hounds, and was immediately after bowled over handsomely. Time, an hour and five minutes ; distance, as the crow flies, nine miles ; as they ran, thirteen.

Monday, 4th 'Feb. — There were two charming gallops to ground. Meeting place, Widmerpool New Inn. The morning was spent in blank draws ; but when Lord Aylesford's Covert was reached the proceedings consider- ably altered, for a very wide-awake fox was away before hounds entered the covert, and being clapped on to him without loss of time, the twenty minutes which followed was of the very best description : the line being round Grimstone, through the Gorse and Saxelby Wood, thence by Old Dalby, to Broughton station, to ground beside the line. Being a large pipe drain, there was no difficulty in bolting him ; and after another nice run, he returned to the same drain, and was left in peace.

Monday, 11th. — A very wild morning, and unhke hunting. The fixture was Thrussington, and Cossington Gorse was first drawn. This covert produced a fox who went to ground at Ratcliffe-on-the- Wreak, beside the river, at a time when the most fearful storm of hail and rain was falling that is often one's lot to be out in. The day now cleared up nicely, and we went on to Thrussington Wolds for another fox — quickly finding ; but scent was only very moderate until towards the end. Hounds hunted beautifully by Eagdale, thence by Shoby and Hoby, then to the left up to Grimstone, and

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on to Old Dalby, and down towards Broughton station ; but, turning back, the line was carried over the Wart- naby hills and into Saxelby Wood, where they got on better terms with their fox ; and now they began to run in real earnest, and the line of grass, too, was very pretty. Clean through Saxelby village they raced him, and at Asfordby bowled him over in a cottage garden, after a remarkably sporting run.

On Monday, March 10th. — Widmerpool New Inn was again the meet, and Curates Gorse ^again the first draw. A fox being quickly found, we were away almost in no time, and in eleven minutes afterwards were at the edge of Mr. Sherbrooke's Covert. I don't know the distance, but this seemed to me to be very quick work, and I took out my watch twice to be sure that I had not made a mistake. The fox being holloa'd on one field ahead, we ran by Hose brickyard and Clawson to the Thorns, thence to Piperhole Gorse, when hounds divided. Our horses were too much beat to be able to catch and stop either lot, so each went their own way : one lot running their fox to ground at Harby Hills, the others theirs to ground at Old Hills.

Saturday, 22nd March.— A day on the Forest, Charley Cross Roads being the meeting place. Some coverts were drawn blank in a line for the Whit wick Eocks,^ where we found, but our fox was killed almost immediately, which was a sad blow, as foxes on this side were well known to be very scarce. However, we had luck in store, for at the One Barrow Eeservoir a very stout old gentleman was in waiting, and who kept us for the next two hours busily engaged ere he yielded up his life. Going first by the One Barrow

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Earm, lie ran a circle, and back to his starting point, thence to White Horse Wood and Sheepshed, and, instead of going on to Garendon, he turned to the left, and keeping Oakley and Piper Woods on the right hand, ran pretty straight to Belton, and then turned short to the left along the Water Meadows, where there was a capital scent, and which was a very pretty part of the run. This led us to Grracedieu Manor, hounds crossing the Park, and pointing for the Cadement Wood, but instead of entering it, they bore to the left, and crossing Sharpley Eocks, once more passed One Barrow. This was his last time, for our fox now put his head for a different line, and from which he was not again destined to return. Crossing by the Oaks Church and Hiveshead we soon reached Longcliffe, and passing on the right of the Privets, ran over Whittle Hill, and into the Out Woods ; one turn round, and away by Caron's Piece, and on to Beacon Hill; and running through the Beacon Planting, hounds got a view just outside, and rolled him over, and so ended another capital day.

The above are, although feebly written, a slight example of the many excellent runs which have been enjoyed during this very famous season-— certainly by far the best it has been my good fortune to have seen. It is an old saying that a good scent makes a good fox, and in the season just past, this may be said to have been fully illustrated, for scent has been better and foxes have run straighter than perhaps has been known for a very many years. I hope it may be as good next. Then with a good pack of hounds and a good stud of horses, and a prosperous season for the farmers, there will be lots of fun and enjoyment for those who think that, among the few things most worth living for, fox- hunting is one.

T. Fire.

31

THE GALLAKT LITTLE GEEY.

I've got as good a little horse as ever you did see, So well he lifts his foreleg up, so nice he bends his knee ; His action high, his quarters good, and such a depth of girt. And a rattling pair of hocks and thighs to lift him through the dirt.

My gallant little hunter,

My dashing little grey !

Now see him at the covert side with snaffle bridle on, "While other horses chafe and fret, how quietly he'll

stand ; And when the hounds have found their fox, and settled

to him steady, He'll champ his bit and shake his head to show you he is ready.

My gallant little hunter, My dashing little grey !

Five minutes more are over, there's a halloo "gone

away !" The scent is good, the pace first-rate, there is no time

to stay : The scent is good, and up yon hill I'll venture any bet The cocktails will be sobbing, and the sweUs all in a fret At my gallant little hunter, My dashing little grey !

Now twenty minutes past and gone, the sweUs begin to

crane At a great high stile upon a bank, and a drop into a lane. My little nag can stand and jump, which oft saves me a

burst, And now but two are with the hounds, and now, by Jove, I'm first

On my dashing little hunter, My gallant little grey !

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COLONEL THOMSON'S BEST RUN WITH THE ATHERSTONE,

1849.

Januakt 1st, Monday. Red Lion, Appleby. Sailor and Landseer, self; "Ace," Stephen Goodall; Avenue, Stephen Shepherd. Small pack, 19^ couple; scent capital. Wind, N.E.; very cold.

Birdshill Gorse being cut down, Geo. Moore used to put a terrier through the earth, while the hounds drew the rough grass and nettles at the other end. Bolted a fox from the earth, came out of the top of the cover, turned to the left, and crossed the brook towards Measham Mill ; ran up almost to the canal bridge as if for Willesley, turned to the left along the side of the brook to Stretton, which they crossed nearly opposite the house. Checked for a moment, but hit it off before anyone got to them, crossed the road to Ashby, ran very hard across the road from No-Man's Heath to Seckington. Ransom and Darling made a capital turn — Fencer, Matchless, Ringlet, President, Barmaid, and Nimble, all doing well. Checked for a moment at the road at the top of the new Thorpe cover — twenty-five minutes up to the first check. Ran on very pretty up to Thorpe, where they checked again at the road, hit it two fields on. Up jumped a hare ; Plunder and some young ones at it ; stopped them. Up got another ; Prudence and Dewdrop after it. Roj-al hit the line off in the other direction through a sheepfold, and put us right again ; through Thorpe Gorse (cut down), across a deep country up to the railroad near Wiggington (where my horse cast a shoe — I took the "Ace" from Goodall), crossed at a bridge, and began to run for him ; came down to

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tlie Thame, near the hanging cover at Elford, ran along the bank for about two fields (Cheerful leading), crossed the river — horses could not get over — ran up nearly to Fisherwick, turned to the left over the meadows, where they ran him in view. He swam the river at Comber- ford Mill to return to the Atherstone side : the hounds viewed him in the water, and dashed in at him. They landed on an island^ where they killed him. No one could get to them, but Novice brought the head on shore, and some others a pad or two. Time, one hour and fifteen minutes. A very good run, and a very pretty finish. Sailor carried me like a bird, and the " Ace " the last part. Edmund Peel went very well on a black horse, also Powell on a grey ; Hervey, Wilson, Lawrenson, &c. Powell got his horse in the Thame, and old Green nearly got drowned in fording it. Bass got a bad fall, and broke a rib. Hon. J. Macdonald, Henry Porester, Stanhope, &c,, were out, and came from Lord Chesterfield's, Bretby Park.

Frost set in very hard in the afternoon. Sir Geo. Chetwynd gave me a cigar, the last I ever smolved. Killed eighteen brace, and six to ground, up to date.

J. A. T.

THE OHAENDOxY RUN WITH THE BICESTER.

Letter from Colois-el Anstetjther Thomson to