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JOHNA.SEAVERNS

TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES

3 9090 014 534 412

^^^^

Vi/ebster Family Library of VetenYiary Medicine
Curnmings School of Veterinary fvledicine at
Tufts University
200 VVestboro Road
North Grafton, MA 01536

HUNTING

IN THE

GOLDEN DAYS

HUBERT GARLE.

ILLUSTRATED.

BY

FINCH MASON.

XonDon :

F. V. WHITE & Co., 14, Bedford Street, W.C.

1896.

TO

COLONEL A. P. F. C. SOMERSET, C.B.,

ENFIELD COURT,

IN GRATITUDE FOR VERY MANY PLEASANT GALLOPS

ENJOYED WITH HIS

UNRIVALLED PACK OF STAGHOUNDS,

THIS LITTLE BOOK, BY HIS KIND PERMISSION,

IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.

I HAVE an old and battered silver wine funnel in my
possession, which belonged to my forefathers, who were
all ardent fox-hunters. Many a time have I thought
what tales it could tell if it could only speak, for it
has, doubtless, been present at many a hunting dinner
in the days of yore, when people were more particular
about the condition of port than they are nowadays.
The thoughts it conjures up in my mind are of a very
pleasant nature, and to it is attributed the conception
of this little work.

\

^ 1/ ../ra

CHAPTER I.

Mr. Goodbery is standing with his back to the fire,
the tails of his well-worn red coat thrown over his arms.
Above him hangs a portrait of Peter Goodbery, his
father, who lived in Foxley Grange before him and
hunted the Foxley Harriers to the day of his death.
The present Mr. Goodbery is one of the old school, and
the sporting instincts of the father have been inherited
by the son. It is natural, therefore, that it should be
our hero's favourite pursuit to follow the hounds.

Mr. Goodbery is a stout gentleman of comfortable
means, and still more comfortable appearance. To be
exact, his income is ^2,500 per annum, derived chiefly
from land. He troubles himself little about business
matters, and has a dread of married life, as he has
seen so many of his companions, jolly good fellows
when single, become rather sober and thoughtful after
entering the lists ; consequently, he is rather apt to
shy off" the fair sex. Although he has been talked to
by his married friends and recommended to follow suit^
he always thinks they are like the fox who lost his
brush, and so he means to keep clear himself.

Foxley Grange is a charming place, with its many
gables and picturesque windows peeping out through
the ivy and westeria. The old house dates back to
early in the sixteenth century, and is built partly
of brick and stone — a roomy house with an old-

2

6 Huiiting in the Golden Days.

world air pervading it. The gardens, laid out in
the Dutch style, still bear signs of their original
grandeur, although they are now somewhat neglected.
No doubt Court ladies have graced the walks with their
presence, for the villagers speak with veneration of the
quality that once resided within its hospitable portals.
The shape of the beds recalls my lady's flower garden,
and a broken sun-dial covered with lichen and an old
stone seat bearing unmistakable signs of " anno domini "
help to arouse pleasant memories of by-gone days.

On entering the house, the first thing that claims
attention is a magnificent oak staircase, made so wide
and strong that no doubt the architect built it with
a view of allowing enterprising horsemen to ride up
to bed on horse-back, which was a favourite amuse-
ment in the olden days, so 'tis said. The hall is laid
with good stone flags ; opposite the door is a generous
fireplace, where a couple of large logs blaze on the
andirons and make things cheerful at Christmas time —
for our forefathers did a good deal of entertaining in
their halls, where the young folk could make as much
noise as they liked, without disturbing the old people
over the cards and negus.

Then what cellars there are under that house !
Enough room to stow away a regiment of soldiers ; but
put to better account than that, for our ancestors were
a very independent set, and liked to be their own factors.
There are innumerable cupboards, rooms and recesses,
used for pickling, baking, brewing, and the storage of
apples and cheeses, also a large vault-shaped room well
stocked with wine, for it is a very necessary thing to
have ample room for laying down port, as three-bottle
men like their wine to be old and crusted. The kitchen
is well worth a visit, its quaint ingle-nook and hearth

Hunting in the Golden Days. 7

giving an air of home and comfort to the house. Down
the chimney hangs a series of pot hooks, where the iron
saucepan is suspended that contains pot-luck for the
hungry hunter. From a beam across the ceiling there
dangles a row of fine hams in canvas bags, which Mrs.
Stores, the housekeeper, has cured at home, for has she
not the chimney where all that appertains to the
mystery of bacon curing is conducted ? What a
comfortable old settle, too, with a high back that
keeps off draughts and makes things cosy. This
is the seat frequented by the gamekeeper or groom,
who, after a long day with their master across country
or through the turnips, may enjoy a meal there by
invitation. All these things were part and parcel ot
country house life when agriculture was in a more
prosperous state than in the present day, and land-
lords were able to live on rents received from their
farms.

The reception rooms of the Grange are not exactly
spacious, but there is plenty of room for the dispensa-
tion of English hospitality, and a charming suspicion of
former times still lingers about them, recalling the
days of hair powder, high heels, and ruffles. Strange
tales are told of mysterious noises heard in the
corridors at dead of night — the rustle of silk gowns and
jingle of spurs being described as some of them. An
affrighted guest, who was on a visit to the Grange for a
fortnight, hearing these sounds, packed his box at
break of day, vowing that important business compelled
him to return to town at once. Mr. Goodbery, however,
has never heard any of these noises, although he has
lived in the house all his life, and he attributed them to
the cold pork and pickles his friend had been eating for
supper. No doubt, once in bed, Goodbery sleeps too

8 Hunting in the Golden Days.

soundly to hear anything, for a hard day's ride after
hounds is conducive to peaceful slumber.

Of late years our host has been unable to walk
quite as well as he could wish whilst shooting,
and so has had recourse, good sportsman that he
is, to a shooting cob, " for," says Goodbery, " 1 7 stone
for Shanks's pony is a good deal to carry." When
shooting one day, being mounted as usual, and coming
across some heavy land that lay on the side of a
steep hill, he called on his fellow sportsmen to keep up
in line, forgetting that he was mounted and they on foot.
The poor fellows did their level best to keep the line
with him, upon which he remarked, with a wicked
twinkle in his eye, *' I say, you fellows, this makes you
huff and puff a bit, don't it ? Come on, my lads, keep
in line ! keep in line ! " But to our tale.

Air. Goodbery is going hunting to-day. Not that
this is an unusual event in his life, for he takes
the field about four days a week. This morning he
is expecting Oldwig, a hunting friend, to call for him
on the way to covert, and on looking out of the
window he sees that worthy riding up the drive on
his hunter. Goodbery is blessed with a coachman
who is always on the spot when wanted, and of course is
there to hold the stirrup whilst the guest dismounts,
should he so desire.

"Welcome," exclaims the hearty host in a joyous
voice, " and let me give you something, for the
weather looks somewhat threatening and you know the
old maxim, * He who would the dart of death defy, should
keep the inside wet, the outside dry.' " With these words
he produces two large silver tankards, bearing by their
dents probable evidence that they have been used at an
earlier date in settlement of some difference of opinion.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 9

These he causes to be filled with good nut-brown ale,
for Goodbery believes in moderation early in the morn-
ing, and never drinks anything stronger than ale before
dinner.

Oldwig remarks that they have no time to waste, and
must be moving if they do not wish to be late ; so
wishing themelves good luck, they are soon on their
way to the meet. Our hero mounts by the aid of a horse-
block, for he is no feather-weight, as we have already
hinted. Oldwig sometimes jocularly remarks to his
friends, " What does it matter to a man like Goodbery
if he weighs more than any one else in the hunt ? He's
g"ot good hands and judgment, a long purse, and to my
mind, his weight rather tends to steady his horses at
their fences than otherwise."

As they jog along to the meet they fall in with
several other sporting people, all bound in the same
direction. Amongst them is Miss Richmond, mounted
on a white Arab and escorted by a negro servant in a
gorgeous livery and riding a similar animal.

" Good morning. Miss," says Oldwig, raising his hat.
^' Glad to see you are going to honour the hunt to-
day with your presence." At which Miss Richmond
smiles and says nothing,

"Might your father be coming out this morning?"
ventures Goodbery.

" Yes, papa is coming ; in fact, here he comes," as an
old-fashioned gentleman, mounted on a sporting-looking
chestnut, turns the corner.

" Talk of angels, sure to see them," says Oldwig.
*' Good morning to you, Richmond. How are you ? "

" Well, not quite as well as I might be ; rather a heavy
dinner last night at the Green Dragon, where they pro-
posed the Master's health too often. But no doubt a

lo Huntmg in the Golden Days.

gallop after a good straight-necked fox will soon put me
right. Anyway, Oldwig, I shall look to you to give me
a lead to-day, as my nerves are a little shaken, and I
know you never let them get far away."

Now, if there is one thing that Oldwig likes more
than another it is a little soft solder. As a matter ot
fact, be it whispered, our friend is a bit of a funker,
and a deal better across country after dinner, when the
wine has been freely circulated, than at any other time.
But this is only a detail.

By this time they have arrived at the meet, the
rendezvous being an old-fashioned manor house, snugly
nestling amongst high elm trees. The rooks, flying
high, are quite in a commotion to-day, as they are un-
accustomed to seeing so many red coats about, and fear
for their safety.

The hounds are in a meadow in front of the house^
surrounded by a group of admiring bumpkins. The
majority of the sportsmen are partaking of breakfast.
Let us follow Goodbery and Oldwig, who have just dis-
mounted and are about to enter the house. Within all
is bustle and excitement. The kindly host, with beaming
face, is cutting away at a great side of beef, assisted by
half-a-dozen laughing maids who are further augmented
by a couple of red-waistcoated servants (doubtless pro-
cured from the stable), for the strain on the establish-
ment requires all the power available.

" How are you, Goodbery, my boy ? Take a seat next
to me," shouts the host, with the voice of one who is
accustomed to speak to people out of doors. " Come, what
will you take — rabbit-pie with forced-meat balls, cold
chicken and tongue, pigeon-pie, or a bit of that loin of
pork, fed on the premises, it's rare stuff to stick to your
ribs, my lad."

Hunting in tJie Golden Days. 1 1

Our friends do full justice to the meal, for it must be
remembered that hunting in the time of which I am
writing was different from the sport of to-day. In those
days the fox was sometimes started before sunrise, and
hunted till sundown, when the jovial huntsmen returned
to their dinner, which they made the principal meal of
the day.

Several farmers come in and are welcomed in the
same boisterous manner, and after all have satisfied the
inner man they mount their hunters again and take
the field.

There is a good field to-day and a large attendance of
regular followers.

What sport, I ask, is there to be equalled to that of
fox-hunting, with its healthy exercise, change of scene,
sociability, and excitement ? Was it not Lord Palmer-
ston who said the finest thing for the inside of a man
was the outside of a horse ? Personally, I don't think he
was far wrong, I don't want to be sour, but very different
is the hunting of the present day of which some young
men think so much, from the sport of our grandfathers,
in the days when railways were unheard of, and every
face was known at a meet. Nowadays many people go
out for the sake of pace and jumping fences rather than
for love of the good old sport of fox-hunting. How
many of our modern sportsmen know the name of one
hound from another, or which are most reliable or throw
their tongue in cover ?

Imagine yourself living at the early part of the
century, when our forefathers set out at daybreak with
their friends and neighbouring squires, having heard of
damage done to hen roosts ; they would unkennel their
hounds and try to get on the drag of the old fox, and
slowly hunt up to where he was sleeping off the effects of

1-2 Hunting in the Golden Days.

his midnight feast. What hound work ! What music
from those old-fashioned, deep-throated packs ! The
huntsmen knew every hound and cheered them on by
their names ; many long runs they had, and surely it was
better sport than running into a fox after twenty minutes,
as with present day hounds, for very few foxes now-
adays will stand up before them longer if there is a
scent.

Talking about long runs reminds me of one that took
place in 1793. Here it is, taken from a good old
journal : —

" On the I ith January last an old dog fox was found
in Perrin Wood in the County of Kent, by T. D.
Brockman's hounds. He ran through the following
parishes : — Postdene, Saltwood, Newington, Paddles -
worth, Acrise, Limminge, Eltham, Denton, Barham,
Kingstone, Bishopsbourne, Hard, and Bridge vStreet,
forming a zig-zag of 32 miles, which was run in two
hours and twenty-one minutes to the last-mentioned
place, where the old dog fox was forced to surrender a
life which he endeavoured to preserve by that strength
and agility unequalled by his race."

Many of the packs in the early days were trencher
fed, and on a hunting morning were collected by a man
who went through the villages blowing a horn. I know
an old man who still takes a keen interest in all matters
connected with sport, although he has grown too old
and feeble to do much himself When a boy he man-
aged to persuade his father, rather against the latter's
will, to keep a hound. One morning, when working in
the forge, the old dog, who was lying on the floor, heard
the sound of the horn in the distance.

** Father," said the boy, ** shall I let Trueman out ? "

"You go on with your work," was the father's reply,

Hunting in the Golden Days. 13

** and let the hound bide. It costs enough to fill his belly
now without a' hunting."

Presently the horn sounded again, this time nearer.
There was a crash and a sound of broken glass ; the
old hound had jumped through a lattice window.

*' Blame it," said the father, " it would have been
cheaper to let old Trueman a' gone a' hunting than a'
kept him."

Yes, times were different then. We now hear of
the golden farmer and wonder what sort of a man he
could have been. An innkeeper at Bagshot changed
the name of his sign from Golden Farmer to
Jolly Farmer to make it more comprehensible to the
uninitiated. In the days of which I am writing, wheat
fetched ^40 a load, and a farmer could afford to send
his corn to market with a team of six horses with good
harness and bells. I once remarked to a present-day
farmer what a good old custom it was to have bells
on the horses, and asked him why he did not have
them on his teams.

" Why, lor, sir," he replied, *' I wouldn't do it for
something. If my landlord saw me doing that, he'd
think I was making a fortune, and would raise my rent
at once."

So much for his landlord !

But I am digressing from my story. The hounds are
now in cover, their merry music proclaiming the pleasure
the exercise affords them. Dr. Viles, an impatient
little man, rides up on his flea-bitten grey, with a lean
head and neck, and asks the Squire if he thinks they
will find in this spinney. He does not wait for an
answer, but rides off to another corner of the cover, and
asks a similar question of another sportsman, and again
rides off before an answer can be returned. But his

14 Hunting in the Golden Days.

character is well known ; there is no harm in him, and
most of his friends know that no answer is required.
He is an open-hearted little man, and many of his
patients have heard him speak against medicine,
although it is his calling. " What you want," he would
say, *' is plenty of horse exercise and a little dieting.
Don't take too much medicine ; it only wears out the
stomach. When I first began to practise I used to be
much fonder of prescribing draughts and pills than
I am now. But as we grow older we grow wiser, and
we begin to learn something when we get one leg in the
grave."

By the silence in covert it is clear that there is a
blank draw, so the hounds are taken off to Jobblin's
Wood, about half a mile away. Here they are more
fortunate, for almost as soon as they get into cover, they
proclaim they have found their fox. Away tear
the heavy weights, Goodbery and Oldwig included, for
is it not half the battle to get well away ? Crack goes
the top rail as a blundering three-year-old gives
the timid ones a chance. The hounds are running
very keen on a strong scent, and although the field are
not mounted on such mettle as is to be found in the
highflying country of Leicestershire, yet they are on
good, useful horses, made, perhaps, more for endurance
than pace, and most of them safe conveyances into the
bargain. " When you get over forty, however sporting
you may be," Goodbery is fond of saying, " the
less falls you have the better, although in my time I
have had my share, and more, too, for the matter of
that."

Up comes our host of the Manor House, mounted on
a cocktailed bay, that looks a hunter all over, and
worthy of the noble-looking man who bestrides him.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 15

" I think they are making for Tilling's Wood," says
he ; " let us get on, or we shall lose the best part of it."

They cross a magnificent park, where sheep are
grazing amongst the fine oak trees. The hounds run
close up to the mansion, as though blaster Reynard had
half a mind to stop and seek the kindly shelter of its
portals. But no, away they stream across the grass,
jump the park railings into the coach road to an open,
breezy common, where they are at fault : but only for a
moment, for hark ! a leading hound owns to it. Jack,
the huntsman, cheers them on, and they are again away
in full cry. Goodbery, in moments like these, feels that
he could stand up in his stirrups and shout at the top
of his voice, so great is the pleasure and excitement of
the chase. But no doubt had he done so, he would be
taken for a lunatic, which, under the circumstances,
would perhaps have been a reasonable verdict for any
onlooker to have arrived at.

Crossing a few low-water meadows with a nice little
brook, that heavy weights can all manage and chat over
during their dinner, the sportsmen mount a steep
hill. On arriving at the top, they find that the fox
has run along the ridge till he has reached a large
plantation, where he hopes to baffle his pursuers. The
hounds, however, are bent on having his blood, they vow
he shall die ; but it is not all over yet, for having got his
wind outside this plantation he makes another gallant bid
for life by sinking the hill and crossing the country that
lies below. Some heavy ploughs here have to be encoun-
tered which find out the weak places in the horses. Next
comes a nice jump for a clever hunter, a bank with a
ditch on the take-off and landing side, where a couple
of horsemen bite the dust, but they are soon up again
and seem more eager than ever to show it was only a

1 6 Hunting in the Golden Days.

mistake, and that they could do much bigger things and
not come to grief.

Some of these little doubles are very tricky and need
some doing. There was a good old sporting farmer
in Hertfordshire who had one constructed on his farm
so as to be seen from his dining room. In this way
he often managed to have some good sport when
the hounds were running in his neighbourhood.
There were always two or three riders caught in the
trap if the fox led them over it ; indeed, our friend
was often heard to declare that it furnished quite a
diversion for his wife and daughters, who might other-
wise have found the country monotonous during the
dull and dreary winter months.

Every run must have an end ; after crossing a
couple of ploughed fields, Master Reynard turns round
and gallantly faces the pack who shortly demolish him.
Jack, the huntsman, is soon dismounted and, holding the
fox aloft, he performs the obsequies, surrounded by the
baying pack.

17

CHAPTER II.

A FEAV weeks after the foregoing events, Footit, the
butler, enters the room and hands Mr. Goodbery, on an
old silver salver, an important-looking envelope, bearing
a large red seal with the crest of a mailed arm and
sword. Letters, in those days, were greater rarities
than in the present day, and Mr. Goodbery hastily
opens the envelope, withdraws the contents, and reads
as follows : —

'' Buckskin Hall,

"December 17th, 17 — .
" My dear Goodbery, — We are having our usual
Christmas gathering this year on the 24th, and are
looking forward to seeing you. No ceremony. You will
meet with the same party as hitherto. Get here as early
as you can, as you know we dine at five, and bring your
appetite with you. All news till we meet.

" Your sincere old friend,

"John Jarvis."

From this moment Mr. Goodbery is in a fever of
excitement, and at once communicates the contents of
the letter to Mrs. Stores, his housekeeper, who is busily
engaged the whole day looking out suitable clothes
for her master's visit to Buckskin Hall. The gold
eye-glass and snuff-box, though not in general use,
are produced for the occasion. " Who can tell,"

1 8 Hunting in the Golden Days.

says Mrs. Stores, " but that there will be young bucks
with whom he will have to contend, and it is as well
to carry on these occasions as many guns as possible."
Still it must be admitted at the same time that
Mrs. Stores has a great horror of Goodbery's visits,
for she well knows the traps laid by widows for
wealthy bachelors, and has no liking for the idea of
having a mistress to lord it over her where she has been
in sole control for close on a quarter of a century.
However, the necessary preparations are completed at
last, and the family coach is ordered out for the
occasion.

A grand old carriage it is, hung on a perch with
ample hammer-cloth, with a strong flavour inside of
must and moths, the coat-of-arms emblazoned on the
panels, and a pistol-case behind as a warning to gentle-
men of the road that weapons are carried in case of
need. There are doubtless many good sportsmen in the
present day who drive mail-phaetons hung upon a perch,
but do not know the original cause of construction of
that old-fashioned part of the vehicle. It was con-
structed for the purpose of keeping the pole from oscil-
lating too freely and thereby damaging the right leg of
the post-boy.

The coachman is dressed in his best livery, his
flowing skirts, well-curled white wig, and flesh-coloured
stockings giving an air of importance to the equipage.
Everything is got ready in good time, for the pair of
heavy shires, although they look capable of drawing a
laden wagon, must go at their own pace, for the roads
are heavy and the journey long.

Mr. Goodbery's trunk is safely strapped on the pon-
derous coach, his footmen mount behind, and the two
good horses are at length fairly on their journey.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 19

It is lovely weather for a trip of this kind, especially
with so pleasant an object for its destination. Mr.
Goodbery is pitched about like a parched pea on a
drum, as the heavy carriage ploughs through the deep
ruts.

They soon reach the summit of a hill, whence they
command a view of the surrounding scenery. On the
top of this hill is erected a gibbet, where the remains of
a highwayman hang in chains, the creaking of the rusty
iron making a mournful accompaniment to the whistling
of the wind through the bare branches of the trees.
Such spectacles as these are apt to detract from the
beauty of the view, but they are put there with an
object, and, doubtless, they have a salutary effect on
many.

As they descend the hill the pace becomes brisker,
and it is evident to Mr. Goodbery that the rate is
becoming rather too furious. The stones rattle beneath
the horses' feet, and the oscillation is so great that our
hero finds himself bumping about on the floor of the
carriage. Suddenly there is a tremendous lurch, the
ponderous vehicle for a moment is balanced on two
wheels, then, with a crash, it falls on its side, and throws
our friend nearly through the front panels on to the
coach-box. Luckily, the carriage is well padded inside,
and Goodbery, who is unhurt, soon manages to crawl
out through the open window. Unfortunately, however,
he finds both his trusty horses down, and with their
knees so badly cut and damaged, that the coachman,
who has fortunately escaped uninjured, informs his
master that they will be unable to proceed further,
even if the coach is sufficiently sound to do so. The
horses are led off to an adjoining farmstead, and a
couple of others enlisted from the plough to take the

20 Hunting in the Golden Days.

coach on the remainder of the journey. Subsequent
progress is slow, but sure. Mr. Goodbery has to content
himself with the reflection, that although it is very
trying to have two horses disabled, matters would have
been infinitely worse if the carriage had also been
damaged, as in that case he would not have been able
to continue his journey at all.

At last they reach their journey's end. Driving
through the park gates, they proceed by way of a long
avenue of trees up to the fine Elizabethan mansion, sur-
rounded by a large area of park. The night is cold, and
the lights gleaming from the windows make the scene a
picturesque one. A light fall of snow during the latter
part of their journey brings to mind very vividly the
pleasures and comfort of those ensconced in so comfort-
able-looking an abode. Soon the front door is reached,
the steps of the coach are let down with a clang, and Mr.
Goodbery descends, and is welcomed into the hall by
his good old friend. Sir John Jarvis, who congratulates
him on being unhurt after his accident. A spacious and
charming hall it is, with its panelled oak and carved
cornices. A huge fire of logs is roaring up the ancient
chimney, its bright light making the portraits stand out
in bold relief on the walls, their beauty being enhanced
by the holly and evergreen decorations that we associate
so closely with Christmastide.

" Glad to see you. Had a very cold journey, I am
afraid. Let's shut the door and keep out the cold. We
will soon warm you up here," says the kindly host,
taking his guest by the arm and leading him to the fire.
" Don't trouble about your baggage, they will look after
that, it will be sent up to your room."

Goodbery, indeed, finds it a pleasure to arrive in so
comfortable a house after so cold and tedious a journey.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 21

Several carriages now arrive with other guests,
their advent causing quite a commotion. How well
the postillions love to hear, when hired, that their
destination is Buckskin Hall, for there they know they
can rest their weary jades whilst regaling themselves on
roast beef and ale to their hearts' content.

What pleasant memories do the post-boys recall
in our minds. They were a breed distinctly of their
own who never grew old, presumably because they
were always called boys, and associated themselves as
such. The amount they drank and the weather they
encountered all tended to keep them hardy. Doubtless
had they not led this open-air life they would have been
boxed at a much earlier period, for many good men of
better constitutions who drank less have succumbed to
their potations owing, no doubt, to want of exercise. How
neat they looked, too, when dismounted, enveloped in
their smocks which were thrown over their gorgeous
liveries to keep them clean, for at any hour of the day
they were liable to be called at a moment's notice when
the yard-bell rang, and the summons of " next pair
out " was heard. I think it was Dickens who said
that you never see either a dead post-boy or a
donkey.

As Goodbery enters the hall a burst of merry laughter
is heard, and a troop of young folks come swarming
over the marble floor. Mr. Goodbery is overwhelmed
with salutations, for it must be understood that he is a
great favourite with the young folks, and is looked
upon as an institution upon these occasions. As Sir
John Jarvis truly says, it would not be Christmas with-
out Goodbery.

As the dinner-hour has nearly arrived our friend is
shown up to his room, where he removes his travel-stained

3

21 Hunting in the Golden Days.

clothes and titivates himself up for the evening meal.
His apartment is well worthy of notice. It is a lofty-
room hung with tapestry, with a delicate scent of
lavender and dried rose-leaves pervading it. The large
four-post bed with heavy draperies reminds one some-
what of the old bed of Ware. The whole effect is
perhaps a trifle uncanny, with a suggestion of shadowy
legends and ghosts. A portrait of a young lady hangs
over the fireplace, which might perhaps bring up
unpleasant visions to nervous minds, for it is a family
legend that this beautiful creature of so fair and fragile
appearance was foully murdered shortly before her wed-
ding day. But Mr. Goodbery is fortunately endowed
with strong nerves, and therefore the apparition is not
likely to disturb his digestion nor cause him unpleasant
qualms.

Half-an-hour later our hero issues forth arrayed in his
white nankin breeches, black velvet coat and white wig.
Descending to the drawing-room he finds a large party
of guests assembled, and he is again cordially wel-
comed at this union by his old friends. Miss Janet, an
elderly spinster, sister of Sir John, is looking her best
to-night, and as she lays her slender hand for a moment
in that of Mr. Goodbery, a thrill passes through her
system, for she has hopes, which alas ! up to the
present have been unfruitful, but she comforts herself
with the reflection that there is no knowing what time
may work.

She has known Mr. Goodbery ever since they were
both children, and many are the pleasant gatherings at
this festive season of the year at which they have met.
She has tried many wiles to capture him, some might
say without any response from that solid gentleman ; but
v;e know the fair sex, when once bent upon any object.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 23

seldom or never relinquish their efforts without having
obtained the desired result.

" I am so sorry," says Miss Janet, " to hear of your
breakdown on the road to-day, but I am glad to hear from
my brother that you are none the worse for your esca-
pade. Indeed, it would have been a sad thing if we
had had to nurse you here during Christmas with, per-
chance, a broken limb, whilst the remainder of our guests
were enjoying themselves below."

" You are, indeed, thoughtful," replied Goodbery, " to
think so kindly of me, for, as you say, the pleasures of
Christmas would have, indeed, evaporated had such a
contingency as you name occurred."

*' Had you not better," continued the thoughtful lady,
'■'■ call in the assistance of our neighbouring apothecary,
who is, indeed, a sage and learned man, and have your-
self overlooked by him, for we know the adage, ' a stitch
in time saves nine,' and it may reasonably be applied
in your case."

" Indeed, Miss Janet," replied Goodbery, " it is no
worse than many a fall I have had in the hunting field ;
for there oftentimes the plough is soft, and the well-
padded sides of my coach offered the same kindly
protection."

" You must then, at least, let me administer one of my
cordial draughts, for though you look lightly on the
matter, so serious a shock is oftentimes followed by a
fever."

Goodbery, who has no idea of these nostrums, politely
declines, assuring the lady that he is quite unhurt.

" Yes, but you must remember that you have had a
narrow escape of your life, Mr. Goodbery, and you
might be lying a corpse on your bed instead of sleeping
in it to-night. Ah, life is a solemn reality, and it is as

24 Hunting in the Golden Days.

well to keep before us as often as possible the thoughts
of churchyards, worms, and graves."

"If you don't mind," said Goodbery, "I think I would
rather talk of livelier subjects to-night ; and, if you
please, I'll take a glass of punch."

This dreary lady's conversation is interrupted by the
entrance of the other guests. The first to enter the
room is our old friend Oldwig, accompanied by his wife.
Besides these are Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, and cheery,
ruddy-faced Mr. Winebold and his spouse, all of whom
are old friends of Goodbery's and regular visitors at Sir
John's homely gatherings. Then, too, there are a
couple of college chums, come down from Oxford to
spend the Christmas "vac" with Eric, Sir John's eldest
son.

Nor has the reader yet been introduced to Mr. and
Mrs. Lofty. Mr. Lofty is a diminutive man, who
boasts that he is able to ride under eight stone,
and as he is a devoted follower of the chase his
weight stands him in good stead. Although a bold
man to hounds and never known to funk the stiffest
bull-finch, yet in the presence of his wife he shows an
entirely different front, for he has never been known to
oppose his better half on the slightest subject. In fact,
anyone glancing at Mrs. Lofty for a few moments could
not but conclude that there is some good reason for the
little man taking this course, as she is a powerful hard-
visaged woman some ten years his senior, whose physi-
ognomy denotes by its strength of character that she is
not to be trifled with. Why he ever married this lady
has been an enigma that many of his friends have
tried in vain to solve. Some, however, are unkind
enough to hint that he possibly married her for
her money-bags.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 25

Be that as it may, Mrs. Lofty has certainly gained
the upper hand over her husband in all domestic
matters, and she is not averse to showing her power
over him. With an imperious voice she calls him to
her side.

" George, have you seen that all the luggage is safely
placed in our room, and have you carefully counted all
the boxes r "

" Yes, my dear," replies the submissive husband, " I
have attended to that."

<* You had better make certain," replies his dame,
*' so go up at once and count them over again. You
know what there is. My large hair trunk, my three hat
boxes, my dressing and jewel case, your carpet bag, hat
box, and brown paper parcel. You remember the last
time we paid a visit to Foxholes you forgot my
dressing-case, and you know how I was put about."

Lofty is about to leave the room, with alacrity, in
quest of the said luggage, when he is again recalled
by his loving wife.

'* While you are up there, George, you might take
out my moire-antique, for you know how crumpled it
will get if it is left in the packing."

At last poor George is allowed to go and get this
distasteful business over, and while he is gone I will
introduce the reader to another of the friends who have
come to spend Christmas at Buckskin Hall.

One of the guests usually found in every country
house, and who is, indeed, a most valuable addition
to every social gathering, is Charley Yaverton. He was,
at one time, in a regiment of horse, but being unfor-
tunately possessed of small means, he was compelled
to sell his commission, and now he is located at
Buckskin Hall for several months each year, acting as

2 6 Hunting m the Golden Days.

the Squire's confidant, writing his letters, keeping farm
accounts, breaking in his dogs and horses, and generally
making himself agreeable to his friends. In fact, he
is one of those invaluable men without whom no country
house seems to be complete.

Goodbery, who feels the pangs of hunger growing on
him, as the jolting about of the coach and no lunch have
given him a rare appetite, is not sorry when dinner is
announced, and he is told off to take in a shy young
maiden, a niece of Sir John's. What a merry party
they are on this occasion, the flashing of the lights
upon the old silver on the sideboard, the brightness ot
the cut glass and dishes all helping to make the com •
forts of life more pleasant and palatable for the guests
assembled to enjoy them. Roast beef, mince pies, plum
pudding, and old mulled ale are as usual in attendance
to celebrate the season of the year. " Christmas comes
but once a year," remarks Goodbery with a sigh of
perfect happiness as he helps himself to another mince
pie ; " but when it comes it brings good cheer."

Miss Janet has arranged that she is to be seated on
Mr. Goodbery's left. Artful spinster, she did not wish
to be taken in by that worthy, in case it should cause
comment, but at the same time she has contrived to be
seated next to him, so that she may enjoy his con-
versation. As soon as the guests are all seated at table,
Miss Betty, Sir John Jarvis's daughter, narrates an
adventure she met with while returning from a visit to
London, where she has been spending a few days with
her sister.

Returning by the " Comet " coach, the passengers
consisting only of Charley Yaverton, Miss Betty, and
another lady, as evening drew near and they were
crossing a wild common the coach was suddenly

HiDifiiig in the Golden Days. 27

brought to a standstill. At first they were unaware
that anything unusual had happened, and thought
that the guard had dismounted to put the skid
on for the descent of a hill, or that one of the
horses had fallen lame with a stone in its shoe ;
but surmises were at once set at rest on the
point by the appearance at the coach doors of two
highwaymen. They were both disguised with black
masks and mounted on magnificent cattle. Many of
these gentry had seen better times and knew what a
horse ought to be, but had been driven to this mode of
obtaining money as a last resource, through having lost
their fortune over the throtv of a dice or turn of a card.
They were doubtless bold men, who carried their lives
in their hands, for no one knew better than themselves
the risk they ran of a bullet through their skins, and the
tree at Tyburn as their finale.

Our two gentlemen opened the door of the carriage
and politely requested the passengers to dismount, and
to deliver up any valuables they had about them.
Fortunately for Miss Betty, Charley Yaverton was in
attendance, and this friend in need not only carried a
brace of horse-pistols in his belt under his cloak, but was
also endued with presence of mind. He began to
parley with the ruffians, assuring them that none
of the passengers in the coach carried any valuables.
This their aggressors would not be satisfied with,
and they were about to search the party, as Miss
Betty explained it^ — forsooth, a most ungallant crew
— when by a move ot strategy Charley withdrew round
the coach, and mounting to the seat which should
have been occupied by the guard had not that worthy
decamped at the first sign of danger, he fired the
blunderbuss carried by the coach full in the face of one

28 Hunting in the Golden Days.

of the villains. Unfortunately, it flashed in the pan,
but quicker than thought he whipped out his pistols and
discharged them at the already terrified highwaymen
with good result, for it seems that one was so severely
wounded in the shoulder that he was unable to mount
his horse, and had to be assisted by his comrade. The
two villains then made good their escape, followed for
some distance by the military hero, who, however, was
unable to overtake them. Charley then returned and
gallantly handed the ladies into the coach, primed his
pistols, and mounted the roof to act as bodyguard over
them. The coach then proceeded on its journey and our
friends arrived home without any further adventure.

Mr. Goodbery congratulates Betty on her fortunate
escape, and relates an adventure of a similar nature that
happened to him, but as far as he was personally con-
cerned, of a less fortunate character. He was returning
by coach across Hounslow Heath one dark winter's
night, when progress was put a stop to by a resolute
character, and though there were a goodly number of
passengers, they were unfortunately without a weapon
of any kind. The guard, perhaps being in league with
this scoundrel, was not provided with firearms. The
travellers were all turned out of the coach and told to
stand and deliver. One passenger shot a handful of
guineas into his boots, thinking thus to be able to
conceal his wealth, but the highwayman, scenting con-
cealment, demanded that he should pull them off, to
which the poor wretch was obliged to accede, although
with very bad grace.

** Having about fifty guineas with me," says Mr.
Goodbery, " I handed them up without a murmur, as I
well knew that if I refused, I should lose both my
money and my life."

Hu7iii'}ig in ihe Golden Days. 29

Another passenger, an actor, who had some
money about him, luckily escaped with his hard-
earned money, by feigning to be a lunatic. He danced
about, and replied, " Nunkey pays for all " to the
highwayman's request for money. The highwayman,
not understanding this jargon, again ordered him
sternly to hand over all he had, but the only reply he
made was "Nunkey pays for all." A fellow actor,
falling in with the plot, at once came forward and
informed the highwayman that this man was his nephew,
and that he was unfortunately deprived of his reason,
and always kept on sa)?ing that his uncle paid for
everything, as he, poor fellow, was never entrusted
with any money. To keep the play up, the actor
continued to dance and reiterate " Nunkey pays for all,
Nunkey pays for all." The highwayman, not wishing
to waste time, and thinking it a genuine case, con-
tented himself by aiming a murderous blow at the
would-be lunatic, who, however, cleverly evaded it.
Thus the poor fellow, through his training, was
enabled to retain his savings.

The flow of conversation continues ; it is wonderful
how tongues are loosened after the wine has been
circulated once or twice. Mr. Winebold, one of Good-
bery's oldest friends, is telling his neighbour, Mr.
Oldwig, how he thinks there must be a cock-fight on at
Bonham's to-morrow, as he saw a main of cocks
go down by the night mail, whose crowing in the
bags, together with the clatter of the coach, had been
almost deadening.

"Talking about cock-fighting," said Sir John,
" reminds me of these spurs that hang over the fireplace.
They belonged to my father, and were used by Gameboy,
his celebrated bird that won him 1,000 guineas in a

30 Hn7iting in the Golden Days.

contest in the Haymarket. A grand old bird he was.
I have a painting of him in the hall."

" Yes," says Oldwig, " we have not the same strain
that we had ; they don't fight with the same vigour and
perseverance ; if we could only get back some of the
same sort, we should be able to make a pot of money."

Talk and jokes and laughter are at their height, when
suddenly there is a call for silence. This is immediately
gained for the would-be speaker, who is no other than
our friend, Mr. Oldwig. He proposes the chief toast
of the evening in the following terms :

" Ladies and Gentlemen, — It is with great pleasure
that I rise this evening to propose the health of my
dear old friend, Sir John. (Cries of No, no, not old.)
We were boys together at school, and have hunted in
this county since that date. How long ago that is I
will not say, for I have arrived at that time of life
when, like young ladies, I am squeamish about
mentioning dates. We all know what a good sports-
man he is, how keen he is to hounds, and that his purse
is always forthcoming when required for the promotion
of sport or to alleviate distress. (Cries of Hear, hear,
uproarious applause, and great jingling of glasses.) I
do not wish to make a long speech, gentlemen, but I
think upon an occasion like the present, I may, perhaps,
be permitted to say one thing more — and that is, may
Sir John be with us many years to participate in the
pleasures of the chase, and to prove himself a bene-
factor to the neighbourhood as he has always been."
Then, turning to Sir John, the speaker continues :
" On behalf of all the friends whom you are so
hospitably entertaining here to-night, I have much
pleasure, Sir, in presenting you with this little token of
our affection and esteem." With this the speechmaker

Hunting in the Golden Days. 31

presents his host with a handsome snufF-box with a
hunting scene cleverly depicted on the lid. "I may
say, gentlemen," continues the speaker, " that I
consider it a privilege and an honour to be allowed to
assert that I am this gentleman's oldest friend. Gentle-
men, there is one other thing I should like to do before
I sit down, and that is — to wish our dear friend, Mr.
Goodbery, long life and happiness, and many happy
returns of to-day."

The speaker then subsides to the accompaniment of
heavy applause, which is immediately renewed as Sir
John rises, and in a few well-selected words returns
thanks for their cordial wishes and kind presentation.
He concludes by saying that there is a toast which
must not be omitted, and that he will therefore call
upon Winebold to propose " The King and Fox-
hunting."

This toast having been proposed and drunk with much
enthusiasm, a gentleman then sings a song which I
think I must produce, as it will give the reader an idea
of the jovial songs of the time of which I am writing.
It is sung by a young tenor with a clear bell-like voice,
the assembled guests joining very heartily in the well-
known chorus :

At the sound of the horn

We rise in the morn,
And waken the woods as we thunder along.

Yoix, yoix, tally ho !

After Reynard we go.
While echo on echo redoubles the song,

We waken the woods as we thunder along.

Tally ho ! Tally ho !

After Reynard we go,
While echo on echo redoubles the song.

32 Hunting in the Golden Days.

Not the steeds of the sun,

Our brave coursers outrun,
O'er the mound, horse and hound, see us bound in full cry.

Like Phoebus we rise

To the heights of the skies,
And, careless of danger, five bars we defy.
We waken, etc.

At eve, sir, we rush

And are close to his brush.
Already he dies, see him panting for breath.

Each feat and defeat

We renew and repeat.
Regardless of life, so we're in at the death.
We waken, etc.

With bottles at night,

We prolong the delight.
Much Trimbush we praise, and the deeds that were done.

And yoix, tally ho !

The next morning we go
With Phoebus, to end as we mount with the fun.
We waken, etc.

At this stage, the ladies having retired, punch bowls,
port wine, and churchwardens are produced. In accor-
dance with the good old custom, a fox's brush is dipped
into the punch, as it gives it a flavour. Mr. Steeples, the
parson, who is never absent on these festive occasions,
and is always surrounded by eager listeners, tells the oft-
told tale of his interview with his bishop about fox-
hunting.

" You see," says he, " when I came to this village as
a curate, and saw all the hunting which goes on in this
county, I naturally felt much inclined to participate in
the exhilarating amusement, for you must know that in
my college days at Oxford I kept a nag, and used to
manage to work in a day's hunting now and then. You

Hunting in the Golden Days. 33

can imagine it rather made my mouth water to be
located in the thick of the sport and not to be able to
take part. At last I made up my mind to approach
my bishop on the subject, I thought the matter
well over first and decided not to write, but, if possible,
to have a personal interview with him. I was
fortunate enough to find him a few weeks later
officiating in a neighbouring village at the consecration
of a church. Being invited to dine with him I had just
the opportunity I wanted, so after dinner (if you are
asking a favour it is best to approach a man after he
has dined well) I began very cautiously. I first of all
felt his pulse on shooting matters, and then gradually
led him on to the grand topic of fox-hunting. What
was my delight to find that in his younger days he had
excelled in the pigskin, I therefore made a bold
plunge at once, and asked him if he would object to
my hunting occasionally. To this he replied : —

*' ' I have no objection, Mr. Steeples, to your hunting,
but I must make one condition ; it is that if you hunt
you ride straight to hounds' "*

The tale is greeted with a hearty roar of laughter,
and upon this Mr. Winebold, not to be outdone, relates
an occurrence that he avows took place at his uncle's
house a few years ago,

" Now, you know," says Winebold, " that my uncle is

* It appears that in these times the clergy were of a much hardier race
than those of the present day, for I find an advertisement, taken from the St.
James's Chronicle of about a century ago, where the advertiser wished to meet
with a man who was not only useful but ornamental. It reads as follows : —
"Wanted immediately, a good, strong, bony man, to act in the capacity of
curate. He must be subject to the following particulars, viz. : to have no ob-
jection to act as gardener, husbandman, and occasional whipper-in. Any gent
whom the above may suit, on application to Mr. B., at the Gray's Inn Coffee
House, Holborn, may meet with immediate employ. N.B. — Character will
not be so much required as equestrian skill, and none need apply who has not
undergone a complete stabalarian education."

34 Hunting in the Golden Days.

a man who has one of the finest cellars of wine in this
country. Unfortunately, like most men who are in a
position to have such a cellar, he is prevented by the
doctor's orders from doing justice to it; the family
butler, therefore, knows more about the wine than his
master. One day my uncle gave a dinner, and when
the cloth had been removed, and the first and second
bottle had been emptied, he called for another and
another. On enquiry from the butler as to what vintage
he had produced with the last bottle, my uncle modestly
called attention to the wine, saying it was considered
the finest vintage he had in his cellar. The wine was
solemnly passed round, smelt, viewed, and tasted — its
colour, condition, and vinocity being fully discussed and
praised. One gentleman suggested that it was pretty
drinking; another, holding up his glass to the light,
declared the wine was a poem. I had my doubts, as the
wine appeared to me to be nothing less than culch ;
still, not wishing to cry stinking fish, especially at my
relative's table, I was naturally silent on the point.
The next day, however, on passing the butler's pantry,
I dropped in to have a word with old Corks, the butler,
and whispered into his ear my doubts and fears as to
the last bottle produced. A look of horror passed
across his rubicund features.

" * Oh lor', sir," says he, 'I suppose the cat's out of
the bag.'

" ' What do you mean ? ' I said.

" 'Well,' says he, ' I suppose it is all out.'

" * You had better make a clean breast of it. Corks',
said I, * it is only between you and me, all the rest of the
party are as innocent as lambs.'

"'Well, sir, it was like this; the master ordered
another bottle, and I had not time to go down into the

Hunting in the Golden Days. 35

cellar myself, but sent down the under-footman and
told him to decanter it carefully. The master then
rang the bell, as you know, and told me to hurry up
the wine, and then another footman saw a bottle
standing on the dresser in my pantry, and poured
it into a clean decanter, and handed it to me quite
unsuspicious. I placed it before you gentlemen, but
as a matter of fact the wine you drank was a bottle of
half-crown port that we had bought that morning from
the village inn for soup flavouring. Don't mention it
to anyone, sir, please, or I should doubtless lose my
place.'

" It is needless to say that I never divulged the secret
of the last bottle to my uncle's guests, to whom the
reputation of my uncle's cellar is still untarnished."

After a prolonged sitting, for Oldwig is loth to leave
so good a vintage, the gentlemen at length rise from
the table to join the ladies in the drawing-room. Before
going upstairs, however. Sir John leads his guests to
the kitchen, where they lend their countenance for a
few minutes to the servants' ball which is taking place
this evening. What a glorious old kitchen it is, with
its highly-burnished spits, like a small armoury ; well-
scoured copper pans and other culinary utensils all tend
to give it a homely, if not an artistic appearance. The
dance is at its height when Sir John and his party
enter the kitchen, and though their presence perhaps
rather damps the ardour of the dancers for a time,
the not-unnatural shyness soon wears off, and the
dance goes on as merrily as ever. Great is the rivalry
between old Jowles, the huntsman, and William
the coachman for the first dance with the pretty house-
maid ; they both declare that she has promised it to
them. They are, however, both married men, and

36 Hunting in the Golden Days.

as there is a young gamekeeper in attendance at whom
the girl has been setting her cap for some weeks past,
these worthies' aspirations are dashed to the ground.
The comfortable-looking cook has arrayed herself this
evening in a cap with bows of many colours, and
during the dance, which has now become fast and furious,
anyone can in a moment find out where she is, as the
head-gear is a prominent feature in the room. Old
Jowles and his late opponent, having discovered their
suit to be hopeless, console themselves in a corner of the
room by dispensing a huge bowl of punch. The page-
boy, or perhaps I should say the house-boy, for in those
days they were so denominated in country houses, is
romping round with a huge dairymaid, who any moment
threatens to carry him off his legs or otherwise do him
serious damage.

The country dance is now formed, and the giggling
and laughter of the maids is heard before the min-
strels strike up the exciting strains of " Sir Roger de
Coverley." Sir John and all his guests take part in this
old-established dance, but it is not their intention to
remain long, as no doubt the domestics will enjoy
themselves more when their presence is withdrawn.
Accordingly, when the dance is finished, the house
party return to the hall, and settle down to card-games
and other amusements. When the gentlemen arrive,
they find Miss Janet standing in an interesting attitude
under a huge arch leading into an ante-room, just
beneath a large bunch of mistletoe. Oldwig approaches
Goodbery, and nudging him knowingly in the ribs,
calls upon him to improve the occasion by a display of
gallantry.

Now it must be remembered that these gentlemen
had dined, and in the days of which I am writing it

Hunting in the Golden Days. 37

was not an unusual occurrence to come across a sports-
man who was capable of absorbing large quantities ot
port after dinner ; they were technically called good
doers. Not for a moment would I class our respectable
hero as even a two or three bottle man, but at the same
time he had dined, and we all know that gentlemen of
naturally excitable temperament are perhaps more
prone to be rash after dinner than before. Therefore,
in the impulse of the moment, he throws his arms
around Miss Janet and salutes her with a thwacking
kiss, almost like the report of a pistol, which is greeted
by a round of hearty applause by the guests.

Miss Janet is at first inclined to resent the liberty
taken by Mr. Goodbery, but when she finds she is
laughed down by the assembled guests she takes the
matter in good part, and says she will have to retaliate
by catching Mr. Goodbery asleep and winning a pair ot
gloves from him. After this Miss Janet subsides into
an easy chair, and makes vigorous use of her smelling-
salts and fan, for it is evident that the kiss has fired her
soul. Her hopes are doubly strengthened, she believes
that Mr. Goodbery is at last relenting and that the dawn
of love is at hand. No doubt she soliloquizes that he
begins to feel the solitudes of bachelor life at his age.
Up to the present time he has been too bashful to
openly plead his cause. What more natural for a fox-
hunting gentleman than to break the ice in this rough
and ready manner. The more she thinks over it the
more she is convinced that Mr. Goodbery only requires
encouragement. Had he known the effect of that harm-
less kiss, poor Goodbery would no doubt have given the
best hunter in his stable to have recalled it.

38

CHAPTER III.

The next day snow is on the ground. It is Christmas
morning, and the majority of the party determine
to walk to church and brave the elements. The
Squire, for so Sir John is called, makes a point of
going to church with the party every Christmas day,
and his old pew is well filled. A picturesque sight
presents itself as they near the village church, nestling
amongst the high trees, whose slender boughs are
covered with a slight coating of snow. The bells are ring-
ing out their merry chimes, and the peasantry, dressed in
their best attire, are wending their way to the old church.
Within a beautiful sight unfolds itself, for tender hands
have been busily engaged for days past adorning the
interior of this edifice with Christmas decorations ; even
the statue of Sir Hugh Flambers, that projects boldly
from the chancel wall, has lost a good deal of its severity
by the exquisite designs arranged around it. The sun is
straggling through the stained glass windows, gilding
with its ruddy light the polished oak pews. The village
choir, although not dressed in surplices as in the present
day, are clattering noisily into the gallery, and the
service is about to begin. The Squire throws a cursory
glance round the church, for he always encourages as
large an attendance on Christmas morn as possible.

It is not an unusual thing for many of the congregation
to sleep during the sermon, which is, perhaps, rather

Hunting in the Golden Days, 39

longer and more uninteresting than it need be. It is
wonderful how they manage to wake up at the right
time. Perhaps the parson gives the sleepers notice by
raising his voice towards the termination of his sermon.
But one who does not sleep, and cannot hear, is a
certain old chap who works on the roads, and growing
old, likewise is becoming deaf, although he will never
admit his infirmity to anyone. Asked one day by
the vicar if he could hear his sermons, he replied,
'' Well, not so well as I used to, parson, for you see
there are a sight more in your congregation than there
used to be."

" But what difference does that make ? " said the
clergyman.

" Why, all the difference in the world/' replied the
old road man. "You see, I sits at the back of the
church, and under you sits old Giles, with his mouth
wide open a swallerin' it, and three pews behind him is
Walker, with his hand up to his ear, a listenin' and
takin' in as much as he can get, and just before me is
old Brown, with his big ears wide open, soakin' in all
he can ; so you see, parson, that by the time it reaches
me, it is pretty poor stuff, I can tell yer ! "

The musical part of the service is conducted by
amateurs, somewhat under difficulties, it must be con-
fessed, as there is no organ in the church. Still, it is
surprising how well the musicians keep in time and tune,
especially considering that they are self-taught. No
doubt, having so long played together — some of them
have played every Sunday for over thirty years — they
place great confidence in one another. The orchestra,
which is at the end of the church in a gallery, con-
sists of a flute, clarionet, two violins, a cello, and a
bass, and very sweet music they discourse. Would that

40 Hunting in the Golden Days.

many such orchestras remained now, instead of the
squeaky harmoniums that have replaced them. These
good musicians, at Christmas time, go round to play
at dances, and on New Year's Eve they perform the
accompaniment to the carol singers. The pews are
square and roomy, especially the Squire's, which much
resembles a loose box, and has accommodation for a
dozen or so.

Talking about pews reminds me of a tale that I cannot
refrain from telling. A certain gentleman (a great man
in his own estimation) who was more proud of his
worldly goods than he should have been, was in the
habit, when a collection was being made, of placing his
intended donation on the top of the pew rail in the most
conspicuous position he could find. A visitor to the
village who was a bit of a wag in his way, hearing of
this gentleman's peculiarity, thought how he might
break him of this ostentatious habit. The next Sunday
when the plate was about to be handed round, the
proud donor, as usual, placed half-a-sovereign with a
clink on the rail, and awaited the arrival of the
plate. Hearing a similar clink in front of him, he
noticed that a sovereign had been deposited in a
similar manner. Not to be outdone, he placed a
sovereign beside his half-sovereign, and again awaited
the plate's arrival. What was his surprise to again see
another sovereign deposited in the front pew. He was
not to be outdone thus by a paltry stranger, so again
drawing forth his purse, he placed one more sovereign
on the rail. This was capped by another from the
stranger and replied to as before by the pompous giver.
At this moment the plate arrived and the rich man's
money was placed therein. At the same time, the
stranger (who subsequently turned out to be a London

Hunting in the Golden Days. 41

apprentice out on a holiday) swept off all the coins he
had placed on his pew, shot them into his pocket, and
quickly replaced them by a threepenny-piece. What
the feelings of the great man were I will leave the
reader to imagine.

On issuing from the church, Sir John and his party
are received with much deference bv those of the
worshippers who have remained behind to chat for a
few moments in the churchyard. Sir John is deservedly
a popular landlord, and many a rustic face brightens at
his cheery nod of recognition and hearty Christmas
greeting.

The Buckskin Hall party now return home. Sir John,
however, finding time to run round to the vestry first
to persuade the Vicar and his wife to return with him
to lunch.

After lunch the Squire takes Goodbery aside and
whispers to him that while the young folk are enjoying
a romp, he would, perhaps, like to walk round the place
with him.

Goodbery is of course delighted, and so the two old
cronies set out for their afternoon stroll. They first
visit the stables, a fine building, surmounted by a high
bell and clock tower ; the clock has only one hand, so
that the spectator can read the hour without difficulty,
but is compelled to guess the minute. The stable is
well stocked with horse-flesh, for in the days before
railways were invented it was essential for people
living in the country to have a good establishment.
Approaching a box Sir John points out proudly, from
a number of others, his favourite horse, an animal of a
rare stamp and grand appearance.

After this they sally forth to view the kennels, where
they are received by old Jowles, the huntsman, dressed

42 Hunting in the Golden Days.

in a bed-gown sort of coat and old tanned leathers, for
Jowles is a careful man, and although it is Christmas
Day he will not spoil his master's livery, and keeps his
old clothes for kennel use. Very different he looks
when at the head of his pack, leading them out on a
hunting morning with his old-fashioned hunting cap
and voluminous red coat. Even the horse on which he
rides knows more about hunting than many a Christian.

The hounds are all carefully reviewed, their merits
discussed upon, and their shortcomings described.

" There is a good old hound," says Sir John, ** one ot
the most reliable in the pack. No better one to take
out when you are entering young ones, she is so steady,
and never from a puppy have I known her to run riot or
give tongue unless she is on the line of a fox. Here,
again," pointing to a fine upstanding bitch, " is
Marigold, the truest and best of hounds that was ever
whelped. She is a five-seasons bitch, and one of the
fleetest I have. I can always tell her notes when I
hear her give tongue in cover, as they are so melodious.
And there is a promising young one," which at that
moment comes up and places its fore paws against the
Squire, who fondles its head and encourages it with a
winning little cry.

In an adjoining kennel of diminutive proportions a
pack of beagles are kept. These are the property of
Eric Jarvis.

Evening is drawing in, so after a stroll round the
deer park, passing an old water-mill which supplies the
mansion with water, and calling in to give instructions
at a gamekeeper's cottage, they return to the house,
where they discover the party assembled in the drawing-
room discussing afternoon tea. Sir John and Goodbery
are not much addicted to this new habit of tea-

Hunting in the Golden Days. 43

drinking, so prefer to retire to the host's snug sanctum,
where they while away the time until dinner with an
animated conversation, principally upon their favourite
topic — Foxhunting.

44

CHAPTER IV.

The snow having all gone, Sir John, having to drive
into the market town, requests Mr. Goodbery to ac-
company him, to which that worthy gladly acquiesces.
Sir John's gig and short-docked black mare are soon at
the front door, the latter impatiently pawing the ground.
Sir John takes his seat in the gig and gathers up the
reins, and Goodbery seats himself in a twinkling by his
side. Old Snaffles, the coachman, lets go the mare's
head and they are soon in a swinging trot to the
market town.

Very different was travelling in the days of which I
am writing, before the iron horse had cut up our lovely
country and made the day hideous by its shrieks and
screams. No trouble or excitement of catching trains,
which are nothing more or less than continual appoint-
ments which must be punctually kept.

Our two friends drive through the country lanes ; the
fresh air as it is wafted in their faces, making them feel
that life is worth living. They pass the village forge
and are saluted by the brow-bedewed smith who for a
moment relaxes his work to touch his forelock to Sir
John. Now they are passed by the well-laden mail
which has been delayed owing to the amount of hampers
and packages which there were to collect, and the
coachman, good man that he is, is trying to make up his
time. The heavy coach rattles past Sir John, and in a

Hunting in the Golden Days. 45

moment is lost in the turn of the road. Time is of little
importance to our friends, so they pull their horse into
a walk to avoid bringing him in hot into the stable.
Several farmers' carts are wending their way to the
market town freighted with sheep and pigs, and with
coops of fowls and ducks suspended around and under-
neath their vehicles.

Old ladies laden with eggs, butter and vegetables,
are all making in the same direction, for market-day only
comes round once a week, and when it does it is a day of
no mean importance. They shortly arrive at the outskirts
of the old town where the cattle market is already
assuming an aspect of unwonted activity. Herds of wild-
looking bullocks are being driven hither and thither in
an aimless manner, much to the jeopardy of foot
passengers who seem unable, despite their activity, to
avoid the formidable-looking horns of these droves of
cattle.

At length they arrive at their destination, and
drive in under the arch of the old Green Dragon,
where a number of carriages of every description are
ranged round the yard. Several groups of farmers are
conversing together over their sample bags of wheat,
whilst their wives and families are busily engaged in
the town transacting their housekeeping duties for the
week. All is bustle and animation.

Strolling out into the town our friends are soon in the
vortex of the horse market, where several useful looking
animals are being paraded with their gaily-plaited manes
to attract the observation of purchasers. Mr. Good-
bery, who wishes to be conversant with the ruling price
of the corn market, adjourns with Sir John to
the Town Hall, under which the market is being
conducted. Dozens of stalls are surrounded by eager

46 Hunting in the Golden Days.

farmers who have brought their samples to realise them.
The market is now in full swing, and Mr. Goodbery
discusses agricultural topics with farmers of his
acquaintance till it is time to return to the Green
Dragon to partake of the market ordinary.

Large numbers of farmers are already seated round
the table, at which huge joints of roast beef and boiled
mutton are being carved by the landlord and served
round with great activity by the attendants.

"Now then, my boy," says a burly farmer to his son,
*' have you got a good appetite ? " to which the boy
replies in the affirmative.

*'A11 right, then, slip into it, for it is all the same
price, the two shillings cover it all, and you can have
as many helpings as you like. Cut and come again.
I am sorry to say I am not very hungry to-day, and
perhaps can't do such justice to the ordinary as I ought
to, but you will no doubt be able to take it out and
punish the joint."

After again walking round the market, and making a
purchase of a few articles, our friends re-enter the yard.

How few of these picturesque yards are in evidence
in the present day, with their many balconies and red
roofs. A very convenient feature of these old-fashioned
inns was that the traveller was able to dine and sleep
within easy reach of the stables where his nags were
quartered, so that he could, without great exertion, pay
them a visit if he wished to see how they fared.

The two gentlemen enter a long room, where a
number of well-to-do farmers are sitting round a large
fire, drinking hot grog. Sir John takes a seat and calls
for hot punch for himself and his friend.

Old Boniface, the landlord, brings it them himself, as
it is not every day that he has the honour of a visit from

Hunting in the Golden Days. 47

such impjDrtant guests as Sir John and Mr. Goodbery.
At Sir John's invitation the landlord very willingly
fetches himself a glass of rum and his churchwarden,
and joins the two other gentlemen.

Boniface does not consider it unbusinesslike to relax
a little occasionally, and to chat about the future of
nations, for a sort of village Parliament is held nightly
at the Green Dragon, and matters of no small import-
ance are settled here, from the shoeing of a horse to the
downfall of an empire. In the summer time the court
usually sits out of doors at a long settle, fixed along the
front of the inn. As the evenings draw in and become
cold, the politicians adjourn to the taproom — a very
pleasant little room, with sanded floor and spacious oak
settles.

Over the mantelpiece hangs a picture of thrilling
interest, entitled, "Squire Miller's Hounds in Full Cry."
From a beam in the blackened ceiling hangs a line with
a ring attached, and on the opposite wall a board is
fixed, with a painting of a bull's head with a hook in its
nose. This game of skill is called ring-the-bull, the
object being to so swing the ring that it will catch on
the hook. By means of this game it is often decided
who is to pay for the ale. The landlord is a great adept,
and can often accomplish the desired feat with both eyes
shut. Ring-the-bull and backgammon are the two
favourite pastimes indulged in at the Green Dragon.

Strange tales are related in the taproom of the Green
Dragon when the snow lies deep on the ground and
the wind whistles down the chimney. There is one
wizened little old man, who was formerly a horse-
dealer, but has now apparently no other business than
to frequent the Green Dragon, who tells tales of ghosts
and hobgoblins which are particularly gruesome. He

48 Hunting in the Golden Days.

vows that his stories are true as truth, and tells them in
such a vivid way that he invariably makes the hair of his
hearers fairly stand on end ; and when the time for de-
parture comes, each man, after drinking just one more
glass of hot grog to give him courage, makes for his
home in as straight a line as his somewhat uncertain
legs will carry him, casting uneasy glances over his
shoulder at such uncanny things as the village pump
and a hand-barrow which a neighbour has thoughtlessly
left out in the road. Indeed, a certain farm labourer is
fond of telling how, returning one night from a pro-
longed sitting of the Green Dragon Parliament, he was
attacked by a man clothed in white, with whom he had a
struggle for his life, and who, when the man at last freed
himself from the deadly embrace, pursued him to the
door of the cottage. Another strange thing happened
that same night. The snow man, which the evening
before, to the pride and joy of the village lads, had stood
full six feet high, was found next morning lying on its
back, a mangled corpse, with the mark of a large hob-
nailed boot imprinted on its chaste features. But, of
course, this has nothing to do with the other story.

One of the old dealer's fireside stories may, perhaps,
interest the reader ; but as I find that at the festive
season Bill Joker is not above joining in the usual hos-
pitality of Christmas time, the reader must make allow-
ance for any little drawings on his imagination.

He related that years ago, on Christmas eve, returning
home about twelve o'clock from a farmhouse where he
had been treated like a duke, he met with an adventure
that would be engraved on his memory until the day of
his death.

The night was clear and frosty, a slight fall of snow
having whitened the ground. He was thinking of all

Hunting in the Golden Days. 49

the good things that had been placed before him, and
how kind and hospitable his host had been. As he
was passing the old church, whose tower stood out
boldly in the moonlight, he thought he heard a shrill
'* Ha ! ha ! " from the graveyard. He listened, but surely
he must have been mistaken, for who was likely to be
there at that time of the night ? He put his hand up to
his eyes to screen the glare of the moonlight, and cer-
tainly thought he saw some figures bobbing about
amongst the gravestones.

However, it wasn't good enough for him to linger
there long, so he made up his mind to clear as soon as
might be ; but when he tried to run he found his legs
were bound as in a nightmare. To make things worse,
one of the hobgoblins in the churchyard, for that is
what he had seen, had noticed him and was ap-
proaching in long steady strides. The old man shook
all over, from head to foot, and threw himself down on
his marrow bones and begged for mercy.

At this juncture the hobgoblin was joined by half-a-
dozen more, who commenced capering round him, turn-
ing somersaults and bending themselves into impossible
attitudes. After they had danced in this manner for
some considerable time, one who appeared to be in
authority, addressed him by his Christian name and
bade him repair with them to the churchyard and join
them in the game of puss in-the-corner. His knees
knocked together with fright, while he said : " If you
please, sir, I am only a poor, humble, hard-working
man, and I would sooner go home, if your worship has
no objection, as I don't know the game of puss-in-the-
corner, and I ain't fit to associate with such gentlemen
as you." But they wouldn't be contented with that, so
several of them got hold of his arms and legs. Heigh,

50 Hunting in the Golden Days.

presto ! one, two, three and away ! and he found himself
jumped off the ground over the churchyard wall right
among the gravestones, all in a second.

Here they once more commenced their midnight fes-
tivities, which it appears he had disturbed. He kept
asking to be allowed to go home, as he said he was
afraid his wife would be getting uneasy about him, but
they replied : —

Oh, come and dance in the light of the moon,
We sha'n't keep you long, you shall go very soon !

They said he might not have the chance of joining in
their Christmas revels for some time to come. He sin-
cerely hoped he should not. Their games continued for
many, many hours, to him it seemed like many years.
He felt so tired he could scarce stand, much less run
about like a school child at their bidding. But they
wouldn't let him go ; do all he might it was impossible
to get away.

Presently he thought he saw the lights of a gig in the
distance coming his way. He tried to shout to attract
the driver's attention, but found his voice was gone. He
was near fainting from fatigue and fear, when all of a
sudden, just in the same way as they had caught hold of
him before, Heigh, presto ! out of the churchyard (over
the tower this time), right into the middle of the road
plump he went.

After recovering from the shock, he picked himself up,
looked round and saw the lights of the gig approaching,
and what was his joy to see it was Farmer Giles return-
ing home after having been to a similar entertainment at
a neighbouring farm house. He got into his gig without
being asked, and was driven home. " You see," said
the narrator, ** how white my hair is. The night before

Hunting in the Golden Days. 51

that adventure it was raven black, but when I got up the
next morning and looked in the glass it was as you see
it now." This yarn was afterwards explained by a side
wind, as Giles found him in the middle of the road,
and smelling very strong of rum !

■ This and many similar stories Sir John has himself
often heard ; but he does not wish to wait long to-day,
as it is growing dusk, and he is anxious to reach home
before dark ; so orders are given to harness the mare.

As they are leaving the yard they pass the mail
coach on its return journey, and as the driver was
once in the service of Sir John, in my next chapter I
will give the reader an account of one of the old
coachmen of the past.

52

CHAPTER V.

John Klinker was a fine specimen of the coachman ot
the olden days, and it did one's heart good on a
fine May morning, to " pass the time o' day " with
him, as he made his way to the stables dressed
in a light-coloured down-the-road coat, adorned with
a button-hole, his ruddy face beaming beneath a white
hat that had done him service for many seasons,
but still was of creditable appearance. He always took
the greatest care of that hat, never donning it if the
weather looked threatening, and should a shower of
rain chance to come on, the guard knew without being
told that it was the first consideration to get the leather
hat-case out of the boot and to exchange the precious
white hat for a dark one of a similar build, but turned
up with green.

This old Jehu having passed the best part of his
existence on the coach-box, and having mixed during
that time with many passengers of superior birth and
education to himself, had to a large extent acquired
their mode of speech and manner. He never used
strong language, which was remarkable, as this
accomplishment was, as a rule, part and parcel of
a coachman's acquirements in the days of coaching ;
and above all he never lost his temper, which last is
one of the best qualifications a whip can possess. How
many young drivers we see in the present day on a box

Hunting in the Golden Days. 53

who have mistaken their vocation. They think it the
proper thing to punish their poor horses for any short-
comings of their own ; and many a time have I
remonstrated with an infuriated driver for thrashing his
horses when perhaps they had been quite in the right
and the driver entirely in the wrong.

Then there is a class of young men who are very fond
of showing off their abilities. These fellows will spring
their horses just to show the passengers that they can
drive above-a-bit, the consequence being that at the
end of the journey the steam is all out of their animals.
Horses so treated seldom or never carry any flesh.

But our John was cast in a different mould. He
knew what horses could do and what they could not
do. He never did things in a hurry, and yet he was
always punctual. Before he mounted the box to
start, he took a survey on foot to see that all was right,
for, as he truly said, in these cases it was a matter of
life and limb — not only his, but lives, perhaps, younger
and more valuable. What a treasure this old chap
was to the man who horsed the coaches. Now his
former friends and admirers recall his many virtues and
find his equal is not to be met.

Then, too, he was so careful of his cattle. You would
hear him say to the ostler when they pulled up at
the end of the stage, "Jim, I heard that grey mare
cough twice coming out of the stable this morning ; give
her this ball to-night and a bran mash last thing." By
these little attentions, taken in time, he often avoided
a serious illness.

His horses he treated as his friends and fellow-
workmen. They knew him as well as possible, and
it was wonderful what a number of years some of
them worked under him, owing to his skilful driving.

5

54 Hunting in the Golden Days,

At one of the changes he would always dismount
and walk up to a sportive-looking old chestnut
leader, and give him an apple from his pocket, or,
perhaps, a little bit of biscuit. This was a particular
favourite, named " Skyraker," which had been in the
team for over ten years, and was supposed to have
more sense than an ordinary country yokel. Klinker
would talk like a father to a youngster that
perhaps had only been in harness a few times.
" vSteady, my lad," " take it easy," " all in good
time," " let the others have a chance," and so on, until
the horses seemed to understand all he said to them.
How proud he was of his coachers ! You should have
heard him proclaiming their virtues, picking out their
good points and omitting their weak ones. For he
remembered the old maxim : —

Be to their virtues ever kind,
And to their failings ever blind.

Then how good he was in giving hints to young
coachmen. If they drove with too slack reins, he would
say : " Ah, we must get the saddler to cut these reins
down a bit — they are too long." The young school said
he did not drive with sufficient dash, and that his horses
would do the journey easier if he sprung them more at
the hills. They would remark : " Now then, John,
wake 'em up a bit, you're not driving a hearse ! " But
he knew his business too well to be perturbed by this
magpie chatter. He drove as a gentleman, not as a
butcher, never cracking his whip and seldom using it.

He was full of anecdote and information. He knew
more about places and people than any other man
in the county, and was thus able to make the time pass
pleasantly on a long stage. Atone particular part of the
journey there was a very steep hill, from the top of which

HiLfiting in the Golden Days. 55

the view was very extensive. About two miles before he
reached this hill John would begin to talk about the ex-
tensive views to be obtained there, and so would
work his passengers up to quite a state of curiosity
and excitement. Arriving at the foot of the ascent he
would pull up and recommend all those who were able
to walk to take the bridle path across the fields, which
met the road at the summit of the hill, assuring them
that the best view was to be obtained from the path, and
that they would arrive at the top before the coach. He
thus lightened his load, and was able to give his horses
a breathe whilst ascending.

At a certain inn he always pulled up and recom-
mended the passengers to try the " Old October ale "
that had been matured in the wood for years. This said
liquor was rather too sharp for the uninitiated, but for
those who knew what old ale should be, it was a veritable
bonne louche. The old widow, who kept this hostelry,
would step out and pass the time of day, and perhaps
ask him to execute some little commission for her at his
destination. He had a wonderful memory for shopping,
and never had recourse to a notebook. He would never
forget one single item among a whole string of pur-
chases. "Two yards of blue ribbon for Miss Brown
(like pattern) ; three clothes baskets for Mrs. Gumball ;
a fork and grain shovel for Farmer Hodge;" and no
end more, all of which he carefully executed, and for
which he made no charge, as the people for whom he
did these favours were frequent passengers. But at
Christmas, it was the usual thing to make the coach-
man a present of a cheese, a loin of pork, or something
equally suitable, as a recognition of these little services.
If behind time on his journey, he was a diplomatist in
the management of his passengers. As an illustration

56 Hunting m the Golden Days.

of this, I must give one incident. An old lady was one
day entering the coach with a lap dog and a lot of
parcels, and stuck half way in the door. Instead of
getting in she got off the step again to remonstrate with
the guard for having such small doors to the coach.

John immediately grasped the situation, and shouted
out to the guard : *' Now then, William, don't stand
right in front of the doorway. Don't you see the
lady wants to get in ? Hold her parcels and help
her in, can't you ? for we are late, and I don't want
to race the hosses off their legs if I can help it."

The old lady took the hint, as she was nervous, and was
the same way of thinking as the coachman about the
horses being raced off their legs.

Sometimes he would come across the hounds on his
journey, and should he think the fox had crossed the
road, good sportsman as he was, he would pull up for
fear of spoiling the scent. From his exalted position
on the box he had a fine bird's-eye view of the
surrounding country, and oft-times viewed the fox.
To see him rein up his team, lift his hat high above
his head, and give a musical *' Tally-ho ! " was a sight
worthy of the good old English sportsm^an he was.

Then, too, what news he carried from town to town !
He was almost as good as a newspaper, and so true was
he to time that the villagers set their clocks by his
coach. At Christmas it was a cheery sight to see
the coach loaded with hampers and game, all
presents that were forwarded with good wishes from
their several donors. For in those days a good deal
more present-making went on amongst friends than
nowadays. That is one of the good old customs which,
like stage coaches, have died out.

There was not a driver on the road who could teach

Hunting in the Golden Days. 57

a lad the duties of guard better than old John. He
would impress upon him when he first took him in hand
that there were three absolutely necessary qualifica-
tions indispensable to a good guard. Firstly, civility ;
secondly, despatch ; and thirdly, personal appearance.
Consequently, did any guard seek a situation who had
been under old John, he never found much difficulty
in obtaining one, as the school from which he came was
well known for its efficient training.

In his youth, as I said before, John Klinker had been
in Sir John's employ and had ridden second horse.
This accounted for his taking so much interest in all
matters connected with field sport. On Saturdays he
always reserved the box seat for Sir John, who drove to
attend the market, and was one of his most regular
passengers. On these occasions the old driver was wont
to repeat a longish tale of a broken axle, and how
most of the passengers were thrown off but not injured.
During the recital of this narrative he would continually
turn to Sir John and ask him if it were not so, and do
you remember this, that, and the other. Sir, much to
the old squire's gratification.

Such was travelling a hundred years ago, before first-
class carriages and electricity were in vogue. It was,
to my thinking, much less monotonous than travelling
in the present day, for on the road there was a constant
source of amusement. But those days have disappeared
like a dream. Stage coaches, coachmen, yards of tin, gal-
loping stages, and cock horses are things of the past, to
be read of in books and remembered only by a few. A
few old drivers linger on to tell the tales of highway
robberies and accidents in snowstorms. But the
majority have driven on a journey from which neither
coachman nor passenger returns.

58

CHAPTER VI.

A FEW days after their drive to the Green Dragon, Sir
John, being in want of a coach-horse, asked Mr. Good-
bery to accompany him to a dealer's yard about five
miles' drive from Buckskin Hall, to see what sort of
horses he has to show them. On the road the old
squire is full of anecdote.

" You must know," says he, " Jim Brown, the man
whose horses we are going to see, is a * character,' and
prides himself on always telling the truth, and further-
more never having bought a horse, however vicious,
without having been able to tame him. So successful
has he been that he has gained for himself the
sobriquet of the Calmer.

" He certainly has had some queer horses in my
recollection. Years ago he purchased a horse called
Ginger, from a miller. This horse was so confirmed
a rearer that no one could do anything with him ; he
was also very dangerous in the stable. But directly
Brown heard that the miller was anxious to sell he
made a bid of a ten-pound note and got him. AVhen
they went to fetch their new purchase the groom was
nowhere to be found. On further enquiry it transpired
that he was in bed, having been savaged by the horse
whilst feeding him. So there was no one to put a
bridle on him and lead him out. At last they got hold
of a mill hand who had been attending the horse in a
sort of a way during the groom's illness. ' I

Hunting in the Golden Days. 59

have bought this horse/ said the Calmer, * and want to
take him away, perhaps you will lead him over to my
place.' * Oh ! you is the gentleman who has bought
Ginger, is you?' enquired the man. 'Yes, I am his
new owner,' replied Mr. Brown. * Well, I wishes you
luck, that's all I can say,' replied the mill hand, * for
he's about the most rumbustical character that I have
ever had to do with ; as to going up to him, I dursn't.
His com I chuck over into his manger from the other
stall, and his water I hand over likewise ; and I cleans
him out with this ere long-handled road-scraper, so as
he can't reach to kick me. When he wants new litter
I pitches that over likewise and let him make his own
bed as best he can ; but I don't do no grooming, for he
has to clean himself if he wants to be cleaned, he won't
get it done by me, not nohow.'

" * But surely,' said the dealer, * you give him some
exercise ! '

"* No, sir, not leastways for the last six weeks or more.
You see he is so wonderful wily that we can't do
nothing with him when we gets him out.'

'* With the aid of the silver key the dealer, after a
lot of parley, at last induced the man to clamber
over and untie Ginger. When this treasure arrived
at the establishment of Mr. Brown he was taken
in hand at once. A bridle and saddle having been put
on him with much difficulty, the Calmer, with great care,
mounted the new purchase, remarking as he did so,
* now let us see what this very vicious animal will ' — but
before he had concluded his remark he was thrown with
great force on to his back. Now Mr. Brown was no novice
at riding, and was considerably surprised to find him-
self on the ground so soon after mounting.

*' 'That's funny,' he remarked, ' very funny. George/

6o Hunting in the Golden Days.

he continued to one of his men, ' just run over to
Grumpier and tell him I want him for half an hour or so.'

** Now Grumpier was a professional horse-breaker who
lived in the village and was supposed to be an immaculate
horseman, and never to have parted company with his
horse unless they both came down together to mother
earth. Before very long he arrived. He was a little,
thin, old man, with his head bent slightly over to his
left shoulder, doubtless an honour received whilst in
battle royal with a youngster in his earlier days. He
had furthermore lost one eye and had a nasty scar
about the region of the mouth, both evidently caused
by a severe kick from a horse.

" * Do you think you could ride this chestnut horse r '
enquired the Galmer.

*' * Gan a fish swim,' quickly came the reply.

" ' All right, get up, then, and if you can stick to him for
ten minutes, I'll give you — well, I'll give you ten shillings.'

" The Grumpier was soon in the saddle at the scent of
half-a-sovereign, but he was not there two seconds
before he found that he had a rum customer to deal with,
for with a terrific buck and a plunge Ginger sends the
little man flying over his head. Nobody thought it likely
that he was hurt, and the question was, of course, not
asked ; had not the Grumpier the reputation of being
made of old leather ?

*' * Give me another chance for that half-sovereign,
governor. I wasn't half seated that time, and hadn't
got my feet in the stirrups, or I warrant he wouldn't
have shifted me.'

" 'All right,' said the dealer, with great magna-
nimity, * one more chance.'

" He then was given a leg up, two men holding on to
the horse's head while he mounted.

Htmting tn the Golden Days. 6i

" * Have you settled yourself all right now ? ' asked the
Calmer.

" ' Yes, I'm all right now ; let him go.'

" As the men let go the horse gave a wild spring into the
air, and with vicious half-rears and plunges, something
after the motion of kangaroo leaps, he made for a clump of
trees at the lower end of the meadow, no doubt with the
idea of carrying his rider through at racing pace, and
thus ridding himself of his burden. These tricks he had
tried before, with very great success, on many sports-
men ; but the veteran rider had met the likes of him
before, and with a fierce cut of the ashplant across the
side of his head he brought him to his right bearings
again. Seeing that he had an artist on his back
who seemed disinclined to leave. Ginger now began a
series of double-barrelled quick-action bucks, his head
well tucked in between his fore-legs during the perform-
ance. But still old Grumpier sat as tight as wax,
apparently enjoying his ride, for he now fancied that he
would be able to claim the prize, and a smile of satis-
faction played about the corners of his mouth as he
thought that —

Something attempted, something done,
Will earn a night's repose.

" But Ginger was not to be beaten. There was
nothing left now for him to try but his piece de resist-
ance, and that was executed by his rearing straight up
and falling backwards on poor Grumpier, who received
a rare squeezing. He, however, rose, covered with
muck and mire, with a smile still on his homely coun-
tenance, saying that he hoped a fall like that would not
disqualify him for the ten shillings.

"'No, I don't call that being pitched,' said the

62 Hunting in the Golden Days.

governor. *You may take another chance, and this
time I will make it easier for you. I will put the long-
carriag-e-reins on him, and drive him round the paddock
a few times before you mount, and if he attempts to rear
I will pull him over.'

" The long pair of reins were soon buckled on, and
after driving him alone for ten minutes, the Calmer tried
him at backing, but this he would not brook at any price,
and showed temper. ' Oh, you won't woa back, won't
you, then you must be made to, my fine fellow.'
Sooner than come back, he reared up as straight as an
arrow. Quick as thought, with a mighty pull, the
dealer has him within his power, and in a moment he
lies upon the grass.

" * Now, sit on his head, and give him a good lathering,'
said the Grumpier, who was still sore from his previous
performance.

" * No, don't do that,' said the master, ' or we shan't,
perhaps, get him to rear any more to-day ; and I want
to pull him over at least twice more if I can manage it,
just to show him what a dangerous practice it is.'

" This performance having been repeated once more.
Ginger showed a distinct disinclination to be made to
rear with no one on his back.

"'Lead him back to the stables, George,' said
Jim Brown, * and let Grumpier have his chance now of
drawing his money.'

" The loose box which Ginger was allotted was a
large old-fashioned one, with a low plaster ceiling.
Now it had occurred to the Galmer's imaginative brain
that if they mounted Ginger here he would not be able to
rear, as the ceiling was so low, and Grumpier might sit on
his back for a quarter of an hour or so to get the saddle
warm to his back, * for,' said the dealer, ' that very likely

Hunting in the Golden Days. 63

is the reason why he isn't quiet; he don't like a cold
saddle coming on him.'

" So Ginger was led in, and Grumpier again mounted
with any amount of confidence. No sooner did he feel
the weight of a man on his back than up he went in a
most determined fashion, and with such force that his
head drove right through the lath and plaster of the
old ceiling. Slipping up at the same time, they both
fell over heavily on the side of the loose box, breaking
down the rotten wood partition. There was a great cloud
of dust and lime, and all that could be heard was a great
scrambling on the floor. Presently the atmosphere cleared
a little, and it was seen that Ginger had risen, and the
little man was in the act of doing so.

" ' Now, then,' said the Calmer, ' don't give in ; get up
again ; he will remember this, and not repeat it. Re-
member that none but the brave deserve the fair ; get
up, get up, man ; what are you waiting for r ' But the
Grumpier had his misgivings; he, to use his own
favourite expression, had had a very rough passage, so
far this morning.

" ' All right, sir,' he replied ; ' but might I make so
bold as to ask if I am to have the ten shillings you
mentioned r '

" ' Yes, if you do what I tell you, and at once, you
shall.'

" This time, however, the horse allowed him to be
seated, and, after about ten minutes, the dealer led
him out into the paddock, and lunged him round for
half an hour with Grumpier riding him.

'* * That is good, so far,' said the dealer. * We will
now see if he can jump, for I won't allow one with such
quarters as that to remain in my establishment if he
won't jump.'

64 Hu7iting in the Golden Days.

" He was then tried at one or two low fences, which he
would not, however, have at any price. Finding that it
was impossible to make him jump by whipping and spur-
ring, a team-horse from the farm was sent for and a strong
headstall was put on Ginger. The chain-horse was put
the other side of the fence and the traces attached to the
chestnut's headstall ; he was then dragged through or
over the jump two or three times, much to his dismay and
surprise, but no doubt the pricks he got from the gorse
and the falls in the ditch the other side decided him that
it was less trouble to jump his fences than to be pulled
through them ; any way, they got him to jump well
at last, and if any signs of refusing showed themselves,
all they had to do was to produce the chain-horse and it
was wonderful what an effect it had. But still for some
time after this Ginger was a horse that wanted riding,
and the Calmer would bet many of his friends ^10 to
^5 that after a week in the stable they would not sit
Ginger for fifteen minutes without a cropper. Two
and a half to three minutes, after a trial, generally
made the Calmer a richer man by ^5. After a time,
however. Ginger did seem to become more tractable,
for they got him to go in harness. He certainly hated
the look of a hill, and when first put in jibbed. But
the Calmer was all patience, at first, at any rate. He
would quickly dismount and thrust a handful of road-
mud into the animal's mouth, in order, as he said, ' to
change the thoughts of the horse.' Then he would
mount and try to drive him up the hill, but to
no purpose. There was, however, another string
left to the Calmer's bow, and that was the use of
his jingler, which he carried with him at the bottom of
his cart. [This was a cruel contrivance, used years ago
before the Societyfor thePrevention of Cruelty to Animals

Hunting ill the Golden Days. 65

came into existence, constructed of a piece of thick chain
fixed with a staple to the end of a mop-stick.] This
chain-whip, for that is what it was, he would then produce,
and with it he would give Ginger one down the chine of
the back. The horse thought this strange treatment, no
doubt, but it soon decided him, and up the hill he went
like a rocket.

" * They only want two doses of the jingler at the
most/ remarked Calmer. ' I carry it for some little time
in the cart, and if he shows any signs of refusing I only
have to rattle the chain with my foot and he'll be off like
lightning.'

*' After a time they got quite fond of Ginger, and
Calmer had thoughts of keeping him for his own
smoking or his wife's confidential hunter.

*' One day a gentleman came down to buy a hunter.
He was shown several but found fault with them all.
Some were too large and some too small, others too
old or too young. So after a time the Calmer said he
was afraid that he could not suit his customer. The
gentleman, however, spied the head of old Ginger
peeping out of a loose box, and remarked to the dealer
that he had not shown him this horse and that he
seemed just the animal to suit him. ' Ah, now,' said
the Calmer, ' you have just seen one that I don't want
to sell, and one that because I don't want to sell every-
one wants to buy. Besides that, he is a rank wrong one ;
don't you have anything to do with him.' Of course,
the gentlemen could hardly believe that a horse dealer
would so depreciate his own property, and thinking that
he was so good a horse that he wished to keep it
himself, asked the price that would be accepted. ' If I
sold him,' said the dealer, *I should want ^120.
But, lor' sir, what is gold in the balance against serenity

66 Hunting in the Golden Days.

in one's home. If I sell him I shall never hear the last
of it from my old woman, as she has took such a fancy
to him, with all his tricks. So if you do take him, have
him at once, now she's away, and I can then pitch her a
cock-and-bull story about the horse having been stolen
in the night.'

" The gentleman was too glad to secure, as he thought,
so great a bargain, and paid the money down, and took
the horse away with him then and there. Within a
week the purchaser returned with a long face, and said
that he couldn't do anything with Ginger as he had
rubbed his legs against all the trees and walls he had
passed, had nearly killed him in the hunting field,
had crushed his man up in the stable, and that he
was very handy with his front feet when led out — in
fact, a very dangerous horse, and he should be glad if
Mr. Brown would take him back.

" But the Calmer declined, saying he had no room for
more horses. Of course, the buyer could not say any-
thing, as he had been told that he would not suit him.
So through telling the truth, which was too hard to
believe, Jim Brown parted with his favourite horse
Ginger."

X
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X

67

CHAPTER VII.

What the Green Dragon has to answer for few-
can tell, for there have been so many convivial dinners
given at that celebrated hostelry by gentlemen who are
devoted to field sports, that it is not to be wondered at
that, after the guests have perhaps dined not wisely but
too well, many wagers of a more or less extraordinary
character have from time to time been arranged. It is
true that they have afforded a large amount of amuse-
ment and satisfaction to the onlookers in most cases,
although some of these foolhardy undertakings have
visited one or other of those engaged in his more
serious hours with sorrow and remorse.

It is a cold evening and a goodly number of sports-
men are assembled in the cheery old dining-room of
the " Green Dragon," which serves not only for this
purpose, but is used occasionally at Christmas-time
for county dances, play-actings, and the like. On this
occasion the annual dinner is being given to Mr.
Miller, M.F.H., and it is not surprising that on such
an occasion hunting-men, after having enjoyed the
pleasures of the table, should feel inclined to recount
the pleasures of the chase.

Oldwig is dilating upon the speed and cleverness ot
his hunter. Dragoon.

" I believe," says he, addressing Winebold, " that old
horse of mine would jump twenty-eight feet of water, for

68 Hunting in the Golden Days.

when I rode him last season in the Dumpshire country
we came to the River Dump where it was flooded, and
I should think from the take-off to his landing it could
not have been far short of that. And/' continues he,
" such wonderful manners, too, a child might ride him
with a packthread. In fact, I believe there is not a
single horse in this hunt that he couldn't show a pair
of clean heels to."

Now, if there is one thing upon this earth that
Winebold fancies, it is the prowess of his old brown
mare, Sulphur, which he has ridden for the last six
seasons, without ever being put down by her.

"I do not know," says he, "but that my old mare.
Sulphur, would make your horse extend himself a bit if
they came to be matched ; for, as you know, I rode her
the second season after I had bought her in that long
run from Darlington Copse to Westbury, which is one
of our stiffest lines of country. The run lasted forty-five
minutes, and the company during that time was very
select, especially so at the finish, and I do not think
that there was any other horse in the field that pulled
up as fresh as she did."

"Yes, she is a good mare," says Oldwig, "but she
cannot gallop like Dragoon."

" If it comes to that," says Winebold, gulping down a
glass of port and rather nettled, " I will tell you what
I will do. I will ride you four miles across country,
owners up, catch weights, ^25 a side, pay or play, and
the match shall come off within a month from date.
The winner to stand a dinner to all gentlemen seated
round this table at the present time. What do you
say ? "

" Done with you," says Oldwig, in the heat of the
moment.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 69

At the scent of a match, the assembled guests become
uproarious, wagers are freely made, and great are
the surmises and predictions which are uttered on all
sides.

Mr. Oldwig, now that the wager is clinched, begins
to have his misgivings, for has he not a wife and family
who will haunt him at every fence he jumps, and, further,
he has noticed several ominous twinges of the gout in
the left foot during the last few days. It is noticeable
that his previous flow of conversation is suddenly, as I
may term it, cut off at the main. He becomes thoughtful
and silent. His buoyant colour, to a certain extent,
has faded, and a deep melancholy seems to have settled
itself upon his features.

"I do not quite see, Winebold," says he, cautiously,
*' why you and I should risk our necks across country at
racing pace at our time of life. Why not put up two
youngsters at 1 2 stone 7 ? It would make a much more
sporting event of it."

But this suggestion is met with a torrent of oppo-
sition by the assembled guests who, now that they have
at last got an opportunity of seeing these two worthies
figuring in the pigskin, are determined, if the matter
rests with them, to put every obstacle possible in the way
of allowing the match to be cried off. For are they not,
independent of the sport, to be the guests of the
victorious sportsman at dinner the evening after the event?

" No, I don't feel inclined to let anyone else ride my
mare," is Winebold's reply, "for, to tell you the truth, I
think you have got hold of the rough end of the stick,
and that you won't have a look in."

** All right," said Oldwig, " if you are so keen on
riding. Don't for one moment think I wish to disap-
point you, for nothing gives me greater pleasure than

6

70 Hu7iting in the Golden Days.

putting myself in training for a steeplechase. For you
must know that it is not so many years ago that my
name was not unknown between the flags."

"Very good," said Winebold. "I shall not disap-
point you, and may the best man win."

It may, perhaps, seem ludicrous to the reader to hear

of two gentlemen who scale between sixteen and

seventeen stone in the buff, talking as though they were

veritable flyers of the chase ; but it is wonderful when

one is put on one's metal after dinner how small the

fences seem to become and how great our hearts grow.

" I shall start to-morrow," says Winebold, " and put

myself into thorough training. Two suits of old clothes,

a couple of great coats, four pints of hot water taken

inwardly, and five miles in and out, methinks, will soon

reduce me to something like a racing weight."

This remark is greeted with a round of applause.

" Well done, Winebold ! that's right, never put your

hand to the plough and turn back. Sit well back and

chuck your heart over the fences first."

" I shall be out every morning just after sunrise,"
says Oldwig, thinking he must make some retort to
this sally, *' and give Dragoon his morning gallops,
for I have always found, with my training experience,
that you can always do more before breakfast than at any
other time. I remember what training I was in when
Lord Ukshire came and begged and implored me to
ride his bay filly for the Ukshire Stakes, and, I think, if
I am not mistaken, that after three weeks or so I shall
be as fit as I was then."

A willing and eager committee is at once formed to
organise the meeting. The money is staked, the scene
of the event being kept a complete secret by these
gentlemen, so as not to give either rider a preference

Hunting in the Golden Days. 71

over the other by viewing the course previous to the
eventful day.

At first Winebold seems to be rather the favourite,
6 to 4 being laid on him in guineas, but when it leaks
out that the excitement may perhaps cause him to take
too much nourishment before the contest, the betting
falls back to evens.

Still, everybody feels that Winebold has an excellent
chance of winning, especially as he possesses a tip-top
man in his stable for getting horses into condition.
Before this fellow entered Mr. Winebold's employ he
was for some years in the service of a certain Mr.
Mouldy, M.F.H., a very stingy man, who was familiarly
known as Miser Mouldy. This gentleman, with all his
parsimonious habits, had a great passion for fox-hunting,
and a good knowledge of the craft to boot. Not that his
hobby cost him anything ; far from it. Some went so
far as to say that he made a profit out of keeping the
hounds ; but Miser Mouldy was a man in a thousand,
and a wonderful manager, for not only did he arrange
to have his hunting for nothing, but contrived to run
the establishment with Payne (the man who is now in
Mr. Winebold's service) and a boy about sixteen.
Certainly the master lent a hand in an emergency, but
the rule of his house was early to rise and late to bed.

" No human being requires more than four or five
hours' sleep," Miser would say, " and those who think
they do ain't no good to me."

Being a bachelor and a woman-hater, the miser
lived his own life, hunting his hounds three days a
week, during the season, Payne and the boy whipping
in for him. He entertained as few guests as possible;
not that many were eager to accept his hospitality, for it
was of the roughest kind. When Payne accepted the

72 Hunting in the Golden Days.

position of useful and odd man in this establishment
with an honorarium of three shillings a week and the
full run of his teeth at his master's expense, he could
not complain that he was required to do anything that
was not strictly in accordance with the conditions on
which he was engaged. For on rising in the morning,
his duties on a non-hunting day were to light the fire
and to boil the kettle for his master's breakfast. He
would then go into the kennels, feed the hounds, then
on to the stables, and after dressing [and feeding the
horses, return to the house for breakfast, which meal he
partook of with his master, as that gentleman preferred
to have him with him whilst eating, as too much time
otherwise was occupied over the repast. He also found
that Payne's appetite was held within more reasonable
bounds than it would have been, had he breakfasted
alone. After this hasty meal the cow had to be milked
and the pigs fed. After this an hour or more was spent
in the house, making his master's bed, cleaning the
knives, forks, boots and shoes. The tackle and hunting
leathers had then to be done, and after much smudging
and rubbing, this would bring him up to about dinner-
time. In the afternoon he did little odd jobs in the
garden, planting potatoes, earthing up celery, or what-
ever came to hand, for he was an all-round man and could
turn his hand to anything. Then there was more feeding
in the stables to be done, the hay and straw to be got in
from the barn, and many more little jobs, too numerous
to mention. At the end of the day his master would
ofttimes call his faithful henchman a lazy dog. After a
time Payne got tired of all work and no play, and
suggested that as his master did not appreciate his
services, that he would like to leave at the end of the
season.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 73

" All right," said Mouldy, " have your own way ; but
you may go further and fare worse. Remember it is
not in every place that you will be treated with the
same consideration as you have been here."

j\Ir. Winebold came across this multum in parvo, on
Newmarket Heath, some months after he had left the
M.F.H.'s service. Remembering his face, he asked
him what he was doing to gain a livelihood. Payne
replied that up to the present he was starving, but that
he was looking out for a situation. Mr. Winebold,
being in want of a man of so vast an experience, at
once engaged him, knowing well that he was just the
one to look after his hunters and keep them in good
condition. And never, from that day up to the present,
has he regretted his choice, for he has never before
been carried so well and found his horses so fit. But I
am digressing from our tale.

" What sort of a country, may I enquire," says
Oldwig, resuming the conversation in as bold a tongue
as he can muster, *' are you going to select for us
to ride over, because you must remember they must
be all fair hunting jumps, and if I might be
allowed to suggest I should have it over a moderately
easy country, for I do not suppose that Winebold
is particularly anxious to make Mrs. Winebold a
widow, for I am thinking that some of those oak posts
and rails about the Rosbery country smell rather strong
of coffins."

" Don't mind me," says Winebold, now thoroughly
alive to the situation, " the stiffer the line the better I
shall like it."

With this remark Mr. Winebold again tosses off a
collar-glass of port, for he remembers that he must
keep up his reputation, and the larger he talks the more

74 Hunting in the Golden Days.

likely is Oldwig to pay forfeit sooner than enter into
the contest. But he has mistaken his man, for is there
not a month to spare r argues Oldwig to himself; may
not many things happen in that time ? strained sinews,
over-reaches, curbs sprung, and what not, for these are
contingencies always to be borne in mind in matters
of this kind, and it would indeed be a false move
to pay forfeit when something may happen to his
opponent's horse before the day, in which event, of
course, he will draw forfeit, for he means to stick
to the terms to the letter and not give Winebold a
chance of another mount if anything should happen to
his horse.

The matter having been thoroughly thrashed out, our
friends depart for the night and dream about the two
competitors jumping yawning abysses, and arms of the
sea.

15

CHAPTER VIII.

Three weeks have elapsed, both jockeys have entered
thoroughly into the spirit of the race, and it is
noticeable that they both look much lighter, healthier,
and younger for their training, for when, I ask, does a
man feel better than when he has put himself in strict
training for a few weeks. It is true that both Oldwig
and Winebold have ever since secretly regretted the
match made after dinner, and were they the only parties
concerned, it is a certainty that it would never have
been decided, but, as the reader knows, there are other
interested parties who have staked their money, a vast
amount of trouble has been taken on all sides, the line
of country has been chosen, and the meeting to a certain
extent has become known, so that it is out of the ques-
tion for them to withdraw.

The opponents are on the best of terms. It was
only when they met in the market town yesterday that
Oldwig was saying that he had that morning, whilst
turning out some clothes in his wardrobe, come across
his old racing colours, which he had donned, disporting
himself before his cheval-glass, much to his own gratifi-
cation and his wife's displeasure. Winebold retorted
by saying that Sulphur was in wonderful condition, and
the only fault he could find was that she gallops too fast
and jumps too big.

As we have already hinted, Mrs. Oldwig is a power in
the house in which she dwells. Oldwig up to the

76 Hunting in the Golden Days.

present has contrived not to mention this engagement
that he has entered into in his family circle, fearing
to arouse his wife's ire, for he knows that for years
past she has objected to his hunting, saying that a
man of his age ought to know better than to be always
galloping after a lot of dogs' tails dressed up in a red
coat, looking more like a red water-butt than a human
being. Still, up to the present she has tolerated his
hunting, but Oldwig has a shrewd suspicion that if this
match leaks out, she is quite capable of putting a stop
to the whole affair. He therefore deems silence to be
golden, trusting that the local gossip will not reach
her ears, " for," says he, " it is bad enough to have to
ride this infernal race without having one's wife
bullying and threatening all the time." Very careful
he has had to be in these early morning exercise
gallops, lest he should arouse her suspicions. He has
had to lay his plans like a clever general, and has
told her that he is getting too stout, and has deter-
mined to reduce his weight, as Doctor Viles has said
he fears his health will suffer otherwise, and so he has
determined to take a couple of hours' walking exercise
round his farm before breakfast every morning.

So far his strategy has been complete. However, this
is not the only difficulty that Oldwig has had to contend
with, for the latest reports from the Winebold stable
are to the effect that Sulphur is as fit as a fiddle and
as sound as a bell. It seems as though this race, backed
up as it is by all his friends, will have to take place.

Oldwig is too good a sportsman to cry off by the
mere invention of his horse having a sore back or an
influenza cold. To a certain extent he has hardened
his heart. A sporting young friend has volunteered
his offices to act as trainer, and has given him his

Hunting in the Golden Days. 77

instructions as to what fences he should ride over for
practice ; it has been to a certain extent satisfactory to
have a trainer, although Oldwig has occasionally-
rebelled against his adopted master. " It's all very
well," he would say, " for you to point out those
thundering great jumps for me to ride at while you
look on, but I can tell you I am not going to break my
horse's back for your satisfaction : " and though he
has been argued with, and told that the fences he will
have to encounter in a week's time will be similar
to these or even larger, Oldwig has retorted, ** It
will be bad enough to jump the beastly things then
without having to do so now in cold blood, and what's
more, I don't mean to do so. Order me as much
galloping as you like and I'm your man, but I am not
going to be eternally jumping fences just to satisfy you."

Sir John Jarvis is looking forward to this meeting
with the greatest expectation, and has arranged to drive
over a party of friends from Buckskin Hall on his drag
to witness the race, for are they not two of his oldest
friends ? And although he regrets that they have been
/led into this wager, yet he cannot refrain from being
present on the occasion.

At last the eventful day arrives — as beautiful a
morning for the time of year as one could desire.

A large assembly of carriages are drawn up in a
grass field on a hill, where a red flag flutters from a hop
pole. The course is to a steeple seen in the blue distance
nestling amongst the trees — two miles as the crow flies,
the finishing flag being in a parallel line about half a mile
distantj'thus obviating thenecessity of havingto cross more
than one or two of the same fields on the return journey.

Winebold has ridden over in good time, and has paid
a visit to all the carriages assembled at the rendezvous,

78 Hunting in the Golden Days.

sampling their wines, for it is needless to say that one
and all of these conveyances are well freighted with
refreshments for their occupants and any chance friends
as well who may happen to be there.

Winebold is saying to Miss Richmond, who is seated in
a brake, that on an occasion like this he feels he ought to
keep his stamina up, for he is shortly to undergo a great
trial of strength, and will need all his resources to be able
to cope with it. To which the young lady replies : " Mr.
Winebold, let me offer you a glass of sherry — papa's
Amontillado, you know, which you have tasted before."
It is needless to say Mr. Winebold thanks her for her
kindness, and says that he really feels quite faint, for
nothing has passed his lips that morning since he left
home. He then strolls off to have a chat with one or
two late arrivals, and, having joined them in drinking
success to himself, he thinks it about time to see to the
saddling of his mare.

Mr. Oldwig has arrived, and looks pale but confident ;
and although he has been seen to disappear mysteriously
behind several carriages, and to re-appear wiping his
mouth, yet it is evident that he has a fixed determina-
tion not to take more than he can comfortably carry, as
he knows he will require within a very short time all his
nerve and judgment, perfectly free and untrammelled.

A group of farm labourers are standing together as
Oldwig rides by, and one of them is heard to observe, in
no moderate tones, " as how 'e shouldn't care to take on
this 'ere job himself because he hev just walked from his
cottage to this 'ere place across the fields where, these
'ere gents are going to ride ; and the fences before you
come to the Drencher stream in the bottom has been
made up and is terrible big places, with ditches t'other
side big enough to bury a rigiment of soldiers in."

Hunting in the Golden Days. "jq

Oldwig shudders as he passes on, and thinks of what
may be the outcome of all this.

Poor fellow, he has passed a bad night, for unfortu-
nately, at the last moment, his wife has been informed
by some officious meddler of her husband's rash wager.
Little sleep has he had last night, for he has received a con-
tinual curtain lecture something after the following style :

" To think of you, the father of a family, getting
on for 60, telling me that you feel old age fast creep-
ing over you, and you cannot ride to hounds as you
did, and that you think you will have to give it up,
and that, anyway, you won't hunt more than two
days a week, and when you do only ride at gaps ; and
what do you think all your friends will say, wagering your
money in a profligate way like this r You ought to be
ashamed of yourself, you ought, distressing a good,
amiable wife like you have. You ought to have married
a vixen, she would have given you no peace ; and I sup-
pose if you break your ribs or injure your spine you
will expect me to nurse you day and night, after I have
warned you as I have. If you had been called out to
battle by a press-gang or anything like that, and been
obliged to go, that would have been a different thing ;
but this is a thing you go and openly seek yourself,
simply to satisfy your own vanity. That's why you wear
that red coat. I know all about it. It's no good telling
me," and so on, till she was quite worn out and tired, and
poor Oldwig was allowed to fall into a fitful slumber.

Oldwig throws his eyes across the country in the
direct line he will soon be traversing. How small the
fences look in the distance to an unpractised eye ; but
he knows what yawners some of them must be from the
remarks of the bumpkins assembled on the hill. He
pictures his horse landing on its head and rolling heavily

8o Hunting in the Goldc7i Days.

on him. He sees himself picked up insensible by a few
spectators, carried oif on, a hurdle to a white farmhouse
he sees in the distance ; the doctor arrives and pro-
nounces life to be extinct : the news is conveyed to his
sorrowing wife and children.

" Ah," says Oldwig to himself, " she will be sorry for
what she said to me last night. She can't help her
tongue, I suppose. I believe she is as fond of me as
ever she was," and a silent tear steals down his cheek.

But there is a movement on the hill ; the judge and
starter are making preparations to set them going.

Winebold rides up to Mr. Goodbery, who is on
the box seat of his drag, and whispers that he would
be obliged if he would tell his butler to give him a glass
of cherry brandy before he starts, as he feels that, per-
haps, on an occasion like this it is as well to tune his
nerves with a little tonic before starting.

Winebold rides round to the back of the coach to the
butler, who is fumbling about for the cherry brandy in
the boot of the vehicle, and slipping a shilling into his
hand, requests him to pour the liquor into a tumbler, as
*' those little glasses only hold a toothful, don't you
know."

Loud voices are now enquiring for this delinquent,
who quickly rides up to the starter. The question is
asked, "Are you ready?" and the answer is given in the
affirmative. Both horses bound gaily away as the flag
drops to a splendid start.

Away they go merrily down the hill in workmanlike
fashion, Winebold slightly leading. The first fence to
be encountered has no doubt been judiciously selected
by the committee to give the competitors confidence,
and it is therefore easily accomplished. Away they sail
over a large grass field and pop over a low post and

Htiiitiug ill the Golden Days. 8i

rails, both landing safely on the other side. They now
come to some rising ground where a double has to be
negotiated with a slight swish fence on the top.
Dragoon takes it in his stride, and dropping his hind
quarters into the ditch on the far side, he makes a
desperate peck and nearly gives his rider a fall, but with
wonderful skill Oldwig keeps him on his legs. In the
near distance they see frowning a formidable-looking
bullfinch. Oldwig glances uneasily at his opponent, and
shortly after it is observable that Mr. Winebold returns
a similar look.

The question is now who is going to be the bold man
to lead over this terrible obstacle ; so far all has gone as
merrily as a marriage bell, and they are thoroughly alive
to the fact that all their movements are easily discern-
ible by the spectators on the hill. Oldwig rides at
it at a slow canter, some might say, with the object of
making his horse refuse, which that sagacious animal
promptly does, for we are told there is no closer secret
than that between a horse and his rider. Sulphur seeing
the tactics of the other horse naturally follows suit.
The two sportsmen begin to look about for a weak spot,
where it may be possible for them to clamber through.
But no such luck, for the farmer whose land they
are crossing, is in affluent circumstances, and keeps
his fences in admirable repair. They are ashamed
therefore to dwell longer reconnoitring, and there is
nothing for it but to have it. Oldwig again rides at
it, but not with sufficient dash or impetus to carry both
horse and rider safely over, for Dragoon, jumping in a
reluctant and half-hearted manner, makes a blunder on
the landing side, and gives his jock a little acrobatic
exercise. No damage is sustained, and before his horse
can rise Mr. Oldwig has caught him. Winebold lands

82 Hunting in the Golde7i Days.

nearly on the top of Mr. Oldwig, and is well rated by
that worthy for riding in his coat pocket. He is soon
mounted and away, and they are both on their headlong
career, determined either to die or conquer. Two or
three more formidable fences are traversed without
further mishap. Fortunately the going is light, and
as yet their steeds show no signs of distress ; and
it is well that such is the case, for they are quickly
approaching the bottom where the dreaded Drencher
brook runs, and nobody knows better than these
two good sportsmen that it means jumping here,
if they wish to cover the course. Great excite-
ment is manifested among the spectators on the hill,
who are still able to view the horses, although they,
unfortunately, are denied a view of the brook at the
bottom, and are on the tip-toe of expectation, as they
will see the horses when they are rising the fallow field
on the opposite bank. Their patience is well tried
here, for it is some considerable time before their
vision is gratified by the spectacle of the horses.
Although Mr. Winebold has taken a small tonic to
settle his nerves before starting, yet he feels his heart
sinking very low as he approaches the brook, and he
longs cnce more for a randrer of that cherry brandy
to set him going again. But, putting his horse's
head hard at it, and clapping his spurs well into
the sides of old Sulphur, he rides bravely at it.
The horse, with a gallant effort, lands on the edge
of the steep bank, and, after making a hard fight to
recover himself, rolls back into the weedy stream. Mr.
Oldwig is riding at the brook a few yards lower down, not
daring to look at the result of his opponent's attempt, but
his horse, perceiving the trouble of his companion, stops
short, and its rider takes a header into the stream.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 83

By this time the rider of Sulphur has managed to
scramble up the bank, and, having secured the reins of
his horse, is endeavouring to drag him out ; meanwhile,
Oldwig is puffing and blowing up to his armpits in the
stream, and wringing the water out of his eyes and
ears, vowing vengeance against his horse. " But no time
must be lost," thinks Oldwig. " Winebold will, no doubt,
have his horse out in a minute and make the most
of his opportunity to steal a march on me." So,
clambering up the muddy bank, he regains his horse,
which a yokel has fortunately caught, and quickly
mounts. His temper is thoroughly roused at Dragoon's
scurvy behaviour, and, after waking him up thoroughly
with the persuaders, he puts him resolutely at the water,
for he well knows the horse he bestrides is one of the
finest water-jumpers in the county. Dragoon, now
seeing his rider means business, goes at the brook at
racing pace, carrying his rider well over with two
feet or more to spare ; but by this time Winebold
is leading three fields ahead, and going in gallant
style, in fact he is close to the steeple where half their
journey is accomplished. Oldwig is too much of a
veteran sportsman to bustle his horse to overtake
Sulphur, for he knows that he is not yet home,
and he wisely calculates that as he has a horse in front
of him, there is little chance of his mount refusing any-
thing else that he may be called upon to negotiate.
Furthermore, his blood is warm, and he feels they have
got over the worst of the course. He remembers now,
with a smack of satisfaction, that on the return journey
they will be able to cross a farm bridge, and thus save
themselves a second encounter with the Drencher.
Standing well up in his stirrups, he pursues the flying
Winebold, who is still merrily sailing away, no doubt

84 Hunting in the Golden Days.

under the delusion that he has got it all to himself, and
that his opponent will not again be in evidence. j\Iis-
taken man ! By the time they have reached the farm
bridge, Mr. Oldwig, who now feels that he is indeed a
better man than he thought he was, is slowly but surely
overhauling him. Turning round, at this moment, to
make sure of his position, Winebold is surprised to see
the close vicinity of his sporting friend. They have now
crossed the bridge, and are again in view of the assembled
spectators on the hill, Winebold leading about half a
field. It is evident that Sulphur is beginning to
show signs of great distress, for the last two fences,
although not stiff ones, have been got over in a very
scrambling fashion. Oldwig having ridden with con-
summate judgment, and nursed his horse, now draws up
almost in a line with Sulphur. How Oldwig now con-
gratulates himself for those early morning gallops
which have brought his horse into such a fit
state of training. He indeed feels proud that if
he is not destined to be the winner, he will
not be placed far behind, "for," thinks he, "lam
a good deal better than some of the young ones
now, and if I win it will stop the old woman's tongue,
for she can't say very much to me then, and if she does
I will shut her up." They are now within three or four
fields of the winning post, and there is only one fence
that Oldwig has any doubt about in his mind, a
double with a small post and rails on the top; a fence
of no magnitude, but still one that requires an intelligent
hunter to negotiate it safely. Dragoon and Sulphur
are now neck and neck, both about fairly pumped, and
becoming careless at their fences. More quickly than I
can write they are on the other side both down, and
both riders have received imperial crowners. In the

X

m

DO
O

o

Hunting in the Golden Days. 85

hurry and excitement of the moment the jockeys rise
in a half dazed manner and grab the first horse
that comes to hand. Both horses being dark brown
and of the same height, it is not unnatural that in the
excitement of the moment Mr. Oldwig should mount
Sulphur, while Mr. Winebold mounts his friend's horse.
The finish is brilliant ; both men sit down well in their
saddles and get every ounce out of their horses in the
final struggle ; but condition will tell, and Dragoon
surely but slowly draws away from the other horse,
and comes in a winner by about seven or eight lengths.
A cheer goes up from the spectators who have
witnessed this magnificent finish. The riders, who
have hardly recovered from their header, for the first
time realise the fact that they have in the scurry
exchanged horses. When it becomes known that such
is the case, uproarious laughter is indulged in, and a
wag suggests that as it can be nothing else than a draw,
they should ride the race over again, but this suggestion
both our friends strenuously oppose. Bets are all off and
the steeplechase, which has no doubt afforded many
people much amusement, and a pleasant day's outing,
terminates without the loss of money on either side.

Mr. Winebold is then conducted by his friends to
many of the carriages, and having drunk them all dry
he enters his gig and drives home.

It is currently reported that Mr. Oldwig was not
satisfied with the result and wishes to enter again into
contest with Sulphur early in the spring ; but this report
I can authentically deny is incorrect, for I have it from
an excellent source that he has come to an arrangement
with his wife that she will allow him to hunt, he having
passed his word to her that never more will he enter into
contest with Mr. Winebold between the flags.

7

86

CHAPTER IX.

The day after the steeplechase Eric, Sir John's son, is
up betimes.

Having had a walk to give himself an appetite
for breakfast, he lounges into the hunters' room.
How well he looks, his well-tanned face and healthy
complexion showing clearly that he passes most of his
time out of doors.

Breakfast is not yet ready, but preparations have
been made for that meal on a long oak cavalier
table that stands in the centre of the stone-
flagged room. A charming study this room would
be for a painter, with its light and cheerful appearance,
the long-barrelled sporting guns in the rack over the
flreplace, and trophies of the chase, such as deers'
heads, foxes' masks and brushes adorning its walls. In
the corner hangs a miscellaneous collection of shot-
pouches, powder-flasks, fishing-nets, a post-bag, and an
implement used for testing hay — all more or less essen-
tial to those dwelling in a country house. This room Sir
John Jarvis frequents more than any in the house,
although it was originally built for the entertainment of
sportsmen when returning from hunting or shooting.

Dressed in his hunting clothes, Eric leans against the
old oak mantelpiece and falls into a reverie of thought.

Htmting in the Golden Days. 87

He is thinking that his life at college might, perhaps,
have been toned down a little, and then he begins
to think of the bygone days at Oxford — of tandems
driven at high speed ; cabriolets, with the smallest of
tigers hanging behind ; night excursions, when watch-
men were assaulted and thrown over in their boxes
whilst asleep ; door-knockers and bell-handles wrenched
off; scouts and dons eluded; statues painted various
colours, and many more pranks all incidental to college
life.

What days those where when Charley Yaverton was
with him at dear old Balliol College. The many river
excursions on Isis, or the long, delightful summer after-
noons spent in angling. The grey old college walls,
musty books and ice-cool ale from the butteries pass
before him in a visionary dream, when he is suddenly
recalled from his reverie by Miss Betty, who enters the
room, neatly attired in riding costume.

" Good morning, Eric, why so solemn this morning t"
says his sister ; " surely you have not at your time of
life anything to give you cause for such harassed looks r "

" No sister," replied the young man, " my thoughts
were far from unpleasant. I was thinking over the
time at Oxford, where dear old Charley pulled me out of
so many scrapes."

Now let it be known to the reader that Charley is an
especial favourite of Betty's. On his long-continued
visits at Buckskin Hall, it appears he has made
good use of his time ; it is not to be wondered at that
Miss Betty should fall even deeper in love with him
than before, after his gallant defence when the coach
was attacked by highwaymen. It is noticeable that
gentlemen who have posed in the part of a gallant should
likewise deem it their duty to devote the remainder of

88 Hunting in the Golden Days.

their life to the tending and watching over of one they
have rescued from a great danger.

The talk of the brother and sister is not continued as
Sir John and Lady Jarvis make their appearance, and
the conversation becomes general. Eric has decided to
hunt his beagles this morning, and asks Mr. Goodbery
if he will make one of the party and lend him a hand
at whipping-in, to which our friend, good sportsman
that he is, readily assents, warning him beforehand that
he must be good enough to overlook any shortcomings
as to pace.

As soon as breakfast is finished the pack are un-
kennelled and flood out through the doors into the
meadow beyond. They spread about and give tongue in a
way which shows that they know well by their master's
attire that it is a hunting day.

Two or three turnip fields are drawn before the
hounds manage to find. Presently, however, a hare
is put up and the little pack race away in full view
of puss, who quickly outstrips them. Eric calls upon
Mr. Goodbery to put it on and keep well up as he
wants a trusty henchman to whom he can turn the
hounds occasionally.

Our good old friend has traversed two or three fields
when his weight and age begin to tell their tale. He
is, however, game to the backbone and sticks manfully
to his task, although the huntsman is soon a field and
a-half in advance of his whip. At this point the hounds
again swing round to the right, almost returning into
the field across which Mr. Goodbery is struggling.
This gives him another chance of getting his wind and
for a few more fields he is with the pack, until the pace
becomes too severe, when he again tails off and leaves
the huntsman in sole charge.

Hunting in the Golden Days. 89

Mr. Goodbery, who has a profound knowledge of
the tactics of hare-hunting, gradually ascends some
rising ground, knowing well that the fleet little pack
will not get far away and in all probability he will see
more of the sport from this eminence than he would if
he were pursuing them on the lower ground. As
soon as he has reached the spot from which he expects
to obtain the best view, he sits down and mops his
brow. It is wonderful how vividly the fatigue brings
home to one's mind, in moments like these, what horses
have to go through when carrying a heavy sportsman
to hounds.

By the time Goodbery has well recovered his breath
and is thinking of again returning to his duties, the
hounds are working within easy distance of him,
and he can see at a glance that they have chopped
the hare in a little spinney. He descends to the now
elated pack, and is accosted by Eric, who good-
naturedly chaffs him about his want of condition.
Goodbery laughingly replies, that " he has no doubt that
he is a wee bit out of form, and rather thick in the wind,
and on the whole, perhaps, can play a better part, now-
adays, with knife and fork than in the capacity of
whipper in."

Old Jowles, the huntsman, who cannot resist
the temptation of viewing the sport, has walked
out to give his opinion of hare-hunting. Not for a
moment does he wish to disparage the young master's
Ijelongings, but still he looks upon hare- hunting rather
as a sport only to be indulged in by schoolboys.

Some of Jowles' remarks are very amusing. Not
many days ago whilst hunting, a farmer riding a rough-
looking lean horse was unwise enough to choose a
moment when the hounds were at a check to call the

90 Hunting in the Golden Days.

huntsman's attention to the beautiful points of his steed^
asking at the same time if Jowles did not thoroughly
endorse his opinion. The huntsman, perhaps, in less busy
moments would have weighed his words more carefully,
but his answer was more appropriate than polite, " Get
out of the way with that old hair trunk on a stool," he
cried, " I aint got no time to talk about horses' points
now."

However, Eric well knows him to be a good sports-
man, although he does profess to consider hare-hunting
a childish amusement. So as Mr. Goodbery does not
feel equal to a second run, Jowles is called upon to act
as whipper-in. Another hare is soon afoot, and after
a good run is killed in the open. The field then
considering that they have done enough for that day
return to the kennels, where they all avow that they have
had the most pleasant day's hare-hunting on record.

After his exertions Mr. Goodbery returns to the house,
where he finds Miss Betty and Charley Yaverton appa-
rently deeply interested in one another's conversation.
It is wonderful what an amount of information persons in
a state of mind similar to that of our young friends, are
able to impart to one another. Mr. Goodbery, not
wishing to intrude his society upon them, for he well
knows that two is company and three is none on
these occasions, quietly steals off to the picture-gallery,
leaving the young lovers to continue their conversation.
Miss Janet is seated at work at her spinning-wheel in a
recess in this apartment, and is ruminating again upon
Mr. Goodbery's conduct of last night.

She is in a more serious mood this morning than
usual, for she has been reading a book of sermons. She
is picturing to herself her future life at Foxley Grange
and the role she will have to play there when installed

Hunting in the Golden Days. 91

as mistress. She knows that a bachelor who has remained
single so long will require a great deal of breaking in.
She has been told sad tales of late hours and up-
roarious meetings after hunting days, and although she
has been brought up in a sporting community she has
no idea of allowing muddy-booted gentlemen to intrude
into her drawing-room at all hours of the day and
night.

" I shall have to enlarge the establishment," she
soliloquizes, " bachelor fare may perhaps have been
well enough for Goodbery all these years, but I will
teach him the pleasures of life when he has got a wife
to keep house and make things really comfortable for
him."

Mr. Goodbery, all unsuspecting, is strolling down the
gallery, gold eye-glass in hand, minutely studying the
physiognomy of the Jarvis family, long departed, from
the time of Charles I. onwards. There are stately
dames with their huge white frills and embroidered
stomachers, looking very uncomfortable in the position
they have been placed by the artist, and frowning
cavaliers encased in relentless armour, some with
flowing locks, some with close-cropped hair. Two or
three bald-headed gentlemen arrayed in old-fashioned
hunting attire and mounted on impossible-looking
horses, make up the collection of ancient ancestors.

Perhaps Goodbery's attention is more devoted to the
study of the female Jarvises than of the sterner sex,
for it may be noticed that he lingers before some
portraits for a considerable time, and returns to
them again. He is startled on coming suddenly upon
jMiss Janet working noiselessly at her wheel. For a
moment he appears confused, and is about to withdraw,
but she reassures him with a winning smile, and motions

92 Hunting in the Golden Days.

him to a seat beside her in the window. She slowly,
but surely, opens her batteries on this unsuspecting
gentleman. Now is the opportunity which may not
occur again, and she is determined to avail herself of it.
How fortunate that he has found her out. No doubt he
has come to proclaim his love ; at all events, Miss Janet
intends this time to make hay while the sun shines, and
to give him that encouragement for which she believes
he has up till now been waiting.

" Oh, Mr. Goodbery," she begins, " I am so pleased you
have come to have a chat with me. It is so good of you
to have found me out. Poor little me, I am so lonely,
working here alone," continues the doleful lady ; " to
meet with a sympathetic soul like you is, indeed, balm to
my troubled heart, I fain would talk with you of serious
matters." (At these words Mr. Goodbery begins to feel
uneasy and rather regrets his visit to the picture gallery.)
"Therefore," continues she, "let us speak of matters
that are of vital interest to us both. It is no good
concealing our feelings, we are not children now, and
we can think for ourselves. We have no stern parents
to consult ; why, therefore, I ask, shall we not let our
souls commune together ? "

Goodbery fidgets uneasily on his chair, and tries to
turn the subject, but the lady has got the bit firmly
between her teeth and there is no stopping her.

" Oh, Mr. Goodbery," she continues, " do try to
follow me in my train of thought, and like the poet let
us sing, ' Oh, that our hearts were one,' for I look upon
you as my friend, I may say as my protector, for there
is no one else to whom I can look but you. We have
known each other from childhood. I know, rash boy that
you are, you were indiscreet last night in allowing your
feelings to get the better of you and to proclaim

Hunting in the Golden Days. 93

your love to me under the mistletoe, but I forgive you ;
doubtless your feelings overcame you in the excitement
of the moment, for if you have not openly avowed your
love to me, I have known it for years."

Mr. Goodbery produces his bandana handkerchief
and vigorously mops his streaming forehead. Things
are coming to a pretty pass, he does not know what
course to pursue ; he thinks that under the circum-
stances, the best thing to do will be to allow the lady
to have her say, and trusts that someone will come
into the gallery and thus put an end to the unpleasant
interview. He furtively watches the door, but alas,
there are no signs of anyone approaching to intrude
upon this unsought-for privacy.

" But," continues she, " I forgive you, but do not, I beg
you, again let the vulgar public gaze upon our happiness.
Oh, Goody, I may call you Goody, may I not r Let us
reserve such scenes for private life, for then, indeed, we
shall be better able to enjoy our felicity. I do not see
any reason that our engagement should be a long one,
for has not our acquaintance been a life-long courtship r "

But Goodbery is still silent, he does not mean if he
can possibly avoid it in any way to acquiesce to this
terrible alliance that is being thrust upon him. He
makes another gallant effort to change the subject by
talking in a rambling way about a frightful accident
that befel him in the hunting field when he was thrown
from his horse headlong into a muddy stream where, had
it not been for the joint efforts of Mr. Oldwig and a
farmer, he would doubtless have succumbed.

But Miss Janet is not to be turned from her purpose,
she has a determined expression on her countenance
which frightens Goodbery.

" Oh, Goody," she continues, " let me hear you say that

94 ' Hunting in the Golden Days.

my love is requited. I know that you have so long led
a secluded life that you are naturally inclined to be
retiring in matters like these. You have nothing to
fear, your freedom will be as great as ever, and, per-
chance, should you meet with an accident you would
have loving hands to tend you in your illness. Say,
then, when shall be the happy day r "

Goodbery thus driven into a corner begins to think
what sort of an answer he must make to this terrible
virgin. It flashes through his brain that he would not
only give his best hunter in his stable to have avoided
that fatal kiss, but the whole of his stud and his
house thrown in. He then falls to thinking what
punishment is adequate to mete out to Oldwig for
having incited him to that foolish bit of gallantry, for he
now looks upon his friend's action as one of the most
hideous offences that could have been perpetrated by
any human being. For a moment he contemplates
calling that gentleman out to mortal combat,and as the
thought matures in his mind it grows stronger.
Unfortunately, he cannot shift the burden on to the
shoulders of a married man like Oldwig ; otherwise he
would cunningly have suggested that that poor, un-
offending man had been madly in love with Aliss Janet
for years.

While these thoughts are flashing rapidly through
his brain. Miss Janet, who considers she has not,
perhaps, sufficiently enlarged upon the occasion wildly
throws her arms about our hero's neck. Just at this
moment the amorous maid and her unwilling swain
are startled by a loud peal of laughter, for Sir John
and Charley Yaverton have noiselessly entered the
gallery, and have witnessed this poetic embrace. Under
the circumstances there is nothing to do but for Good-

Hunting in the Golden Days. 95

bery to disengage himself, and in some way save this
lady's good name and his own from idle slander.

In a moment an idea strikes him. He joins heartily
in the laugh, and says,

" Sir John, you have spoilt a good thing. Miss Janet
and I have been arranging to give the inmates of
Buckskin Hall a little surprise in the way of a play ; and,
as you know, this requires a great deal of practise ; but
you have unfortunately come upon us during our
rehearsal. You will not, however, I trust, mention this
matter to the household until we are prepared to give
the performance, for, as you know, the only way to
make amateur theatricals succeed is to keep the
preparations for them a dead secret.

Sir John laughingly answers that he will not disclose
their little plot to the others, and Miss Janet, having
been discovered in so foolish a position, deems it prudent,
under the circumstances, to say nothing for the present,
preferring to let matters take their course.

96

CHAPTER X.

The week after the events related in the preceding
chapter, Mr. Goodbery calls upon Mr. Oldwig, and finds
that worthy smoking a pipe and consuming a glass of
punch in his comfortable study at Hare Lodge. On
entering, Oldwig receives him with his usual cordiality,
when the following conversation ensues :

"I have come to see you," says Goodbery, " upon a
matter which has caused me the greatest possible worry,
and it is entirely owing to you that this terrible mis-
fortune has befallen me."

"You startle me," says Oldwig.

" I allude to the occurrence which, you wall remember,
happened at Buckskin Hall. You had, doubtless,
planned that I should be made a buffoon of that evening,
and had, no doubt, counted the misery that I should
afterwards endure by perpetrating so dastardly an
act as I did on Miss Janet on that occasion."

" My good fellow," replies Oldwig, " what on earth
do you mean ? You have been openly paying your
addresses for the last two years to Miss Janet, and have
made conversation for your friends, because you have
not avowed your suit for her. And now you come
to me and upbraid me for having incited you to kiss
your betrothed. This is indeed really too funny ; if
anything, I am your benefactor, for it appears that I

Hunting in the Golden Days. 97

have now brought things to a pass which they ought to
have reached years ago."

" I will let you understand, Sir," says Goodbery, **that
there is nothing, nor has there ever been anything
between that good lady and myself. As you know, I am a
confirmed bachelor, and it is not likely at my time of life
that I shall change my views ; therefore, this tomfoolery
on your part, for I can call it nothing else, is ill-timed. I
may mention that since that fatal night I have received
no less than half-a-dozen letters from my friends con-
gratulating me on my approaching nuptials, and I
therefore come to you, as the cause of this unpleasant
affair, to use your best endeavours to at once put an end
to it, for, with all due respect to the lady in question, I
look upon marriage as nothing more or less than one of
the most terrible calamities that can befall a man."

** Goodbery," says Oldwig, "you are an intriguing
scoundrel. You have won this dear lady's affections, and
now, forsooth, you come to me and try to persuade me
against my better feelings to advertise amongst your
friends that there is no engagement between you. I
should have thought at least that anyone calling him-
self a gentleman would have had sufficient feeling
not to jeopardise the character of a lady who, in
good faith, has plighted her hand to him. I consider
that your behaviour has been that of a craven and a
coward, and, unless you give me your word of honour,
which, for that matter, I may tell you now I hold very
lightly, that you will marry the lady instantly, I shall
feel it my duty as well as my privilege as an old friend
of Miss Janet to claim satisfaction from you."

Now Goodbery is not a man of arms, but he
dreads the idea of marriage more than the muzzle of
a loaded pistol, and therefore thinking that by this

98 Hunting in the Golden Days.

expedient he may perhaps avoid the greater catastrophe,
he then and there accepts Mr. Oldwig's challenge and
withdraws.

High and low he searches in vain for a trusty hench-
man who will stand by him in this terrible ordeal
through which he has to pass, but it seems that his
behaviour has been thoroughly discussed and debated
on, and everybody is of the opinion that his conduct
has been of the most infamous kind. He is compelled
as a last resource to apply to an ex-poacher and a
drunken stable-keeper, both villains of the lowest
type who, having had their qualms overcome by the
offer of a large bribe, at last unwillingly consent to act
as his seconds.

At length the fatal day draws near. Everything
is ready ; the ground is measured ; a doctor is in
attendance with a box of surgical ^instruments, lint,
and bandages. Oldwig is there, looking pale but con-
fident ; his two seconds are Sir John and Mr. Lofty.
Both these refuse in any way to recognise our hero.
Two duelling pistols, with hair triggers, are soon loaded
and distributed by the seconds. The morning air is
chill and cold ; a white mist blows up, and the seconds
declare that the combatants are too far apart to see
each other properly.

Goodbery turns round to the ex-poacher and requests
him to give him a drink of brandy to steady his hand^
as he is in a very weak and nervous condition. Unfor-
tunately the seconder, who should have been provided
with a flask, has already drunk the contents himself,
thinking that it would not be needed.

The ground is now re-measured ; the combatants are
in position, and the signal is given to fire. There is a
flash and a loud report, and Goodbery still finds himself

Hunting tn the Golden Days. 99

standing up — unwounded. As the smoke clears off he
looks across at Oldwig, whom he sees lying prostrate on
the ground. In a moment he is kneeling by the
side of his now-disabled foe, who he finds is shot
through the heart. The body is quickly lifted into a
coach and driven rapidly away. But matters are not
to end here. Sir John walks up to Goodbery, and
in a stern manner demands satisfaction from him.
''Things cannot rest here," he says, "honour must be
vindicated, you have damaged my sister's character,
and it is now my turn to have satisfaction from you."

Goodbery, more dead than alive, returns to his posi-
tion. Pistols are again loaded, and the signal is about
to be given to fire, when suddenly our hero throws down
his pistol to the ground, for he dare not tempt fate the
second time. Falling upon his knees before Sir John,
he implores his forgiveness and asks on what conditions
he may be reinstated in his good opinion. Sir John is
at once amenable to reason, and demands that Goodbery
shall marry his sister without loss of time. The whole
of the party, the two blackguards included, then bundle
into the coach in attendance, and are hastily driven off
to a neighbouring church. Here Goodbery, to his
surprise, finds Miss Janet arrayed in wedding attire
with all the usual paraphernalia of veil and orange
blossoms. Goodbery cannot help wondering, too, why
she is wearing a pair of top boots.

Too much cowed to attempt further resistance,
Goodbery is led up to the altar rails, where a parson
with a fiendish expression conducts the marriage
ceremony. The wedding over, the bells ring out in
horrible discord as though deriding him with his folly.
They are in the coach being driven back to Buckskin
Hall at racing pace. As they gallop along, Oldwig

loo Hunting in the Golden Days.

suddenly appears at the carriage window with a
blanched face and blood streaming from his left breast.
He is carrying a huge duck gun which he fires
at Goodbery without further warning.

There is a tremendous explosion, and Goodbery
awakes and finds that he has been the victim of a
dream. Footit, being unable to wake Mr. Goodbery by
calling him, has let the boot-jack fall on to the polished
oak floor, with the result we know.

Goodbery slowly rises and rubs his eyes, and asks
the man-servant what time it is. Having informed his
master that it is 7.30, and that he "hopes he has had
a good night, as he was sleeping wonderful sound,"
Mr. Goodbery's servant withdraws.

It is needless to say that Mr. Goodbery is still a
bachelor, and will remain so till the day of his death.
There has been a wedding at Buckskin Hall, in which
Charley Yaverton and Betty took the leading part.
Goodbery has been taught a lesson ; he no longer kisses
ladies under the mistletoe, for he says that the dream
he had will be engraved on his memory to the day of
his death. "I have been a hunting man all my life,"
Goodbery is fond of saying, "but never before have I
hunted any animal on the face of the earth as that
woman hunted me that night."

The End.

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\

Webster Family Library of Veterinary Medicine
Cummings Sclioo! of Veterinary Medicine at
Tufts University
200 Westboro Road
North Grafton. MA 01536