'i ^^fi^^ s^^T^a^ - ^y^^ TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 4 555 763 teter FamjJy Library of Vetennaiy ' i,,^ HMRiings School of Veterjnaty Msdidn»# Tuffs (Jritversity 200 Westbofo Road MorthGiafton MA 01536 HUNTING SONGS This Edition is limited to Three Hundred and Fifty Co-pies for sale, each signed and numbered, of which this is m.ZoA Also Twenty-five Copies for presentation ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON From (I pdintitig by C. A. Duval HUNTING SONGS TOGETHER WITH A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB, FROM ITS FOUNDATION IN 1762 TO THE YEAR 1869 BY R. E. EGERTON-WARBURTON ALSO A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR BY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR HERBERT EUSTACE MAXWELL, Bart. P.C, F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D. ILLUSTRATED WITH 29 PLATES LIVERPOOL HENRY YOUNG & SONS 1912 First Edition, published at Chester, 1834 Second , ,, London, 1846 Third . II 1859 Fourth , ,, i860 Fifth , ,, 1873 Sixth ,, 1877 Seventh , II 1883 Eighth , „ 1887 t» t repr inted ,, 1893 Ninth . 1, Liverpool, 191a DEDICATED TO THE AUTHOR'S SON PIERS EGERTON-WARBURTON, Esq. BY THE PUBLISHERS Liverpool, October 1912 PUBLISHERS' NOTE IN issuing this new edition of Warburton's Hunt- ing Songs, the publishers have tried to produce it in a form worthy of the place the book occupies in hunting literature, and they have been enabled to do this by the kindly aid they have received from the author's son, Piers Egerton-Warburton, Esq., to whom they tender their grateful thanks. They desire also to thank the Committee of the Tarporley Hunt Club for permission to reproduce the portraits which adorn the walls of their Club- room. They also thank His Grace the Duke of West- minster for permission to reproduce two portraits ; and the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Errington for allowing them to publish, for the first time, the interesting picture of the " Meet of the Cheshire Hounds at Hooton " ; and also the Rev. Charles Slingsby, M.A., for the loan of the portrait of Sir Charles Slingsby. By the kindness of Willoughby A. Pemberton, Esq., they have been enabled to publish a rare por- trait of John Mytton ; and H. E. Wilbraham, Esq., has allowed them to reproduce two of his family portraits. Mrs. Park Yates has also allowed them vii PUBLISHERS' NOTE to reproduce the original painting of the late Capt. Park Yates. The publishers also desire to thank the following gentlemen for their aid, and for information concern- ing the book and illustrations — Sir Philip H. B. Grey-Egerton, Bart., Sir Gilbert Greenall, Bart., Ralph Brocklebank, Esq., J. Grierson Clayton, Esq., Reginald Corbet, Esq., and Col. Henry Tomkinson. vm CONTENTS Memoir PACK XV Introduction . XXV The Woore Country . I Quaesitum Meritis 5 Old Oulton Lowe 7 Tavporley Hunt . II The Little Red Rover . • 13 The Fox and the Brambles 14 The Earth Stopper . 16 The Old Brown Forest • 17 The Dead Hunter 21 The Spectre Stag 22 On the New Kennel, erected on Delamere F orest 26 The Ladie Cunigunda of Kynast . 28 The Love-Chace .... 32 A Recollection ...... 35 The Tantivy Trot .... 36 Hawkstone Bow-Meeting .... 38 The Ball and the Battue .... 40 On the Landlord ..... 42 Cheshire Chivalry ..... 43 On the Picture of the Cheshire Hunt . 47 The Breeches ...... 51 Inscription on the Handle of a Fox's Brush . 54 The Sawyer ...... 55 Song, written for and sung by J. H. Smith Barry, Esq. . 57 Tarwood 6i b ix CONTENTS A " Meet " at the Hall, and a " Find " in the Wood Song .... Sport in the Highlands " Importation of Vermin " Bow-meeting Song Farmer Dobbin . The Blooming Evergreen Cheshire Jumpers Tarporley Hunt Song . A Remonstrance on Lord Stanley's Suggestion that the Session of Parliament should be held during the Winter Months Highwayside Count Warnoff . Le Gros-Veneur . The Keeper A Railway Accident with the Cheshire Tarporley Hunt Song ...... A " Burst " in the Ball Week .... Farmer Newstyle and Farmer Oldstyle Home with the Hounds ; or, the Huntsman's Lament We are all of us Tailors in Turn . A Word ere we Start . Hard-riding Dick Thompson's Trip to Epsom A Modern Stable On Reading in the " Times," April 9, on the Life of Assheton Smith Tarporley Swan-Hopping On the Proposed Division of the Cheshi Killing no Murder On Peter Collison's late Fall X i860, a Critique re Country 69 73 74 76 77 79 85 86 90 92 93 94 96 99 100 104 106 109 "3 116 119 120 123 126 127 128 130 133 134 CONTENTS Riding to Hounds Newby Ferry Hunting Song Tarporley Song . A Growl from the Squire of Grumbleto The Coverside Phantom The Ladie of the Castle of Windeck The Two Wizards On a Tame Fox The Mare and her Master . Farewell to Tarporley The Pheasant and the Fox . The Stranger's Story . The Lovers' Quarrel . 'Tis Sixty Years Since The Close of the Season The Man with One Hunter Brother Tom .... Farming and Fox-hunting Bought and Sold .... An Australian Stag-hunt On the Death of Major Whyte-Melvill Found at Last A London Ballad Hush! Hush! Hush! Cheshire's Welcome Lines on reading an Extract from the Hunting Diary of V. D. Broughton, Esq Lines for the Stone intended to mark the spot where the gentlemen, whose boat was upset on Lochquoich, were landed ....... Epitaph on the Duke of Wellington's Charger 135 135 139 141 143 146 150 153 157 158 161 166 169 172 17s 179 180 182 183 185 189 190 192 194 196 198 200 201 202 xi CONTENTS PAGE Epitaph on A. B. C. by X. Y. Z 202 On a Thorn Tree on the Grave of a Brood Mare . . 203 The Roebuck at Toft ....... 203 Charade ......... 204 Welsh Hunting ........ 204 Paraphrase by a Master of Hounds .... 205 Epigram on a Hard-riding Youth named Taylor . . 205 Inscription on a Garden Seat formed from the Bones of an Old Racer ....... 206 Notes 207 xii LIST OF PLATES Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton . . . Frontispiece From a painting 6y C. A. Duval FACIHO PAGE Arley Hall — South Front ...... xv Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton .... xxv From a photograph George Wilbraham ........ xxvii From a painting by P. Battoni Sir Richard, 1st Lord Grosvenor ..... xxxi From a painting by Henry Morland, R.A. Roger Wilbraham xxxv From a painting John Smith Barry ....... xxxvii From a painting by J. Cranke, 1779 Sir Peter Warburton, 5th Baronet . . . . xl From a painting by Sir William Beechey, R.A. John Mytton of Halston, Salop .... xlix From a scarce print by IV. Giller, after IV. Webb; in the possession of Willoughby A. Pemberton, Esq, Captain Park Yates ....... 1 From a painting by Leslie Ward Presidents of the Tarporley Hunt Club, 1762-1781 . lii „ „ „ „ „ 1 782-1 81 7 . lii „ „ „ „ „ 1818-1857 . lii „ „ „ „ „ 1858-1897 . lii „ „ » » » 1898-1910 . lii xiii LIST OF PLATES FACING PAGE The Meet of the Cheshire Hounds at Hooton . . i From a painting iy J. E. Ferneley The Classical Qujesitum and the President's Hard Chair .......... 5 The Swan Inn, Tarporley . . . . . .11 The Cheshire Hunt 47 From an eii^ravitig by C. G. Lewis, after the painting by Henry Calvert Hugh, Duke of Westminster, K.G 96 From a painting by Sir J. E. Millais, R.A. We are all of us Tailors in Turn . . . .116 From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ") A Word ere we Start . . . . . . .119 From an etching bv Hablot K. Browne ("Phi:") Hard-riding Dick 120 From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phis ") Sir Charles Slingsby and his Horse " Saltfish " . . 135 From a photograph Wellington H. Stapleton Cotton, 2nd Viscount Com- bermere 142 From a painting by H. G. Herkomer Beeston Castle . . . . . . . -153 H. Reginald Corbet 157 From a painting by \V. Carter Charles Cholmondeley ....... 161 From a painting by Henry Cahert, 1840 The Way to the Stables — Arley Hall . . . 206 XIV ARLEY HALL— SOUTH FRONT MEMOIR ONE can scarcely imagine any public appoint- ment that must prove more irksome at times than that of Poet Laureate. It is the Laureate's function to celebrate triumphs in which he has borne no part, to give expression to joys that quicken not his pulse, and griefs that interfere no whit with his digestion. Nimble imagination, a delicate ear for rhythm, and a fluent vocabulary may serve to save his credit ; but in most state poems how plainly audible is the creak of machinery and the throb of the pump. Most men of education might acquire, an they willed, the craft cf stringing verses upon almost any given theme. It is an elegant exercise ; but true poetry flows from a more secret source. ''OtSa, said the Greek, to express what we mean by " I know," using the preterite of e'lSw, " I see," because to have seen and to know appeared to him, meant for him, the same thing. Even so the poet must have seefi — either in mental or material vision — before he can know enough to utter his lay. In every language amorous poetry, or at least poetry wherein love bears a chief part, abounds beyond any other, for the reason that every man worthy of the name has been in love of one sort or another at one time or another. All XV MEMOIR men have seen into this passion, therefore every man knows all about it. It is otherwise with fox-hunting. In modern communities hunters form a minority, chiefly drawn from a class which does not habitually seek expres- sion in verse ; wherefore prose predominates in the literature of the chace {pace the didactic Somervile). Nevertheless it happens once in a generation or so that enthusiasm, experience, and the poetic faculty are concentrated in a single fox-hunter ; and then how many memories are stirred — how many hearts are thrilled — by the verse that needs but be set in the alembick of good music to be handed down from sire to son ad mjinitum. It was by a happy dispensation that in the reign of Queen Victoria, three or four bards, competently gifted, rivalled each other in the grace and fire with which they celebrated the charms of the chace ; for it was midway in that reign that fox-hunting attained perfection. Foreign competition had not stinted the resources and strained the relations of squire and farmer ; railways had facilitated access to the flying shires without fulfilling C. J. Apperley's boding by proving a death-blow to sport ; fences were as yet free from the insidious peril of wire, and the death- duties had not yet laid their blight on the country homes of England. So John Woodcock Graves was devoid of all gloomy apprehension for the future welfare of his favourite sport when he matched " D'ye ken John Peel?" to an old Cumberland "rant"; so was Whyte-Melville when he brought us to " The Place where the Old Horse died " ; Bromley xvi MEMOIR Davenport, too, in celebrating the glories of " Ranks- borough Gorse." Howbeit none of these attempted the formidable task which Rowland Egerton-Warburton sustained during many years. A true Laureate, though he never claimed the title, he furnished the famous Old Tarporley Club with a fresh lyric on each succeeding anniversary — spontaneous, easy-flowing, and full of spirit. Born at Moston, near Chester, on 14th September 1804, Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton was the eldest son of the Rev. Rowland Egerton-Warburton, seventh son of Philip Egerton of Oulton, by his wife, Emma, daughter and co-heir of John Croxton of Narley Bank, Cheshire. This Emma was the grand- daughter of Sir Peter Warburton, fourth baronet of Arley, twenty-first in unbroken male descent from Adam de Dulton, who took the surname of War- burton when, in the reign of Henry II, he acquired the manor of Warburton through his marriage with Agnes, daughter and co-heir of Roger Fitzalured. Through his father young Rowland could trace direct descent from Philip, named " Goch," the Red, second son of David le Clerc de Malpas, who, when the earldom of Chester was annexed to the Crown, was appointed sheriff of that county in 1252. Whatever virtue, therefore, may be held to be inherent in ancient lineage young Rowland pos- sessed, when, on the demise of his uncle, Sir Peter Warburton, fifth and last baronet, in 18 13, he succeeded at the age of nine to the estates of Arley c xvii MEMOIR and Warburton, in accordance with the terms of his grandfather's will. In due course he went to Eton, thence to Oxford, where he matriculated at Corpus Christi College on 14th February 1823. As regards his university career — ccetera desunt. Thereafter, having made the grand tour in accordance with what was still reckoned essential to complete the education of a wealthy English gentleman, he settled at Arley Hall. This had been originally a fine example of the black and white timbered houses so distinctive of Cheshire ; but in the middle of the eighteenth century it was encased in a Georgian shell, which displeased Warburton's fastidious sense of beauty. He therefore began adapting it to his taste until, in the course of years, it had been practically rebuilt. Here he lived all his life, spending his time and money on his ample estates, and seldom visiting London. A staunch Tory in politics and a High Churchman, as was his neighbour and intimate friend, William Ewart Gladstone, in those days, he took no very active part in politics, and might have viewed with equanimity Gladstone's transition through the successive phases of Tory, Peelite, Radical, and Home Ruler, had he kept his hands off the Irish Church ; but his action in attacking that establishment was of such evil augury for more cherished institutions nearer home, that the strain proved almost fatal to the life-long friendship be- tween these two men. Warburton, indeed, was of a deeply religious nature, to which he gave literary expression in many verses and hymns, and in a collection of sonnets which has been privately printed, xviii MEMOIR He had the following lines inscribed over the two chimney-pieces in his dining-room — " If proud thou be of ancestors For worth and wisdom famed, So live that they, if now alive, Would not of thee be 'shamed. " In days of olden chivalry Bequeathed from sire to son, May honour keep untarnished still The shield which valour won." The only public office Warburton ever filled was that which had been held by his ancestor, Philip de Malpas, nearly seven hundred years before. He was High Sheriff of Cheshire in 1833, but the distinc- tion which he esteemed most highly was that of being elected an honorary member of the Old Tarporley Club — an honour almost, if not quite, unique. His father, who was only five-and-thirty when Rowland succeeded to the estates in 181 3, lived till 1846, and his mother died at the age of ninety-nine in 1881. His younger brother, Peter (1813—89), having served in the Bombay army, retired with the rank of brevet-major in 1853, in- tending to settle in New Zealand ; but he changed his destination to the colony of South Australia, where he became Commissioner of Police, after- wards earning distinction as a successful explorer. He endured terrible suffering and hardship in accom- plishing the overland route from Adelaide to West Australia, which he was the first traveller to attempt. In no English county has so little change in the ownership of land taken place within historic times xix MEMOIR as in Cheshire. ToUemache, Chohnondeley, and Grosvenor, Broughton, Egerton and Legh, War- burton, Davenport, and Shakerley — the old names stand in the rolls of George Vs reign just as they did in those of the Plantagenets. And whereas in Warburton's veins was blended the blood of two historic Cheshire families, he needed not to go out- side the county to find a bride of a lineage as ancient as his own. Accordingly, on yth May 1831, he married Mary, eldest daughter of Sir Richard Brooke, baronet of Norton Priory, one of a race whose con- nection with Cheshire runs back to the twelfth century. The popular prejudice against May mar- riages may draw no support from this one, for in May 1 88 1 there were assembled at Arley many of the family to celebrate the golden wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Egerton-Warburton. They were a truly devoted couple, and among the gifts made to them on this occasion none was so touching as a gold bracelet given by Warburton to her whom he had made his bride fifty years before. It held a medallion containing ten golden leaves, on each of which was inscribed the record of the chief domestic event in each of the ten bygone quinquennia. A fortnight later Mrs. Warburton was no more, and her husband never recovered from the shock of her sudden death. " Happy is the country that hath no history." There are but scanty records of Warburton's tranquil manner of life. Summer and winter he spent in the beloved " Chester's green vale." His intense love of beauty — natural, literary, and artistic — his contem- plative disposition and affectionate nature would XX MEMOIR have secured him happiness independently of society outside his own family circle ; but many persons who shared his tastes and appreciated his literary gifts found their way to Arley, and were welcomed there with refined and facile hospitality. The late Lord Houghton and Sir Jervoise Clarke-Jervoise were among the most intimate members of a little coterie, which included Mrs. Warburton's four sisters — Harriot Countess of Meath, Clare Lady Hervey- Bathurst, Caroline the Hon. Mrs. Lascelles, and Jessy the Hon. Mrs. Bootle-Wilbraham. Among these closely attached friends there used to circulate verses, epigrams, charades ^ndjeux-d'' esprit enough to fill a volume by themselves. Warburton, himself, had a kindly sympathy with all field-sports, but his darling pursuit was fox-hunting. As he tells us himself in one of his best songs — "Fishing, though pleasant, I sing not at present, Nor shooting the pheasant, nor fighting of cocks ; Song shall declare a way how to drive care away, Pain and despair away — hunting the fox." He generally rode thoroughbred horses bred by himself, and bestowed incessant care upon breaking and training them ; but one cannot read his poems without feeling convinced that his affection was bestowed as ardently upon hounds as it was upon horses. It was one who rode to hunt, not one who hunted to ride, that wrote the following stanza (less musical than most from that pen) — " The fox takes precedence of all from the cover ; The horse is an animal purposely bred After the pack to be ridden — not over ; Good hounds are not rear'd to be knocked on the head." xxi MEMOIR Though the prowess of others in the hunting-field is liberally celebrated and humorously criticised in Warburton's lays, upon his own quality as a horse- man he is modestly silent. Almost alone among field-sports, fox-hunting is free from the detestable taint of record-breaking, and owing to its very nature, must remain so while it endures. How long that may be defies computation. Its approaching end has been confidently predicted ever since railways began to shake the dominion of the road coaches. Warburton met that invasion with defiance — " Let the steam pot hiss till it's hot ; Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot ! " The sport has undergone many changes since then, but hitherto it has suffered no diminution of vigour. Still, as one canters to cover, his hack's feet seem to beat the turf in rhythm to the chime of — "Stags in the forest h'e, hares in the valley-o ; VVeb-footed otters are speared in the lochs ; Beasts of the chace that are not worth a Tally-ho I All are surpassed by the gorse-cover fox." The wealth of the country has shifted its centre ; few squires can now afford the supreme luxury of hunting from home ; but the blanks have been filled — far more than filled — by recruits from the great industrial centres, many of whom have no cause to fear comparison in performance and sportsman-like feeling with the most famous pursuers in the past. If and when the time does come, soon or late, when the physical and social conditions of this country have become incompatible with the Sport of Kings, xxii MEMOIR future generations may still be sensible of the kindly glamour which Warburton by these his lays has cast over his favourite pursuit. " Still distant the day — yet in ages to come, When the gorse is uprooted, the foxhound is dumb, May verse make immortal the deeds of the field, And the shape of each steed be on canvas reveal'd." The spirit and elegance of Warburton's verses found too many who appreciated them that they should be allowed to perish. First collected and published in 1834 under the title ol Hunting Songs, Ballads, &c., fresh ones appeared in each subse- quent edition until the eighth in 1887. Besides this collection, Warburton published 'Tliree Hunting Songs (1855), A Looking- Glass for Landlords (1875), Poems, Epigrams, and Sonnets (1877), Songs and Verses on Sporting Subjects (1879), T'wenty-'T'wo Sonnets (1883), most of which are included in the present edition. His later years were darkened by a grievous affliction. No more might his eye rest lovingly on the shapes of horse and hound, nor be gladdened by the gleam of scarlet in the autumn woodland, nor could he seek the solace which he knew so well how to find in his library. For seventeen long years Warburton was stone-blind from glaucoma. It was then a pathetic sight to see him still moving about through the beautiful garden he had created and the landscape which he had embellished. Moving briskly, too ; for he used to take as his guide a life- long friend, an aged gardener called Peter Burgess, who wore a leathern belt upon which his master kept a firm hold as they wandered through the xxiii MEMOIR woods and lanes. But so greatly did his master appreciate open-air exercise to the last, that old Burgess was not able to give him enough ; so a terrace was made 220 yards long, with a wire beside it. With his stick on the wire Warburton would pace to and fro here alone, a bell at each end of the wire warning him when he had reached the end of his tether. For the last twenty years of Warburton's life, after his wife's death, his youngest daughter, Mrs. Ussher, her husband and children, lived with him at Arley. Rowland Egerton- Warburton breathed his last at Arley Hall on 6th December 1891. No pomp of plumes or gloomy mourning-coaches were suffered to mark the close of this gentle life. The body was laid on a lorry draped with scarlet cloth and drawn by the workmen on the estate for three miles through the leafless woods to its resting-place in the churchyard of Great Budworth. Rowland Egerton- Warburton is survived by his son, Piers Egerton-Warburton, who represented Mid- Cheshire in Parliament from 1876 to 1885. HERBERT MAXWELL. MONREITH, <)thju!y 191 2. XXIV ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-VVARBURTON From Rule 9. xxxii INTRODUCTION Every one not appearing as above liable to the old forfeitures. " Nov. 4th. Riding a hack to cover or a shoot- ing or upon an accident happening, or horse on tryal, not to be fined according to the strictness of rule made in regard to uniforms. " 1772. — Nov. ist. During this meeting (on the 5th of November) the Lord President v^as pleased to signify his intention of investing Thomas Cholmondeley, Esq., of Vale Royal, in this county, with the most noble order of the Belt. Accordingly he was introduced to the Lord President by two senior aldermen. The Whip of State was borne by the Secretary : the Belt, carried on a cushion of state, by the Master of the Foxhounds ; Sir Thomas's train was borne by the junior members, and the President's by the Coverer. Great attention was paid during the ceremony, every member standing, and Sir Thomas, returning to the chair, his health was drunk with three cheers. Ordered, that he always appear in the ensigns of his order during the meeting. Voted, that any person who shall be here- after elected a member of this Hunt, and is a married man, shall pay ^10, os. 6d. on his admission by way of Stockpurse, and if a Bachelor six guineas. Instead of Breeches, twenty guineas voted to be paid. " As Mr. President has done this Hunt the honor of his Picture, their thanks are return'd for the same.' " Lord Kilmorey's mild and pleasant administra- ^ Lord Kilmorey was President. There is no record of this portrait having been in possession of the Club. e xxxiii INTRODUCTION tion was approv'd, not only by his second election, but by his health being drunk in three Goblets. " ^773- — Nov. 7. Voted, that every member introducing a stranger pays for the 2d night of his staying one gallon of Claret ; for the 4th night of his staying 2 gallons ; and if he stays three Hunting days, one dozen. Voted unanimously, that Mr. John Barry is desired to sitt for his picture for this Hunt, Mr, John Barry very politely consents. " 1774. — Feb. 6th. Lord Kilmorey by his own desire is no longer a member, but voted a letter to be wrote to him that it is the wish of the London Hunt that if he is in Town he will try the Bond-st. covers as a member. " Nov. — Wilkinson ordered to take back the great chair, and either to alter it to the approbation of the Hunt, or to make a new one, charging nothing for the same ; on this condition the gentlemen agreed to pay him for the great chair. " This meeting Sir Thomas Broughton paid forfeit to Booth Grey for a match to have been run. " ^11'!>' — Nov. This meeting a sweepstakes was won by Sir Thomas Broughton starting against Mr. Crewe, of Crewe. Lord Stamford, Geo. Wilbraham, and Lord Kilmorey paid forfeit. " ^T71- — F^^- Ordered, that a cover, or covers on the Forest be made from the Stockpurse, under the direction of Sir Peter Warburton, George Wil- braham, and Mr. Peter Heron, if leave can be obtained. " November, Ordered, that the ropes for Crab- tree Green are paid for by the President, ^5, 17s. od. xxxiv E r n ■ ^■1 K - v*^tt » ^ ^ i i A A ^1 kh^ ,' "^^23^^^^| r \ 1? K^flfl M « J h 9 ROGER WILBRAHAM From a painting INTRODUCTION Ordered, that Mr. Grey is paid for the repairs of the course, £^, 19s. od. Ordered, that Mr. Wilbraham is paid for sowing and inclosing a cover, ;^i6, os. od. " 1778.— February. Voted, that Mr. Wilbraham gives Mr. Stevens as a compliment for drawing the lease of a cover on the Forest the sum of five guineas. " November. Voted, that an order made the eighth meeting, Feb. 1776, that the part of that order containing these words, ' that the Claret never be admitted into the house bill ' shall be rescinded, and that the deficiency of the Claret, after what is pay'd for strangers, &c., be inserted in the bill. " The Secretary's accounts were settled and allow'd, being on the Claret account ^^15, 5s. 6d,, and on the house account £2, 2s. od. No more is now left in his hands. Voted, that each member of this Hunt do deposit 29s. in the Secretary's hands for a fund to purchase Claret, and that Mr. Roger Wilbraham be requested to order it down, and that the Secretary do answer Mr. Roger Wil- braham's draft for that purpose. " 1779. — Oct. Rev. Mr. Lane and Mr. Whit- worth are voted honorary members ; it being the unanimous wish of the Society that the Rev. Mr. Lane as an original member, whenever he finds his health sufficiently re-established, may be considered a member of this Society. Agreed to allow Mr. Southon fifteenpence a bottle, and the bottles, for drinking our own claret. " 1780. — November. At this meeting a fox was found for the first time in the new gorse cover, near the Old Pale. XXXV INTRODUCTION " 1782. — November. This Hunt, Mr. Beckford's Book on hunting being presented by Mr. S. Arden in due form, the Secretary and two Aldermen attend- ing, Mr. Egerton's Health was drunk in a bumper in a goblet. " Offley Crewe and Sir P. Warburton were found guilty of a most heinous offence in having crossed a hare's scut with a foxe's brush, and fined one gallon of Claret each, a very light fine for such an offence. Mr. R. Wilbraham prosecuted. Mr. Baugh was evidence, together with Mr. Peter Heron. " 1783. — November. This meeting a rule was made that the owner of the winning horse is not to give a dozen of Claret, as was customary. " Mr. B. Grey, having moved that no cards or dice be allowed after the first toast after Supper, each member so offending against this rule must pay two dozen of Claret. The above rule was carried by a majority of four, the President being counted as two. " 1784. — February. Ordered that the President's Chair be presented by the Tarporley Hunt to the Rev. Crewe Arden, the very worthy Rector of this Parish, as a testimony of their high respect and regard. " November. Mr. T. Brooke, having been detected in making a wager in the dining Room, contrary to the rules of the Club, of ^i, is. od. to half-a-crown with Sir Peter Warburton, forfeited the wager. " Mr. Grey having, at the request of the members present, undertaken to compile the different orders xxxvi JOHN SMITH BARRY From a painting by J. Crankc, 1779 INTRODUCTION made by this Society, the books are to be delivered to him, with the thanks of the meeting, for the great trouble he is so good to take," In 1773, in the account of payments, is one of ^2, 2S. od. to Mr. Yoxall, for survey of intended alterations and plans. This, I presume, refers to the building of the new dining-room. In 1775, the sum of ^Ta, 2s. is given to two poor cottagers for losses by fire, and there is an entry of iis. 6d. for advertising Hunt. In 1779, the payment by the Club to Crank for Mr. John Smith Barry's picture is entered as follows : £ s. d. " Picture . . . .2100 Frame . . . . 9 16 o Case . . . . . I 19 o Carriage of Picture . .210" This picture is full length. At his master's feet sits Blue Cap, the winner of the match at Newmarket in 1762. The portrait of the master is excellent, but the artist has been less successful in the hound. Crank, who resided at Warrington, was at that time a well-known painter, and much patronised by the neighbouring gentry. I have been told that many years after his death, one of his pictures was sold as a portrait by Gainsborough for a large sum. As shown in the proceedings, Mr. Smith Barry had "politely consented to sit in 1773." Unless the order were delayed, the picture must have progressed but slowly, if only finished in 1779 ; xxxvii INTRODUCTION possibly the bill was not sent in till some time after its completion. This compliment was paid to Mr. Smith Barry as Master of Foxhounds, the first pack known in Cheshire, and supported entirely at his own expense. The following is the account of the above-named match, as given in Daniel's Rural Sports, vol. i. p. 155 : " The speed of the Foxhound was well ascertained by the trial at Newmarket, between Mr. Meynell and Mr. Barry, and this account of the training and feeding the two Victorious Hounds is from the person who had the management of them. Will Crane was applied to, after the match was made (which was for 500 guineas), to train Mr. Barry's Hounds, of which Blue Cap was four, and Wanton three years old. Crane objected to their being hounds that had been entered some seasons, and wished for young hounds, who would with more certainty be taught to run a Drag ; however, the hounds were sent to Rivenhall in Essex, and, as Crane suggested, at the first trial, to induce them to run the drag, they took no notice ; at length, by dragging a Fox along the ground, and then crossing the hounds upon the scent, and taking care to let them kill him, they became very handy to a drag, and had their exercise regularly three times a week upon Tiptree Heath ; the ground chosen was Turf, and the distance over which the drag was taken was from eight to ten miles. The training commenced the first of August, and continued until the 28th of September (the thirtieth the match was run) ; their food was oatmeal and milk and sheep's trotters, xxxviii INTRODUCTION Upon the thirtieth of September the drag was drawn (on account of running up the wind, which happened to be brisk) from the Rubbing House at Newmarket Town End, to the Rubbing House at the starting- post of the Beacon Course ; the four hounds were then laid on the scent ; Mr. Barry's Blue Cap came in first, Wantoti (very close to Blue Cap) second ; Mr. Meynell's Richmond was beat by upwards of an hundred yards, and the Bitch never run in at all ; the ground was cross'd in a few seconds more than eight minutes.' Three score horses started with the hounds. Cooper, Mr. Barry's Huntsman, was the first up ; but the mare that carried him was rode quite blind at the conclusion. There were only twelve horses up out of the Sixty ; and Will Crane, who was mounted upon a King's plate Horse, called Rib, was in the twelfth. The odds before running were seven to four in favour of Mr. Meynell, whose hounds, it was said, were fed during the time of training entirely with legs of mutton." After the death of John Smith Barry, in 1784, foxhounds were kept at Arley by Sir Peter War- burton, and, probably as owner of the pack, a similar request was made to him to sit for his picture, a full length by Sir William Beechey, for which the Hunt paid ^(^250 in 181 1. Sir William is said to have pro- tested against the uniform, and to have declared he might as well be asked to paint a parrot. ^ Daniel does not give the year in which this match took place. The letterpress under a print in my possession, engraved from a picture of the race, by Sartorius, states that it was run in October 1762, over the Beacon Course. xxxix INTRODUCTION Since the date of the proceedings which close the two first books there have been but few changes in the rules of the Club. The earliest notice in the Racing Calendar of the Tarporley Races, held at Crabtree Green, is in 1776. On the inclosure of Delamere Forest, in 1812, the present race-course was rented from Lord Shrewsbury. In 1806 it was agreed unanimously that the members should subscribe the sum of jTj, 3s, each the next year for silver forks. It may appear strange to our ideas that a luxury, now so universal, should not have been introduced at Tarporley until the year 1806 ; but I am assured by a lady now living, that so late as 1 809, in one of the most hospitable houses in the county, a silver fork was never seen on the dinner-table. The number of the members was eventually increased to forty, and there is scarcely an old family name in the county which has not at some period been enrolled on the list. In the year 1862 the centenary anniversary of the Club was celebrated ; an additional sum was given to the Farmers' Stakes, and the whole county were invited by the members to a ball, held at the Grosvenor Hotel, Chester. The " Cheshire Hounds," an establishment quite distinct from the Tarporley Club, originated with the pack kept by Sir Peter Warburton. It seems that James Smith Barry, who succeeded to his uncle's property in 1784, and continued to keep hounds, having in some way offended the county gentlemen, in the year 1798 Mr. Egerton, of Tatton, Sir Peter xl SIR PETER WARBURTON, 5th BARONET From a painting by Sir William Beechey, R.A. Hh. 1 ^K 'ui^^^H t -^ y^ ^ 9 ■ 1 ^P«ji^ :. ,. 1 INTRODUCTION Warburton, Sir Richard Brooke, and, I believe, Mr. Broolce, of Mere, built the kennels at Sandiway, to which the hounds were removed from Arley. Mr. Smith Barry still kept his pack, and lived during the hunting season at Ruloe. I have heard from an old resident in that neighbourhood a story which, if true, shows that he must have hunted under the difficulty of having no country beyond the limits of his own property, and the shifts to which he was consequently compelled to resort. Old Richard Bratt, his huntsman, was constantly in the practice of hiring a man to run a drag early in the morning from the kennel at Ruloe straight away to some cover belonging to the Cheshire Hunt. The scent carried the hounds into the gorse, and so gave the chance of finding a fox in a cover which their master had no right to draw. I cannot ascertain in what year Sir Peter War- burton resigned the management of the Cheshire Hounds to George Heron ; but the following anecdote in Daniel's Rural Sports, vol. iii. p. 456, shows that they were hunted by Sir Peter as late as 1807 : "To prove that the notes of hounds have an overpowering influence upon the horse, this incident, which occurred Anno 1807, is related : As the Liverpool Mail Coach was changing horses at the inn at Monk's Heath, the horses which had per- formed the stage from Congleton having been just taken off and separated, hearing Sir Peter War- burton's Foxhounds in full cry, immediately started after, their harness on, and followed the chase until / xli INTRODUCTION the last. One of them, a blood-mare, kept the track with the whipper-in, and gallantly followed him for about two hours over every leap he took, until Reynard ran to earth in Mr, Hibbert's plantation. These spirited horses were led back to the inn at Monk's Heath and performed their stage back to Congleton the same evening." George Heron held the management until 1818, but in consequence of a bad fall, by which he was disabled. Sir Harry Mainwaring, who eventually succeeded him, had undertaken the field manage- ment in 18 1 3. Sir Harry, after a reign of nineteen years, gave them up in 1837. His first huntsman was Will Garfit, who left in August 1820, when John Jones took his place, coming from Lord Scarborough, and continued until May 1823. Will Head, who had been educated under Sir Bellingham Graham, and had been first whip to the Cheshire for three seasons, then obtained his promotion, and continued to hunt them until May 1832. A letter from the late Sir Harry Mainwaring, containing these particulars, ends thus: "In 1832 Joseph Maiden came from Mr. Shaw, and remained with me until I gave up the hounds, August 1837, continuing with other managers — a first-rate huntsman and a most excellent servant in every respect." It is with great pleasure that I record this testimony to the character of one who so well deserved it. I cannot give the young fox-hunter a better summary of the sport (which had then, I think, reached its climax) than is contained in the following letter, addressed to the present xlii INTRODUCTION Sir H. Mainwaring, which J have permission to pubhsh : "WiTHiNGTON Hall, ' "January lotk, 1865. " Dear Sir Harry, — In the early days of the Nantwich Country, from 1805 onwards, there was great sport from Ravensmoor to the Hills. Leech was constantly on them, and we hardly ever failed in finding in the Admiral's cover, and going direct as a line over that fine country. I don't ever recollect to have seen finer sport constantly than at that time and over that country. The hounds then hunted the Woore Country, and had a wonderful run from Buerton Gorse, went thro' Oakley Park (Sir J. Chetwood's), crossed the Drayton Road below the Loggerheads, just skirted the Burnt Woods, left the Bishop's Woods on the left. Hales on the left, right on thro' the small woods at Knighton, and kill'd at Batchacre Park (Mr. Whitworth's in Shropshire), 18 miles as the crow flies, in an hour and forty-five minutes. It was an extraordinary fine run, and to within these few years that fox's pad was on the stable door here. About the same time the hounds had a run of about the same distance from Old Baddiley thro' Cholmondeley, Dods-Edge, to the Shocklach meadows and over the Dee, but Reynard got safe into Wales, and it was too late at night to follow him any further. " So much for the Nantwich Country ! But in Will Head's time we had as good a run as I ever wish'd to see. We found at the Long Lane, in Holford, hunted slowly thro' Winnington Wood, the xliii INTRODUCTION Leonards, Holbrook's nursery ground, up to the ice house at Tabley ; here he waited, having been bred in the roof of it. From this point we had one of the most continuous fine runs possible, crossed the turnpike road close to the lodge, to Tabley Walk, over Tabley High Fields, left Mere Moss just to his right, thro' Gleave's Hole, over Winterbottom to Waterless Brook, where Brooke's Gorse now stands, over the brook, which was rather a puzzler for the Field, but I saw where there was good getting out, and jumped in. When I got to the top of the bank every hound crossed me at an open rail place. With this bother at the brook of course the hounds beat the Field, which did not come up till they were crossing Budworth Heath. We then went behind Belmont, crossed the Warrington Road, ran down to the Horns at Witley, where we kill'd, after a first-rate run. " The splitting run over the Chester Vale, from Waverton Gorse, was seen by few, when John Armitstead's old black horse, and 'J. B. Glegg ' had the credit of beating the Field. In Leicestershire for pace and country I never saw a more brilliant affair. Rowland Warburton himself will recollect a capital spin we had from his own wood, crossed the paved road a little above the Gore Bridge (all the Field went with the hounds save himself, Maiden, Self, and one or two others). Knowing where the cover was we put steam on, went down the road to the ford, and when we got to the top of the Gore Wood the hounds came out under our feet. From this point to Tatton Park we were never caught. xliv INTRODUCTION The fox then went across to the Birkin Lodge, and up the middle of the Park to the garden at the house, where he was killed, after a most brilliant affair. R. Warburton will also recollect a good run from the Breeches, when one of the twin brothers, Peel, lost his horse directly after leaving the cover ; Rowland's advice was : — ' May you the next time that white horse you bestraddle, See less of the Breeches and more of the Saddle.' In the same neighbourhood, in Maiden's time, we had a splendid run from Radnor Gorse, when Mr. Knight was knock'd off his horse at the end of the first field, and was ridden over by the crowd. The fox set his head straight for Woodhay, left the farm- house on his left, then up to Chertsey's Wood, crossed the wide green lane at the top, at which point the pace had thinned the Field very much. Sir Richard Brooke, on a big grey, fell, leaping into the road, and never got beyond. Maiden here stopp'd the Corporal, and the running was left to Clive of Stych, Coke Gooch, and myself; but on going up the field, leaving Aldersey's rough on the left, the Colonel's grey put his foot in a grip, and went heels over head. The field then was quite beat off. We went on to Bunbury, then to the right, by Wardle Hall, and kill'd after an unusually fine run at Rees Heath. Wilbraham Tollemache stopp'd the Rebel in the first ten minutes. Don't think this a very boasting detail of sport. The only thing I can do now is to go a little over the mahogany ; but a long life of uninterrupted good health enabled me xlv INTRODUCTION to be constantly out, and to carry my recollections of good runs as far back as most. But I must stop, for every good run were I to record. Sir, I ne'er should have done. — Yours truly, "J. B. GLEGG." The race over Tatton Park from Mobberley Cover, 4 miles in 8 minutes, was an extraordinary performance. Sir Harry Mainwaring supplies me with some further particulars of about the same period : "Jan. 12, '65. " In the palmy days of hunting in Cheshire it must be recollected that Glegg first refers to the time when George Heron kept the Hounds, when Will Garfit hunted them, and Will Griffiths whipp'd- in, when Doddington, Dorfold, Bolesworth Castle, and Bryn-y-Pys, were the chief hunting houses, when Crewe, Broughton, Tarleton, and (rather later on) Tomkinson, Brooke, and Glegg were the heroes, when the Cheshire hunted the Woore Country and the Wyches, when they used to run as described by Glegg from Woore to the Bishop's Woods, and from Hampton Heath to the Duke's Woods, near Elles- mere. Later on, when my Father took the Country, and the Wyches were given up, gorses were made in the Nantwich Country, and in the Chester Vale. The Middlewich Country, then as it is now, the best in Cheshire, was hunted the second week in every month, and the Withington Country the last week, xlvi INTRODUCTION The Withington Kennels were given up, and kennels built at Peover. " Glegg has omitted the two best runs I ever saw. We met at Hurlestone, and had drawn all the covers in the country blank, when (it was late in March, and Will Head, Huntsman) we found at 3 P.M., in a small patch of gorse under Calveley Park wall, a very small Fox. The hounds got away close to him, and all went together into the barn at the farmhouse ; ' the fox is kill'd,' we all said, but he got away under the door. Head cast the hounds round the barn, away we went ! very best pace ! over Wettenhall Green, up to the wood, left it and Darnhall on the left, and made a sudden turn to the right, over the very best of the MinshuU Country, to the River at Eardswick Hall, a mile above Minshull Village. We crossed at the wooden bridge, and ran very fast almost to Bradfield Green, bore to the left, and we ran into our Fox, a small vixen without cubs, at Warmincham Rectory, one hour almost without a check. James Tomkinson rode ' The Pea,' and he mounted me on ' Whizgig.' " Maiden, Huntsman, met at Ashley Hall, a cold day in March, high N.E. wind ; snow fell in the morning. Put the hounds into Cooper's Plantation, a small place, and immediately chopp'd a fine dog- fox. Another was halloo'd away at same time, and away we went at a capital pace almost up to Castle Mill, turn'd to right, and then over a fine wild country, the best of Mobberley, towards Wilmslow, over Lindon Common, Warford, Little Warford, and up to where Chelford Station now is, left Astle on xlvii INTRODUCTION right, and away straight to Alderley Park, where I saw the hounds run into him under the Library Window dead beat ; about an hour, a very good run, and many horses beat. " You will recollect a run in Ford's time, March I, 1842, from the 'Cobbler' up to the road at Whitley Reed, turn'd over Crowley Moss, straight to Arley, over the bridge at Arley Green to the Gore, on to Tabley through the old Foxcover at Lower Peover where Maiden came up and they killed him at Goostrey ; only about eight men with the Hounds, the Field having been all thrown out at Whitley Reed." These indeed are runs to be remembered ; with- out wishing to set myself up as a praiser of past times, I ask, do we ever hear of such now-a-day ? I ask in sorrow, not reproachfully ; hounds, horses, and huntsmen are probably as good, if not better than they formerly were, but every succeeding year seems to add some new impediment to Fox-hunting. High farming is rapidly converting our fields into gardens. " Look before you leap," is a precaution more requisite than ever since the introduction of wire fencing. The increase of population and of dwellings prevents a fox, headed at every corner, from making straight to his point, and last but not least in the list of grievances is the scarcity of wild foxes. A burst, such as that mentioned by Mr. Glegg, from Waverton Gorse may still excite us for ten or twenty minutes, but where do we read of such runs xlviii JOHN MYTTON OF HALSTON, SALOP From a scarce ^rint by W. Giller, after W. Webb; in the possession of Willougliby A. Peinberton, Esq. m INTRODUCTION as that from Buerton, " eighteen miles as the crow flies in an hour and forty-five minutes ? " It was in Sir Harry Mainwaring's time, on the 7th of April 1829, that the meet of the three packs took place at Shavington. The Cheshire, the Shropshire, and Mr. Wicksted's Kennel sent each six couple of hounds. The Cheshire being the oldest pack and the place of meeting being in the Cheshire country, Will Head was appointed hunts- man for the day. Will Staples, the Shropshire hunts- man, and " old Wells," who had command of Mr. Wicksted's kennel, were both in attendance. In the first run the fox was lost near Cloverly after a fast thirty minutes. Mytton took the lead and charged a post and rail, exclaiming " Now for the honour of Shropshire ! " He got a terrible fall, and was much hurt by another man jumping on him, there being about a dozen down together. Mytton remounted, bleeding and bare-headed, but was too much hurt to take another lead. A second fox was found at Combermere, which was run for about twenty minutes, but, proving a vixen, the hounds were stopped. Though Will Head and Staples claimed each the palm for their respective kennels, it would be difficult to say which Pack proved its superiority in that day's hunting. On Sir Harry Mainwaring's resignation in 1837, the establishment was handed over to Mr. Shakerley, of Whatcroft. Amongst the many good runs shown during the short time he conducted the Pack was that from Calveley, alluded to under the title of g xlix INTRODUCTION *' Cheshire Chivalry." Mounted on his bay horse "Tatton," Mr. Shakerley figures as manager in the foreground of Calvert's picture of the Cheshire Hunt. In 1839, Mr. Smith Barry, of Marbury, and Mr. Dixon, of Astle, undertook the control of the Kennel. Mr. Ford, of Abbey Field, who succeeded them, held the management for the season only of 1841, and resigned it into the hands of Mr. White. " Leicestershire White," as he is called in Mr. Wicksted's Song, w^as known far and wide for many years as one of the best horsemen in England, whether in the racing or in the hunting saddle. After retiring from the management, he still occupied the Hunting Box, adjoining the Kennel, at Daleford. Continuing to hunt with the Cheshire, and riding to the last as well as ever, he resided there till his death in 1866. In May, 1862, a portrait and memoir of him was published in Bailys- Magazine. Further par- ticulars of his career were afterwards recorded in several sporting periodicals, and an interesting article appeared in the Saturday Review, February 1866, where, in a quotation, he is spoken of as having " left an undying reputation as a Gentleman Jockey and Fox-hunter." His mastership ceased in 1855, when the Pack was handed over to Captain Mainwaring. Owing to circumstances to which it is needless here to allude, at the beginning of the Season of 1856 many of the landowners warned the Hounds off their estates, and, in compliance with their wishes, the hunting men were compelled to submit to the loss of their sport rather than cause a dissension in the county. 1 CAPTAIN PARK YATES F?'Oin a painting by Leslie Ward INTRODUCTION In 1858, the county was relieved from this diffi- culty by the accession of Lord Grosvenor. The establishment in every department was kept up by him most efficiently, and our only regret was that his many other duties compelled him so often to be absent from the field. On the resignation of Lord Grosvenor, in 1866, Mr. Corbet, of Adderley, undertook the management of the hounds, stipulating that he should be allowed to hunt five instead of four days a-week. Peter Collison, a very quick and active huntsman, retained his place with Mr. Corbet until 1869, when he was succeeded by John Jones, who had whipped- in to him for several seasons. I trust that, in describing the difficulties which now attend it, I have not drawn too gloomy a picture of the future of Fox-hunting. My best wishes are for its lasting prosperity, and whatever be the obstacles against which it may have to struggle, my earnest hope is that the youth of many generations to come may continue to find as much enjoyment as their forefathers have done in the noble sport. PRESIDENTS OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB 1762-1781 ®|J7^2|DI]aMaiiLane. 8 ij7^§^Orou#ori 17^3 Boot^ 6rtp. 19 ]%5 H.^.Cotton. rj73 lorli Mmorep. s )]]3 lorti ^tamfort) 'm ^ip.icice^ler. ^^^ TO Peter i|eron. © i;^^ Jo^(treiT)e. m cls1)etDn§mit^ J7^5 ^ll^.S^ainbarmoi i];5 t.Ka\)cn^craft JJfc^^iart^rBarry 1','V )]75 ^tcp^cnCSlynne. J7(Ji3 9?!KK^artiBarri) )]76 KoglMbra^am \]^^^l€xthe. )]j6 §:^amarburton 1 )767 QJ3oi^n§.Barrv I7J7 KoblH^ccD^am. S )767^!!|eron. W TOtHid^artiBrookc. 9 iy^s g?:artern. )]7S 31ames'tortou 17^$ L!Mil^amilton * )7]S CIl)0-)3rooke. '7^1 Kirl/Sa^itti ]]]1 l^onJ.§>. Barry. 7T.1 i76"i Clm^^oiundcp. )771 l?on.13ootbe3rcv. e 1770 (Seo.CQilbrabam. )7$o §!i|.S5ainbaring n 1770 €.^^olmouticlcp )7$o JBabfl^aijcnport g 177' Jame^'Barrp. s )]S) (Seorgcipcriju. g J77) Lorb Stamfort). ]]$) QgiepCreioc. PRESIDENTS OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB 1782-1817 J]$2 3oiia?l.Brooie, J>? o S9 15$3 m Saiil?%rton. i:isSipmarburtoii. ■^ §»!t^o!%rton WJo^teiae. )]$5CLi|.tocn^Yrofl. )]$5 §)y®iStan(ev. ]j^$ ^W er.(OSkker(fv- )$00 e 9 J$0) )S02 (H^o^errtocl^oti. C^a'icicc^er. Col.Broug^tou. ^fter^attm. 1$C3 1$0^ ^.m.l^eron. )$05 (ir.Ct^olmonDdci). (BcorgcJ.iegb. Qr.^artctonJuii' m^ M dg.a.to'tunslicnti, )5$? j$07 |0{)iiip (iBgcttou. ^ )]$$ fliomarleton. e jm S:|ffainknn5 m S i$(^ CBbiomCtotbct. W Lorb (Srey. )$]0 (SH.(m.I5rake. m) m) §!(EMMunn. )j^2 CC^oimonbeley m )$)2 liibtQBqerton. )7^3 dl^o^Parker. )$)3 (Sco.dSlilbcabam. j]tl i^.2l.ieice^ter. )$H Booti^ (Srcp. ms 31oi^ii(Bg«rton. ^ ]$)5 §>!lflic^! Brook. w 'rj^ dT^ofL.Brooke. i$)6J.B.(8lrgg. )$)?iEE.price.~^ JT^po^gl^eton- A PRESIDENTS OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB 1818-1857 w VJ7 © 9 W fS * m S)^ m $?) $22 $23 %'QrrafforD. clfliiCTatton. J^omtille^ooic. MolCBrook }9cterl.Brookr. JK^foiDU-parfccr, m $25 $2b $27 Ql^oma^'ieg^. w mtphMRtMm )$5^ % M iaii)! ^musical). iJamesiFJi-Auce i^eury Broolie. @ )$^0 j$'|) §:^.6.(]Bgertoa (M.fat"(lEgertoii Momkllicgfc. )$1? )$i3 )m )$tb 6eof?Si^ai^etieu lumppeQFrafforb L!E'.^ro^cnor. ® )$t5 )^7 Ja^!|,^-)5arr|). i0rbktflblcy. t.(KH.(Eattoa $2$ (jr^a^Cdlifljistcb. ^ )$t^ 3Io^?9i5on. ^ i$2^ ^i'.Stucttmibani m (SiMilbrabam: $30 diiiBclgrak. wm )$5oJ|cnrpJPraurc. i$31 J.^t.Bari-v- 5S )$5) §I(HaMMpun. * $32 i^cuuiil^c'ikctii. )$52 (ICliHi'amerourt. g $55 iorb (Srcu. )$53 C^^o?LBroofec. w $31 (lBDm^3lntrobu$. La. ■' m f^omasBoot^. m $35 ^barlcs^iforti. 1^ )$55 |on.Cacmotton. ^ $36Ji(Ii.??ammonb * )$56ifcaun's95af^>j). )$37 (Sib-et.Bntrobus )$57 31obn§ibcbottom. I I PRESIDENTS OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB 1858-1897 ■; iQ('>n';r/:T mh-t "rrn ^-T'^tti^ m S3 l^! )$f) 9 r^ff @ @ (KK-Ciliortljington §mi)0?i?e^^kftb. m Jobnioi Jobni^.ieck. )$62 )$fe $in i^fe IStib is6j isyo If ® ^ i$7) Lorb6ro^xienor. Kicb!13rook m t^oiiMdHolmonliflfii e^cii.SirJ'.^cariett t)Diimia^ceflL> ©Hv'^Iber^eu. m i?onMilb'l'%fiion I»nWfbaIf )S75iort)iKif^tepnor m m m m3.i),%m\imm i^f #: i^ Cffil be drafforti. l$J3 MiaiuJobuifgb. ^^P|nin)Kepaf?i(!Ioit)rt^ isj^AugulbcBraffovt). 0 ,p'|arUfatp6\ ^4^initl)!5arru. 6.31-Sblifrlru. |IollemacI}i\ iiari iif i]aiibiiiiilo )$$l3l.mr5 Horaliiu^oii )m (!liih)iiilH).)3oolp. (Sror^e ^iron. Ccicrloulriad. m )$j5PPpIf^.Ggfr!on (fljalitanfflaii^ur^t )^^ PifKGfifftBiiiQiirtnirtiii 9 )m swrnM^MUwh (L'(ni5(op()rrluUi L\ir(o('tFnni^(5i(lfiL )$15i^fnrnroriiki((ir$| Hf«ina(iitCoiM. )$%{lan)-^ofa'lM)(inoiiiidt? iJ««G'^(i(ftia'?Sfl)iii?lfr )^31(L\(L0.(l'fltfijn»ril 7 r PRESIDENTS OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB 1898-1910 il'JdO TV ulVi-iiv» S>^.Bf{\if5^m^m m^ lljAtliilbraliaiii w )1l)j i.BronilrplJal'riiporl o mo on iwKil.t^ottlanffarourt' rm (Cnl.i'fiin)([i)iiiliin50ii fW^1iJolton2.jtHfDalf )'))0 .^iLrfHi^biiriiiilrtllioh 1 8a>i THE MEET OF THE CHESHIRE HOUNDS AT HOOTON From a pain Hug by J- E. Femeley HUNTING SONGS The Woore Country I NOW summer's dull season is over. Once more we behold the glad pack. ; And Wicksted appears at the cover, Once more on old Mercury's back ; And Wells in the saddle is seated,^ Though with scarce a whole bone in his skin ; His cheer by the echo repeated, 'Loo in ! little dearies ! 'loo in ! II How eagerly forward they rush, In a moment how widely they spread ; Have at him there, Hotspur ! hush ! hush ! 'Tis a find or I'll forfeit my head ; Fast flies the Fox away — faster The hounds from the cover are freed ; The horn to the mouth of the master, The spur to the flank of his steed. Ill May the names now recorded in metre While Hunting endureth survive ; 1 Note I. A HUNTING SONGS From Tunstall comes one they call Peter, And three from the Styche they call Clive. There's Hammond from Wistaston bringing All the news of the neighbouring shire ; Fitzherbert renown'd for his singing. And Dorfold's invincible Squire ; IV Few Sportsmen so gallant, if any. Did Woore ever send to the chase ; Each dingle for him has a cranny. Each river a fordable place ; He knows the best line from each cover, He knows where to stand for a start. And long may he live to ride over The country he loves in his heart. V There's Henry, the purple-clad Vicar, So earnestly plying the steel ; Conductor conducting him quicker, Each prick from the spur at his heel. Were my life to depend on the wager, I know not which brother I'd back ; The Vicar, the Squire, or the Major,^ The Purple, the Pink, or the Black. VI On a light thorough-bred there's a bruiser. Intent upon taking a lead ; The name of the man is John Crewe, sir. And Ajax the name of the steed ; ^ Note ?. 3 THE WOORE COUNTRY There's Aqualate's Baronet, Boughey, Whose eye still on Wicksted is cast ; Should the Fox run till midnight, I know he Will stick by his friend to the last. VII Ford,' if well mounted, — how cheery To ride by his side in a run ; Whether midnight or morn, never weary Of revel, and frolic, and fun. When they lay this good fellow the tomb in, He shall not be mock'd with a bust, But the favourite evergreen blooming Shall spring and o'ershadow his dust. VIII With Chorister, Concord, and Chorus, Now Chantress commences her song, Now Bellman goes jingling before us, And Sinbad is sailing along ; Old Wells closely after them cramming, His soul quite absorb'd in the fun, Continues unconsciously damning Their dear little hearts as they run. IX His voice by the horsemen unheeded At whom he ne'er ceases to swear. Should the pace by a check be impeded Then Charlie trots up in despair ; ^ Note 3. HUNTING SONGS " Friends, gentlemen, foxhunters, pray now. Hold hard, let 'em make their own cast, Oh ! shame, if for lack of fair play now. Hard run they should lose him at last." 'Tis but for a moment we tarry. Away ! they have hit it anew ; And we know by the head they now carry. Ere long they will have him in view. See ! Soldier prepared for the brunt. Hark ! Champion's challenge I hear ; While Victory leads them in front. And Havock pursues in the rear. XI More eager for blood at each stroke, See Vengeance and Vulpicide rush ; Poor Reynard, he thinks it no joke. Hearing Joker so close at his brush. When ended, half mad with the skurry, Charlie flings on the saddle his rein ; ^ First dances, then shouts, " Worry ! worry ! " Then shouts and then dances again. 1830. 1 Note 4. •/ "iTp.' 'IT THE CLASSICAL QUjESITUM AND THE PRESIDENT'S HARD CHAIR QU^SITUM MERITIS Qu(£sitU7n ^eritis I A CLUB of good fellows we meet once a year. When the leaves of the forest are yellow and sear ; By the motto that shines on each glass, it is shown, We pledge in our cups the deserving alone ; Our glass a quassitum,^ ourselves Cheshire men, May we fill it and drink it again and again. II We hold in abhorrence all vulpicide knaves, With their gins, and their traps, and their velveteen slaves ; They may feed their fat pheasants, their foxes de- stroy, And mar the prime sport they themselves can't enjoy; But such sportsmen as these we good fellows con- demn. And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quassitum to them. Ill That man of his wine is unworthy indeed, Who grudges to mount a poor fellow in need ; Who keeps for nought else, save to purge 'em with balls. Like a dog in a manger, his nags in their stalls ; Such niggards as these we good fellows condemn. And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quassitum to them. 1 Note 5. s HUNTING SONGS IV Some riders there are, who, too jealous of place, Will fling back a gate in their next neighbour's face ; Some never pull up when a friend gets a fall, Some ride over friends, hounds, and horses, and all ; Such riders as these we good fellows condemn, And I vow we'll ne'er drink a qussitum to them . V For coffee-house gossip some hunters come out, Of all matters prating, save that they're about ; From scandal and cards they to politics roam. They ride forty miles, head the Fox, and go home ! Such sportsmen as these we good fellows condemn, And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quaesitum to them. VI Since one Fox on foot more diversion will bring Than twice twenty thousand cock pheasants on wing. The man we all honour, whate'er be his rank, Whose heart heaves a sigh when his gorse is drawn blank. Qussitum ! QuEBsitum ! fill up to the brim. We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. VII O ! give me that man to whom nought comes amiss. One horse or another, that country or this ; Through falls and bad starts who undauntedly still Rides up to this motto : " Be with 'em I will." Quaesitum ! Quaesitum ! fill up to the brim. We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 6 OLD OULTON LOWE VIII O ! give me that man who can ride through a run, Nor engross to himself all the glory when done ; Who calls not each horse that o'ertakes him a " screw," Who loves a run best when a friend sees it too ! Qu^situm ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim. We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. IX O ! give me that man who himself goes the pace. And whose table is free to all friends of the chase ; Should a spirit so choice in this wide world be seen, He rides, you may swear, in a collar of green ; Quassitum ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim. We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 1832. Old Oulton Lowe 1 BAD luck to the Country ! the clock had struck two. We had found ne'er a Fox in the gorses we drew ; When each heart felt a thrill at the sound, " Tally- Ho !" Once more a view hollo from old Oulton Lowe ! ^ II Away like a whirlwind towards Calveley Hall, For the first thirty minutes Pug laugh'd at us all ; Our nags cur'd of kicking, ourselves of conceit. Ere the laugh was with us, we were most of us beat, 1 Note 6. 7 HUNTING SONGS HI The WilHngton mare,^ when she started so fast. Ah ! we little thought then that the race was her last ; Accurst be the stake that was stain'd with her blood ; But why cry for spilt milk ? — may the next be as good ! IV 'Twas a sight for us all, worth a million, I swear. To see the Black Squire how he rode the black mare ; ^ The meed that he merits, the Muse shall bestow, First, foremost, and fleetest from old Oulton Lowe ! How Delamere went, it were useless to tell. To say he was out, is to say he went well ; A rider so skilful ne'er buckled on spur To rule a rash horse, or to make a screw stir. VI The odds are in fighting that Britain beats France ; ^ In the chase, as in war, we must all take our chance. Little Ireland kept up, like his namesake the nation,* By dint of " coercion " and great " agitation." 1 Note 7. - Note 8. ^ Note 9. ^ Note 10, 8 OLD OULTON LOWE VII Now Victor and Bedford were seen in the van, Cheer'd on by the Maiden who rides Hke a man/ He screech'd with delight as he wip'd his hot brow, "Their bristles are up, Sir! they're hard at him now." VIII In the pride of his heart, then the Manager cried,^ " Come along, little Rowley boy,* why don't you ride ? " How he chuckled to see the long tail in distress. As he gave her the go-by on bonny brown Bess. IX The Baron from Hanover hollo'd " whoo-hoop," « While he thought how himself had been half eaten up ! Well pleas'd to have balk'd the wild beast of his dinner, He was up in his stirrups, and rode like a winner. X Oh ! where 'mid the many found wanting in speed. Oh ! where and oh ! where was the Wistaston steed ? * Dead beat ! still his rider so lick'd him and prick'd him. He thought (well he might) 'twas the Devil that kick'd him. * Note II. 2 Note 12. ' Note 13. ^ Note 14. ^ Note 15. e 9 HUNTING SONGS XI The Cestrian chestnut ^ show'd symptoms of blood, For it flow'd from his nose ere he came to the wood. Where now is Dollgosh ? ^ Where the racer from Da'enham ? Such fast ones as these ! what mishap has o'erta'en 'em? XII Two gentlemen met, both unhors'd, in a lane (Fox-hunting on foot is but labour in vain), " Have you seen a brown horse ? " " No, indeed. Sir ; but pray. In the course of your ramble have you seen a grey ? " XIII As a London coal-heaver might pick up a peer, Whom he found in the street, with his head rather queer. So Dobbin was loos'd from his work at the plough. To assist a proud hunter stuck fast in a slough. XIV I advocate " movement " when shown in a horse. But I love in my heart a " conservative " gorse ; Long life to Sir Philip : we'll drink ere we go, Old times ! and old Cheshire ! and old Oulton Lowe ! 1833- ' Note 16. - Note 17. 10 THE SWAN INN, TARPORLEY TARPORLEY HUNT Tar parley Hu?it^ 1^33 A 1 /HEN without verdure the woods in November Then to our collars their green is transferr'd ; Racing and chasing the sports of each member are. Come then to Tarporley booted and spurr'd ; Holding together, Sir, Scorning the weather, Sir, Like the good leather. Sir, Which we put on : Quaesitum meritis ! Good fun how rare it is ! I know not where it is. Save at the Swan.^ II Lo ! there's a Maiden whose sweet disposition is Bent, like Diana's of old, on the chase ; Joy to that sportsman whose horse, in condition, is Able and willing to go the best pace ; Racers are sweating now, Owners are fretting now, Stable boys betting now, France ! ten to one : ^ Quassitum meritis, &c. 1 Note 1 8. 2 Note 19. I I HUNTING SONGS III Lo ! where the forest turf covers gentility, Foremost with glory and hindmost with mud ; Now let the President prove his ability, Umpire of speed, whether cocktail or blood ; Go-by and Adelaide, Though they were saddled, Led forth and straddled. Judge there was none ! Qussitum meritis, &c. IV How with due praise shall I sing the Palatinate, Ably with Presidents filling our chair ; The Greys and the Leghs, and the Brookes that have sat in it. Toasting our bumpers and drinking their share ? Each Squire and each Lord, Sir, That meets at our board, Sir, Were I to record. Sir, I ne'er should have done : Qussitum meritis, &c. V " Sume superbiam quaesitam meritis," Shades of Sir Peter and Barry look down. Long may we good fellows, now a day rarities. Live to make merry in Tarporley town. Fox preservation. Throughout the whole nation. Affords recreation. Then drink it, each man : 12 THE LITTLE RED ROVER Qssitum meritis ! Good fun how rare it is ! I know not where it is, Save at the Swan. The Liuk Red Rover THE dewdrop is clinging To whin-bush and brake, The skylark is singing " Merrie hunters, awake ; " Home to the cover, Deserted by night. The Little Red Rover Is bending his flight. II Resounds the glad hollo ; The pack scents the prey ; Man and horse follow Away ! Hark, away ! Away ! never fearing. Ne'er slacken your pace : What music so cheering As that of the chase ? Ill The Rover still speeding. Still distant from home, Spurr'd flanks are bleeding. And cover'd with foam ; 13 HUNTING SONGS Fleet limbs extended. Roan, chestnut, or grey. The burst, ere 'tis ended. Shall try them to-day ! IV Well known is yon cover. And crag hanging o'er, The little Red Rover Shall reach it no more ! The foremost hounds near him. His strength 'gins to droop : In pieces they tear him, Who-whoop ! Who-who-whoop ! "The Fox and the brambles A FABLE BEFORE the pack for many a mile A Fox had sped in gallant style ; But gasping with fatigue at last, The clamorous hounds approach'd him fast ; Though painful now the toilsome race, With draggled brush and stealthy pace Still onward for his life he flies — He nears the wood — before him lies A tangled mass of thorn and bramble ; In vain beneath he tries to scramble, So springing, heedless of his skin, With desperate bound he leaps within. 14 THE FOX AND THE BRAMBLES The prickly thicket o'er him closes ; To him it seem'd a bed of roses, As there he lay and heard around The baying of the baffled hound. Within that bush, his fears allay'd. He many a sage reflection made ; " 'Tis true, whene'er I stir," he cried, " The brambles wound my bleeding side, " He must not who would safety gain " Whate'er his hiding place complain, " Howe'er unpleasant this retreat, " Yet every bitter has its sweet ; " The brambles pierce my skin, no doubt, " The hounds had torn my entrails out." Good farmers ! read, nor take amiss. The moral which I draw from this ; Grieve not o'er gap or broken gate ; The damage small, the profit great ; The love of sport to home brings down Your Landlord from the smoky town, To dwell and spend his rents among The tenantry, from whom they sprung. Though vainly when he leads the chase, His willing steed urged on apace, When scent is good and hounds are fleet. Though vainly then you shout, " Ware wheat ! " That steed, perchance, by you was bred. And yours the corn on which he's fed ; Ah ! then restrain your rising ire, Nor rashly damn the Hunting Squire. HUNTING SONGS The Earth Stoppej^ TERROR of henroosts ! now from hollow sand- earth, Safely at nightfall, round the quiet farmstead, Reynard on tiptoe, meditating plunder. Warily prowleth. II Rouse thee ! Earth stopper ! rouse thee from thy slumber ! Get thee thy worsted hose and winter coat on. While the good housewife, crawling from her blanket. Lights thee thy lantern. Ill Clad for thy midnight silent occupation. Mount thy old doghorse, spade upon thy shoulder, Wiry hair'd Vixen, wheresoe'er thou wcndest. Ready to follow. IV Though the chill rain drops, driven by the north wind, Pelt thy old jacket, soaking through and through thee, Though thy worn hackney, blind and broken winded. Hobble on three legs ; l6 THE OLD BROWN FOREST V Finish thy night-work well, or woe betide thee, If on the morrow irritated Huntsman, Back'd by a hundred followers in scarlet. Find the earths open ! The Old 'Bi'own Forest I BROWN Forest of Mara ! whose bounds were of yore From Kellsborrow's Castle outstretch'd to the shore,' Our fields and our hamlets afforested then, That thy beasts might have covert — unhous'd were our men. II Our King the first William, Hugh Lupus our Earl, Then poaching, I ween, was no sport for a churl ; A noose for his neck who a snare should contrive, Who skinn'd a dead buck was himself flay'd alive ! Ill Our Normandy nobles right dearly, I trow, They loved in the forest to bend the yew bow ; They wound their " recheat " and their " mort " on the horn, And they laugh'd the rude chase of the Saxon to scorn. ' Nole 20. c 17 HUNTING SONGS IV In right of his bugle and greyhounds, to seize ^ Waif, pannage, agistment, and windfallen trees. His knaves through our forest Ralph Kingsley dis- pers'd, Bow-bearer in chief to Earl Randle the first. V This horn the Grand Forester wore at his side Whene'er his liege lord chose a hunting to ride ; * By Sir Ralph and his heirs for a century blown, It pass'd from their lips to the mouth of a Done.^ VI O ! then the proud falcon, unloos'd from the glove. Like her master below, play'd the tyrant above ; While faintly, more faintly, were heard in the sky. The silver-ton'd bells as she darted on high. VII - Then rous'd from sweet slumber, the ladie high born, Her palfrey would mount at the sound of the horn ; Her palfrey uptoss'd his rich trappings in air. And neigh'd with delight such a burden to bear. VIII Vers'd in all woodcraft and proud of her skill, Her charms in the forest seem'd lovelier still ; The Abbot rode forth from the abbey so fair. Nor lov'd the sport less when a bright eye was there. * Note 21. - Note 22. ' Note 23. 18 THE OLD BROWN FOREST IX Thou Palatine prophet ! whose fame I revere' (Woe be to that bard who speaks ill of a seer), Forewarn'd of thy fate, as our legends report. Thou wert born in a forest and " clemm'd " in a court. X Now goading thine oxen, now urging amain Fierce monarchs to battle on Bosworth's red plain ; "A foot with two heels, and a hand with three thumbs ! " ' Good luck to the land when this prodigy comes ! XI " Steeds shall by hundreds seek masters in vain. Till under their bellies the girths rot in twain ; " 'Twill need little skill to interpret this dream. When o'er the brown forest we travel by steam ! XII Here hunted the Scot whom, too wise to show fight,^ No war, save the war of the woods, could excite ; His learning, they say, did his valour surpass. Though a hero when arm'd with a couteau de chasse. XIII Ah ! then came the days when to England's disgrace, A King was her quarry, and warfare her chase ; Old Noll for their huntsman ! a puritan pack ! With psalms on their tongues — but with blood in their track. ' Note 24. ^ Note 25. ^ Note 26. 19 HUNTING SONGS XIV Then Charlie our King was restor'd to his own, And again the blythe horn in the forest was blown ; Steeds from the desert then cross'd the blue wave To contend on our turf for the prizes he gave. XV Ere Bluecap and Wanton taught fox-hounds to skurry, With music in plenty — O ! where was the hurry ? When each nag wore a crupper, each Squire a pigtail ; When our toast " The Brown Forest," was drunk in brown ale. XVI The fast ones came next, with a wild fox in view, " Ware hole ! " was a caution then heeded by few ; Oppos'd by no copse, by no fences confin'd. O'er whinbush and heather they swept like the wind. XVII Behold ! in the soil of our forest once more,^ The sapling takes root as in ages of yore ; The oak of old England with branches outspread. The pine-tree above them uprearing its head. XVIII Where, 'twixt the whalebones, the widow^ sat down,* Who forsook the Black forest to dwell in the Brown, There, where the flock on sweet herbage once fed. The blackcock takes wing, and the fox-cub is bred. 1 Note 27. - Note 28. 20 THE DEAD HUNTER XIX This timber the storms of the ocean shall weather, And sail o'er the waves as we sail'd o'er the heather ; Each plant of the forest, when launch'd from the stocks, May it run down a foeman as we do a Fox. The Dead Hunter HIS sire from the desert, his dam from the north, The pride of my stable stept gallantly forth. One slip in his stride as the scurry he led, And my steed, ere his rivals o'ertook him, lay dead. II Poor steed ! shall thy limbs on the hunting field lie. That his beak in thy carcase the raven may dye 1 Is it thine the sad doom of thy race to fulfil, Thy flesh to the cauldron, thy bones to the mill ? in Ah ! no. — I beheld thee a foal yet unshod, Now race round the paddock, now roll on the sod. Where first thy young hoof the green herbage impress'd. There, the shoes on thy feet, will I lay thee to rest ! 21 HUNTING SONGS The Spectre Siag^ A LEGEND OF THE RHINE A BARON lived in Germany, Of old and noble race, Whose mind was wholly bent upon The pleasures of the chase. II Thro' summer's sultry dog-days, Thro' winter's frost severe, This Baron's hunting season Was twelve months in the year. Ill From dawn till dark he hunted. And the truth I grieve to speak. The number of his hunting days Was seven in the week. IV No lands within his seignorie Was serf allowed to till ; No cornfield in the valley, No vineyard on the hill. 1 Note 29. 22 THE SPECTRE STAG V What marvel hungry poachers. When the Baron was a-bed, Were bent on stealing venison, For very lack of bread ? VI But woe that wretch betided, Who in the quest was found ; On the stag he would have slaughter'd Was his naked body bound.' VII Borne, like Mazeppa, headlong. From the panting quarry's back He saw the thirsty blood-hounds Let loose upon his track. VIII The pack, their prey o'ertaken. On the mangled victims feast ; And, mix'd in one red slaughter. Flows the blood of man and beast. IX The Baron thus his pastime Pursued until he died ; My tale shall tell how this befell On the eve of Easter-tide. ' Note 30. 23 HUNTING SONGS X The moon rose o'er the forest. And the distant village chime Call'd sinners to confession, And bespoke a hallow'd time. XI When suddenly a strange halloo Was heard around to ring. The Hunter seiz'd his bow and plac'd An arrow on the string. XII The cry, the cheer, the tumult Of the chase — and then, display'd By the pale light of the moonbeam, Far adown the forest-glade, XIII Was seen, with brow full antler'd, A Monster Stag — his back Bestridden by a Huntsman, Apparell'd all in black. XIV Their eyes unto their master The crouching pack uprais'd. Their master on his trembling steed At the sight was sore amaz'd. 24 THE SPECTRE STAG XV " Ye curs ! " he cried, " why stir ye not ? A curse upon the breed ! And you, ye loitering varlets, Where are ye in such need ? " XVI To summon then his followers, He grasp'd his hunting-horn, Through the forest's deep recesses The echoing blast was borne. XVII But borne in vain — his retinue No note in answer gave ; And the silence that succeeded Was the silence of the grave. XVIII His eye in terror glancing From glade to distant crag, Nought saw he save the spectre Goading on that grisly stag. XIX The nearer it approach'd him. The larger still it grew ; Again he seiz'd his hunting-horn. And his gasping breath he drew. D 25 HUNTING SONGS XX Eye, cheek, and throat distended, Each fibre strain'd to blow. His life-breath past in that bugle blast, And he fell from the saddle bow. XXI Where the Baron's chase was ended. There they laid his bones to rot ; And his heirs, in after ages, Built a Chapel on the spot. XXII And still, they say, that bugle blast. When Easter-tide comes round. Disturbs the midnight forest With a strange unearthly sound. O71 the New Kennel, erected on Dela?nere Forest May 1834 I GREAT names in the Abbey are graven in stone. Our kennel records them in good flesh and bone ; A Bedford, a Gloster, to life we restore,^ And Nelson with Victory couple once more. ^ Note 31. 26 ON THE NEW KENNEL II Were the laws of the kennel the laws of the land, The shillalah should drop from the Irishman's hand ; And journeymen tailors, on " striking " intent. Should stick to their stitching like hounds to a scent. Ill O ! grant, ye reformers, who rule o'er us all. That our kennels may stand though our colleges fall ; Our pack from long trial we know to be good, Gr^_y-hounds admitted might ruin the blood. IV Fond parents may dote on their pride of thirteen, Switch'd into Latin and breech'd in nankeen ; A puppy just enter'd a language can speak More sweetly sonorous than Homer's own Greek. O ! clothe me in scarlet ! a spur on each heel ! And guardsmen may case their whole bodies in steel ! Lancers in battle with lancers may tilt. Mine be the warfare unsullied with guilt ! ^ VI New built, may this kennel continue to rear A pack still as prime as the old ones bred here ; May the depth of their cry be no check to their pace, But the ring of their music still gladden the chase. 1834. ^ Note 32. 27 HUNTING SONGS The L,adie Cunigunda of Kynast TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. (f. RUCKERT.) "IN my bower," said Cunigunda, 1 " No longer will I bide, I will ride forth to the hunting, Right merrie 'tis to ride." II Said she, " None but a valiant Knight Shall win me for a bride ; Undaunted must he venture Round my castle wall to ride." Ill Then rode a noble Knight along The Kynast Castle wall ; Her hand that Ladie rais'd not At the noble Knight's downfall. IV Upon that wall another Knight Rode gallantly and well ; That Ladie's heart misgave her not When horse and rider fell. 28 THE LADIE CUNIGUNDA OF KYNAST Another Knight, and once again Another dar'd to try, And both, down rolUng headlong, She beheld with tearless eye. VI Thus years and years pass'd on, until No Knight again drew nigh ; None to ride again would venture, For to venture was to die. VII Cunigunda from the battlement Look'd out both far and wide : " I sit within my bower alone. Will none attempt the ride ? VIII " O ! is there none would win me now. And wear me for a bride ? Has chivalry turn'd recreant ? Has knighthood lost its pride ? " IX Out spake Thuringia's Landgrave (Count Adelbert he hight), " This Ladie fair is worthy well The venture of a Knight." 29 HUNTING SONGS The Landgrave train'd his war-horse On the mountain steep to go, That the Ladie might not glory In another overthrow. XI " 'Tis I, O noble Ladie, Who will on the venture speed ; Sadly, earnestly, she eyed him. As he sprang upon his steed. XII She saw him mount and onward spur, She trembled and she sigh'd : " O woe is me that for my sake He tries this fearful ride ! " XIII He rode along the castle wall. She turn'd her from the sight : " Woe is me, he rideth straightway To his grave, that noble Knight ! " XIV He rode along the castle wall, On dizzy rampart there ; She dar'd not move a finger Of her hand, that Ladie fair ! 30 THE LADIE CUNIGUNDA OF KYNAST XV He rode along the castle wall, O'er battlement and mound ; She dar'd not breathe a whisper, Lest he totter at the sound. XVI He rode around the castle wall, And down again rode he : " Now God be prais'd that he hath spar'd Thy precious life to thee ! XVII " May God be prais'd thou didst not ride A death-ride to thy grave ! Now quit thy steed and claim thy bride, Thou worthy Knight and brave ! " XVIII Then spake the Landgrave, bending down Unto the saddle bow : " That Knight can dare, O Ladie fair. This morning's ride doth show. XIX " Wait thou until another come To do this feat for thee ; A wife I have and children. And my bride thou canst not be." 3' HUNTING SONGS XX He spurr'd his steed and went his way. Light-hearted as he came ; And as he went half dead was she With anger and with shame. T'he Love-Chace FOND Lover ! pining night and day, Come h'sten to a hunter's lay ; The craft of each is to pursue, Then learn from hunting how to woo. It matters not to eager hound The cover where the fox is found. Whether he o'er the open fly. Or echoing woods repeat his cry ; And when the welcome shout says " Gone ! Then we, whate'er the line, rush on. Seen seated in the banquet-hall, Or view'd afoot at midnight ball. Whene'er the beating of your heart Proclaims a find, that moment start ! If silence best her humour suit. Then make at first the running mute ; But if to mirth inclin'd, give tongue In spoken jest or ditty sung ; Let laughter and light prattle cheer The love-chace, when the maid is near ; 32 THE LOVE-CHACE When absent, fancy must pursue Her form, and keep her face in view ; Fond thoughts must Hke the busy pack Unceasingly her footsteps track. The doubt, the agony, the fear, Are fences raised for you to clear ; Push on through pique, rebuff, and scorn. As hunters brush through hedge of thorn ; On dark despondency still look As hunters on a yawning brook. If for one moment on the brink You falter, in you fall — and sink. Though following fast the onward track. Turn quickly when she doubles back ; Whenever check'd, whenever crost, Still never deem the quarry lost ; Cast forward first, if that should fail, A backward cast may chance avail ; Cast far and near, cast all around, Leave not untried one inch of ground. Should envious rival at your side Cling, jostling as you onward ride. Then let not jealousy deter. But use it rather as a spur ; Outstrip him ere he interfere, And splash the dirt in his career. E 33 HUNTING SONGS With other nymphs avoid all flirting. Those hounds are hang'd that take to skirting ; Of Cupid's angry lash beware, Provoke him not to cry " Ware hare " ; That winged whipper-in will rate Your riot if you run not straight. Though Reynard, with unwearied flight. Should run from dawn till dusky night. However swift, however stout, Still perseverance tires him out ; And never yet have I heard tell Of maiden so inflexible. Of one cast in so hard a mould, So coy, so stubborn, or so cold. But courage, constancy, and skill Could find a way to win her still ; Though at the find her timid cry Be " No ! no ! no ! indeed not 1," The finish ever ends in this, Proud beauty caught, at last says " Yes." Hunters may range the country round. And balk'd of sport no fox be found ; A blank the favourite gorse may prove. But maiden's heart, when drawn for love (Their gracious stars let Lovers thank), Was ne'er, when drawn aright, drawn blank. If any could, that Goddess fair, Diana, might have scap'd the snare ; 34 A RECOLLECTION That cunning huntress might have laugh'd, If any could at Cupid's shaft ; Still, though reluctant to submit. That tiny shaft the Goddess hit ; And on the mountain-top, they say, Endymion stole her heart away. Bear this in mind throughout the run, " Faint heart fair lady never won " ; Those cravens are thrown out who swerve, " None but the brave the fair deserve." Success will aye the Lover crown. If guided by these rules laid down ; Then little Cupid, standing near, Shall greet him with a lusty cheer ; And Hymen, that old huntsman, loop The couples, while he shouts, " Who-hoop ! " A Recollection I WELL remember in my youthful day. When first of love I felt the inward smart. How one fair morning, eager all to start. My fellow-hunters chided my delay. I follow'd listless, for with tyrant sway That secret grief oppress'd my aching heart. Till fond Hope whisper'd, ere this day depart Thy lov'd one thou shalt see — Away ! away ! 35 HUNTING SONGS The chace began, I shar'd its maddening glee, And rode amid the foremost in that run, Whose end, far distant, Love had well foretold. Her dwelling lay betwixt my home and me ; We met, still lingering ere it sunk, the sun O'erspread her blushes with a veil of gold. T'he Tantivy Trot ^ r HERE'S to the old ones, of four-in-hand fame, Harrison, Peyton, and Ward, Sir ! Here's to the fast ones that after them came, Ford and the Lancashire Lord, Sir ! Let the steam pot Hiss till it's hot. Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot. II Here's to the team, Sir ! all harness'd to start. Brilliant in Brummagem leather ; Here's to the waggoner, skill'd in the art. Coupling the cattle together. Let the steam pot, &c. Ill Here's to the dear little damsels within, Here's to the swells on the top. Sir ! Here's to the music in three feet of tin. And here's to the tapering crop. Sir ! Let the steam pot, &c. * Note 33. 36 THE TANTIVY TROT IV Here's to the shape that is shown the near side, Here's to the blood on the off, Sir ! Limbs with no check to their freedom of stride, Wind without whistle or cough. Sir ! Let the steam pot, &c. Here's to the arm that can hold em when gone, Still to a gallop inclin'd. Sir ! Heads in the front with no bearing-reins on. Tails with no cruppers behind. Sir! Let the steam pot, &c. VI Here's to the dragsmen I've dragged into song, Salisbury, Mountain, and Co., Sir ! Here's to the Cracknell who cracks them alons Five twenty-fives at a go. Sir ! Let the steam pot, &c. VII Here's to MacAdam, the Mac of all Macs, Here's to the road we ne'er tire on ; Let me but roll o'er the granite he cracks, Ride ye who like it on iron. Let the steam pot Hiss till it's hot. Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot. 1834. 37 HUNTING SONGS Hawkstone 'Bow-Meefing " Celeri certare sagitta Invitat qui forte velint, et praemia ponit." £.K. lib. V. FAREWELL to the Dane and the Weaver, Farewell to the horn and the hound ! The Tarporley Swan, I must leave her Unsung till the season come round ; My hunting-whip hung in a corner. My bridle and saddle below, I call on the Muse and adorn her With baldrick, and quiver, and bow. II Bright Goddess ! assist me, recounting The names of toxophilites here. How Watkin came down from the mountain, And Mainwaring up from the Mere ; Assist me to fly with as many on As the steed of Parnassus can take. Price, Parker, Lloyd, Kynaston, Kenyon, Dod, Cunliffe, Brooke, Owen and Drake. Ill To witness the feats of the Bowmen, To stare at the tent of the Bey,' Merrie Maidens and ale-drinking Yeomen At Hawkstone assemble to-day. * Note 34. 38 HAWKSTONE BOW-MEETING From the lord to the lowest in station. From the east of the shire to the west, Salopia's whole population Within the green valley comprest. IV In the hues of the target appearing. Now the bent of each archer is seen ; The widow to sable adhering. The lover forsaken to green ; For gold its affection displaying. One shaft at the centre is sped ; Another a love tale betraying. Is aim'd with a blush at the red. Pride pointing profanely at heaven. Humility sweeping the ground, The arrow of gluttony driven Where ven'son and sherry abound ! At white see the maiden unmated The arrow of innocence draw, While the shaft of the matron is fated To fasten its point in the straw. VI Tell, fated with Gessler to grapple Till the tyrannous Bailiff was slain. Let Switzerland boast of the apple His arrow once sever'd in twain ; 39 HUNTING SONGS We've an Eyton could prove to the Switzer/ Such a feat w^ere again to be done, Should our host and his Lady think fit. Sir ! To lend us the head of their son ! VII The ash may be graceful and limber. The oak may be sturdy and true ; You may search, but in vain, for a timber To rival the old British yew ! You may roam through all lands, but there's no land Can sport such as Salop's afford. And the Hill of all Hills is Sir Rowland ! The hero of heroes my Lord ! 1835- The 'Bal/ and the battue I YE who care to encourage the long-feather'd breed, To the Ball overnight let the Battue succeed ; For when the heart aches. Ten to one the hand shakes. And sighs beget curses, and curses mistakes. II For the shot-belt of leather, in velveteen drest, I have dofF'd the gold chain and laid by the silk vest, A pancake so flat Was my ball-going hat. But a dumpling to shoot in is better than that. ' Note 35. 40 I THE BALL AND THE BATTUE III My Manton to concert pitch tun'd for the day, How the pheasants will reel in the air as I play! While snipes as they fly Pirouette in the sky. And rabbits and hares in the gallopade die. IV " Once more might I view thee, sweet partner ! " " Mark hare ! She is gone down the middle and up again there " — " That hand might I kiss, Mark cock ! — did I miss ? Ye Gods, who could shoot with a weapon like this ? "— Thus a father may rescue his pheasants from slaughter. The best of preservers his own pretty daughter ; Sad thoughts in the pate, On the heart a sad weight, Who, blinded by Cupid, could ever aim straight ? 1837. 41 HUNTING SONGS On the Landlord OF THE WHITE HORSE INN, AT ALPNACH, IN SWITZERLAND THE white horse by mine host has been brought to the post. Of his points and his pints he has reason to boast ; To the guests who approach him a welcome he snorts. While they fill up his quarters and empty his quarts. 11 Neither weak in his Hocks, nor deficient in Beaune, In his Cote good condition though palpably shown, There are folk, not a few, who still call him a screw ; If applied to cork-drawing, the term may be true. Ill Altogether reversing the old-fashion'd plan. Here the horse puts a bit in the mouth of the man; And so long as not given to running away. To the roadster who enters he never says " Neigh." IV He sets him, when caught, straight to work at the Carte, With the cost of it saddles him ere he depart, Gives him three feeds a day and the run of the bin. And then makes him fork out for the good of the ///// / 42 CHESHIRE CHIVALRY They may call the grey mare at his side the best horse, But they both pull together for better for worse ; Through the heyday of life may they pleasantly pass, Till by Death, that grim groom, they are turn'd out to grass. Cheshij'e Chivalry On the 23rd of December 1837, the Cheshire Hounds found a fox in the plantation adjoining Tilston Lodge. Running directly to the house, he baffled for a time all further pursuit by leaping through a window-pane into the dairy. When captured, he was turned out at Wardle Gorse, and after an unusually quick burst, in the course of which he crossed two canals, was killed at Cholmondeston. UNPUNISH'D shall Reynard our dairies attack. His fate unrecorded in song ? Ah ! no ; when the captive was loos'd from a sack. There was not, fair milk-maid, a hound in the pack. But was bent on avenging thy wrong. II Would that those who imagine all chivalry o'er, Had encounter'd our gallant array ; Ne'er a hundred such knights, e'en in ages of yore. Took the field in the cause of one damsel before. As were seen in the saddle that day. 43 HUNTING SONGS III Their high-mettled courage no dangers appal, So keen was the ardour display'd ; Some lose a frail stirrup, some flounder, some fall, Some gallantly stem the deep waters, and all For the sake of the pretty milk-maid. IV For thirty fast minutes Pug fled from his foes. Nor a moment for breathing allow'd ; When at Cholm'stone the skurry was brought to a close, The nags that had follow'd him needed repose, As their panting and sobbing avow'd. V There, stretch'd on the greensward, lay Geoffry the stout. His heels were upturn'd to the sky. From each boot flow'd a stream, as it were from a spout. Away stole the fox ere one half had run out. And away with fresh vigour we fly ! VI Once more to the water, though harass'd and beat. The fox with a struggle swam through ; Though the churn that he tainted shall never be sweet, His heart's-blood ere long shall our vengeance complete. And the caitiff'his villainy rue. 44 CHESHIRE CHIVALRY VII Stout Geoffry declar'd he would witness the kill Should he swim in the saddle till dark ; Six horsemen undauntedly follow'd him still, Till the fate that awaited the steed of Sir Phil Put an end to this merry mud lark. VIII Back, back, the bold Baronet roU'd from the shore, Immers'd overhead in the wave ; The Tories 'gan think that the game was all o'er, For their member was missing a minute or more Ere he rose from his watery grave. IX Quoth Tollemache, more eager than all to make sail (A soul that abhorreth restraint), " Good doctor," quoth he, " since thy remedies fail, Since blister, nor bleeding, nor pill-box avail, Cold bathing may suit my complaint." X When Williams past o'er, at the burden they bore The waters all trembled with awe ; For the heaving canal, when it wash'd him ashore, Ne'er had felt such a swell on its surface before, As the swell from the Leamington Spa.^ 1 Note 36. 45 HUNTING SONGS XI Harry Brooke, as a bird o'er the billow would skim, Must have flown to the furthermost brink ; For the moisture had reach'd neither garment nor limb. There was not a speck the boot polish to dim, Nor a mud-stain to tarnish the pink. XII The fox looking back, saw them fathom the tide. But was doom'd, ere they cross'd it, to die ; Who-whoop may sound sweeter by far on that side. But, thinks I to myself, I've a twenty-mile ride. And as yet my good leather is dry. XIII Life-guardsman ! why hang down in sorrow thy head ? Could our pack such a fast one outstrip ? Looking down at the ditch where his mare lay for dead, " Pray, which way to Aston," he mournfully said. And uptwisted the hair of his lip. XIV Though of milk and of water I've made a long tale. When a livelier liquor's display'd, I've a toast that will suit either claret or ale, Good sport to the Kennel ! success to the Pail ! And a health to the pretty Milk-maid ! 1837. 46 THE CHESHIRE HUNT From an engraving by C. G. Lewis, after the fainting by Henry Calvert PICTURE OF THE CHESHIRE HUNT On the Picture of the Cheshire Hunt ^ PAINTED BY H, CALVERT IN 1 84O ERE our Kennel a coal-hole envelop'd in smoke, Blood and bone shall give way to hot water and coke ; Make and shape, pace and pedigree, held as a jest. All the power of the Stud in a copper comprest ; II The green collar faded, good fellowship o'er. Sir Peter and Barry remember'd no more. From her Tarporley perch ere the Swan shall drop down. And her death-note be heard through the desolate town, III Let Geoffrey record, in the reign of Queen Vic, How the horse and his rider could still do the trick; Let his journal, bequeath'd to posterity, show How their sires rode a-hunting in days long ago. IV In colours unfading let Calvert design A field not unworthy a sport so divine ; For when Joe was their Huntsman, and Tom their first Whip, Who then could the chosen of Cheshire outstrip ? 1 Note 37. 47 HUNTING SONGS \ V Let the Laureate, ere yet he be laid on the shelf, Say how dearly he lov'd the diversion himself; How his Muse o'er the field made each season a cast, Gave a cheer to the foremost, and rated the last. VI All the glories of Belvoir let Delamere tell, And how Leicestershire griev'd when he bade them farewell ; Tell how oft with the Quorn he had liv'd through a burst When the few were selected, the many dispers'd. VII With so graceful a seat, and with spirits so gay. Let them learn from Sir Richard, erect on his grey, How the best of all cures for a pain in the back Is to sit on the pigskin and follow the pack. VIII Say, Glegg, how the chace requir'd judgment and skill. How to coax a tir'd horse over valley and hill ; How his shoe should be shap'd, how to nurse him when sick, And when out how to spare him by making a nick. 48 PICTURE OF THE CHESHIRE HUNT IX Charley Cholmondeley, made known how, in Wellesley's campaign When the mail arriv'd loaded with laurels from Spain, How cheers through the club-room were heard to resound. While, upfill'd to the brim, the Quassitum went round. X Let Wicksted describe and futurity learn All the points of a hound, from the nose to the stern ; He whose joy 'tis to dance, without fiddle or pipe. To the tune of Who-whoop with a fox in his gripe. XI Say, Dorfold's black Squire, how, when trundling ahead. Ever close to your side clung the Colonel in red ; He who, charge what he would, never came to a hitch, A fence or a Frenchman, it matter'd not which. XII Let Cornwall declare, though a long absentee. With what pain and what grief he deserted High Legh ; How he car'd not to prance on the Corso at Rome, While such sport Winterbottom afforded at home. G 49 I HUNTING SONGS XIII The rules of hard riding let ToUemache impart, How to lean o'er the pommel and dash at a start ; Emerging at once from a crowd in suspense. How in safety he rides who is first at the fence. XIV How with caution 'tis pleasanter far to advance Let them learn from De Tabley, Tom Tatton, and France ; Who void of ambition still follow the chace, Nor think that all sport is dependent on pace. XV Twin managers ! tell them, Smith Barry from Cork, And Dixon, who studied the science in York, Though we boast but one neck to our Tarporley Swan, Two heads in the kennel are better than one. XVI Let Entwistle, Blackburne, and TrafFord disown Those Lancashire flats, where the sport was un- known ; Releas'd from St. Stephen's let Patten declare How fox-hunting solac'd a senator's care. XVII Let the bones of the steed which Sir Philip bestrode 'Mid the fossils at Oulton be carefully stow'd ; For the animal soon, whether hunter or war-horse. Will be rare in the land as an Ichthyosaurus. 50 THE BREECHES XVIII Still distant the day, yet in ages to come, When the gorse is uprooted, the fox-hound is dumb, May verse make immortal the deeds of the field. And the shape of each steed be on canvas reveal'd. XIX Let the pencil be dipt in the hues of the chace. Contentment and health be pourtray'd in each face ; Let the foreground display the select of the pack. And Chester's green vale be outstretch'd in the back ! XX When the time-honour'd race of our gentry shall end, The poor no protector, the farmer no friend. They shall here view the face of the old Tatton Squire, And regret the past sport that once gladden'd our Shire. 'The Breeches ^ WHEN I mention the " Breeches," I feel no remorse. For the ladies all know 'tis an evergreen gorse ; They are not of leather, they are not of plush, But expressly cut out for Joe Maiden to brush. 1 Note 38. SI HUNTING SONGS II Good luck to the 'prentice by whom they were made ! His shears were a ploughshare, his needle a spade ; May each landlord a pair to this pattern bespeak, The Breeches that lasted us three days a week. Ill The fox is away and Squire Royds made it known. Setting straightway to work at a pace of his own ; Past him sped Tollemache, as instant in flight As a star when it shoots through the azure of night. IV They who witness'd the pack as it skirted the Spa, By the head they then carried a struggle foresaw ; At their heels a white horse with his head in the air. But his bridle was loose, and his saddle was bare. May Peel (near the Breeches at starting o'erthrown, Where he left the impression in mud of his own) ; When next he thinks fit this white horse to be- straddle. See less of the Breeches and more of the saddle. 52 THE BREECHES VI From Spurstow we pointed towards Bunbury Church, Some rounding that cover were left in the lurch ; By Hurleston we hurried, nor e'er tighten'd rein. Till check'd for one moment in Baddiley lane. VII When we pass'd the old gorse and the meadows beneath. When, across the canal, we approach'd Aston Heath, There were riders who took to the water like rats, There were steeds without horsemen, and men with- out hats. VIII How many came down to the Edlestone brook. How many came down, not to leap — but to look ; The steeds that stood still with a stitch in their side. Will remember the day when the Breeches were tried. IX The pack, pressing onwards, still merrily went, Till at Dorfold they needed no longer a scent ; Man and maid rushing forth stood aloft on the wall. And uprais'd a view hollo that shook the old hall. 53 HUNTING SONGS X Too weak for the open, too hot for the drain, He cross'd and recross'd Ran'moor covers in vain ; When he reach'd the Bull's wood, he lay down in despair, And we hollo'd who-whoop, as they worried him there. XI Puss in boots is a fable to children well known. The Dog in a doublet at Sandon is shown. Henceforth when a landlord good liquor can boast, Let the Fox and the Breeches be hung on his post. XII From Vulpicide villains our foxes secure. May these evergreen Breeches till doomsday endure ! Go ! all ye good squires, if my ditty should please. Go clothe your bare acres in Breeches like these. 1841. Inscription on the Handle of a Fox s Brushy mounted and presented by the Author to Wilbraham Tolle- mache, Esq., Feb. 20, 184 1 WE found our fox at Brindley ; thrice that week The gorse was drawn, and thrice with like success. For nigh two hours, o'er many a mile of grass, We chas'd him thence to Dorfold, where he died. Tollemache ! in admiration of thy skill'd And gallant riding to the pack that day. To thee I yield the Brush, esteem not thou The trophy less thus profFer'd by a friend. 54 THE SAWYER The Sawyer The imaginary catastrophe, which is the subject of the following lines, originated in the warning given by one of our party to the Factor at Aber- geldie, that, if he persisted in felling timber during the term of our lease, he must hold himself responsible should any one " shoot a Sawyer." I NOW Abergeldie gillies, as they range our forest- ground, See sawing here, see sawing there, see sawpits all around ; In fear and dread, as on they tread no whisky dare they touch. No ! not a drop, lest, neck and crop, they take a drop too much. II " Aim straight to-day, my comrades, 'twill be truly a dear hit If, shooting deer in the forest here, manslaughter you commit ; If feller, fell'd, should in the act of striking be down struck. Or Sawyer kick the bucket here, mistaken for a Buck." Ill Vain words ! forth came a bounding stag, his antler'd head on high. And, caring not a whistle for the balls that whistled by. HUNTING SONGS Away, alive and kicking, to the distant mountain sped ; — Though de'il a bit the deer was hit, the deal-cutter was dead. IV His skull was crack'd, his only wage that day was half-a-crown, He was cutting up a billet when the bullet cut him down ; Many thousand feet of timber had that Sawyer rent in twain, Now himself was split asunder, very much against the grain. V We needed not the Sexton with his pickaxe and his spade, In the sawpit which himself had dug his grave was ready made ; Top Sawyer though he had been, to the bottom he was thrust, And we binn'd him like a bottle of old Sherry in sawdust. VI Full many a railway sleeper had he made since peep of day. Ere night himself a sleeper in his narrow bed he lay; No tear-drop unavailingly wc shed upon the spot, But we sprinkled him with whisky to preserve him from dry rot. 56 TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING VII Oh no ! we never mention him, that shot we never own, We book'd him in the game book as an " animal unknown " ! We know not how the wife and bairns without his board subsist. We only know we hit him, and he has not since been miss'd. 1844. Song WRITTEN FOR AND SUNG BY J. H. SMITH BARRY, ESQ. OWNER OF THE " COLUMBINE " YACHT, WHEN PRESIDENT OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING, I 845 I NOW riding safe at anchor, idly floats the " Col- umbine," And the perils of the ocean in November I resign ; With other messmates round me, merry comrades every one. To-night I take command, boys, of the gallant ship, the " Swan." Chorus Then up, boys ! up for action, with a hearty three times three, What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley .? H S7 HUNTING SONGS II 'Tis true, though strange, this gallant ship in water cannot swim, A sea of rosy wine, boys, is the sea she loves to skim ; The billows of that red sea are in bumpers toss'd about, Our spirits rising higher as the tide is running out ! Chorus. Ill Still swinging at her moorings, with a cable round her neck. Though long as summer lasteth all deserted is her deck. She scuds before the breezes of November fast and free, O ! ne'er may she be stranded in the straits of Tarporley. Chorus. IV By adverse gale or hurricane her sails are never rent. Her canvas swells with laughter, and her freight is merriment ; The lightning on her deck, boys, is the lightning flash of wit. Loud cheers in thunder rolling till her very timbers split ! Chorus. 58 i» TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING V We need not Archimedes with his screw on board the Swan, The screw that draws the cork, boys, is the screw that drives us on, And should we be becalm'd, boys, while giving chase to care. When the brimming bowl is heated we have steam in plenty there. Chorus. VI No rocks have we to split on, no foes have we to fight. No dangers to alarm us, while we keep the reckon- ing right ; We fling the gold about, boys, though we never heave the lead. And long as we can raise the wind our course is straight a-head. Chorus. VII The index of our compass is the bottle that we trowl. To the chair again revolving like the needle to the pole ; The motto on our glasses is to us a fixed star. We know while we can see it, boys, exactly where we are. Chorus. 59 HUNTING SONGS VIII To their sweethearts let our bachelors a sparkling bumper fill. To their wives let those who have 'em fill a fuller bumper still ; O ! never while we've health, boys, may we quit this gallant ship, But every year, together here, enjoy this pleasure trip. Chorus. IX Behind me stands my ancestor. Sir Peter stands before. Two pilots who have weather'd many a stormy night of yore ; So may our sons and grandsons, when we are dead and gone, Spend many a merry night, boys, in the cabin of the Swan. Chorus Then up, boys ! up for action, with a hearty three times three, What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley ? 1845. 60 TARWOOD Tarwood^ A RUN WITH THE HEYTHROP HE waited not — he was not found — No warning note from eager hound, But echo of the distant horn, From outskirts of the covert borne. Where Jack the Whip in ambush lay, Proclaim'd the fox was gone away. Away ! ere yet that blast was blown, The fox had o'er the meadow flown ; Away ! away ! his flight he took. Straight pointing for the Windrush brook ! The Miller, when he heard the pack. Stood tiptoe on his loaded sack, He view'd the fox across the flat. And, needless signal, wav'd his hat ; He saw him clear with easy stride The stream by which the mill was plied ; Like phantom fox he seem'd to fly, With speed unearthly flitting by. The road that leads to Witney town. He travell'd neither up nor down ; But straight away, like arrow sped From cloth-yard bow, he shot a-head. 1 Note 39- 6i HUNTING SONGS Now Cokethorpe on his left he past, Now Ducklington behind him cast, Now by Bampton, now by Lew, Now by Clanfield, on he flew ; At Grafton now his course inclin'd. And Kelmscote now is left behind ! Where waters of the Isis lave The meadows with its classic wave. O'er those meadows speeding on, He near'd the bridgeway of St. John ; He paused a moment on the bank, His footsteps in the ripple sank, He felt how cold, he saw how strong The rapid river roll'd along ; Then turn'd away, as if to say, " All those who like to cross it may." The Huntsman, though he view'd him back, View'd him too late to turn the pack, Which o'er the tainted meadow prest. And reach'd the river all abreast ; In with one plunge, one billowy splash, In — altogether — in they dash. Together stem the wintry tide, Then shake themselves on t'other side ! " Hark, hollo back ! " that loud halloo Then eager, and more eager grew. Till every hound, recrossing o'er, Stoop'd forward to the scent once more ; Nor further aid, throughout the day, From Huntsman or from Whip had they. 62 TARWOOD Away ! away ! uncheck'd in pace, O'er grass and fallow swept the chace ; To hounds, to horses, or to men. No child's play was the struggle then ; A trespasser on Milward's ground. He climb'd the pale that fenc'd it round ; Then close by Little Hemel sped. To Fairford pointing straight a-head. Though now, the pack approaching nigh. He heard his death-note in the cry. They view'd him, and then seem'd their race The very lightning of the chace ! The fox had reach'd the Southropp lane. He strove to cross it, but in vain. The pack roll'd o'er him in his stride, And onward struggling still — he died. This gallant fox, in Tarwood found. Had cross'd full twenty miles of ground ; Had sought in cover, left or right. No shelter to conceal his flight ; But nigh two hours the open kept. As stout a fox as ever stept ! That morning, in the saddle set, A hundred men at Tarwood met ; The eager steeds which they bestrode Pac'd to and fro the Witney road. For hard as iron shoe that trod Its surface, the unyielding sod ; Till midday sun had thaw'd the ground And made it fit for foot of hound, 63 HUNTING SONGS They champ'd the bit and twitch'd the rein, And paw'd the frozen earth in vain, Impatient with fleet hoof to scour The vale, each minute seem'd an hour ; Still Rumour says of that array Scarce ten liv'd fairly through the day. Ah ! how shall I in song declare The riders who were foremost there ? A fit excuse how shall I find For every rider left behind ? Though Cokethorpe seem one open plain, 'Tis slash'd and sluic'd with many a drain. And he who clears those ditches wide Must needs a goodly steed bestride. From Bampton to the river's bounds The race was run o'er pasture grounds ; Yet many a horse of blood and bone Was heard to cross it with a groan ; For blackthorns stiff the fields divide With watery ditch on either side. By Lechlade's village fences rise Of every sort and every size, And frequent there the grievous fall O'er slippery bank and crumbling wall ; Some planted deep in cornfield stand, A fix'd incumbrance on the land ! While others prove o'er post and rail The merits of the sliding scale. 64 TARWOOD Ah ! much it grieves the Muse to tell At Clanfield how Valentia fell ; He went, they say, like one bewitch'd, Till headlong from the saddle pitch'd ; There, reckless of the pain, he sigh'd To think he might not onward ride ; Though fallen from his pride of place, His heart was following still the chace ; He bade his many friends forbear The proffer'd aid, nor tarry there ; " O ! heed me not, but ride away ! The Tarwood fox must die to-day ! " Nor fell Valentia there alone. There too in mid career was thrown The Huntsman — in the breastplate swung His heels — his body earthward hung ; With many a tug at neck and mane. Struggling he reach'd his seat again ; Once more upon the back of Spangle, His head and heels at proper angle (Poor Spangle in a piteous plight). He look'd around him, bolt upright. Nor near nor far could succour see, — Where can the faithless Juliet be ? He would have given half his wage Just then to see her on the stage ; The pack those meads by Isis bound Had reach'd ere Jem his Juliet found ; Well thence with such a prompter's aid. Till Reynard's death her part she play'd. I 65 HUNTING SONGS There Isaac from the chace withdrew (A horse is Isaac, not a Jew), Outstretch'd his legs, and shook his back, Right glad to be reliev'd of Jack ; And Jack, right glad his back to quit, Gave Beatrice a benefit. Moisture and mud the " Fungus " suit, In boggy ditch he, taking root. For minutes ten or thereabout. Stood planted, till they pluck'd him out. By application of spur rowel Charles rubb'd him dry without a towel. Say, as the pack by Kelmscote sped, Say who those horsemen cloth'd in red ? Spectators of the chace below. Themselves no sign of movement show ; No wonder — they were all aghast To see the pace at which it past ; The " White Horse Vale " — well known to Fame The pack to which it gives a name ; And there they stood as if spell-bound. Their morning fox as yet unfound ; Borne from that wood, their huntsman's cheer Drew many a Tarwood straggler near. And he who felt the pace too hot. There gladly sought a resting spot ; Himself of that White Horse availing. When conscious that his own was failing. 66 TARWOOD Thus ships, when they no more can bide The fury of the wind and tide. If chance some tranquil port they spy, Where vessels safely shelter'd lie. There seek a refuge from the gale. Cast anchor, and let down the sail. The speed of horse, the pluck of man. They needed both, who led the van ; This Holmes can tell, who through the day Was ever foremost in the fray ; And HoUoway, with best intent. Still shivering timber as he went ; And Williams, clinging to the pack As if the League were at his back ; And Tollit, ready still to sell The nag that carried him so well. A pretty sight at first to see Young Pretyman on Modesty ! But Pretyman went on so fast, That Modesty took fright at last ; So bent was she to shun disgrace, That in the brook she hid her face ; So bashful, that to drag her out They fetch'd a team and tackle stout. When younger men of lighter weight Some tale of future sport relate, Let Whippy show the brush he won. And tell them of the Tarwood run ; 67 HUNTING SONGS While Rival's portrait, on the wall, Shall oft to memory recall The gallant fox, the burning scent. The leaps they leapt, the pace they went ; How Wliimpsey led the pack at first. When Reynard from the woodside burst ; How 'Pamela, a puppy hound, First seiz'd him, struggling on the ground ; How T^rudence shunn'd the taint of hare, Taught young in life to have a care ; How Alderman, a foxhound staunch, Worked well upon an empty paunch ; How Squires were, following thee, upset, Right honourable Baronet ; How, as the pack by Lechlade flew. Where close and thick the fences grew. Three Bitches led the tuneful throng, All worthy of a place in song ; Old Fairplay, ne'er at skirting caught. And Pensive speeding quick as thought ; While Handsome prov'd the adage true, They handsome are that handsome do ! Then long may courteous Redesdale live ! And oft his pack such gallops give ! Should fox again 40 stoutly run, May I be there and see the fun ! 1845. 68 A "MEET" AND A "FIND" A '■'Meet'' at the Hall, a7td a '' Fi?tcr in the Wood I THE wind in the south, and the first faint blushes Of morn amid clouds dispers'd, As a stream in its strength through a floodgate rushes, The hounds from their kennel burst. II The huntsman is up on his favourite bay. The whips are all astride, Leisurely trotting their onward way To the distant cover side. Ill Sweetly the blackbird, and sweetly the thrush, Greeting them, seem to say. In the chorus that rings from each hawthorn bush, " Good sport to the pack to-day." IV Lads from the village now after them race, Asking with eager shout. And ruddy with joy at the thoughts of a chace, " Where do the hounds turn out ? " V Now masking the slope with its dusky screen, A wood in front appears. And a Hall high-gabled, the glittering sheen Of its vane-deck'd turret rears. 69 HUNTING SONGS VI The chimney-shafts, wreathed with smoke, betoken Full many a guest within. While words of welcome in honesty spoken The heart of each stranger win, VII A white hand unlatches her casement bar ; A murmur of joy resounds : They're coming ! they're coming ! see, yonder they are ! They're coming ! the hounds ! the hounds ! VIII A cloud, so it seem'd, might have dropp'd from the sky When the sun was in the west, To clothe with a mantle of crimson dye The lawn by those riders prest. IX Steadily, steadily, to and fro. Old hunters pace the ground ; Heads high in air the young ones throw. Pawing and plunging round. See ! to unkennel a noisier pack, The school-gate open flung, By the desk-weary pedant, whose heart leaps back To the day when himself was young. 70 A "MEET" AND A "FIND" XI Drest in the pride of her Sunday array. The huswife stands aloof, Timidly plucking her child away From the lunge of uplifted hoof. XII Curb'd for that hand which the casement unbarr'd, To the porch is a palfrey led, The trim gravel court by the prancing scarr'd Of his proud and impatient tread ; XIII A fair-hair'd youth to the portal flew, And stood by her bridle-rein ; He lifts her light foot to the stirrup-shoe. And they follow the hunting-train. XIV His saddle-bow hung with a silver horn. All eyes on the master gaze. Lord of the hunting-field ! monarch, this morn, Of all that he surveys ! XV The Huntsman has drunk to the health of the Squire From the depth of the leathern jack. And lifting his cap, as the gentry admire His well-condition'd pack. HUNTING SONGS XVI He speeds, with sure hope to the cover hard by — Streaking the greenwood now. Red coats bright with the berries vie That hang on the holly bough. XVII Hark ! from the cover a fox halloo'd ; The hounds to the open fly ; Horses and men, as they crash through the wood. Made mad by the merry cry. XVIII Fainter and fainter in distance died The tumult of the chace ; Till silent as death was the green hill-side. The Hall a deserted place. XIX I follow them not ; the good fox they found Sped many a mile away ; That run was the talk of the country round For many an after day. XX The brush by that youth who had ridden hard, Brought home in the twilight hour, A gift for the hand which the casement unbarr'd, Was hung in the maiden's bower. SONG Song STAGS in the forest lie, hares in the valley-o ! Web-footed otters are spear'd in the lochs ; Beasts of the chace that are not worth a Tally-ho All are surpass'd by the gorse-cover fox ! Fishing, though pleasant, I sing not at present, Nor shooting the pheasant. Nor fighting of cocks ; Song shall declare a way How to drive care away, Pain and despair away. Hunting the fox ! II Bulls in gay Seville are led forth to slaughter, nor Dames, in high rapture, the spectacle shocks ; Brighter in Britain the charms of each daughter, nor Dreads the bright charmer to follow the fox. Spain may delight in A sport so exciting ; Whilst 'stead of bull-fighting We fatten the ox ; Song shall declare a way, &c. K 73 HUNTING SONGS III England's green pastures are graz'd in security. Thanks to the Saxon who car'd for our flocks ! He who reserving the sport for futurity. Sweeping our wolves away left us the fox. When joviality Chases formality, When hospitality Cellars unlocks ; Song shall declare a way How to drive care away. Pain and despair away. Hunting the fox ! Sport in the Highlands WRITTEN AT TOLLY HOUSE IN ROSS-SHIRE I UP in the morning ! the river runs merrily. Clouds are above and the breezes blow cool, Tie the choice fly now, and casting it warily. Fish the dark ripple that curls o'er the pool ; Steadily play with him. On through the spray with him. Gaff:, and away with him, On to the shore ! Pastime at Tolly now, Oh ! it is jolly now, Sad melancholy now Haunts us no more ! 74 SPORT IN THE HIGHLANDS II Up in the morning ! young birds in full feather now, Brood above brood on the mountain-side lie ; Setters well broken are ranging the heather now, Bird after bird taking wing but to die ! Home then to number The grouse that encumber Our gillies, where slumber To toil gives relief. Pastime at Tolly now, Oh ! it is jolly now. No melancholy now, Sorrow, or grief in Up ! up ! at peep-o'-day, clad for a tussle now ! — Keen eyes have mark'd the wild hart on the hill; Toil for the stalker ! — wind, sinew, and muscle^ now All will be needed, ere testing his skill ! Gillies now frolicking. Roaring and rollicking, Hey ! for a grollocking, — Rip up the deer. Pastime at Tolly now, Oh ! it is jolly now, No melancholy now Haunteth us here. IS HUNTING SONGS IV Up ! up I at peep-o'-day ; what may your pleasure be? Black-cock or ptarmigan, roebuck or hare ? Bright with delight let each moment of leisure be, Left in the lowlands, a fig for dull care ! Wood, stream, and heather now. Yielding together now, Sport for all weather now, — Up in the morn ! Pastime at Tolly now. Oh ! it is jolly now. Sad melancholy, now Laugh her to scorn ! 1845. " Importation of Ver7nin " " A steamship arrived yesterday from Boulogne with a cage of live foxes, consigned to order." — Daily Neius, Feb. i, 1848, at which time there was much talk of the possibility of a French invasion. I "IMPORTED Vermin:" — say, thou scribbler, 1 when Those fiercer vermin on our coast alight. Who bark with drumstick and with bayonet bite, As daily threat thy brethren of the pen ; When England summons her true-hearted men (Whether invader to the chace invite With foes or foxes, putting both to flight), Say, of these twain which best will serve her then. 76 BOW-MEETING SONG The joyous hunter, he who cheers the pack. His fleet steed urging over vale and hill, Who shuns no hardship and who knows no fear. Or he, who bending o'er the desk his back, In gas-lit office drives the flippant quill. And talks of " vermin imports" with a sneer ? Bow-meeti7ig Song ARLEY HALL, SEPTEMBER 4, 1 85 I THE tent is pitch'd, the target rear'd, the ground is measured out, For the weak arm sixty paces, and one hundred for the stout ! Come, gather ye together then, the youthful and the fair. And poet's lay, to future day, the victor shall declare ! II Let busy fingers lay aside the needle and the thread, To prick the golden canvas with a pointed arrow- head ; Ye sportsmen quit the stubble, quit, ye fishermen, the stream, Fame and glory stand before you, brilliant eyes around you beam. 77 HUNTING SONGS HI All honour to the long-bow which many a battle won, Ere powder blaz'd and bullet flew, from arquebus or gun ; All honour to the long-bow, which merry men of yore, With hound and horn at early morn, in greenwood forest bore. IV O ! famous is the archer's sport, 'twas honour'd long ago. The God of Love, the God of Wit, bore both of them a bow ; Love laughs to-day in beauty's eye and blushes on her cheek. And wit is heard in every word, that merry archers speak ; The archer's heart, though, like his bow, a tough and sturdy thing. Is pliant still and yielding, when affection pulls the string ; All his words and all his actions are like arrows, pointed well To hit that golden centre, where true love and friendship dwell. 78 FARMER DOBBIN VI They tell us in that outline which the lips of beauty show, How Cupid found a model for his heart-subduing bow ; The arrows in his quiver are the glances from her eye, A feather from love's wing it is, that makes the arrow fly ! Farmer Dobbin A DAY Wl' THE CHESHUR FOX DUGS 1 " /^^UD mon, it's welly milkin toim, where ever V_y 'ast 'ee bin ? Thear's slutch upo' thoi coat, oi see, and blood upo' thoi chin ; " " Oiv bin to see the gentlefolk o' Cheshur roid a run ; Owd wench ! oiv been a-hunting, an' oiv seen some rattling fun. II " Th' owd mare was i' the smithy when the hunts- man hove in view. Black Bill agate o' fettling the last nail in her shoe ; The cuvver laid so wheam loik, an' so jovial foin the day. Says I, ' Owd mare, we'll tak' a fling and see 'em go away.' 79 HUNTING SONGS III " When up, and oi'd got shut ov aw the hackney pads and traps, 'Orse dealers an' 'orse jockey lads, and such loik swaggering chaps, Then what a power o' gentlefolk did I set oies upon ! A reining in their hunters, aw blood 'orses every one ! IV " They'd aw got bookskin leathers on, a-fitten 'em so toight. As roind and plump as turmits be, and just about as whoit ; Their spurs wor maid o' siller, and their buttons maid o' brass. Their coats wor red as carrots and their collurs green as grass. V " A varment looking gemman on a woiry tit I seed, An' another close besoid him, sitting noble on his steed ; They ca' them both owd codgers, but as fresh as paint they look, John Glegg, Esquoir, o' Withington, an' bowd Sir Richard Brooke. 80 FARMER DOBBIN VI " I seed Squoir Geffrey Shakerley, the best un o' that breed, His smoiling feace tould plainly how the sport wi' him agreed ; I seed the 'Arl ov Grosvenor, a loikly lad to roid, I seed a soight worth aw the rest, his farencly young broid. VII " Zur Umferry de Trafford an' the Squoir ov Arley Haw, His pocket full o' rigmarole, a-rhoiming on 'em aw ; Two Members for the Cointy, both aloik ca'd Egerton ; — Squoir Henry Brooks and Tummus Brooks, they'd aw green collars on. VIII ff " Eh ! what a mon be Dixon John, ov Astle Haw, Esquoir, c You wudna foind, and measure him, his marrow in the shoir ; Squoir Wilbraham o' the Forest, death and danger he defoies. When his coat be toightly button'd up, and shut be both his oies. L 8i HUNTING SONGS IX " The Honerable Lazzles, who from forrin parts be cum, An' a chip of owd Lord Delamere, the Honerable Turn ; Squoir Fox an' Booth an' Worthington, Squoir Massey an' Squoir Harne, An' many more big sportsmen, but their neames I didna larn. " I seed that great commander in the saddle. Captain Whoit, An' the pack as thrung'd about him was indeed a gradely soight ; The dugs look'd foin as satin, an' himsel look'd hard as nails, An' he giv the swells a caution not to roid upo' their tails. XI " Says he, ' Young men o' Monchester an Livverpoo, cum near, Oiv just a word, a warning word, to whisper in your ear. When, starting from the cuvver soid, ye see bowd Reynard burst. We canna 'ave no 'unting if the gemmen go it first.' 82 FARMER DOBBIN XII " Tom Ranee has got a single oie/ wurth many another's two, He held his cap abuv his yed to show he'd had a view ; Tom's voice was loik th' owd raven's when he skroik'd out ' Tally-ho ! ' For when the fox had seen Tom's feace he thoght it toim to go. XIII " Ey moy ! a pratty jingle then went ringing through the skoy, Furst Victory, then Villager begun the merry croy, Then every maith was open from the oud'un to the pup, An' aw the pack together took the swellin' chorus up. XIV " Ey moy ! a pratty skouver then was kick'd up in the vale. They skim'd across the running brook, they topp'd the post an' rail. They didna stop for razzur cop, but play'd at touch an' go, An' them as miss'd a footin' there lay doubled up below. 1 Note 40. 83 HUNTING SONGS XV " I seed the 'ounds a-crossing Fanner Flareup's boundary loin. Whose daughter plays the peany an' drinks whoit sherry woin, Gowd rings upon her finger and silk stockings on her feet ; Says I, ' It won't do him no harm to roid across his wheat.' XVI " So, toightly houdin on by th' yed, I hits th'owd mare a whop, Hoo plumps into the middle o' the wheatfield neck an' crop ; And when hoo floinder'd out on it I catch'd another spin. An', missis, that's the cagion o' the blood upo' my chin. XVII " I never oss'd another lep, but kep the lane, an then In twenty minutes' toini about they turn'd toart me agen ; The fox was foinly daggled, an' the tits aw out o' breath. When they kilt him in the open, an' owd Dobbin seed the death. 84 THE BLOOMING EVERGREEN XVIII " Loik dangling of a babby, then the Huntsman hove hnn up, The dugs a-baying roind him, while the gemman croid ' Whoo-hup ! ' As doesome cawves lick fleetings out o' th' piggin in the shed. They worried every inch of him, aw but his tail an' yed. XIX " Now, missis, sin' the markets be a-doing moderate well, Oiv welly maid my moind up just to buoy a nag mysel; For to keep a farmer's spirits up 'gen things be gettin low, Theer's nothin loik Fox-huntin' and a rattling Tally-ho ! " 1853. The Blooming Rvergree?i I ERE the adventurers, nicknamed Plantagenet, Buckled the helm on, their foes to dismay. They pluck'd a broom-sprig which they wore as a badge in it, Meaning thereby they would sweep them away. Long the genista shall flourish in story. Green as the laurels their chivalry won ; As the broom-sprig excited those heroes to glory, May the gorse-plant encourage our foxes to run. 85 HUNTING SONGS II Held by Diana in due estimation, Bedeck with a gorse-flower the goddess's shrine ; Throughout the wide range of this blooming creation, It has but one rival, and that one the vine. Pluck me then, Bacchus, a cluster, and, squeezing it. Pour the red juice till the goblet o'erflows ; Then in the joy of my heart, will I, seizing it. Drink to the land where this Evergreen grows. ^ Cheshire yumpers ^ IASK'D in much amazement, as I took my morning ride, " What means this monster meeting, that collects at Highwayside ? Who are ye ? and what strange event this gathering crowd excites } Are ye scarlet men of Babylon, or mounted Mor- mon ites t " II A bearded man on horseback answered blandly with a smile, — " Good Sir, no Canters are we, though we canter many a mile ; Nor will you find a Ranter here amongst our merry crew, Though if you seek a Roarer, there may chance be one or two. ^ Note 41. ^ Note 42. 86 CHESHIRE JUMPERS HI " With Shakers and with Quakers no connection, Sir, have we ; We are not Plymouth Brothers, Cheshire Jumpers though we be ; 'Tis mine between two champions bold to judge, if judge I can. And settle which, o'er hedge and ditch, will prove the better man. IV " Mark well these two conditions, he who falls upon the field. Or he whose horse refuses twice, the victory must yield." As thus he spake he strok'd his beard, and bade the champions go ; His beard was black as charcoal, but their faces white as snow. V The ladies wave their kerchiefs as the rival jumpers start, A smile of such encouragement might nerve the faintest heart ; The crowd that follow'd after with good wishes cheer'd them on, Some cried, " Stick to it, Thomas ! " others shouted, " Go it, John ! " 87 HUNTING SONGS VI Awake to competition, and alive to any game, From Manchester and Liverpool the speculators came ; They calculated nicely every chance of loss or gain ; Some stak'd their cash on cotton, some preferr'd the sugar-cane. VII Bold Thomas took precedence, as a proper man to lead, And straightway at a hedgerow cop he drove his gallant steed ; He's off — he's on — he's over — is bold Thomas in his seat ? Yes, the rider's in his saddle, and the horse is on his feet ! VIII Make way for John ! the Leicester Don ! John clear'd it far and wide. And scornfully he smil'd on it when landed t'other side ; The prelude thus accomplish'd without loss of life or limb, John's backers, much embolden'd, offer two to one on him. IX Now John led off ; the choice again was fixed upon a cop, A rotten ditch in front of it, a rail upon the top ; 88 CHESHIRE JUMPERS While shouts of " Bono Johnny ! " to the echoing hills were sent. He wink'd his eye, and at it, and right over it he went. X Hold him lightly, Thomas, lightly, give him freedom ere he bound. Why shape your course with so much force, to run yourself aground ? Thus against a Russian rampart goes a British cannon ball : Were Thomas at Sebastopol, how speedily 'twould fall! XI Would you gain that proud pre-eminence on which your rival stands. Upraise your voice, uprouse your horse, but slacken both your hands ; 'Tis vain, 'tis vain, his steed again stands planted in the ditch. The game is o'er, he tries no more, who makes a second hitch. XII Thus, unlike the wars of Lancaster and York, in days of yore. The Chester strife with Leicester unexpectedly was o'er ; We else had learnt which method best insures us from a fall, The Chester on-and-ofF step, or the Leicester, clear- ing all ? M 89 HUNTING SONGS XIII Whether breeches white, or breeches bro.wn, the more adhesive be, And which the more effective spur. Champagne or Eau-de-vie ? These, alas ! and other problems which their progress had reveal'd. Remain unsettled questions for the future hunting field. XIV One lesson learn, young ladies all, who came to see the show. Remember, in the race of life, once only to say " No " ; This moral, for your warning, to my ditty I attach, May ye ne'er by two refusals altogether lose a match ! 1854. Tarporley Hunt Song THE Eagle won Jupiter's favour. The Sparrow to Venus was dear. The Owl of Minerva, though graver, We want not its gravity here ; The Swallow flies fast, but remember The Swallow with Summer is gone ; What bird is there left in November To rival the Tarporley Swan ? 90 TARPORLEY HUNT SONG II Though scarlet in colour our clothing, Our collars though green in their hue, The red cap of liberty loathing. Each man is at heart a True Blue ; Through life 'tis our sworn resolution, To stick to the pig-skin and throne ; We are all for a good constitution. Each man taking care of his own. Ill Though the Sailor, who rides on the ocean. With cheers may encounter the foe ; Wind and steam, what are they to horse motion ? Sea cheers, to a land Tally-ho ? The canvas, the screw, and the paddle The speed of a thorough-bred lack. When fast in the fox-hunting saddle We gallop astern of the pack. IV Qussitum, that standard of merit, Where each his true level may know. Checks pride in the haughty of spirit, Emboldens the timid and slow ; The liquor that sparkles before us. The dumb when they drink it can speak. While the deaf in the roar of our chorus A cure for their malady seek. 91 HUNTING SONGS V Forget not that other Red Jacket, Turn'd up with green laurel and bay ! The tri-colour'd banners that back jt ! The might of their mingled array ! Forget not the deeds that unite 'em As comrades, though rivals in fame ; But fill to the brim that quassitum Which Friendship and Chivalry claim. 1855. A Remonstrance on Lord Sta?ileys Sugges- tion that the Session of Parliame7it should be held during the Winter Months. JOY ! when November bids our sport begin. When ringing echoes through the vale resound, When light of heart we to the saddle bound. And health and pleasure from the pastime win. These must I barter for the Senate's din ? Fcego the music of the tuneful hound For midnight rant in adverse clamour drown'd ? Lay by the whip to be myself whipp'd in ? Debaters ! listen, while the Chace propounds Her precepts — words too many work delay ; Your babblers draft, as we our tonguey hounds ; Rate without mercy those who riot run ; Let those speak only who have ought to say. Speak to the point, and stop when they have done. 1855. 92 HIGHWAYSIDE Highwayside A FAVOURITE FIXTURE DURING THE CHESHIRE DIFFICULTY I RARE luck for the Cheshire, warn'd out from the field, That the Highway such endless diversion can yield ; That the Huntsman can still w^ith no covers to draw, Blow his horn on the road without breaking the law. II 'Twixt highways and byeways still ringing the change. From gravel and sand to McAdam they range ; When quite on the pave their gallop restrain. And a jog-trot enjoy down a hard Cheshire lane. Ill Steeds good in dirt, let the feather-weights urge Slapdash through the mud that encumbers the verge. Let heavy ones follow the track of the 'Bus, Shouting, Ibis in medio tutissimus. IV They may jump on and off o'er the broken stone heap. In triangular fenders fine timber to leap. The towing path too ,may afford them a run Just to keep the game going and vary the fun. 93 HUNTING SONGS V No alarm the most timid old gentleman feels. Babes may perambulate, hunting on wheels ; Dyspepsy and gout the amusement may share, So go it, ye cripples ! and take a Bath chair. VI The use of the milestone, now coaching is done. Is to measure exactly the length of a run ; While each tap on the road they alternately try. Till Tom sees two double with only one eye. VII With such sport has this mud-larkinglatelysupplied 'em. The Huntsman has call'd his crack horse Rodum- Sidum, Who dare say these hounds have had nothing to do, Highwayside for their fixture the whole season through ? 1856. Coimt JVar7ioff I WHEN the war with our Muscovite foemen was o'er. Then the Offs and the Koffs came to visit our shore ; Their hard and stern features your heart would appal, But the face of Count Warnoff was sternest of all ; A terrible man was Count WarnofF ! As cold as the snow That envelops Moscow Was the heart of this horrid Count Warnoff! 94 COUNT WARNOFF II Woe ! woe ! to the sport of the fox-hunting Squire When the Count set his foot in this peaceable shire ! So clean his own hands, his own morals so strict, A hole in each Redcoat he presently pick'd ; Such a virtuous man was Count WarnofF ! Without speck of dirt You must ride with clean skirt If the wrath you'd avert of Count WarnofF ! Ill The Count could not tolerate foible or folly. He never made love, and he never got jolly ; He vow'd that fox-hunting he'd have at no price Unless horses and men were alike free from vice ; Such a virtuous man was Count WarnofF ! We must all be good boys Or farewell to the joys Of the chace, if we nettle Count WarnofF! IV Low whisper'd the huntsman (lest mischief befall him), " I don't like the look of that Count What-d'ye- call him ? " Tom wink'd his blind eye as he lifted his cap, " He's a rum 'un, sir, ain't he, that Muscovy chap ? " Such a terrible bugbear was WarnofF! Not a brush, nor a pad In the shire could be had. Such a terrible bugbear was WarnofF ! 95 HUNTING SONGS V He lock'd all the gates, and he wir'd all the gaps. And the woods were all plan ted wi th spikes andsteel traps ; No more the earth-stoppers were dragg'd their warm beds off. The nags in the stable stood eating their heads off; Such a terrible man was Count Warnoff ! Little children grew pale As their nurse told the tale Of this terrible ogre, Count Warnoff ! VI Cheer up, my good fellows. Count Warnoff is gone ! Gone back to the banks of the Volga and Don ; He may warn us, and welcome, from off his own snow. From the land where no fox-hunter wishes to go ; But to bother our pack May he never come back To this peaceable county. Count Warnoff ! 1857. Le Gros- Veneur SUNG AT THE TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING, NOVEMBER 1 858 I A MIGHTY great hunter in deed and in name To our shirelong ago with the Conqueror came; A-hunting he went with his bugle and bow, And he shouted in Normandy-French " Tally-Ho ! " 'The man we now place at the head of our Chace Can his pedigree trace from Le Gros-Veneur ; 96 HUGH, DUKE OF WESTMINSTER, K.G. From a painting by Sir J. E. Millais, R.A. LE GROS-VENEUR II 'Tis a maxim by fox-hunters well understood, That in horses and hounds there is nothing like blood : So the chief who the fame of our kennel maintains Should be born with the purest of blood in his veins ! 'The man we now place at the head of our Chace Can his pedigree trace frojn Le Gros-Veneur / III Old and young with delight shall the Gros-Veneur greet. The field once again in good fellowship meet. The shire with one voice shall re-echo our choice. And again the old pastime all Cheshire rejoice ! May the sport we ensure ?nany seasons endure. And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur f IV Though no more, as of yore, a long-bow at his back, Now a Gros-Veneur guides us and governs our pack ; Again let each earth-stopper rise from his bed, This year they shall all be well fee'd and well fed. May the sport we ensure many seasons endure. And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur / N 97 HUNTING SONGS Let Geoffrey with smiles and with shillings restore Good humour when housewives their poultry de- plore, Well pleas'd, for each goose on which Reynard has prey'd To find in their pockets a golden egg laid ! May the sport we ensure matiy seasons endure^ And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur ! VI Should our Chief with the toil of the senate grow pale, The elixir of life is a ride o'er the vale ; There, of health, says the song, he shall gain a new stock " Till his pulse beats the seconds as true as a clock." May the sport we ensure many seasons endure. And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur ! VII I defy Norman-dy now to send a Chasseur Who can ride alongside of our own Gros-Veneur ! And, couching my lance, I will challenge all France To outvie the bright eye of the Lady Constance ! Long, long, may she grace with her presence our Chace, The Bride and the T'ride of Le Gros-Veneur ! 98 THE KEEPER The Keeper RUFUS KNOX, his lordship's keeper, is a formid- able chap, So at least think all who listen to his swagger at the tap ; Ain't he up to poachers ? ain't he down upon 'em too ? This very night he'd face and fight a dozen of the crew. II With the Squire who hunts the country he is ever in disgrace, For " Vulpicide " is written in red letters on his face ; His oath that in one cover he a brace of foxes saw. Is the never-failing prelude that foretokens a blank draw. Ill The mousing owl he spares not, flitting through the twilight dim. The beak it wears, it is, he swears, too hook'd a one for him ; In every woodland songster he suspects a secret foe. His earno music toucheth, save the roosting pheasant's crow. 99 HUNTING SONGS IV His stoppers and his beaters, for the battue day array 'd. Behold him in his glory at the head of the brigade ; That day on which a twelvemonth's toil triumphantly is crown'd, That day to him the pivot upon which the year turns round. V There is a spot where birds are shot by fifties as they If envious of that station you must tip him on the sly; Conspicuous on the slaughter-card if foremost you would be, That place like other places must be purchas'd with a fee. A Railway Accident with the Cheshire FEBRUARY 5, 1 859 I BY the side of Poole cover last Saturday stood A hundred good horses, both cocktail and blood ; Nor long stood they idle, three deep in array. Ere Reynard by Edwards was hallo'd away. 100 A RAILWAY ACCIDENT II Away ! over meadow, away ! over plough, Away ! down the dingle, away ! up the brow ! "If you like not that fence, sir, get out of the way. If one minute you lose you may lose the whole day." Ill Away ! through the evergreens, — laurel and box. They may screen a cock-robin but not a run fox ; As he pass'd the henroost at the Rookery Hall, " Excuse me," said pug, " I have no time to call." IV The rail to our left and the river in front Into two rival parties now sever'd the hunt ; I will tell by-and-by which were right and which wrong. Meanwhile let us follow the fox with our song. V Away ! to the Weaver, whose banks are soft sand, "Look out, boys, ahead, there's a horse-bridge at hand." One by one the frail plank we cross'd cautiously o'er, I had time just to count that we number'd a score. VI Though fast fox and hounds, there were men, by my troth. Whose ambition it was to go faster than both ; If that grey in the skurry escap'd a disaster. Little thanks the good animal ow'd to its master. lOI HUNTING SONGS VII Now Hornby went crashing through bullfinch and rail With Brancker beside him on Murray's rat tail ; Two green collars only were seen in this flight. Squire Warburton one, and the other John White. VIII Where was Massey, who found us the fox that we run ? Where Philip the father ? where Philip the son ? Where was Grosvenor our Guide ? where was bold Shrewsberie ? We had with us one Earle, how I wish we'd had th ree 1 IX Where Talbot ? where Lyon ? though sailing away They were both sadly out of their bearings that day; Where Lascelles, De Trafford, Brooke, Corbet, and Court ? They must take return tickets if bent upon sport. X Sailors, railers, and tailors ! what can you now do ? If you hope to nick in, the next station is Crewe ; Second-class well dispers'd, it was only class first Which, escaping the boiler, came in for the burst ! 102 A RAILWAY ACCIDENT XI Away ! with red rowel, away ! with slack rein For twenty-five minutes to Wistaston Lane, Where a check gave relief both to rider and horse. Where again the split field re-united its force. XII From that point we turn'd back and continued our chace To the gorse where we found, but more sober the pace ; Reynard, skirting Poole Hall, trying sand-earth and drain. Was at length by the pack, who deserv'd him, o'erta'en. XIII While they worry their fox a short word I would say. Of advice to those riders who rode the wrong way, Who were forc'd to put up with skim-milk for their fun, For the skurry had skimm'd off the cream of the run : XIV " As a coverside hack you may prudently stick To the line of the rail, it is easy and quick ; But when fox and fast hounds on a skurry are bent. The line you should stick to is that of the scent." 103 HUNTING SONGS "Tar po?' Icy Hunt Song 1859 NAMES, honour'd of old, on our Club-book enroll'd. It were shame should their successors slight 'em, They who Horace could quote, and who first of all wrote On our Tarporley glasses " Quassitum '' ; O, famous Quassitum ! Famous in story Quaesitum ! There has pass'd very nigh a full century by Since our fathers first filled a Qussitum. II Old Bacchus so jolly, who hates melancholy. Our founders, how can he requite 'em ? From the land of the vine let the best of his wine Be reserv'd to o'erflow the Qussitum ; O, famous Qussitum ! Jolly Bacchus, fill up the QujEsitum ! Whether claret or port, it must be the best sort, If it fit be to fill a Quassitum. Ill The goblet, methinks, from which Jupiter drinks. With thunder-cheer ter repetitum. Since when Juno was gone he turn'd into the Swan, Should be chang'd for a crystal Quaesitum ; 104 TARPORLEY HUNT SONG O, famous Qussitum ! Fit for Olympus, Qussitum ! Cup-bearer Hebe, how happy would she be With nectar to fill a Quxsitum. IV Those who dar'd with rude eye at Diana to spy, She unkennel'd her pack to affright 'em ; She who smiles with delight on our banquet to- night, Bids us fill to the chace a Qussitum ; Fill, fill the Quaesitum ! To the heart-stirring chace a Qussitum ; She who sheds her bright beam upon fountain and stream With her smile shall make bright the Qussitum. One bumper still let all fox-hunters fill, 'Tis a toast that will fondly excite 'em, Since the brave can alone claim the fair as their own, Let us drink to our loves a Quassitum ; Fill, fill the Quassitum ! A glowing o'erflowing Quaesitum ! From Beauty's sweet lip he who kisses would sip, With his own must first kiss the Quaesitum. o 105 HUNTING SONGS VI Again ere I end, all who foxes befriend, Let a bumper thrice honour'd delight 'em. May the forward and fast still be up at the last. Give the slow ones another Qussitum ; Fill, fill the QucBsitum ! To good fellows all a Quxsitum ! Let him fast be or slow, each shall prove ere we go. An excuse for another Quxsitum. A " "Burst " in the Ball Week JANUARY 19, i860 WE had danc'd the night through. Till the candles burnt blue, But were all in the saddle next morn ; Once again with Tom Ranee, In broad daylight to dance To the music of hollo and horn. II We were all giddy still With the waltz and quadrille. When arous'd by the loud " Tally-ho ! " I must tune my fast rhyme Up to double-quick time. For the movement was prestissimo. 106 A "BURST" IN THE BALL WEEK III The fox by one hound Near the Smoker was found — As he wip'd that dog's nose with his brush, " I don't mean to die," Said bold Reynard, " not I ; Nor care I for Edwards one rush." IV With a fox of such pluck, 'Twas a piece of rare luck That no ploughboy to turn him was near ; That no farmer was there At the gem'men to swear. No tailor to head his career. Some, to lead off the ball. Get away first of all. Some linger too long at poussette ; Down the middle some go. In the deep ditch below. Thrown out ere they up again get. VI One, pitch'd from his seat. Was compell'd with wet feet, His heels in the gutter to cool ; While his horse, in full swing, Danc'd a new Highland fling. He himself stood and danc'd a pas seal. lOJ HUNTING SONGS VII "Tell me, Edwards," said one. When the skurry was done, " How long were we running this rig ? " " To keep time, indeed, sir, I little take heed, sir. When dancing the Tally-ho jig. VIII But the time I can tell. And the spot I know well. Where the huntsman his fox overtook ; Twenty-five minutes good. When he reach'd Arley Wood, Where he died on the banks of the brook. IX I could name the few first Who went best in this burst ; I could tell how the steady ones rac'd ; But since all were content With the pace themselves went. What matters it where they were plac'd ? X If a live fox should run, As that dead one has done. O'er this country again, by good chance, May I have my fleet bay For a partner that day, And be just where I was in the dance. i| 108 NEWSTYLE AND OLDSTYLE Farmer Newstyk mtd Farmer Oldstyle " /^~> OOD day," said Farmer Oldstyle, taking v_J Newstyle by the arm ; " I be cum to look aboit me, wilt 'ee show me o'er thy farm ? " Young Newstyle took his wideawake, and lighted a cigar. And said, " Won't I astonish you, old-fashioned as you are ! II " No doubt you have an aneroid ? ere starting, you shall see How truly mine prognosticates what weather there will be." " I aint got no such gimcrack, but I knows there'll be a slush When I sees th' oud ram tak' shelter wi' his tail agen a bush." Ill " Allow me, first, to show you the analysis I keep, And the compounds to explain of this experimental heap. Where hydrogen, and nitrogen, and oxygen abound. To hasten germination and to fertilize the ground." 109 HUNTING SONGS IV " A pratty soight o' laming you have pil'd up of a ruck ; The only name it went by in my feyther's time was muck ; I knows not how that tool you calls a nollysis may work ; I turns it, when it's rotten, pretty handy wi' a fork." V " A famous pen of Cotswolds ! Pass your hand along the back — Fleeces fit for stuffing the Lord Chancellor's woolsack ! For premiums e'en Inquisitor would own these wethers are fit ; If you want to purchase good 'uns you must go to Mr. Garfit. VI " Two bulls first-rate, of different breeds — the judges all protest Both are so super-excellent, they know not which is best ; Fair, could he see this Ayrshire, would with jealousy be ril'd, That hairy one's a Welshman, and was bred by Mr. Wild." VII " Well, well, that little hairy bull he shanna be so bad ; But what be yonder beast I hear a-bellowing like mad, I ID NEWSTYLE AND OLDSTYLE A snortin' fire and smoke out ? — be it some big Roosian gun ? Or be it twenty bullocks squz together into one ? " VIII " My steam Factotum that, sir, doing all I have to do— My ploughman, and my reaper, and my jolly thrasher, too ; Steam's yet but in its infancy, no mortal man alive Can tell to what perfection modern farming will arrive." IX " Steam, as yet, is but an infant " — He had scarcely said the word When through the tottering farmstead was a loud explosion heard ; The engine dealing death around, destruction and dismay ; Though steam be but an infant, this indeed was no child's play. X The women scream'd like blazes as the blazing hay- rick burn'd. The sucking pigs were in a crack all into crackling turn'd ; Grill'd chickens clog the hen-coop, roasted ducklings choke the gutter. And turkeys round the poultry-yard on devil'd pinions flutter. 1 1 1 HUNTING SONGS XI Two feet deep in buttermilk the stoker's two feet lie, The cook, before she bakes it, finds a finger in the pie ; The labourers for their lost legs were looking round the farm. They could not lend a hand because they had not got an arm. XII Oldstyle, all soot from head to foot, look'd like a big black sheep ; Newstyle was thrown upon his own experimental heap : " That weather-glass," said Oldstyle, " canna be in proper fettle. Or it might as well a tou'd us there was thunder in the kettle." XIII " Steam is so expansive." " Ay," said Oldstyle, " so I see ; So expensive, as you call it, that it wunna do for me ; According to my notion, that's a beast that canna pay, Who champs up for his morning feed a hundred ton o' hay." XIV Then to himself, said Oldstyle, as he homewards quickly went, " I'll tak' no farm where th' doctor's bill be heavier than the rent ; I 12 HOME WITH THE HOUNDS I've never in hot water been ; steam shanna speed my plough, I vv^ould Hefer thrash my oats out by the sweat of my own brow. XV " I neether want to scald my pigs, nor toast my cheese, not I, Afore the butcher sticks 'em, or the factor comes to buy ; They shanna catch me here again to risk my limbs and loif ; I've nought at whoam to blow me up, except it be my woif." Home with the Hounds ; or, the Hu?ttsma7z' s Lament OVER-RIDDEN ! over-ridden ! All along of that the check ; When the ditch that gemman slid in. Don't I wish he'd broke his neck. I to hunt my hounds am able. Would the field but play me fair ; Mobb'd at Smithfield by the rabble. Who a fox could follow there ? 113 HUNTING SONGS II Let the tinker ride his kettle, Let the tailor ride his goose. How can hounds to hunting settle With the like o' them let loose ? What's the use on't when he scrambles Through a run that butchers tit ? Butcher'd foxhounds for the shambles They be neither fat nor fit. Ill What's the use o' jockies thumping Wi' their 'andwhips bits of blood ? Tits by instinct shy of jumping. For they could not if they would ; Though the snob, who cannot guide her. Mounts the mare as draws his trap ; 'Taint the red coat makes the rider. Leathers, boots, nor yet the cap. IV They who come their coats to show, they Better were at home in bed ; What of hounds and hunting know they ? Nothing else but " go ahead " ; At the Kennel I could train 'em. If they would but come to school, Two and two in couples chain 'em. Feed on meal, and keep 'em cool. 114 HOME WITH THE HOUNDS Gemmen, gemmen, shame upon 'em, Plague my heart out worse than all. Worse than Bowdon mobs at Dunham, Worse than cobblers at Poole Hall ; Spurring at a fence their clippers, When the hounds are in the rear ! Reg'lar gemmen ! self and whippers Tipping reg'lar once a year ! Well ! soft solder next I'll try on, Rating only riles a swell ; Mister Brancker ! Mister Lyon ! Mister Hornby ! — hope you're well ; 'Taint the pack that I'm afraid on, And I likes to see you first. But when so much steam be laid on Beant you fear'd the copper'll burst ? VII 'Eantipole^ I see'd him sprawling Underneath a horse's hoof ; T'ruJence only heerd me calling Just in time to keep aloof ; Vulcan lam'd for life ! Old Victor Ne'er again will he show fight ; Venus, sin' that gelding kick'd her, Aint he spoilt her beauty quite ? 115 HUNTING SONGS VIII Gentlemen, unto my thinking, Should behave themselves as sich ; 'Tik'lar when the scent is sinking. And the hounds are at a hitch ; How my temper can I master. Fretted till I fume and foam ? I can only backwards cast, or Blow my horn and take 'em home. We are all of iis Tailors in Tur7t I I WILL sing you a song of a fox-hunting bout. They shall tell their own tale who to-day were thrown out ; For the fastest as well as the slowest of men. Snobs or top-sawyers, alike now and then. We are all of us tailors in turn. II Says one, " From the cover I ne'er got away. Old Quidnunc sat quoting The Tunes on his Grey, How Lord Derby was wrong, and Lord Aberdeen right. And the hounds, ere he finished, were clean out of sight." We are all of us tailors in turn. ii6 WE ARE ALL OF US TAILORS IN TURN From an etching by Hablot K. Browtie {"Phiz") ^/"^^1'r >'T PO'n IT AT 5T1 TTn T TA T rT j .' 1 ■■; ,■■■.:■^■^^\ . A '.' ^J ^f/. 0^*-! ALL OF US TAILORS IN TURN III Says one, " When we started o'er fallow and grass, I was close at the tail of the hounds, but, alas ! We came down to a drain in that black-bottom'd fen, 0 had I but been on my brook-jumper, then ! " — We are all of us tailors in turn. IV " Dismounting," says one, " at a gate that was fast. The crowd, pushing through, knock'd me down as it pass'd ; My horse seized the moment to take his own fling, Who'll again do, out hunting, a good-natured thing ! " We are all of us tailors in turn. V " Down the lane went I merrily sailing along. Till I found," says another, " my course was all wrong ; 1 thought that his line toward the breeding-earth lay. But he went, I've heard since, just the opposite way." We are all of us tailors in turn. VI From the wine-cup o'er night some were sorry and sick, Some skirted, some cran'd, and some rode for a nick ; Like whales in the water some flounder'd about, Thrown off and thrown in, they were also thrown out. We are all of us tailors in turn. 117 HUNTING SONGS VII " You will find in the field a whole ton of lost shoes." — A credulous blacksmith, believing the news, Thought his fortune were made if he walk'd o'er the ground ; — He lost a day's work, but he ne'er a shoe found ! We are all of us tailors in turn. VIII What deeds would one hero have done on his Grey, Who was nowhere at all on his Chestnut to-day ! All join in the laugh when a braggart is beat, And that jest is lov'd best which is aim'd at conceit. We are all of us tailors in turn. IX Good fellows there are, unpretending and slow, Who can ne'er be thrown out, for they ne'er mean to go ; But, when the run's over, these oftentimes tell The story far better than they who went well. We are all of us tailors in turn. X How trifling a cause will oft lose us a run ! From the find to the finish how few see the fun ! A mischance, it is call'd, when we come to a halt ; I ne'er heard of one who confess'd it a fault. Yet we're all of us tailors in turn. ii8 A WORD ERE WE START From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ") A WORD ERE WE START B A Word ere we Start I OYS, to the hunting-field ! though 'tis November, The wind's in the south ; — but a word ere we start. — Though keenly excited, I bid you remember That hunting's a science, and riding an art. II The order of march and the due regulation That guide us in warfare, we need in the chace — Huntsman and Whip, each his own proper station. Horse, hound and fox, each his own proper place. Ill The fox takes precedence of all from the cover ; The horse is an animal purposely bred After the pack to be ridden, not over — Good hounds are not rear'd to be knocked on the head. IV Strong be your tackle, and carefully fitted. Breast-plate and bridle, girth, stirrup, and chain ; You will need not two arms, if the mouth be well bitted. One hand lightly used will suffice for the rein. 119 HUNTING SONGS Buckskin's the only wear fit for the saddle ; Hats for Hyde Park, but a cap for the chace ; In tops of black leather let fishermen paddle, The calves of a fox-hunter white ones incase. VI If your horse be well bred and in blooming condition, Both up to the country and up to your weight, O, then give the reins to your youthful ambition. Sit down in your saddle and keep his head straight ! VII Pastime for princes ! — prime sport of our nation ! Strength in their sinew and bloom on their cheek ; Health to the old, to the young recreation ; All for enjoyment the hunting-field seek. VIII Eager and emulous only, not spiteful ; — Grudging no friend, though ourselves he may beat ; Just enough danger to make sport delightful ! Toil just sufficient to make slumber sweet ! Hard-riding Dick I FROM the cradle his name has been " Hard- riding Dick," Since the time when cock-horse he bestraddled a stick ; Since thetime when, unbreech'd, without saddle or rein, He kick'd the old donkey along the green lane. I20 HARD-RIDING DICK From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ") U^^ /^ HARD-RIDING DICK II Dick, wasting no time o'er the classical page, Spent his youth in the stable without any wage ; The life of poor Dick, when he entered his teens, Was to sleep in the hay-loft and breakfast on beans. Ill Promoted at length, Dick's adventures began : — A stripling on foot, but when mounted a man ; Capp'd, booted, and spurr'd, his young soul was on fire. The day he was dubb'd "Second Whip" to the Squire. IV See, how Dick, like a dart, shoots a-head of the pack ; How he stops, turns, and twists, rates, and rattles them back ! The laggard exciting, controlling the rash. He can comb down a hair with the point of his lash. V O ! show me that country which Dick cannot cross — Be it open or wood, be it upland or moss, Through the fog or the sunshine, the calm or the squall. By day-light or star-light, or no light at all ! VI Like a swallow can Dick o'er the water-flood skim. And Dick, like a duck, in the saddle can swim ; Up the steep mountain-side like a cat he can crawl. He can squeeze like a mouse through a hole in the wall! Q 121 HUNTING SONGS VII He can tame the wild young one, inspirit the old, The restive, the runaw^ay, handle and hold ; Sharp steel or soft-solder, which e'er does the trick, It makes little matter to Hard-riding Dick. VIII Bid the chief from the Desert bring hither his mare. To ride o'er the plain against Dick if he dare ; Bring Cossack or Mexican, Spaniard or Gaul, There's a Dick in our village will ride round them all! IX A whip is Dick's sceptre, a saddle Dick's throne. And a horse is the kingdom he rules as his own ; While grasping ambition encircles the earth. The dominions of Dick are enclosed in a girth. Three ribs hath he broken, two legs, and one arm. But there hangs, it is said, round his neck a life- charm ; Still long odds are offer'd that Dick, when he drops. Will die, as he lived, in his breeches and tops, 122 THOMPSON'S TRIP TO EPSOM Thoftipsoji s Trip to Epsom I KIND friends ! delighted Thompson ! on the night he came to town They said : " If up to Epsom, we will call and take you down." Next morn, ere Boots awoke him, there was seen at Thompson's door The coach the ladies sat in and the satin that they wore. II Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! how could he his bacon save, How cut his mutton-chops up when his own he could not shave ? Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " Waiter, say we cannot wait ; " With friends so fast his fate it was to fast upon a fate ! Ill " We're full inside, for empties there's an empty dicky free," Alas ! ere long with Thompson's heart all dicky will it be ; Her beaming eye who tied his veil pierc'd thro' him like a lance, Of what avail was such a veil to shield from such a glance ? 123 HUNTING SONGS IV Forgetting soon his breakfast spoon he takes a spoony turn, His heart feels hot within him like a heater in the urn ; A sudden slip 'twixt cup and lip to Beauty from Bohea, His tea no more he misses, thinks no more of Mrs. T. A lottery they needs must have upon the Derby day. Fair fingers cut the tickets, so of course it was fair play ; My Lord, who draws the favourite, o'erwhelms them with his thanks. Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! so they hand him all the blanks. VI Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! it was whisper'd in a tone Which meant, if words a meaning have, " How hungry we are grown ! " Poor Thompson sigh'd as they untied the hamper, Thompson's sigh. Say was it for his ladie-love or for the pigeon pie ? VII Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! looking down he now surveys The fair insiders filling their inside with mayonnaise ; For the luncheon stakes disqualified was Thompson, they declare, ' A stomach twice as empty as their own would not be fair. 124 THOMPSON'S TRIP TO EPSOM VIII Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " Super-excel- lent this ham." Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " What a tender bit of lamb." Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " I prefer the dry champagne." Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " May I trouble you again ? " IX When done at last their own repast poor Thompson, better late Than never, got possession of the hamper and a plate, With two rejected drumsticks on a hollow dish he drums, And chirps are heard as dicky-bird picks up the scatter'd crumbs. Once more at home see Thompson, in his breakfast parlour chair. He knew better than to quarrel with his bread and butter there ; His wife with indignation of his aching stomach heard, Of the heartache which had troubled him he whisper'd not a word. 125 HUNTING SONGS A Moc/ern Stable BEHOLD the new stable his lordship has built, Its walls and its stalls painted, varnish'd and gilt ; No prince in his palace. King, Sultan, or Czar, Was e'er lodg'd in such state as these quadrupeds are. II Pitchfork and bucket, chain, buckle and rack, Burnish'd up till they shine like the coats on their back ; I scarce know on which most applause to bestow, On the gildings above or the geldings below. Ill What I marvell'd at most, in the front of each stall Why a slab of blue slate should be fix'd in the wall ? Why a horse (and the query still puzzles my pate) Like a schoolboy should stand with his eyes on a slate ? IV Must the heads of our horses be cramm'd now-a-day With learning as well as their bellies with hay ? Must our yearlings be coach'd till their little go won, The trainer has taught them *' to read as they run." 126 LIFE OF ASSHETON SMITH 0?i Reading in the " T'ijnes" April 9, 1 860, a Critique on the Life of Assheton Smith THE mighty Hunter taken to his rest, His cherish'd sport now points the critic's jest, Fleas'd of a sect facetiously to tell A " meet " their heaven and a frost their hell. Who blindly follow, clad in coats of pink, A beast whose nature is to run and stink ; When view'd,with shoutsof frantic joy they greet him. Forbearing still, when they have kill'd, to eat him. His head enshrin'd within a crystal case. His " brush," a relic, on their walls they place. In mad devotion to this beast unclean. Encountering " Bullfinches " (whate'er that mean) They ride to fall and rise again forthwith, A sect whose great high-priest was Assheton Smith. Let him who laughs our noble sport to scorn, Meet me next year at Melton or at Quorn ; Let the first train by which his bolts are sped Bring down the Thunderer himself instead. My cover hack (not Stamford owns a finer) Can canter glibly like a penny-a-liner ; Free of my stable let him take the pick. Not one when mounted but can do the trick ; Fast as his pen can run, if he can ride. The foremost few will find him at their side ; His leader left unfinished on the shelf. To prove a leading article himself ! 127 HUNTING SONGS With closing daylight, when our pastime ends, Together dining, we will part good friends ; And home returning to his gas-lit court, His mind enlighten'd by a good day's sport, Of hounds and hunting some slight knowledge then Shall guide the goose-quill, when he writes again. Tar porky Swan - Hopp i?ig ' NOVEMBER 6, I 862 1 WHEN a Swan takes to singing they say she will die, But our Tarporley Swan proves that legend a lie ; For a hundred years past she has swung at this door. May she swing there and sing there a thousand years more ! II l^ara avis in terris our Swan though not black. Though white her own pinions and white her own back, Still her flock, in November full-feather'd, are seen Resplendent in plumage of scarlet and green. Ill Heralds sayshe is sprung from that White Swanof yore Which our Sires at Blore Heath tothe battle-field bore; When Qucesitum tneritis, loyal and true. Their swords Cheshire men for Queen Margaret drew. * Note 43. 128 TARPORLEY SWAN-HOPPING IV To and fro in her flight she has travers'd the Vale, She has lov'd on an ocean of claret to sail ; Whate'er takes her fancy she thinks it no sin, So her dancing-days, now she's a hundred, begin. You have heard in your youth of the Butterfly's Ball, How the birds and the beasts she invited them all ; So the Tarporley Swan, not a whit less gallant, Invites all her friends to a Soiree dansante. VI Lest her flock at the Ball should themselves misbehave, The old Swan thus a lecture on etiquette gave : " Though, my sons, o'er the Vale you make light of a fall, Beware how you make a false step at the Ball. vit " In a valse if o'ercome by the whirl and the swing, You your partner may fan with the tip of your wing ; But expand not your pinions, 'twere folly to try. In vain would their vastness with crinoline vie. VIII " When you sail down the middle, or swim through a dance. With grace and with stateliness Swan-like, advance. Let your entrance, your exit no waddle disclose. But hold all your heads up, and turn out your toes. R 129 HUNTING SONGS IX "To the counsel convey'd in these motherly words Give heed, and I trust you will all be good birds ; I give you my blessing and bid you begone, So away to the Ball with you, every one." On the Proposed Division oj the Cheshire Country 1865 FARMER DOBBIN AGAIN, OR, IT WONNA DO I FARMER DOBBIN ! you've heerd talk of him afore now, (My woif ou's a-nursing at whoam a nesh cow). So a sope o' good woin wi' you green-collar gents, While I spake up moi mind, and I hope no offence. II T'other day Maister Fair and moisel had a chat, " Farmer Dobbin," says he, " do ye know what they're at ? " " No," says I. " Well," says he, " I have heerd a strange tale : They're for starting a new pack o' dogs in the Vale." Ill That's a fou nut to crack, if it beant spoke in jest. It be worse boi the half than this forrin cow-pest ; SoOithoug't Oi'dmake bowdjust to step up to-noight, And to tell you moisel that that cock wonna fight. 130 FARMER DOBBIN AGAIN IV I know what lois is, for Oi've lived long enough. We mun talc' as it comes, baith the smooth and the rough ; What ! sloice off the Vale ? Why Oi'd welly as lief Have the fat aw cut off from moi Sunday roast-beef. For our Parliament men it wur aw mighty fine To score the owd county in two wi' a loin ; Four members, aw reet uns, they say, to give maith, Two for the North end and two for the Saith ; VI But this new-fangled split — now, I tell 'em aw four, If they bean't plump agen it I'll back 'em no more ; Sir Philip himsel', nor his brother staits/w^/;, They shall nere catch a vote from owd Dobbin agen. VII What say crack sportsmen ? Squoir Tollemache ? Squoir Glegg ? ^ S Squoir Dixon, the longest of aw in the leg ? V ^ What says Squoir Geoffrey ? — a mon of some weight. One who hears pratty 'cute when there's mischief agate. VIII And them two little birds that floy, hopping the twig, What think brother Cissy and Guss o' this rig ? Has your huntsman been tould what a loss will befall him ? And what says your poet, low-rate, as you call him ? 131 HUNTING SONGS IX Owd Sir Harry, he'd canter to Saighton one morn, And the next be at Tidnock a-woinding his horn ; Sartin sure, could th' owd manager hear it tawk'd o'er, He would jump from his grave to the saddle once more. Your chairman, Bowd Scarlet, a bumper disarves, A hero who never does nothing by halves. Ask him, and he'll soon finish up the discussion. He never cut nothing in two but a Russian. XI The Fenians they say be a-coming red hot, To blow us i' pieces wi' powder and shot ; " Young Ireland " in toim may owd England upset. But we donna want here a " Young Cheshire " — not yet. XII As to haulving the Hunt betwixt owd pack and new, Oi'd as soon think o' cutting moi missis in two ; To our Queen and our Country let aw on us stick, To th' owd Pack, to th' owd Kennel, and four days a wik. 132 KILLING NO MURDER Killijtg no Murder I KNOW not — search all England round, If better Huntsman can be found, A bolder rider or a neater. When mounted for the field, than Peter ; But this I know, there is not one So bent on blood as Collison. Hear now the doctrine he propounds, All ye who love to follow hounds : — Says he, " Since first my horn was blown. This maxim have I made my own ; Kill if you can with sport ; — but still — Or with it or without it — kill. A feather in my cap to pin, A fresh one every brush I win ! That fox is doom'd who seeks for rest In gorse or spinney when distrest ; Though far and fast he may have sped. He counts for nothing till he's dead. I hold that Whip not worth his pay. Who fails to keep him there at bay ; When round and round the coverside The mounted mob, like madmen, ride. Now cross him here, now head him there. While shouts and clamour rend the air. Spare him, the gentle folk may say. To live and fight another day ; When April ends the hunting year. How then should I in Bell appear .? 133 HUNTING SONGS Or how my brother Huntsmen face If short of booking fifty brace ? Excuse me, gentlemen, I say. My hounds have had but two to-day." On Peter Collison s late Fall 1868 BAD luck betide that treacherous spot Where Peter's horse, though at a trot, Roll'd over, hurling headlong there A Huntsman whom we ill could spare ; As there he lay and gasp'd for breath. Unconscious quite and pale as death. The clinging hounds around him yell. And wailing moans their sorrow tell. Let , who over-rides them all, Take warning by our Huntsman's fall ; When such shall be that rider's fate (And his it will be soon or late). They o'er the downfall of their foe Will not upraise the voice of woe ; When prostrate, if the pack should greet him With open mouths, 'twill be to eat him. 134 SIR CHARLES SLINGSBY AND HIS HORSE "SALTFISH" From a photograph RIDING TO HOUNDS Ridi7ig to Hounds No inconsiderate rashness, or vain appetite Of false encountering formidable things ; But a true science of distinguishing Ben Jonson. AS when two dogs in furious combat close, k. The bone forgotten whence the strife arose. Some village cur secures the prize unseen, And, while the mastiffs battle, picks it clean ; So when two horsemen, jostling side by side. Heed not the pack, but at each other ride. More glorious still the loftier fences deem, And face the brook where widest flows the stream ; One breathless steed, when spurs no more avail. Rolls o'er the cop, and hitches on the rail ; ' One floundering lies — to watery ditch consign'd, While laughing schoolboy leaves them both behind, Pricks on his pony 'till the brush be won. And bears away the honours of the run. Newby Ferry ' THE morning was mild as a morning in May, Slingsby on Saltfish was out for the day ; Thoughthe Ure was rain-swollen, the pack, dashing in, Follow'd close on the fox they had found at the Whin. 1 Note 44. 2 Note 45. '35 HUNTING SONGS II They have cross'd it full cry, but the horsemen are stay'd, The ford is too deep for the boldest to wade ; So to Newby they sped, like an army dispers'd. Hoping each in his heart to be there with the first. Ill Lloyd, Robinson, Orvis, and Slingsby the brave. Pressing on to that ferry to find there a grave ; Little thought the four comrades when, rivals in pace, With such haste they spurr'd on that they rode a death-race. IV Orvis now cries, in a voice of despair, " They're away far ahead, and not one of us there ! Quickly, good ferrymen, haul to the shore. Bad luck to your craft if we catch 'em no more ! " Thus shouting, old Orvis leapt down to the bank. And with Lloyd alongside led his horse to the plank ; There stood they, dismounted, their hands on the rein, Never more to set foot in the stirrup again ! VI Eleven good men in the laden boat, Eleven good steeds o'er the ferry float ; Alas ! ere their ferrymen's task was done. Two widows were weeping o'er tather and son ! 136 NEWBY FERRY VII What meaneth that sudden and piercing cry From the horsemen who stood on the bank hard by ? The shadow of death seem'd to darken the wave. And the torrent to pause as it open'd a grave. VIII Slingsby is sinking — his stretch'd arm had clung To the rein of his horse as he overboard sprung ; The barque, overburden'd, bends down on her side. Heels o'er, and her freight is engulf'd in the tide. IX In that moment an age seem'd to intervene Ere Vyner was first on the surface seen ; The plank scarcely won ere his arm he extends To reach and to rescue his sinking triends. X Whips knotted fast, in the haste of despair. Reach not the doom'd who were drowning there ; Swimmers undauntedly breasted the wave. Till themselves were nigh sunk in their efforts to save. XI Robinson (he who could bird-like skim O'er fence and o'er fallow) unpractis'd to swim. Hopeless of aid in his uttermost need. Save in the strength of his gallant steed ! HUNTING SONGS XII Slowly that horse from the river's bed. Still back'd by his rider, uprais'd his head ; But the nostrils' faint breath and the terror-glaz'd eye Tell how vain is all hope with its fury to vie. XIII Unappall'd, who could gaze on the heart-rending sight ? His rider unmov'd, in the saddle upright, Calm for one moment, and then the death scream As down, still unseated, he sank in the stream ! XIV Slingsby meanwhile from the waters uprose. Where deepest and strongest the mid-current flows ; Manfully stemming its onward course. He struck for the boat with his failing force. XV Then feebly one arm was uplifted, in vain Striving to snatch at the chestnut's mane ; For that faithful steed, through the rolling tide, Had swum like a dog to his master's side. XVI At length by the stream he can buffet no more. Borne, bleeding and pale, to the farther shore. There, as the Slingsbys had oft-times lain. Lay the last of that House in his harness slain ! 138 HUNTING SONG XVII Sprung from a knightly and time-honour'd race. Pride of thy county, and chief of her chace ! Though a stranger, not less is his sorrow sincere. Who now weeps o'er the close of thy gallant career. XVIII Let Yorkshire, while England re-echoes her wail. Bereft of her bravest, record the sad tale. How Slingsby of Scriven, at Newby fell. In the heat of that chace which he lov'd so well. H.tmti?ig So7ig OF all the recreations with which mortal man is blest, Go where he will, fox-hunting still is pleasantest and best ; The hunter knows no sorrow here, the cup of life to him, A bumper bright of fresh delight fill'd sparkling to the brim. Away, away we go, With a tally, tally-ho. With a tally, tally, tally, tally, tally, tally-ho ! 139 HUNTING SONGS II O ! is it not — O ! is it not — a spirit-stirring sound, The eager notes from tuneful throats that tell a fox is found ? O ! is it not — O ! is it not — a pleasant sight to see The chequer'd pack, tan, white, and black, fly scudding o'er the lea ? Chorus. Ill How keen their emulation in the bustle of the burst. When side by side the foremost ride, each struggling to be first ; Intent on that sweet music which in front delights their ear. The sobbing loud of the panting crowd they heed not in the rear. Chorus. IV The field to all is open, whether clad in black or red. O'er rail and gate the feather-weight may thrust his thorough-bred ; While heavier men, well mounted, though not fore- most in the fray. If quick to start and stout of heart, need not be far away. Chorus. 140 TARPORLEY SONG And since that joy is incomplete which Beauty shuns to share, Or maid or bride, if skill'd to ride, we fondly welcome there ; Where woodland hills our music fills and echo swells the chorus. Or when we fly with a scent breast high, and a galloping fox before us. Chorus. 1868. Tarporley Song 1870 RECALLING the days of old Bluecap and Barry, Of Bedford and Gloster, George Heron and Sir Harry, A bumper to-night the QuEesitum shall carry. Which nobody can deny. II Tho' his rivals by Meynell on mutton were fed. When the race o'er the Beacon by Bluecap was led, A hundred good yards was the winner ahead. Which nobody can deny. 141 HUNTING SONGS III The gentry of Cheshire, whate'er their degrees, Stanleys or Egertons, Leycesters or Leghs, One and all with green ribbons have garter'd their knees, Which nobody can deny. IV Over grass while the youngsters were skimming the vale, Down the pavement away went the old ones full sail. Each green collar flapp'd by a powder'd pigtail. Which nobody can detjy. When foxes were flyers and gorse covers few, Those hounds of Sir Harry, where thickest it grew. How they dash'd into Huxley and hustled it through, IVhich nobody can deny. VI The sport they began may we still carry on. And we forty good fellows, who meet at the Swan, To the green collar stick, tho' our breeches be gone. Which nobody can deny. VII Still, whether clad in short garments or long. With a Cotton to sing us a fox-hunting song. And a Corbet to lead us, we cannot go wrong. Which nobody can deny. 142 WELLINGTON H. STAPLETON COTTON, 2nd VISCOUNT COMBERMERE From a painting by H. G. Herkomer I SQUIRE OF GRUMBLETON A Growl from the Squire of Gru7nbleto?i I 1WAS born and bred a Tory, And my prejudice is strong, Young men, bear with me kindly. If you think my notions wrong. II I learnt them from my father, One whose pride it was to sit. Ere the ballot-box was thought of, By the side of Billy Pitt. Ill I love the gabled mansion By my ancestors uprear'd, Where the stranger-guest is welcome. And the friend by time endear'd. IV I love the old grey bell-tower. And its ivy-muffled clock ; And I love the honest Parson As himself he loves his flock. Fresh youth I feel within me When a morning fox is found. And I hear the merry music Through the ringing woods resound. HUNTING SONGS VI And I love, when evening closes. And a good day's sport is o'er, Thrice to pour into the wine-cup Ruddy port of thirty-four. VII I have told you what I love — now Let me tell you what I hate — That accurs'd Succession Duty On the heir to my estate. VIII Old Nelson to the Frenchman In a voice of thunder spoke, What would Nelson say to Gladstone With his tax on British oak ? IX Hounds I hate which, shy of stooping. Must be lifted still and cast. Like many a fool who follows. Far too flashy and too fast. iron engines which have silenc'd In the barn the thresher's flail ; Iron wires, a modern makeshift For the honest post and rail. 144 SQUIRE OF GRUMBLETON XI Knaves and blacklegs, who have elbow'd From the Turf all honest men, Blasted names and ruin'd houses Fallen ne'er to rise again. XII Cant and unwhipp'd swindlers — Rant and rivalry of sect — Pride and working wenches In silk and satin deck'd. XIII Song from the green bough banish'd The voiceless woodlands still. The sparkle of the trout stream Foul'd and blacken'd by the mill. XIV A Unionist each craftsman, A poacher every clown. Brawl and beerhouse in the Village, Lust and ginshop in the Town. XV Though with all thy faults, dear England, In my heart I love thee still. These are plague-spots on thy beauty Which mine eyes with sorrow fill. T 145 HUNTING SONGS The C overside Phantojn ONE morning in November, As the village clock struck ten. Came trooping to the coverside A field of hunting men ; 'Twas neither Quorn nor Pytchley horn That summon'd our array ; No ; we who met were a homely set, In a province far away. II As there we stood, conversing. Much amazement seiz'd the Hunt, When, spick and span, an unknown man Rode onwards to the front ; All whisper'd, gazing wonderstruck, " Who can the stranger be ? " Forsooth they were, that man and mare, A comely sight to see. in The mare a faultless chestnut As was ever strapp'd by groom ; Nor fault could in the man be found. Nor flaw in his costume ; A silk cord loop'd the hunting hat. The gloves' consummate fit No crease disturb'd, and burnish'd bright Shone stirrup, chain, and bit. 146 THE COVERSIDE PHANTOM IV The rider's seat was firm and neat As rider's seat could be ; The buckskin white was button'd tight. And knotted at the knee ; Above the boots' jet polish Was a top of tender stain, Nor brown nor white, but a mixture light, Of rose-leaves and champagne. V The heart that waistcoat buttons up Must be a heart of steel, As keen as the keenest rowel On the spur that decks his heel ; We look'd the stranger over. And we gravely shook our heads. And we felt a sad conviction He would cut us into shreds. VI A glance I stole from my double sole To my coat of faded red ; The scarlet which had once been there My countenance o'erspread ; I blush'd with shame — no wonder ! So completely was the shine By the man and mare beside me Taken out of me and mine. H7 HUNTING SONGS VII How his portrait sketch'd for " Baily " Would the sporting world enchant, By the pen of a Whyte-Melville, Or the pencil of a Grant ! An Adonis, scarlet-coated ! A glorious field Apollo, May we have pluck and the rare good luck, When he leads the way, to follow ! VIII So intense my admiration (What I thought I dare not say). But I felt inclin'd in my inmost mind, To wish for a blank day, Lest a piece of such rare metal. So elaborately gilt. Should expose its polish'd surface To a scratch by being spilt. IX Sad to think, should such a get-up By a downfall come to grief; That a pink of such perfection Should become a crumpled leaf ! Sad to think this bird of Paradise Should risk its plumage bright By encounter with a bullfinch, Or a mud-stain in its flight ! 1-48 THE COVERSIDE PHANTOM But all that glitters is not gold, However bright it seem ; Ere long a sudden change came o'er The spirit of my dream ; No defeat ourselves awaited From the man nor from his mount ; No ground for the discomfort We had felt on his account. XI A fox was found ; the stirring sound That nerv'd us for the fray — That hallo burst the bubble. And the phantom scar'd away ; We cross'd the vale o'er post and rail, Up leaps and downward drops ; But where, oh where, was the chestnut mare And the man with tinted tops ? XII He was not with the foremost. As they one and all declare ; Nor was he with the hindmost, — He was neither here nor there ; The last, they say, seen of him Was in front of the first fence. And no one e'er could track the mare. Or spot the rider thence. 149 HUNTING SONGS XIII All turquoise and enamel. Like a watch trick'd up for show. Though a pretty thing to look at, Far too beautiful to go ; He, the man at whose appearance We had felt ourselves so small, Was only the ninth part of one — A tailor after all ! XIV His own line, when he took it, Was by railway ticket ta'en ; First-class, a rattling gallop, As he homeward went by train ; A horse-box for his hunter. And a band-box for himself, One was shunted into hidlands. T'other laid upon the shelf. The Ladie of the Castle of Wi?tcieck translated from the german (adelbert chamisso) I " r7ATED Horseman ! onward speeding, 1 Hold ! — thy panting courser check ;- Thee the Phantom Stag misleading, Hurrieth to the lone Windeck ! " 150 THE LADIE OF WINDECK II Where two towers, their strength uprearing. O'er a ruin'd gateway rise. There the quarry disappearing Vanish'd from the Hunter's eyes. Ill Lone and still ! — no echo sounded ; Blaz'd the sun in noonday pride ; Deep he drew his breath astounded. And his streaming forehead dried. IV " Precious wine lies hid below, in Ruin'd cellar here, they say ; O ! that I, with cup o'erflowing. Might my scorching thirst allay ! " Scarcely by his parch'd lips spoken Winged words the wish proclaim, Ere from arch with ivy broken. Forth a fair handmaiden came. VI Light of step, a glorious maiden ! Robe of shining white she wore ; With her keys her belt was laden, Drinking-horn in hand she bore. 151 HUNTING SONGS VII Precious wine, from cup o'erflowing. With an eager mouth he quafFd ; Fire he felt within him glowing. As he drain'd the magic draught. VIII Eyes of deep blue, softly glancing ! — Flowing locks of golden hue ! — He with clasped hands advancing 'Gan the Maiden's love to sue. IX Fraught with strange mysterious meaning. Pitying look she on him cast ; Then, her form the ivy screening. Swiftly, as she came, she past. From that hour enchanted ever. Spellbound to the Windeck lone. From that hour he slumber'd never. Rest, and peace, and hope unknown. XI Night and day that ruin'd portal Pale and wan he hovers nigh, Though unlike to living mortal. Still without the power to die. 152 BEESTON CASTLE ^thtm - --^^ ^t^--.X'.1< THE TWO WIZARDS XII Once again the maid, appearing, After many a year had past, Prest his lip with kiss endearing. Broke the spell of life at last. TIdc Two Wizards GIVE ear, ye who dwell in the Tarporley Vale, While I tell you of Beeston a wonderful tale ; Where its crag, castle-crown'd, overhanging the steep. Noddles down like the head of an old man asleep, A cavern is scoop'd, though unseen by the eye, In the side of that rock, where it stands high and dry. There has dwelt for long ages, and there dwelleth still, A Magician — believe it or not, as you will ; He was there when Earl Blundevill laid the first stone Of those walls, now with ivy and moss overgrown ; He was there when King Henry proclaim'd himself Lord, When he belted his son with the Palatine sword ; He to King Richard gave up this stronghold, Therein to deposit his jewels and gold ; He was there when the Puritans mounted the steep. And defied the king's troops from its garrison'd keep ; And there stood this Wizard to witness the fight. When Rupert's good sword put those rebels to flight. u 153 HUNTING SONGS For two centuries then it was left to decay, And its walls, weather-beaten, fell piece-meal away. And his home grew so dull when the fighting was o'er, The Wizard declar'd he could live there no more ; Till the thought cross'd his brain that to cheer his lone days Some playmates the power of his magic might raise. So at sunrise one morn stepping forth from his cell. He uplifted his wand and he mutter'd a spell ; Each wave of that wand was seen life to infuse. And the stones that it touch'd, all became kangaroos. He had hung round the walls of his cavern inside The armour of those who had fought there and died ; Transforming those plates which long rust had worn thin. He fitted each beast with a jacket of skin ; Then pluck'd from each sword-blade its black leather sheath. Which he twisted and stuck as a tail underneath. And there, as a shepherd sits watching his flock. Sits this kangaroo keeper a-perch on his rock. Invisible still, but his care night and day Is to feed them and watch lest they wander astray. Ever anxious, he guards them more tenderly still. When the huntsman his pack has let loose on the hill; And those hounds, terror-stricken, all riot eschew. When they hear a strange voice crying, " Ware Kangaroo ! " 154 THE TWO WIZARDS To this Wizard invisible bidding farewell, Of another I yet have a story to tell ; No invisible sprite ! when he stands full in view, You will own him a man, and a goodly man too. He it is vv^ho by dint of his magical skill Uplifted the stones from the high Stanna hill ; Nor paus'd till those fragments, pil'd up to the sky, Assum'd the fair form of that castle hard by ; He brandish'd his spade, and along the hill-side The ascent, by a roadway, made easy and wide ; Unlike the hid portal I spoke of before, Very plain to the eye is his wide-open door ; Where the tiles of the pavement, the stones of the wall Unceasingly echo a welcome to all. There are stables where steeds stand by tens in a row. There are chambers above, and vast cellars below ; Each bed in those chambers holds nightly a guest. Each bin in that cellar is fill'd with the best. When this Wizard wends forth from his turreted walls. Four horses are bitted and led from their stalls. He mounts and looks down on a team from his box, All perfect in shape from their heads to their hocks ; The coats that they carry are burnish'd like gold. Their fire by a touch of his finger controU'd ; A whip for his wand, when their paces he springs, You might fancy their shoulders were furnish'd with wings ; ^55 HUNTING SONGS Away ! rough or smooth, whether up-hill or down, Through highway and byeway, through village and town ! With that ease and that grace with which ladies can wheedle Stubborn silk through the eye of a delicate needle, Through the arch with huge portal on either side hung, He his leaders can thrust whether restive or young ; O'er the bridge at Bate's Mill he can twist at full speed, Charioteering — which proves him a Wizard indeed. Faint harp-strings at night o'er his castle resound ; Their tone when first heard by the country-folk round, They fancied (so far it surpass'd human skill) That angels were tuning their harps on the hill ; It was strung, I knew well, by an angel inside. The fingers that swept it were those of his bride. Oft-times they who deal in these magical arts Bear hatred and malice to man in their hearts ; But to enmity ne'er was this Wizard inclin'd, A well-dispos'd being to all human kind ; To console the afflicted, the poor to befriend. Of his magic, is still the sole object and end ; And each cottager's prayer is, that spells such as these He may long live to work in this Valley of Cheese. 156 H. REGINALD CORBET From a painting by IV. Carter ON A TAME FOX 072 a Tufne Fox A PARLOUR PET AT DALEFORD, THE RESIDENCE OF THE MASTER OF THE CHESHIRE HOUNDS I SQUIRE CORBET ! at all seasons A fox is his delight, A wild one for the morning, And a tame one for the night ; II For the fox that scours the country We a green gorse cover raise. But parlour pug lies warm and snug In a cover of green baize. in Or in his chair reposing. Or o'er the saddle bent, Corbet, wide awake or dozing. Is never off the scent. IV He needs no kirtled housemaid, The carpet on the stairs Is dusted by the sweeping Of the brush that Reynard wears. V This hunting man's housekeeper. She, without distress of nerves. Oft amongst the currant jelly Finds a fox in her preserves. ^S7 HUNTING SONGS VI Bones of chicken ever picking. This pet, so fed and nurs'd, Though he never gave a gallop, He may finish with a bui'st. The NLare a7id her Master I THOUGH my sight is grow^n dim, though my arm is grown weak, Grey hairs on my forehead, and lines on my cheek ; Though the verdure of youth is now yellow and sere, I feel my heart throb when November draws near. II I could pardon the wrongs thou hast done me. Old Time ! If thy hand would but help me the stirrup to climb ; The one pleasure left is to gaze on my mare, Her with whom I lov'd best the excitement to share. Ill Sound wind and limb, without blemish or speck, Her rider disabled, her owner a wreck ! Unstripp'd and unsaddled, she seems to ask why ; Unspurr'd and unbooted, I make no reply. 158 THE MARE AND HER MASTER IV Remembrance then dwells on each hard-ridden run, On the country we cross'd, on the laurels we won ; Fleet limbs once extended, now cribb'd in their stall, They speak of past triumphs, past gallops recall. V I remember, when baulk'd of our start at the find, How we slipp'd, undismay'd, through the rabble behind ; No check to befriend us, still tracking the burst, Till by dint of sheer swiftness the last became first. VI And that day I remember, when crossing the bed Of a deep rolling river, the pack shot ahead ; How the dandies, though cased in their waterproof Peals, Stood aghast as we stemm'd it, and stuck to their heels. VII How ere Jack with his hammer had riven the nail, And unhing'd the park-gate, we had skimm'd the oak pale ; Over bogs where the hoof of the cocktail stuck fast. How her foot without sinking Camilla-like pass'd. 159 HUNTING SONGS VIII I remember, though warn'd by the voice of Tom Ranee — " Have a care of that fence " — how we ventur'd the chance ; How we faced it and fell — from the depth of the drain How we pick'd ourselves up and were with 'em again. IX Over meadows of water, through forests of wood, Over grass-land or plough, there is nothing like blood ; Whate'er place I coveted, thou, my good mare. Despite of all hindrances, landed me there. X The dearest of friends I that man must account, To whom on her saddle I proffer a mount ; And that friend shall confess that he never yet knew. Till he handled my pet, what a flyer could do. XI Should dealers comedown from the Leicestershire vale. And turn with good gold thy own weight in the scale, Would I sell thee ? not I, for a millionaire's purse ! Through life we are wedded for better for worse. XII I can feed thee, and pet thee, and finger thy mane. Though I ne'er throw my leg o'er thy quarters again ; Gold shall ne'er purchase one lock of thy hair. Death alone shall bereave the old man of his mare. 1871. 160 V CHARLES CHOLMONDELEY From a painting by Henry Calvert, 1 840 FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY Farewell to Tarporley TO comrades of the hunting-field, tho' sad to say farewell, 'Tis pleasant still on olden days at Tarporley to dwell : On friends for whom, alive or dead, our love is unimpair'd. The mirth and the adventure and the sport that we have shar'd. n The feelings of good fellowship which Tarporley unite, The honour'd names recorded which have made its annals bright, Old Charley Cholmondeley's portrait and the fashion of our clothes. In the days of padded neckcloths, breeches green, and silken hose. Ill The upright form of Delamere, Sir Richard's grace- ful seat. The brothers three from Dorfold sprung whom none of us could beat ; The fun with which Bob Grosvenor enliven'd every speech. The laugh of Charley Wicksted lengthen'd out into a screech, X i6i HUNTING SONGS IV The classical Quassitum and the President's hard chair, Each year's succeeding Patroness whose charms were toasted there ; The inevitable wrangle which the Farmer's cup provokes, Sir Watkin cracking biscuits, and Sir Harry cracking jokes. v The match in which though Adelaide but held a second place. No judge was there to certify that Go-by won the race. The stakes withheld — the winner told jocosely by the Hunt, With nothing else to pocket he must pocket the affront. VI Earl Wilton ever foremost amid Leicestershire high flyers, Coming down from Melton Mowbray to enlighten Cheshire Squires ; Belgrave who unbreech'd us, and one fatal afternoon First cloth'd us to the ankle in the modern pantaloon. VII The foxes which from Huxley gorse have led us many a dance, Joe Maiden, best of huntsmen, best of whips old Tommy Ranee ; I 62 FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY That good old soul, John Dixon, and his lengthy s:. draught of ale, That mirthful day when " Little Dogs " came home without a tail. VIII The glory of that gallop which old Oulton Low supplied, The front-rank, men of Cheshire charging onward side by side ; The Baron with his spurs at work in rear of the advance, When Britain, in the field, for once ran clean away from France. IX The find at Brindley cover and at Dorfold Hall the kill, The Breeches left behind us but the brush before us still ; The fox that skimm'd the Tilston cream — forget we never shall The score of hunting breeches that were wash'd in that canal. X And that ill-starr'd disaster when, unconscious of the leap, I dropp'd into the water of a marl-pit six feet deep ; Enough to damp the keenest — but conceive the fearful sight. When I found that underneath me lay the body of Jack White. 163 HUNTING SONGS XI The harmony infus'd into the rhymes which I had strung. When first I heard the " Columbine " by James Smith Barry sung ; While canvas the remembrance of Sir Peter shall prolong. May the name of his successor be endear 'd to you in song. XII The carving of the venison when it smok'd upon the board. The twinkling eye of Johnny Glegg, the chaff of Charley Ford ; The opening of the oysters, and the closing of the eyes In slumber deep — that balmy sleep which midnight cup supplies. XIII Sir Humphrey and Geof. Shakerley, whose friendship never fails, Tho' long of two opinions which was heaviest in the scales ; In love of sport as in their weight an even race they run, So here's a health to both of them and years of future fun. XIV Old Time, who keeps his own account, however well we wear. Time whispers " to the old ones you must add another pair," 164 FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY May Lascelles in his chosen home long, fong a dweller be, To Philo gorse a bumper, to Sir Philip three times three. XV Young inheritors of hunting, ye who would the sport should last. Think not the chace a hustling race, fit only for the fast ; If sport in modern phrase must be synonymous with speed. The good old English animal will sink into a weed. XVI Accept the wish your Laureate leaves behind him ere we part, That wish shall find an echo in each Cheshire sports- man's heart, May Time still spare one favour'd pair, tho' other creatures fail, The Swan that floats above us, and the Fox that skims the Vale ! xvii The snobs who haunt the hunting-field, and rouse the master's ire, The fence of fair appearance masking lines of hidden wire ; A straight fox mobb'd and headed by the laggards in the lane, A good one dug and murder'd, I have seen such sights with pain. 165 HUNTING SONGS XVIII I never kill'd save once a hound, I saw him on his back With deep remorse — he w^as, of course, the best one in the pack ; The thought oft-time has griev'd me with a wild fox well away, That friends right worthy of it should have miss'd the lucky day, XIX If e'er my favourite cover unexpectedly was blank, Then silent and dispirited my heart within me sank ; But never till this moment has a tear bedimm'd mine eye, With sorrow such as now I feel in wishing you Good-bye. 1872. The Pheasant and the Fox A FABLE I " /^CTOBER strips the forest, we have pass'd the V-x equinox, It is time to look about us," said the Pheasant to the Fox ; " I cannot roost in comfort at this season of the year. The volleys of the battue seem to thunder in my ear." 166 THE PHEASANT AND THE FOX II " Time indeed it is," said Reynard, " for the fray to be prepar'd. For open war against us has already been declar'd ; Two cubs, last week, two hopeful cubs, the finest out of five. Within their mother's hearing chopp'd, were eaten up alive. Ill " Within our woodland shelter here, two winter seasons through, You and I have dwelt together in a friendship firm and true ; Still, I own it, to my yearning heart one envious feeling clings. Cock-pheasant ! what I covet is the privilege of wings. IV " To you the gift is perilous, in safety while you run. It is only when uprisingthat you temptthelevell'dgun; Would that I could rid you of those wings you rashly wear. And plant upon my back instead, a well-proportioned pair. V " Think oi Victory defeated, as to triumph on she sped, Think of 'Boaster^ terror-stricken, as my pinions I outspread ; Think of Crafty s baffled cunning, think of Vul- picide s despair. Think of Leveller s amazement, as I mounted in mid-air ! 167 HUNTING SONGS VI " To the Huntsman, when at fault, then I jeeringly would cry, ' Not gone to ground is the fox you found, but lost in a cloudy sky ! ' Or, perch'd upon some tree-top, looking downwards at the group. And, lifting to one ear a pad, would halloo there, ' Who whoop ! ' " VII "Thank you, kindly," said the Pheasant, "true it is that, while I run. No worthy mark I offer to attract the murderous gun; But say, should hunger pinch you, could a Pheasant- cock rely On the abstinence of friendship, if he had not wings to fly ? " MORAL Self, Self it is that rules us all — when hounds begin to race. To aid a friend in grief would you resign a forward place ? When planted at the brook, o'er which your rival's horse has flown, Don't you wish the rider in it, and the rider's luck your own ? i68 / THE STRANGER'S STORY The Stranger s Story PART I. THE BREAKFAST FOUR friends, all scarlet-coated, Eager all to join the pack. At the breakfast board were seated, Jem and Jerry, Ned and Jack. Giant Jem, a ponderous horseman, With a bull-like head and throttle, O'er each boot a calf expanding. Like a cork in soda bottle ; Still to add Jem never scrupled, When the beef was on his plate, To the four stone he quadrupled. Many a pound of extra weight. Jerry, bent on competition. Spread his napkin underneath. But the tongue's untiring motion Check'd the action of his teeth. He told them what he had done On his chestnut and his grey. And when that tale was ended. What he meant to do to-day. y 169 HUNTING SONGS Ned was booted to perfection. Better rider there was none, But jealousy, when mounted. Was the spur that prick'd him on. To him the run was wormwood, No enioyment in the burst. Unless he led the gallop, And was foremost of the first. Jack, who never said, like Horner, " How good a boy am I," Sat listening at the corner Of the table meek and shy ; No word he spoke, till question'd On what horse he rode to-day ? Then modestly he answer'd, " I have nothing but the Bay." Breakfast over on they canter, Till the covert-side they reach ; When you hear my story ended. You will know the worth of each. PART II. THE DINNER At night again they gather'd Round a board of ample fare. And though myself a stranger guest, They bade me welcome there. 170 THE STRANGER'S STORY Jem, Jerry, Ned, swashbucklers, You'd have thought by their discourse. Each alternately extolling First himself and then his horse. Giant Jem, a road-abider. One who seldom risk'd a tall, The line the fox had taken He describ'd it best of all. Told them where he cross'd the river, Told them where he fac'd the hill. Told them too, and thought it true. That he himself had seen the kill. Jerry's tongue still faster prattled As the wine-cup wet his lips ; Had the pack apace thus rattled, 'Twould have baffled an Eclipse. Nought I felt would baffle Jerry, From the find until the death. No rate of speed would e'er succeed To put him out of breath. Ned was far in commendation Of himself ahead of each. Still there lurk'd amari aliquid Beneath his flowers of speech. 171 HUNTING SONGS Still jarr'd some note discordant As he blew the trumpet loud, Still dimm'd the radiant glory Of the day some little cloud. At each daring deed of horsemanship Amazement I express ; 'Mid such mighty men of valour Which the mightiest ? who could guess ? Till at length a tell-tale offer Set the question quite at rest ; Nor could I doubt which, out and out. Of the four had seen it best. Jack had never said, like Horner, " How good a boy am I," But I saw within the corner Of his lid a twinkle sly ; When to Jack, though in a whisper, Ned was overheard to say, " If you'll take four hundred for him, You shall have it for the Bay." The Lovers'" Quarrel FOR a maid fair and young to the portal was led. For her pastime one morning, a bay thorough- bred ; At once with light step to the saddle she bounds. Then away to the crowd which encircled the hounds. 172 THE LOVERS' QUARREL 'Mid the many who moved in that bustle and stir, There was one, one whose heart lay a-bleeding for her ; One who thought, tho' as yet he approach'd not her side. With what care, if need were, he would guard her and guide. To and fro waves the gorse as the hounds are thrown in, 'Tis a fox, and glad voices the chorus begin ; That maiden's keen eye, o'er the crest of her bay. Was the first to detect him when stealing away. As she shot through the crowd at the covert-side gate, " 'Tis the same gallant fox that outstripp'd us of late ; The darling old fox ! " she exclaimed, with delight, Then away like a dart to o'ertake the first flight. Tho' he took the old line, the old pace was surpass'd (He will own a good steed, he who lives to the last), Her own she press'd on without fear, for she knew She was mounted on one that would carry her through. She had kept her own place with a feeling of pride. When her ear caught the voice of a youth along- side, " There's a fence on ahead that no lady should face. Turn aside to the left — I will show you the place." 173 HUNTING SONGS Women mostly, they say, love to take their own line. Giving thanks for advice which they mean to decline ; Whether women accept the advice or oppose it, Depends, I think, much on the man who bestows it. That voice seem'd to fall on her ear like a spell, She turn'd, for she thought she could trust it right well ; To the field on the left they diverted their flight — At that moment the pack took a turn to the right. " Persevere," said the youth, " let us gain the beech- wood, The old fox will assuredly make his point good ; " Knowing scarce what she did, she still press'd on the bay. Nor found out till too late, they were both led astray. Youth and maid they stood still when they reach'd the wood-side, Forlorn, then, the hope any further to ride ; In despair they look round, but no movement espy. Not a hound to be seen either distant or nigh. Both silent there stood they — indignant the maid. The youth stung with grief at the part he had play'd ; Still he thought, from the wreck he had made of the day. That some treasure of hope he might yet bear away. 174 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE Thus the silence he broke : "Until hunting were done I had hop'd, dearest maid, this avowal to shun, Till the season were over to practise restraint, Nor to vex you till then with a lover's complaint, " But the moment is come, and the moment I seize. Those glances of anger let pity appease, Leave me — leave me no longer in anguish and doubt. While I live you shall never again be thrown out." "Is it thus," she exclaimed, "that a bride can be won ? Wretched man that you are, you have lost me my run ! Farewell ! nor the hand of a huntress pursue, When the whip which it grasps is deservedly due." Though that lover rode home the most wretched of men. Though that maid vow'd a vow they should ne'er meet again. Love laughs at the quarrels of lovers they say, When the season was o'er, they were married in May. 'Z/j Sixty Years Since " \/OUR heart is fresh as ever, Ned, 1 Although your head be white ; We must crack, another bottle, Ned, Before we say good-night ; Our legs across the saddle Though we fling them never more. We may rest them on the fender While we talk our gallops o'er." ^7S HUNTING SONGS " By you 'tis somewhat hard. Jack, Old Grizzle to be called, You know that head of yours, Jack, Is altogether bald. Still I'm good, my jolly fellow, For another flask of port. In memory of those merry days When fox-hunting was sport." " How sorely, Ned, our Eton odes Tormented those who scann'd 'em, The traces were our longs and shorts. Our gradus was the tandem ; Bob Davis for our tutor. With that colt — still four years old. Though ten since he was leader, And ten more since he was foal'd. " Unaw'd by impositions, While the lecture-room we shirk'd, At our little-go in hunting With what diligence we work'd ; When from Canterbury gateway We spurr'd the Oxford hack, A shilling every milestone Till we reach'd the Bicester pack ; " Right welcome there the sport to share. Himself so much enjoyed, How kindly were we shaken By the hand of old Griff Lloyd ; 176 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE How we plunged into the river, Led and cheer'd by Jersey's call : ' Come on ! ' he cried, ' the stream is wide And deep enough for all.' " How intense the admiration Which to Heythrop's Duke we bore, Riding royally to covert In his chariot-and-tour ; Cigars, as yet a novelty, His Grace's ire provoking, ' What chance to pick the scent up. Filthy fellows ! they are smoking.' " The cheer of Philip Payne as he The echoing woodlands drew. The scarlet coats contending With the coats of buff and blue ; Stone walls o'er which without a hitch The thoroughbred ones flew. While blown and tir'd the hunter hir'd Roll'd like a spent ball through." " Well, Jack, do I remember With what glee we sallied forth To the fixtures of Ralph Lambton When our home was in the North ; How, when the day was over. We around the Sedgefield fire. Sang ' Ballinamoniora ' In honour of the Squire. z 177 HUNTING SONGS " And that week with old Sir Harry Which at Tarporley we spent, Where Chester's dewy pastures Are renown'd for holding scent ; Where Dorfold's Squire o'er saddle flaps Unpadded threw his leg. Where stride for stride, rode side by side. Sir Richard and John Glegg. " That Rupert of the hunting-field, Tom Smith the lion-hearted, Where grew the fence, where flow'd the stream. Could baffle him when started ? A game-cock in the battle-ring. An eagle in his flight, A shooting-star when mounted. But a fixed one in the fight; " Though no longer what we were, Ned, Ere the reign of good Queen Vic, Methinks we still could teach them How their fathers did the trick ; I hold the young ones cheap, Ned — " " Hush, your son is at the door. With his pipe of Latakia, We had better say no more." [78 THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON The Close of the Seaso?i SPRING ! I will give you the reason in rhyme Why for hunting I hold it the pleasantest time, When the gorse 'gins to blossom, the hazel to sprout. When Spring flowers and Spring captains together come out. When with smiles and with sunshine all nature looks gay, When the fair one, equipped in fresh hunting array. No splash of mud-dirt to encumber the skirt. Though no fox should be found, may find leisure to flirt. When assured of success, ere the steeplechase day, Jones writes to his tailor imploring delay, When the silk jacket wins he will pay for the pink. Is the promise, when written, worth paper and ink ? November's young fox, as yet timid and shy, O'er a country unknown will scarce venture to fly ; One spared through the winter to wander astray. Leads the pack stoutly back to his home far away. Chill'd by checks and wrong casts, which the scurry impede. You may chance in December to lose a good steed ; And what rider unvex'd can his temper restrain. Urging home a tired hunter through darkness and rain ! 179 HUNTING SONGS Trotting homeward in Spring on the hope we rely That we reach it ere dark with our hunting-coat dry ; The horse undistress'd by the work he has done, The rider well pleased with his place in the run. This world, can it show such a picture of woe As a frozen-out Master imprison'd in snow ? His feet on the fender he rides his arm-chair. Even ' Baily ' avails not to soothe his despair. Good sport with good cheer merry Christmas may bring, But the joy of all joys is a gallop in Spring, By the thought, when a brook we encounter made bold. That the stream is less rapid, the water less cold. When each cheer is by song of sweet birds echoed back, Their music a prelude to that of the pack ; When clouds soft and southerly streak the blue sky, When the turf is elastic and scent is breast high. 'The Man with Ofie Hunter THERE are lords who their hunters can count by the score. Scarce a Squire in the land but can stable his four ; Like myself, there are few who, too poor to keep two, Go a-hunting on one, and that one an old screw. i8o THE MAN WITH ONE HUNTER One that flaps at a ditch, like a duck at a pond, Well content if he land me three inches beyond ; If the cop his two fore-legs successfully climb. His hind ones will follow in due course of time. I have oft thought it strange, with a harem of wives. How among them the Turk to keep order contrives ; One wife in an Englishman's house quantum suf.. But one horse in his stable is not quite enough. I would sell without grief the last shirt from my back. Nor care though my coat were cut out from a sack. If the duns would but leave me a saddle to sit on ; And a horse underneath it with bridle and bit on. No blot on my scutcheon, a gentleman born. If of lowly descent I were far less forlorn ; I might then to the post of a Huntsman aspire, Or at least ride as Whip to some fox-hunting Squire. Brother Tom, once in deeper distress than myself. He, without even one, was laid quite on the shelf; But ere cutting his throat he an heiress address'd. And at once with a wife and a stud he was blest. Though through life I have bent to Diana my knee. She has never bestow'd a like favour on me. Though unmounted herself does the goddess not know. He now needs a good horse who a-hunting would go. i8i HUNTING SONGS Ye who own patent mangers, where flyers are fed. Which the dealer supplies at three hundred a head. Let a crumb from your stable in charity fall, Give a mount to the man who can fill but one stall. 'Brother Tom A SEQUEL TO THE MAN WITH ONE HUNTER " Ogni medaglia ha il suo riverso " RESCUED from suicide, brought back, to life From the depth of despair by a stable and wife. Brother Tom, to whom Hymen had given this lift, Brother Tom of his luck I will tell you the drift. That good wife he wedded is gone to her rest. Leaving Tom of her lands and her fortune possest ; But no ticket can life from vexations insure. The rich have their troubles as well as the poor. Two sons — on three hunters apiece they insist. Their nights they devote to blind hookey and whist ; Five grown-up daughters besides — Heaven bless 'em ! — Who can tell what it costs a fond father to dress 'em ? For those gowns light as gossamer, widely outspread. When compressed in the bill become items of lead ; And a feather, stuck there, is no more the light thing That it was when first pluck'd from the ostrich's wing. 182 FARMING AND FOX-HUNTING With what care-laden clouds is the stable o'erhung. The old ones need nursing, rough-riding the young ; Too restive is one e'en for Rarey to tame. One is wrong in the stifle, another foot-lame. Bit-sore, not an oat will old Tearaway touch. Give Plumper the muzzle, he feeds overmuch ; Now some favourite mare is heard biting her crib. Now a stable-boy kill'd by a kick in the rib. Tom has always the cud of some grievance to chew. Now he loses his temper at losing a shoe. Now he blows his own nose when he hears his horse sneeze. Ever vext and perplext by such trifles as these. What with horses and grooms, what with daughters and sons. Still behind him sits Care through the fastest of runs ; Wealth I declare a delusion and snare, Reduced to one horse I have only one care. Farming and Fox-hunting FARMERS, listen to the ditty Of a friend who loves you weli ; If you will not, more the pity, Nothing but the truth I tell. Let us while we each our work do In good fellowship unite ; Why should we, as Russ and Turk do, Fox-hunters and Farmers fight ? 183 HUNTING SONGS If the noble sport decrying, Growl you will, we can but laugh ; Freely from the farmstead buying Oats, we do not want your chaff. Spent by what we call a " splitter," Steeds are bedded in the stall. You who grow such costly litter. Men of straw we cannot call. Selling till the sport is over Many a waggon load of hay. Surely you must live in clover. Surely fox-hunting must pay. Therefore should your fence be broken. Post and rail to grief consign'd, Let no angry word betoken Damage to your peace of mind. Bone-dust sown the pasture sod on, Should the surface smooth and flat By the tramp of hcof be trod on. You must make no bones of that. Should the green wheat in December By the field be overrun, Wait till yellow in September Ere ye sue for damage done. Should the hen-roost robb'd dismay you, Reynard guilty of the theft ; Wives be sure the Squire will pay you Double for the ducklings left. 184 BOUGHT AND SOLD Sad indeed, though Hnes of wire be Harmless underneath the wave, Fi-om his saddle should the Squire be Telegraph'd into his grave. Plainly by my pen depicted, Let the evil and the good. Profit won or harm inflicted, Both be fairly understood. Each dependent on the weather, One for scent and one for growth. Farm and Kennel link'd together. Let us drink success to both ! Nov. 1877. bought and Sold UPSTOOD the auctioneer, and while His customers he scann'd. The smile upon his features Was insidiously bland : " I have now to offer, gentlemen. An animal — Lot three — Both power and pace his make and shape Will fully guarantee. " Though qualified at Melton, Or at Quorn to play his game. All fences and all countries Are alike to him the same. 2 A 185 HUNTING SONGS " They tell me, who have ridden him. That through the longest day He, when the best are beaten. Never fails to stick and stay." I look'd him o'er, perfection quite ! A hunter every inch ! And at once, whate'er the figure, I determined not to flinch. Quickly started at " one hundred," He as quickly sprung to " two," As down the ride they ran him Up and up the bidding flew. A pause — then " Going, going, gone ! " Three hundred held him fast ; The bidding stopp'd the hammer dropp'd. And mine he was at last. They who came to see the beauty I had purchased at the sale. They all pronounced him perfect From the forelock to the tail. Then came the wish'd-for morning When I mounted first my steed In triumphant expectation That the gallop I should lead. Off ! and hustling through the melie. At the foremost fence we fly ; One and all my rivals clear'd it, One and all — but where was I ? i86 BOUGHT AND SOLD Like some equestrian statue Made of marble or of brass, Or like a tree deep rooted. We were fixtures on the grass. I turn'd again and faced it, Dealt the whip and plied the spur. He touch'd it with his nostril, But no further would he stir. In vain I tried to coax him. Tried to rouse him with a shout, I raced him round the pasture, But I never got him out. In despair I view'd the fast ones, Speeding onward in their flight ; Eyed with envy every straggler. Till the last was out of sight. Good indeed he was at staying. For no power could move him on ; What mockery, remember'd then. Was " Going, going, gone ! " Then the secret unsuspected. The truth till then unknown, Came out, — the splendid creature Had a temper of his own, " Rarey upon Restiveness," Who now that volume heeds ? Hunting days are far too precious To be spent in taming steeds. 187 HUNTING SONGS If on horseback at our fences We must permanently stick, A donkey far more cheaply Would suffice to do the trick. They say, in love and warfare, All is fair that serves our end ; They who say the same of horseflesh Would have sold him to a friend. But sound as when I bought him. Neither blemish'd, blind, nor lame ; I sent him with clear conscience To the hammer whence he came. Moral Youth, bear in mind that beauty Lies no deeper than the skin, That which maketh or which marreth Is the temper hid within. Whether horse it be or helpmate. To your lot whate'er may fall ; Still that which can and will not. Is the saddest lot for all ! I i88 AN AUSTRALIAN STAG-HUNT A71 Australiaji Stag-hunt AS DESCRIBED BY A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE SPORTSMAN Melbourne, 1878. THE sport which at Melbourne they stag-hunt- ing call, Is to clear the stiff rail and to charge the stone wall ; At the fence in his front whatsoe'er be its size With the speed of a whirlwind the colonist flies. Like the ground which he rides on, himself hard as nails, His heart, while his horse remains fit, never fails ; But unlike the hard ground which he treads on, full oft That horse's condition is puffy and soft. At noon-day the stag stood erect in his cart. Till the long pole and whip have provoked him to start ; At home whippers-in have much work to fulfil, A whipper-out here is more requisite still. The line which they took to the Muse is unknown. What horses were pounded, what riders were thrown ; That they cross'd o'er the water, suffice it to say. Where at bay stood the stag, and so ended the day. 189 HUNTING SONGS There those steeds that were bankrupt of breath in the hunt. Were right glad to recover their wind in a punt ; The stag safely snatch'd from the jaws of the pack. To his hayrack and hovel they carted him back. He whom fortune has here from Northamptonshire sent, With such pastime in Bucks will be little content ; Though faster at Melton the thoroughbreds' flight, The jumpers at Melbourne can beat them in height. He who laughs at their sport would be heartless indeed. For since hunting is hunting we wish them good speed ; They who lack a whole loaf must content be with half. They who have not a fox must put up with a calf. On the Death of Major IVhyte-Melville DECEMBER 5, I 878 IN the Vale of White Horse meeting On a bright December day. What means the look of triumph Which so gladdens that array .? 190 MAJOR WHYTE-MELVILLE It tells that morn how tidings From the East have reach'd our shore. How England's name on the roll of fame Shines brilliantly once more. There was one among the gathering Which throng'd the covert side. Whose heart beat high exulting With a fellow-soldier's pride. One whose pen of each past gallop Could the memory prolong, Embalm'd in pleasant story, Or made musical in song. His page with needful maxims For the youthful rider fraught. Ambitious all to follow him And practise what he taught. Young and old alike when speeding To the cover round him press'd. Glad to share his cheery converse, Or to catch some happy jest. That morn, due honour giving To the brave whom Roberts led, Not less o'er those he sorrow'd Who were number'd with the dead. The dead ! — how little thought he That day their fate to share, Unwarn'd when he to saddle sprang That Death was clinging there ! IQI HUNTING SONGS O'erthrown, as onward fearlessly He sped with keen delight. He fell, as arrow-stricken Falls an eagle in his flight. Who, reading now those pages, Which his loss will more endear. His sudden fate recalling. Will not blot them with a tear ? And who among his comrades, When they o'er that valley ride. Will not pause and point with sorrow To the spot where Melville died ? Found at Last ONE day by a statue of Cupid beguiled. Forth wander'd a maiden in search of the child ; In fancy she hoped a sweet infant to find, With a bow in his hand and a quiver behind. She knew the boy's shoulders were furnish 'd with wings. So she sought the green wood, where the nightin- gale sings ; The birds flutter'd round in the branches above, But in vain she look'd there for the pinions of Love. She wander'd along where the meadows were strown With the flowers and the verdure of hay yet un- mown ; 192 FOUND AT LAST Though the air was so fragrant, the sunbeams so bright. There was nothing like Love, save the butterfly's flight. In a step that was seen through the forest to glide. She thought that one morn she his mother espied ; Diana it proved, who her hunting-horn blew, But who cared not for Love, nor his hiding-place knew. Then the maid when reminded whence Venus had sprung, To the ocean went down and thus plaintively sung : " O Venus, a sight of thy darling I crave. Bid him rise for one moment and float on the wave." She watch'd the green billows, she watch'd the white foam, Unheeded her prayer, she went back to her home ; She had vow'd ne'er again on a love chase to start. When Love came unbidden and knock'd at her heart. Uninvited he came whom so long she had sought. How unlike the sweet child she had imaged in thought ; Then the boy whom ere vex'd by his tyrannous sway, She had wish'd for in vain, she in vain wish'd away. 2 B 193 HUNTING SONGS A Lo7icio7i ^Ballad SHOWING HOW CABBY LOST HIS KEEPSAKE A JOLLY young cabman, one noon in Pall Mall, As I jauntingly plied, looking out for a Swell, A sweet voice said timidly, " What is your fare To carry me, cabman, to Euston Square ? " I answer'd, " Ere maiden so comely and neat Should be soil'd in her dress or be wet in her feet, I would drive you, though more than a bob is my fare — I would drive you for nothing to Euston Square ! " When the maid and her bandbox were seated inside. To look down the peephole I open'd it wide, And I felt as she turn'd her fair face to my view, I instead of one Hansom was now driving two. Then I tenderly touch'd to make pleasant the ride, With the point of my whip the bay mare on her side ; My mare on her mettle was up to the trick. And my heart as she trotted beat time double quick. Hammer-cloth coachmen with nosegays on breast, With dames in their carriages gorgeously drest. Four-in-hand dragsmen with elbows set square. As we met how they envied the cabman his fare. 194 A LONDON BALLAD "Then," said I, "by your leave might I drive up and dov^n, I could show you the sights both in city and town." " London sights ! " replied she. " Oh, how nice it would be ! But at home sits my mother a-waiting for me." How short seem'd the minutes ; why drove I so fast ? A journey so pleasant for ever should last ; How I wish'd at the station instead of farewell. How I wish'd I could carry her back to Pall Mall. A bob she held up to the seat where I sat. " No, I thank you ; " but soon I thought better of that. " As a keepsake," I said, " I will take what you give, And will round my neck wear it as long as I live." One hasty good-bye then she utter'd aloud. One smile ere she left and was lost in the crowd ; Strange it seems to me now that I left not my mare. That I left not my cab to rush after her there. Whether she travell'd first, second, or third. Nor whither she went have I since ever heard ; But in sadness I sigh'd, when a puff from the train, PufFd away my last hope of e'er meeting again. There I motionless sat, like a statue of stone, And there still should I be had they left me alone. Unconsciously dreaming of her who was gone. Till aroused by a voice shouting " Cabby, move on." 19s HUNTING SONGS Crawling back from the station all London look'd dull, My heart, though my cushions were empty, was full ; So lonesome, I thought it would cheer me to stop As I pass'd by the gin-shop, and call'd for a drop. When my home I had reach'd and had stabled my mare. When in haste I had climb'd to my lodging upstair, A hole through the coin I was eager to bore. That the keepsake might hang round my neck ever- more. I search'd where I'd hid it — struck dumb with despair, I found that save pence there was nothing left there ; At the gin-shop, alas, by that one little glass Had my keepsake of silver been changed into brass. Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! I LOVE but one fair face, And though much I love the chace, A blank to me the pastime if that loved one be not near ; To the covert as we went, Every thought on her was bent. And pleasant were the words of love I whisper'd in her ear ; But the maiden's thoughts that day While I woo'd her, where were they ? 196 HUSH ! HUSH ! HUSH ! Hope so fondly cherish'd was her silence meant to crush ? Was she thinking of the pack, That no word could I win back. As I rode beside my Lady-love, save " Hush, Hush, Hush " ? When the fox was view'd away. Too discreet was I to say One warning word to curb her keen impatience for the race ; Riding on throughout the burst. Mid the foremost well-nigh first, As with them she had started, with them still she held her place ; Though not a word I said. Still I watch'd her as she sped. The joyfulness of triumph gave her cheek a radiant flush ; Close beside her at the check, When I stroked the chestnut's neck. And her horsemanship applauded, all she said was " Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! " But when the day was o'er And she reach'd her home once more. Her hand she gently laid in mine to doff her riding glove ; And its pressure seem'd to say Ere she took it quite away, " A time there is for hunting and a time for making ove. There was heard a stifled sigh, There was softness in her eye, 197 HUNTING SONGS And her heart betray'd its secret in the crimson of her blush. Joy indeed it was to feel What she could not now conceal. That no longer to my love-tale would she answer " Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! " Cheshire s Welcome JANUARY I 88 I ERIN once the favoured home Of melody and mirth, The brightest gem of ocean And the fairest flower of earth, Erin where two seasons past Allured by horn and hound, A Royal Huntress sojourned And a loving welcome found. Where rebels now are rulers To that land she bids adieu. She comes where all both great and small Are staunch good men and true ; She seeks a shire where loyalty In every bosom dwells. Where Chester's vale full many a tale Of merrie hunting tells. Where we meet not to w^age warfare With the Palatine Police, Where friendship and good feeling Are preservative of peace, 198 CHESHIRE'S WELCOME Where should there be disturbance When the fox from cover flies, We find our compensation In the gallop ere he dies. Whene'er the pack of olden fame At Combermere shall meet, An Empress in the saddle there With rapture we will greet, Who takes, what all would willingly To rank and beauty yield. Alone by right of horsemanship Precedence in the field. Across the Deeside pastures With the foremost she will race. Or lead the way whene'er Wynnstay Invites her to the chace ; Or when from Stanners' fir-clad hill A gallant fox takes flight, Though with lightning speed they follow She will keep the pack in sight. She quits a court to share the sport Which here without annoy No league to mar the pastime She may peaceably enjoy ; That sport so rare unknown elsewhere Alone can England give. And many a year right welcome here To share it may she live. 199 HUNTING SONGS Lines ON READING AN EXTRACT FROM THE HUNTING DIARY OF VERNON DELVES BROUGHTON, ESQ., SHOWING HOW AND WHERE THE DUKE OF GRAFTON's HOUNDS KILLED THEIR GOOSEHOLME FOX ON 29TH NOV- EMBER, 1872 A FOX, by the pack sorely press'd in his flight, Reaching Marston St. Lawrence began to take fright ; In the housekeeper's room how alarming the crash, As he shot like a thunderbolt in at the sash ! They screech'd with one voice when he first came in view, But the halloa they gave was a hullaballoo ; Such a dust was ne'er rais'd in that parlour before As now rais'd by the brush which was sweeping the floor ; Too late the old butler indignantly cried " Not at home," the whole pack was already inside ; Though the housewife's preserves harbour'd mice by the score, No fox until now had set foot in her store. The table o'erturn'd, and the teacups dispers'd, Such a break-up before never ended a burst ; The servants pick'd up broken platter and bowl ; They call'd ever after that parlour Pug's hole. And a pad, which next morning was found on the floor, By the page as a trophy was nail'd to the door. 200 LINES Lilies FOR INSCRIPTION ON THE STONE INTENDED TO MARK THE SPOT WHERE THE TWO GENTLEMEN, WHOSE BOAT WAS UPSET ON LOCHQUOICH, WERE FORTUNATELY LANDED "Mr. Allsopp and Mr. Burton, of Burton-on-Trent, have had a narrow escape from drowning. On Friday last they went out fishing on Lochquoich, the boat was upset and they were thrown into the water. Clinging to the side of the boat they were drifted ashore on M'Phee's Island, a distance of about 1000 yards from the scene of the accident. They were much exhausted, and experienced great difficulty in wading ashore through the heavy surf." MALT and Hops while here afloat Together in a fishing-boat, On which of them to lay the fault We know not, whether Hops or Malt ; But though oppos'd to heavy wet. Between them they the boat upset ; Hops and Malt it little suited To be to such extent diluted ; For who would of the brew partake When moisten'd by a whole Scotch lake ! Scarce left was any spirit more In either, when they reach'd the shore, Most thankful that they both had not By this disaster gone to pot ; The strength which bitter ale supplied The bitterness of death defied. Or they, by water carried here. Had hence been carried on their bier. 2 C 20I HUNTING SONGS Beyond the Tweed on fishing bent. Or brewing on the banks of Trent, We trust their boat may like their ale Henceforth maintain a steady sail. Epitaph ON THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S CHARGER, " COPEN- HAGEN," so NAMED FROM THE CIRCUMSTANCE OF HIS HAVING BEEN FOALED IN THE YEAR OF THAT BATTLE. HE WAS BURIED AT STRATH- FIELDS AYE, FEBRUARY 1 836 WITH years o'erburden'd, sunk the battle steed ;— War's funeral honours to his dust decreed ; A foal when Cathcart overpower'd the Dane, And Gambier's fleet despoil'd the northern main, 'Twas his to tread the Belgian field, and bear A mightier chief to prouder triumphs there ! Let Strathfieldsaye to wondering patriots tell How Wellesley wept when " Copenhagen " fell. I Epitaph 071 A. S. C. by X. T. Z. LAID his bones beneath the greenwood tree. And wept, like schoolboy, o'er my A. B. C. 202 THE ROEBUCK AT TOFT On a Thor7i Tree planted over the Grave of ^' Miss Miggs^' a "Brood Mare WITH a thorn in her side the old mare we inter. Though ahve she ne'er needed the prick of a spur. Six colts and eight fillies the stock, that she bred, Each in turn first and foremost the hunting-field led. This thorn if it rival the produce she foal'd, Will be hung in due season with apples of gold ; But whate'er fruit it bear it will not bear a sloe^ For no thorn save a quick thorn can out of her grow. The Roebuck at Toft AN OLD WAYSIDE INN REMOVED IN 1 864 ON the Mail have I travell'd times many and oft. Looking out for the sign of the Roebuck at Toft; Or and gules was the blazonry, party per pale. The head was attir'd like the haunches and tail. In his muzzle an olive branch proper was stuck. And the villagers call'd him the bloody-tail'd Buck. The Chestnut-tree well I remember whose shade Overhung the bright tints which the Roebuck dis- play'd ; And the bench which invited the weary to rest, And mine Host who came out with a mug of his best ! 203 HUNTING SONGS They have fell'd the old tree, they have stopp'd the old mail, And alas ! the old cellar is empty of ale ; And now from the post, where he swung high and dry, They have pull'd down the Roebuck — I wish I knew why — I dare not inquire at the Jerryshop near. Or the man might insist on my tasting his beer. Charade THE Squire, on his Grey, Has been hunting all day. So at night let him drown his fatigue in the bowl ; But ere quenching his thirst. To get rid of my first. Let him call for my second to bring him my whole. Welsh Hunting A most singular freak of a pack of hounds was witnessed at Pontypridd last week. The pack belonged to Mr. George Thomas, Ystradmynach, and were returning from the hunt, when, on coming into the town, they ran into the shop of Mr. Jenkins, grocer, and out again immediately, but with no less than seven pounds of tallow candles, which they ravenously devoured in the street. — Coicrt Journal. 1869 I WHERE Jenkins, in Wales, Soap and candles retails, The pack, in despite of their Whip, They took up the scent, And away they went. Each one with a tallow dip. 204 EPIGRAM ON A HARD-RIDING YOUTH II With a good seven pounds These hungry hounds, Away ! and away ! they go, While joining the chace FoUow'd Jenkins' best pace, Shouting " Tallow ! Tallow-ho ! " Paraphrase by a Master of Homids Si j'avance suivez moi ; si je recule Tuez moi ; si je tombe vengez moi. Henri de la Rochejaquelein. FOLLOW, when I take the lead ; Pass me, when I fail in speed ; But I pray you, one and all, Jump not on me when I fall ! Epigram on a Hard-riding Youth named Taylor TAYLOR by name, but in no other sense. No tailor is he when he faces a fence ; To one Taylor alone can I fitly compare him, he Reminds me, out hunting, of good Bishop Jeremy ; For when fences are stiff, and the field does not fancy 'em, Due tor he then may be call'd Dubitantium ; And, when pitch'd from the saddle, he falls on his crown. He reminds me again of the Bishop of Down. 205 HUNTING SONGS Inscription ON A GARDEN SEAT FORMED FROM THE BONES OF AN OLD RACER ^ STILL, tho' bereft of speed, Compell'd to carry weight ; Alas ! unhappy steed, Death cannot change thy fate. II Upon the turf still ridden, Denied a grave below. Thy weary bones forbidden The rest that they bestow. 1 Note 46. 206 i THE WAY TO THE STABLES— ARLEY HALL JJAH Y3JIJ1A— a;: .v/ shi ♦ NOTES NOTES TO THE HUNTING SONGS Note i, p. i. Wells in the saddle is sealed. WELLS was a huntsman of the old school, whose like is seldom seen in these degenerate days. Reappears to have adopted the maxim of the old Cornish huntsman — " Master finds horse, and I find neck." He doated upon every hound in his pack, with as much fondness as a father feels for his children. In the course of his career he fractured his ribs twice, and broke his collar-bone seven times. After living six-and-thirty years under different managers of the Bedfordshire Hounds, during twenty-four of which he hunted them himself, he came to Mr. Wicksted, with whom he remained during the eleven years that he hunted the Woore Country. He was then engaged by Sir Thomas Boughey, and died in his service, March 30, 1847. Note 2, p. 2. The Vicar, the Squire, or tlie Major. The Rev. Henry Tomkinson, Vicar of Davenham ; the Rev. James Tomkinson (the Squire of Dorfold) ; and Major (the late Colonel) Tomkinson of the Willingtons. Note 3, p. 3. Ford. Charles Ford, Esq., was at that time one of the most active members of the Gorse Cover Committee. Note 4, p. 4. Charlie flings on the saddle his rein. Charles Wicksted, Esq., the hero of this Song, hunted the Woore Country from the year 1825 to the year 1836. It was ever Mr. Wicksted's chief delight to know that his hounds 2 D 209 NOTES TO THE had afforded a good day's sport to his friends, though no on