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THE ANALYSIS

OF

THE HUNTING FIELD

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THE ANALYSIS

OF

THE HUNTING FIELD

BEING

A SERIES OF SKETCHES

OF

THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS THAT COMPOSE ONE

THE WHOLE FORMING A SLIGHT

SOUVENIR OF THE SEASON

1845-6

BY

R. S. SURTEES

AUTHOR OF " HANDLEV CROSS*'

With 13 Coloured Plates and 43 Illustrations in the Text

BY

H. ALKEN

LONDON

KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd.

DRYDEN HOUSE, 43 GERRARD STREET, SOHO, VV.

1903

^vr)

MEW BOLTON
CENTER

LONDON :
PKINTED BY GILnERT AND RIVIN'GTON, LTD.,

ST. John's house, clhrkenwei.l, e.c.

PREFACE

The following papers appeared in " Bell's Life in London,"
Sporting paper, during last season, and, independently of
their reference to foxhunting generally, form a slight
Souvenir of that extremely favourable winter — the best
hunting one in the author's recollection ; as such, he re-
spectfully dedicates them to his brother sportsmen.

191, Regent Street, London,
October, 1846.

CONTENTS

Chai-tkr Page

I. The Master.— Month, October i

II. Adjourned Dek.ate.— The Master at Coti onwool's . 13

III. The Master— (Continued) 20

IV. The Master— (Concluded) 26

v. The Huntsman 37

VI. The Hunts.man— (Continued) 50

VII. The Whipper-in 62

VIII. The Whipper-in— (Concluded) 76

IX. The Earth-Stopper 94

X. The Groom no

\l. The Groom— (Continued) 123

XII. The Groom — (Concluded) 136

XIII. Peter Pigskin 147

XIV. The Farmer 160

XW Elijah Bullwaist, the Blacksmith . . . .176

.\VI. The Squire 193

X\"II. Lord Evergreen : with some Thoughts on Tuft

Hunting 210

XVIII. Captain Shabbyhounde, the Steeple-chaser . . 227

XIX. Captain Shabbyhounde — (Concluded) .... 250

XX. Lady Foxhunters.— Sir Rasper Smashgate and Miss

Cottonwooi 272

XXI. Colonel Codshead ; or, The Close of the Season . 291

LIST OF PLATES

PAR a

The Meet—" With ISright Faces and Merry

H EAR IS " Frontispiece

Panoramic Series of Incidents in the Hunting

Field Title pai^e

Facsimile of the original drawing by HeNRY AlkeN.

Going to Cover To face 29

Extra illustration from HeN'RY AlkEN'S original.

Breaking Cover „ 53

Extra illustration from HENRY Alken'S original.

The Check— "What the Devil do you here— don't
YOU know the great earth at Daventry is

open ? AND BE D D TO YOU I "... . „ 69

Water in the Way „ 87

Extra illustration Facsimile of tlie original drawing
by Henry Alken in water-colours (published for
the first time).

Coming well on ,,132

Extra illustration Facsimile of the original drawing by
Henry Alken in water-colours {published for the
first time).
Getting Away— "Let's TAKE THE Lead!" ... „ 149

Full Crv— "Let's keep the Lead!" .... „ '57

Negotiating a Stone Wali ,,187

Extra illustration from Henry Alken's original.

The Leap— "That will shut out many and make

the thing select!" ,,215

"Who — Hoo— o-o-p!" — "A chosen few alone the

death survey!" „ 253

Another Kill— "The select few !".... ,,283

Extra illustration from HENRY Alken'S original.

NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS

Remarkable as has been the increase in value of those
good old sporting books which the coloured illustrations
of that ideal delineator of British sport, Henrj' Aiken,
have made so highly popular, it may be referred to as
noteworthy that a comparatively modern publication,
" The Analysis of the Hunting Field," which made its first
appearance nearly sixty years ago, has proportionately out-
distanced competition, as regards the prices commanded bj'
fair copies at the present epoch. The original edition has now
reached an advanced monetar)- estimation which must agree-
ably astonish those collectors who have the good fortune to
find a cop3' in their sporting libraries ; in a word, the
" Analysis " has risen to prices which, like the earlier issued
" British Field Sports," "The British Preserve," " The Sport-
ing Repository" (1822), " The Life of a Sportsman," " Jorrocks's
Jaunts and Jollities," " The Life of John Mytton," and other
similarly costly and much sought after publications, are in-
teresting to plutocratic collectors, and, in consequence, almost
the exclusive privilege of the rich amateur, and, in their " first
states," nowadays practically unattainable by the book-lover of
limited purse.

"The Analysis of the Hunting Field," unlike " The Life of a
Sportsman," did not owe its enhanced estimation to the wealth
of its illustrations ; in fact the much prized " first issue " only
contained seven coloured plates. But in the famous hand-
coloured engravings, Henry Aiken had contrived to excel his

xiv NOTE ON THE ILI.rSTRATIONS

accustomed triumphs, above all in the truly wonderful and
elaborate frontispiece, which is the most important feature of
the work. For the rest it relied for its further appreciation
upon the profusion of Aiken's characteristically spirited sketches,
engraved upon wood, and interspersed throughout the attractive
letterpress.

The original designs, most elaborately finished in water
colours, found their way to the collection of a great Aiken
enthusiast, the late Robert Lumley, Esq., and, on that indefatig-
able amateur's decease, were dispersed at Christie's with the
rest of his extensive collection, including the original water-
colour drawings executed for the illustration of " The Life of
Jack Mytton." The circumstances wherein the twenty draw-
ings were reproduced in facsimile of the original designs for
the first time, have been already detailed in the descriptive
note which the present writer contributed to the de luxe
edition of that remarkable example of sporting biography.
These reproductions have secured a high measure of popular
appreciation consistent with their vast artistic merits.

The truly unique original design in water colours for the
frontispiece to " The Analysis of the Hunting Field " was later
secured, and now forms the leading embellishment of the
present edition, successfully reproduced in fac-simile of the
original, together with two elaborate, highly-finished original
water-colour drawings of unusually fine quality similarly
executed by the artist at the same time. These had been
secured at Mr. Lumley's sale together with a series of four
characteristic Aiken drawings, also reproduced in facsimile in
the present volume ; thus more fully and adequately illustrating
the "Analysis" with thirteen of Henry Aiken's inimitable
originals, reproduced throughout in zo\q\\x=> \n facsimile o{ \h&
aquarelles. It was felt that the " Analysis," with all its earlier
attractions thus artistically supplemented, would be further
esteemed by Aiken collectors, and thus form a worthier

NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS xv

addition to the sporting amateur's librarj' of choice, rare
and eminently attractive works.

In conclusion, it may be pointed out as a circumstance
worthy of notice that though Aiken's woodcuts to a certain
extent illustrate the text of " The Analysis of the Hunting
Field," the coloured plates, with one exception, have nothing
in particular to do with it. They form, it is true, an admirable
panorama of the Hunting Field in Aiken's best style, but as
illustrations of the text, the plates reproduced in the companion
volume in this series, namely, " Nimrod's Hunting Tours,"
would serve even better. In fact, nearly all the personages
whose portraits are there reproduced and many of the actual
engravings are referred to by Surtees in the present work.
The two volumes may therefore be taken as complementary
the one to the other, and should be taken together by students
of the history of Fox Hunting in England.

ANALYSIS OF THE HUNTING FIELD

CHAPTER I

THE MASTER. MONTH, OCTOBER

ITH a ver}' slight touch of
summer,* here we are again
close upon hunting — nay,
in some parts it has com-
menced already. In London
the " sear and yellow leaf"
reminds us of the old "red
rag." What can compensate
for the beauties of departing
summer, but the glories of
the chase ? Confound it, we believe we'd almost compound

* The summer of 1845 was singularly wet and unseasonable ; for further
particulars, sec Preface.

2 THE HUNTING FIELD

for the absence of summer altogether, if we could but enlarge
the operations of the pack. Well, however, " Here we are
again ! " as Mr. Merryman exclaims, as he bounds into the
circle. " Here we are again ! " Another month, and the
season will be in its pride. Let us indulge the pleasures of
anticipation by giving our mind's-eye a canter round the
hunting field.

First comes the Master — punctual as Masters should be.
His clever grey hack has scarce turned a hair, though he has
come no end of distance within the hour, while the rider as he
enters the field drops the reins, and, raising his hat, wipes the
slight perspiration from his brow with a stout bandana, show-
ing the thinning hair of his crown, and the slightly shot grey of
forty, or five-and-forty years. But look what health is on his
brow. Fine clear complexion, light bright eye, full lip, white
teeth, steady unshaken hand of early hours, strong exercise,
and sobriety. We have seen many older men at thirty.

Our Master looks the sportsman all over : neat, we may
almost say smart ; but not the smartness that is afraid of dirt.
No dandified satin or French polish flimsy finery is here ; all is
stout, warm, and weather-defying. The good heavy hat (caps
for gentlemen we abhor) would resist a deluge, or one of 1845
summer's rains, the round-cut single-breasted red coat, con-
fined by one button, across the step-collared toilanette striped
waistcoat, is made of strong double-milled cloth ; the roomy
breeches are of broadish striped cord, not exactly white, but
what will scour to white ; and the well put on boots are made
ot that comfortable-looking leather that tells to the eye how
soft they sit to the wearer's foot. But mark ; they are not
jacks — hang your jacks, say we ! ditto your Napoleons ; ditto
your cab-head leather fisherman's, with mouths gaping like
young rooks, and which seem capable of carrying half the
wearer's wardrobe, along with his legs. Give us the good old
top — the top that neither degenerates into affectation by its

THE MASTER 3

shallowness nor its depth ; the top that looks as if it cares not
for bullfinch or briar, and whose soles are of sufficient strength
to command the respect of the kickable portion of the com-
munity. For any one, save perhaps our late respected friend
the living skeleton, there is no costume equal to boots and
breeches — boots and breeches well made, and well put on,
indispensable accompanimants for the well-looking of both.
We could write a chapter on boots, but as we purpose passing
the field in review, we will glance at their various characters
as the wearers come before us. Spurs, too, are an eloquent
subject for dissertation. If any one would collect the hats,
gloves, whips, boots, and spurs of a field, placing each set by
themselves, we would undertake to appropriate them to the
station in life of the respective parties. These, too, however,
for the present, we shall " pass," as the auctioneers say, simply
observing that our Master's gloves are doe-skin, his whip a
lapped whalebone one, with a hammer head, his persuaders of
the Jersey pattern, with silver studs and buckles. The well
polished strap-ends come well over the buckles, and the boots
altogether wear a sort of air that says no common mud shall
stick to us.

A Master of Hounds is one of the most difficult characters
in life to fill ; hence it is not surprising that there are but two
sorts — the best fellows under the sun — and the nastiest brutes
going. Fortunately for society, the "nastiest brutes" going
are so select and so self-convicting a set as not to require
much description from us ; they are generally waffling,
fretting, fussing, fuming, vapouring bodies, who soon make
way for one of the " best fellows under the sun." Now the
best fellows under the sun, like the " best horse going," are a
numerous breed, but, as applied to masters of hounds, they
must, to a certain extent, have the same qualities, though they
may have very different ways of showing them. First and
foremost they must be keen. About this there must be " no

4 THE HINTING FIELD

mistake," as the Duke of ^^'elli^gton would say. It would be
not a bit more absurd for a man to punish himself by keeping
a yacht, who hates sailing and the sight of the sea, than it is
for a man to keep a pack of foxhounds who has no ardent
predilection for the chase. A qualified liking will not do for
a "best fellow under the sun." He must be heart and soul in
the sport — a real out-and-outer. Keenness covers a multitude
of sins.

In addition to the sine qua non of keenness, he should
possess a host of other qualities. He should have the bold-
ness of a lion, the cunning of a fox, the shrewdness of an
exciseman, the calculation of a general, the decision of a
judge, the purse of Squire Plutus, the regularity of a railway,
the punctuality of a time-piece, the liberality of a sailor, the
patience of Job, the tact of an M.P., the wiliness of a diplo-
matist, the politeness of a lord, the strength of an Hercules,
the thirst of a Bacchus, the appetite of a Dando, the digestion
of an ostrich, the coolness of a crocodile, the fire-enduring
powers of a salamander or of Mons. Chabot, the Fire King,
with a slight touch of the eloquence of Cicero, and temper as
even as the lines in a copy-book. Lor bless us, what a
combination of qualities ! John Austin, the peripatetic show-
man's happy united family in the body of a foxhunter !

Money ! money ! money ! like Mr. Wilberforce's reiterated
cry of Sugar ! sugar 1 sugar ! is, however, perhaps, the most
important thing after keenness and temper. City people,
perhaps, would put money first, but that shows they know
nothing about foxhunting. A real keen-un will generall}' get
a country, even though he has a soldier's thigh, before John
Plutus, who has only his money pots to recommend him.
Money, however, there must be, either from the Master or the
field ; happy, therefore, is the countrj- possessing a Master in
the enjoyment of the qualifications we have dotted down, and
who is willing and able to pay his " own shot ; " dearly should

THE MASTER 5

they prize him, for were they to lose him we really don't know
where to recommend them another.

Having sent for our maid of all work to try the foregoing
upon her, we observed that she neither smiled nor even relaxed
a muscle of her rather pretty countenance, till we repeated the
word " sugar," and, when we had concluded, she observed,
with her usual candid diffidence, that she did not understand
what all these qualities had to do with the " red coats," as she
calls them, conceiving, we rather suspect, that foxhunters are a
sort of off-shoots of soldiers.

As we may have other readers in a similar predicament to
Susannah, we will be our own " Boswell," and treat them to a
running commentary on the obscure portions of our text. This
we may do in a rambling sort of way, without reference to the
order in which they now stand.

A Member of Parliament is generally supposed to have a
ticklish up-hill sort of game to play, but it is nothing compared
to that of a Master of Foxhounds. The Member has merely to
bamboozle people once in six or seven years out of something
that really is hardly worth giving or receiving, and to change
his coat at short notice, but the Master of the Hounds
has to keep his soft solder pot boiling all the year round
healing real or imaginary wounds, trying to make farmers
believe something very much like " black being white,"
coaxing them into a credence that it benefits wheat and
sown grass to ride over them, that foxes never touch lambs,
and abhor poultry, that it benefits hedges for horses to
dance hornpipes upon them, with many other similar and
singularly curious articles of belief.

So much for the M.P. quality.

Time ! which assuredly has begun to go quicker since
railwaj's were introduced, has even carried the gastronomic
feats of" Dando " into the oblivion of all forgetfulness ; yet
let it not be said — Dando, though dead, yet lives in the

() THE HTNTING FIELD

recollection of oyster-shop keepers and licensed wittlers —
Dando,* who could eat a peck of oysters, and pick his teeth
with a shoulder of mutton bone for luncheon — Dando, the
nimble, plausible, dexterous Dando, who, with all the luggage
aboard, could outstrip the most heron-gutted chop-house
waiter, or the swiftest and best winded of the great " unboiled "
— Dando can never die ! Die he may, in the common every
day dolly-mop world, but die he never can in the recollection
of those whom he honoured with his large, though somewhat
expensive patronage.

And how do we connect the feats of Dando with the
necessary qualifications for a Master of Foxhounds ? Wh}-,
thus — Dando was a great " feeder," and so should a Master.
Next to drawing a gentleman's covers in a morning, drawing
the ladies' covers in an evening is of the last importance.

And here let us request our friend the printer to have the
kindness to print the word "cover" as we have written it.
We are aware that modern fashion has tacked a " t " to the
end, but Peter Beckford, who is quite authority enough for us,
wrote it as we have done. Moreover, in this instance, adding
a " t " would spoil the point of the sentence.

Hark, back to dinner, and Dando !

Hunting and hospitality are almost synonjnious, and the
man who hunts a country must calculate on a good deal of
knife-and-fork work. Dining out much is hard work — dreadful
where a man is " cock " guest every time. Still a Master must
undergo it, or the ladies won't reckon him "a nice man." If
the dress uniform of tlic hunt is scarlet, or yellow, or orange

* Dando, we may state for the benefit of the juvenile, was a wandering
sort of cormorant, much addicted to oysters, but whose means being in no
way proportionate to his appetite, he used to be under the necessity of
" bolting " after having " bolted " as many oysters as he could hold. He
used to afford "fine runs" to the police, and we believe it was in contem-
plation at one time to engage him for the purpose of being hunted by the
Queen's stag hounds.

THE MASTER 7

vermilion, sky-blue, pea-green, or any other outlandish colour,
"the Master " must wear it, or Mrs. Cottonwool will think
herself slighted. Then, with an ostrich-feathered red and
gold-spangled turban nodding over a well-oiled front, with
cork-screw ringlets at the sides, Mrs. Cottonwool, after having
waited past all patience for the much-wished-for, but non-
arriving guest, is at length led from the furniture-uncovered
drawing-room by our " model of a sportsman," in all the
ladylike trepidation of unaccustomed party-making. All the
Bore'ems and Snore'ems, Tom Browns, and Jack Smiths of
the hunt, figged out like their chief, follow in long-drawn file,
whipped in to, by Cottonwool, similarly attired.

The Miss Cottonwools will be scattered down the table just
as market gardeners scatter their flowers — first a rose, then a
lily, then another rose, then another lily — first a foxhunter,
then a lump of Cottonwool, then another foxhunter, then
another lump of Cottonwool, apparently " quite promiscuous,"
as the servants say, but in reality with a good deal of hen
Cottonwool " management." Our Cottonwools, however, are
not lumpy ; on the contrarj', fine, full-grown, full-limbed, ripe,
luscious-looking, fair-haired girls, radiant with all the accom-
plishments of ogling, worsted-working, dancing, and flirting.
But we are leaving our Master, soup-ladle in hand, pinned
on the right of ringlets, who sits telegraphing her daughterr
into their places, the order of march having been somewhat
disconcerted by the stupidity of Sam Bore'em not knowing
that Robertina has been setting her cap at him for many
months, and who has consequently endangered Juliana's being
stuck between papa and old Mr. Pigskin, the family stop-gap,
by taking out Henrietta instead of his intended, or rather, the
lady who intends him. At length they all get settled into
their places, with no other derangement than two of the
guests getting rush-bottomed chairs which were meant for the
daughters, and a room which would accommodate eight com-

8 THE HUNTING FIELD

fortably, or ten on a pinch, is now made to hold eighteen. Of
course the curtains are all drawn, the shutters are shut, and
there is a rousing fire. Oh, Hookey Walker ! Hookey Walker !
to what little purpose you wrote the " Original."

From eighteen take " one," says the Master in his own
mind, and seventeen remain. Seventeen glasses of wine at
dinner ! Awful ! Awful at any time, but doubly so when
supplied by a bumper-filling clown, who will shut out the sky-
light, or give the objector the balance over his hand or up his
sleeve. Pigskin is the only man our Master dare compound
with by clubbing with another ; but then comes the question
who is to be the other ? and also the consideration whether it
is not better to go the " entire animal," and drink with the
whole — Robertina, Juliana, Henrietta, and all.

Drinking, however, is only half his work. That is a duty he
owes his host. He must eat out of compliment to the lady.
Some ladies, too, are so unconscionable. The more a man
eats the more they require him to eat. " Oh, you must let me
send you some of this. Oh, you must take a little of that.
Oh, you must try some of t'other. You really eat nothing.
Dinner eater ! I never saw such a dinner eater ! Dinner's
wasted on you, however."

Kind hostess, let us say a word on behalf of our poor Master.
Give what you give freely and heartily, but give your guests
credit for knowing their stomachs better than you do.

What with good dinners, middling dinners, and bad dinners
— what with good wine, middling wine, and bad wine — what
with the room always at fever heat, have we not made out our
case that a Master requires the propensities of Bacchus, with
the appetite of a Dando, the digestion of an ostrich, and the
fire-defying properties of a salamander, or of Monsieur Chabot,
the Fire King ? We think we have, even to the satisfaction of
Susannah aforesaid.

Dining out is almost indispensable for a Master of Foxhounds,

THE MASTER 9

for the English never fancy a friendship fairly cemented until it
has been riveted on the altar of the mahogany. It is convenient
too, in some cases, such as hunting a distant part of the
country ; besides, it makes an agreeable change, especially when
a party is not composed entirely of the same people as have
been " hob-a-nobbing " it at "the club "' for weeks together.
This is one of the mistakes non-hunting people make. They
fancy that none but foxhunters will do to meet foxhunters.
Our friend Cottonwool's three fair, blooming, buxom daughters
make an agreeable variety ; but if " Wool " had not had them,
he would have filled their places with three other " red or
orange-vermilion coats," if, indeed, he had the "Master"' at
all, which is more than problematical, seeing he never had his
predecessor, and alwa3-s abused the hounds and all belonging to
them, until his daughters were invited to the hunt ball, and he
saw Henrietta in the grasp of Sir Rasper Smashgate, a hard-
riding baronet, going the rounds of a waltz with all the liveli-
ness of a waggon-wheel. "Wool" then began to mumble to
himself something about " more lai/ikefy things." " fine estate,"
and Mrs. Wool and he jumped to a conclusion that Wool ought
to be a " sleeping partner " in the hunt, and have the Master to
Fleecy Hall. The thing suited Wool's purpose, and it suits
our Masters ; at least it would have done if they had not nearly
roasted him alive. And here let us have a word " a la Walker "
to Wool and all the sleeping partner tribe. Nay, some
managing partners even may be benefited by our truisms, if
they would but remember them. Have a good fire in each
guest's bedroom when they arrive. People out of gigs, off
coaches, out of railway trains are apt to be chilly and cold.
There let them warm themselves — but remember, oh remember,
that a lot of people put into one room, with lamps, candles,
wittles, and waiters, will very soon cook up a devil of an
atmosphere. Shutting the shutters, drawing the blinds, closing
the curtains, is all very right and meritorious when }-ou are

^.

10 THE HUNTING FIELD

alone ; but with such a kettle offish as we have got at " Wool's "
you should take every precaution to have the room cool at
starting, and to try to keep it so. A little wood fire looks
lively, and soon dies out ; but if it has the impudence to live, a
pan of wet sand soon knocks the vital spark out of it.

But we have it not in our hearts to keep our poor Master in
this atmosphere any longer. Let us suppose the agony of
dinner past. Let us suppose that all has gone on smoothly and
well — no soup dribbled down any one's back, no poisonous lamp
expired, no tipsy cake alighted on any one's head, no squashed
blanc-mange, no pyramid of jelly toppling to its fall — nothing
gone wrong, except the white jug of hot water at the side-board
end upset on the third plunging of the forks and spoons, making
a map of Italy on the un-Turkey-carpeted part of the floor.
The Miss Wools have each plied a merry tongue, though,
between ourselves, it is not exactly the way to a foxhunter's
heart to interrupt him during his dinner ; but of that more
anon. Mrs. Wool has given the silent, significant hint — a hint
more potent than the strongest lunged sergeant ever bellowed
on parade — gloves, flowers, bags, handkerchiefs, fans, have been
gathered together, or brought up from their respective collieries
below, and our Master gladly rushes to open the door to let the
well-bustled party pass.

Each man stands, and pufts and blows like a stranded
grampus.

It is now Wool's turn to take our Master through his hands.
One would think that Wool was Monsieur Chabot in disguise,
for the first thing he says as he clutches his glass and decanter,
preparatory to moving his quarters to the top of the table is,
"Would you like a few more coals, Mr. Rattlecover ? " We
need not add that Mr. Rattlecover declines, observing that,
with Mr. Cottonwool's permission, he will change his seat away
from the fire, when, like many wise men who know e\-erything

THE MASTER 11

after they are told, old Wool observes that he docs think the
room rather warm. This brilliant discover}- being universally
confirmed, they forthwith proceed to the other extreme, and
opening all the doors and windows, just give old iEolus the full
swing of the apartment.

Something like a liveable atmosphere is at length procured,
and the business of the evening is begun by the " sleeping
partner " asking some absurd questions about hunting.

Cottonwool does this from the same mistaken notion that
would have induced him to ask none but foxhunters to meet
a Master of Foxhounds, viz. an idea that foxhunters can only
talk about foxhunting. Mistaken man ! Nine-tenths of them
would rather talk about anything else. Anno3-ing, however, as
it is to hear a man talking nonsense for our accommodation,
calling a pack of hounds a set ©f dogs, a hound's stern a bushy
tail, giving tongue, barking, and so on, a Master must not break
out and bid him " hold his tongue for a d — d fool," as a sailor
would. No, he must humour him — " sugar his milk," as a
huntsman would say ; for the best hounds in the world, with
the " best fellow under the sun " at the head of them, are useless
without foxes, and fox or no fox is in the caprice of such
creatures as Cottonwool. Some Cottonwools are apt to " keep
the word of promise to the ear and break it to the hope," giving
their keepers orders perhaps not to shoot foxes, but at the same
time not to let a vixen lie up on the estate. There are many
ways of preserving foxes — at all events of salving a not trouble-
somely fastidious conscience. If our " best fellow under the
sun " suspects anj'thing like foul play, he will lead old Wool
unto the ice, get him to talk big about hunting, the pleasures
of the morning, the delights of a find, the certainty of sport,
the abundance of foxes — our Master slyly exclaiming to old Pig-
skin or anyone furthest off, so that every one must hear, "Ah,
Mr. Pigskin, I wish all people were like our worth}' host

12

THE HUXTIXG FIELD

Mr. Cottonwool ! There would be no lack of foxes — no fear of
sport then." He may then observe, almost to " W'ool " himself,
" I'm sure all here will bear me out in saying that I always
hold our excellent friend Mr. Cottonwool upas a perfect specimen
of what an English gentleman ought to be.'' Now, that is
good, wholesome, unadulterated flattery — all Wool's own too,
and the odds are that thinking he has not committed himself,
he will retract the qualifying order about the vixens, and show
himself at the next cattle-show as a perfect specimen of what an
English gentleman ought to be. More people are flattered into
virtue than bullied out of vice.

Toast drinking is almost exploded, but if ever it is tolerated
it will surely be allowed to wash down such a pat of butter as
Cottonwool has received. The way to accomplish this, of
course is, for Wool to propose the Master's health — long life to
him — with such other novelties as a podgey old gentleman, un-
accustomed to public speaking, can accomplish ; and the
Master (who we premised must have a touch of Cicero), may
just turn the remains of the dripping-pan of flattery over Wool's
head and shoulders any way he likes. A glutton in flattery
looks more to quantity than quality.

With that performance we will let the chapter's curtain
drop.

■ ,' ', : ■■■:■ ■ i i-'^?#sf^'A=4ir- ' ] i' ••■' ,.

ir. ■,^^;— ^

CHAPTER II

ADJOURNED DEBATE. — THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL S

OR brevit3-'s sake, we will con-
dense the proceedings of the
evening into the potted-
game sort of style some in-
genious gentleman about the
House of Commons adopt
towards the windy proceed-
ings therein, for the accom-
modation of political club
lobbies.

We don t prmt ours m

columns, because it is not convenient. \\^e hope the omission

will not be considered a breach of privilege.

Eight o'clock. — Cottonwool returns thanks for the honour
they have done him in drinking his health, &c. ; drinks all
theirs ; port and claret ordered. — Observations. Party quite
sober. Pigskin asleep.

Half-past Eight. — Host gives " Success to foxhunting."
Bumper toast. Pigskin accused of taking a back hand ; Pig
replies ! division ; 13 to i. Pigskin voting ; ordered, " song or
salt and water ; " song preferred ; " W'e -ojont go home till

14 THE HUNTING FIELD

morning;" more port — two bottles this time. — Observations.
Party merry ; Pigskin half-cocked ; Sam Bore'em nodding ;
host speaking thick.

Nine o'clock. — " Chair ! chair ! " Host proposes " Master's
health " again, assuring him that Fleecy Hall covers shall never
be drawn blank; amendment by Pigskin, "That the toast be
drunk with three times three ; carried nem. con. ; drunk ; moved
by Tom Lax, and " one cheer more " given ; port and claret
— 2 and I. — Observations. Party noisy; room hot; gentle-
men's waistcoats loose.

Quarter-past Nine. — Alaster returns thanks again ; pro-
poses a bumper toast ; no heel-taps ; " The Ladies ! " three
times three, and one, &c. — Obstrvations. Very merry ; Pigskin
three parts drunk ; Master half-cocked ; Sam Bore'em asleep.

Let us now suppose it half-past nine, and that Mrs. Cotton-
wool and daughters, having got themselves cooled, have lit
their "Brecknell and Turners'," shaken out their feathers, and
taken positions best calculated for capturing their respective
prey as they enter the drawing-room. And here we may pay
the "deferred " annuity of information we promised our fair
friends, as they left the dining-room. It is this : — A man is
much easier come over when half-mellow than when half-fed.
We observed, with sorrow, not altogether unmingled with anger,
that you pestered your next door neighbours with your
pleasantries when they had their mouths full. Nay, we caught
Robertina interrupting hers in the middle of a glass of cham-
pagne ! All this is very wrong. Our Master will tell you that
he never speaks to his hounds so long as they will hunt. So
you, on your parts, should never speak to a foxhunter so long
as he will feed. It is all very well for you ladies who dine at
luncheon time to trifle with the golden moments of dinner, but
it is serious work with a half-famished sportsman, especially
with the pace nervous servants of all work go on these occasions.

THE MASTER AT COTTONAVOOLS 15

Besiege your men at tea. That is your time. You may offer
them a cup of coffee, but you can't ask them to take wine. Of
course you have a piano in the room. Music is a great
assistance in love-making. Its noise keeps whispers where they
should be, and though you are all very jealous of the time lost
in playing, yet if you have a fine arm and tolerable execution,
we don't know but you may be doing more business with your
fingers than you would with your tongue and eyes. At all
events, sisters can arrange to relieve each other, on the " now
thou, now me, now both together," principle. " Music," some
amiable gentleman writes, " has charms to soothe the savage
breast." God forbid that it should not have the same influence
upon sportsmen ! And here we may observe that, though fox-
hunters may not be men of many words, what they do say is
generally to the purpose. " Isn't this," as Beckford would say,
"far better than the eternal babbling of unsteady puppies?
Puppies who merely babble to lead the ladies astray, to

' Love again, and be again undone.'"

There's Henrietta's friend Smashgate, for instance — we beg
pardon. Sir Rasper Smashgate — we will stake our literary
reputation that a squeeze, a good squeeze from the Smashgate
hand at bed-time, would mean more than an hour and a half's
blather from young Fribbleton Brown, about roses and lilies,
and love in a cottage, hearts, darts, Cupids, and the whole mint
of matrimonial small coin.

We would almost excuse Henrietta if she presented herself
to mamma as " Lady Smashgate," on reaching the landing.
"What, has he offered to you ? " old Turban would exclaim.
" No, mar, but he squeezed my hand as he gave me the
candle." " Silly girl/' Mrs. Cottonwool would reply, in a pet
— not knowing the nature of the animal — " many squeezes go
to an offer." Were we a girl, however, matrimonially inclined
— which they all are, unless bespoke — we would rather have a

16 THE HUNTING FIELD

squeeze of the hand from Smashgate than a black and white
offer from Fribbleton Brown. Spite of what old mother
Cottonwool says, we will lay " copious odds " — as old
Crockey used to sa}-, that she would give old Caudle
Cottonwool a hint that things were " going on right," and
take all the credit to herself too. Cruel Smashgate, however,
has not come.

While nibbing our pen, we have been casting about to see if
we could recollect any instance, among our numerous ac-
quaintance, of a bad foxhunter husband, and we are happy to
say we have drawn the cover blank. We have, to be sure,
fallen in with fellows in red coats, who have been anything
but what they ought, but we can conscientiously say that we
have never known any man worthy the name of a sportsman,
who was not a good fellow. Indeed, were we a young lady,
we would pick a foxhunter for preference. Their coats may
not be quite so glittering as the laced jacket of a soldier, nor
may they be quite such good hands at dancing the polka, but,
for the real stead\- comfort and enjoyment of life they beat
them by chalks. Besides, war's alarms are trying, soldiers
are ver\' apt to shut up shop when they get married ; and,
if they don't, why even a child tires of looking at the same
dressed doll.

A pleasant poet, whose name we forget — indeed we are not
quite sure that we ever had the pleasure of his personal
acquaintance — wrote something about something, and

— " Unclouded ray,

Making to-morrow pleasant as to-day."

The compliment, we believe, was turned for the ladies, but
we are going tO' " diwide it," as the dentist said, when he
threw the bucket of dirty water over the blind fiddlers.

We should say, that a foxhunter and his wife can not only
make to-morrow cheerful as to-day, but they can make winter

THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 17

as pleasant as summer — that is to say, if they go the right
way to work.

Even in sweethearting a foxhunter is worth a dozen such
fellows as Fribbleton Brown — fellows who hang about a
drawing-room all the morning, fumbling in women's work-
bags, stealing their thimbles, and stopping their worsted work.
Women like to have men " in tow," no doubt, but they don't
like to have fellows lying " at them " all day, like terriers
at fox-earths. The foxhunter goes out to " fresh fields and
pastures new," hears all the news, the fun, the nonsense, the
gossip of the world. His mind's enlarged, his spirits raised,
his body refreshed, and he comes back full of life and ani-
mation. If he has had a good run, and been carried to his
liking, his harvest-moon heart loves all the world. He'll do
anything short of accepting a bill of exchange. Our esteemed
friend, the author of the " Pleasures of Hope," albeit no
sportsman, or at least not a master of hounds, shadowed out
the feelings of a sportsman, and of a sportsman's lady-love,
when he sung

" Wlio that would ask a heart to dulness wed,
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead ?
No ; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy !
And falls and tumbles fan the fire of joy ! "

We are not quite sure that " falls and tumbles" are the words
he used ; perhaps not. They savour of tautology, but again
that looks more like a non-sportsman, as Campbell was. Be
that as it ma}-, they suit our purpose. There is no doubt,
however, that the roughings, and scramblings, and wettings
and rollings, and muddings of the morning, all tend to make'a
man enjoy the comforts of home and the pleasure of female
society in the e\'ening: —

" Domus et placens uxor."

" Thy home, and in the cup of life.
That honey-drop, thy pleasing wife,"

18 THE HUNTING FIELD

as those few Latin words have been skilfully rendered by some
talented linguist, with the skill of our friend, Bob Chalkup,
the milkman, who can make a quart of milk out of a pint, but
to make the foregoing fine jingle of words run right for the
foxhunter, the " placens uxor" should always have breakfast
ready in good time, and plenty of lambs' wool and fleecy
hosiery before the fire, against her swain comes home. Con-
found it, there are very few of those sort of " uxors'' now-a-
days. Old Mrs. Pigskin is the only one we know of, but she
belongs to a generation far removed in the distance. S/ie
can't work pheasants in floss silk ! Some old sour grapers
object to foxhunters, because they sometimes take a nap after
dinner. Suppose they do, what then ? They most likely have
said their say, and surely it's far better for a man to go to
sleep than to talk nonsense, or say the same thing over and
over again. Take our advice, fair ladies. If it should ever be
your luck to have to choose between a foxhunter and a fiddler
• — which latter comprises all people who are not foxhunters —
choose the foxhunter. Not one of your pretty fellows, who
come home clean and unspecked by luncheon time, but a
regular sport-loving cock, who would rather lose his dinner
than the end of a run. Don't mind what spiteful old maids
say about their habits and propensities. If you wait till you
get a man whom all the world will praise, you'll remain single
to the end of the chapter.

The young lady of forty's reply, that a bad husband was a
deal better than none, was a very sensible observation, though
totally inapplicable to foxhunters.

But we are writing a chapter for cliapcrones rather than
an essay on a " Master of Hounds." Farewell fair Miss
Cottonwools ; ere spring returns, may we read your names in
the list of — you know what.

Good morning, Mrs. Cottonwool, and thanks for your

THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 19

hospitality. Good morning, Mr. Cottonwool, and thanks to
you also.

Perhaps, however, having got so wide of the mark, we had
better let the curtain down again, and resume " The Master "
with a fresh chapter.

CHAPTER III

THE MASTER — CONTINUED

-^^^^gg^?: -^E^^^

HE great Masters of antiquity,
if we may so call them —
Meynell, Beckford, Corbet,
Lee Anthone, John Warde,
Ralph Lambton, and so on —
have been described as para-
gons of politeness as well as
models of keenness. We
doubt not the}- were, but we
have as good gentlemen now-
a-daj's, though the Grandison
style is somewhat relaxed. The fact is, a man won't do for a
Master of Hounds unless he is a gentleman. Wealth, birth,
keenness, all combined, won't do unless he has that inde-
scribable quality which may be best defined as a sincere desire
to please, with a nervous dread of saying or doing anything
that may hurt the feelings of another. Some men ma}' go
blundering and bullying on to be sure, by mere dint of purse,
but it is a weary up-hill game, generally wearing them out at
last, as it has worn out their followers.

We cannot help thinking that one of the mistakes of the
day is that of making too much of a business of hunting.
Hence we have nervous, irritable Masters, who are a nuisance
to themselves and to every one they come thwart of. If a

THE MASTER AT COTTOXWOOI.'S 21

shooter was to make himself as unhappy about a bad day's
sport as some foxhunters do, what a booby we should think
him. " Better luck next time," is a fine consoling axiom,
cheering; alike to the foxhunter, the gunner, and the fisherman.
Foxhunting is but a species of game, and whether a fox is
killed, or a fox is lost, or a fox is mobbed, or a fox is earthed,
makes no difference in the balance at the banker's — that
converging point to which so many anxious earthly hopes
turn.

Gentlemen, when they begin to do a thing, are very apt to
do too much. They think if they take the Mastership of
hounds that they must slave and toil like servants. Then we
have a lot of babblement about " science,'' " condition,"
" generative economy," " .-Ethiop's mineral," and we don't
know what. Can science make a scent ? " Kennel manage-
ment," and all that sort of thing, is very necessary; but
experience proves that a man may be a first-rate sportsman
without troubling himself about minutiae. Mr. Musters, if we
mistake not, was no great kennelman, and we should like to
have a look at any one with the boldness to deny his prowess
in the field. The best gentleman huntsman of the present day
never feeds his hounds. We have even known paid huntsmen
who never saw theirs except in the hunting field.

The well-bred hound — the well-bred sporting dog of any
sort — will always leave the man who feeds it for the man who
shows it sport.

All economists, political ones and all, agree in the inex-
pediency of keeping a dog and barking one's-self ; neither is
it of any use a Master keeping servants and doing their work.
The more trouble a man takes the more anxious he gets, and
the more he expects ; hence a great deal of that nervous
irritability in the hunting field which is almost its only bane.
Take it easy! Take it easy! "Better luck next time,"
say we.

•22 THE HUNTING FIELD

To suppose that a man can be Master of a pack of hounds,
and not feel differently when things go on smoothly and well
to what he does when the}' all go crooked and wrong, is either
to suppose that he is ignorant of what he professes to direct,
or has feelings and passions different from other people. It is
the mode of conducting himself under the circumstances, the
language made use of, the manner, time, and stjle of the
reproof that constitutes the difference between the "best fellow
under the sun," and the " nastiest brute going."

The old Masters, if history is to be credited, indulged in
the inuendo, or suaviter in inodo style of rebuke rather than in
the " d — n your eyes" fortiter in re one. Thus Mr. Meynell,
in reply to a persecuting over-rider, who would argue that
he was right, would bow and smilingly say, " You may be
perfectly right, sir, and I quite wrong, but there is gross
ignorance on otie side or the other." Even this sort of rebuke
he did not care to repeat, generally the telling the man a
second time that he was incorrigible, and it was no use.
admonishing him. Notwithstanding all his politeness, how-
ever, we are told that Mr. Meynell's indignation in the field
was sometimes excessive, frequently expressed by looks, some-
times by deputies, but still, when by words, he never de-
generated into rudeness. Mr. Corbet was a somewhat similar
character. A gentleman killed him a hound one day. He
saw who did it, but, instead of attacking the delinquent point
blank, he trotted past him, saying, " They've killed me a
favourite Jioimd, sir ; you don't happen to know who did it,
do you ? " On another occasion he just dropped into the
delinquent's ear, en passant, " Killed the desf hound in the
pack, that's alii" He caught a gentleman hunting the hounds
one day, '' Thank you, sir," exclaimed Mr. Corbet coming on
him unawares ; " thank j'ou, sir," repeated he, "but ni}- hounds
will do that quite as well zvithout you."

How different to the language of a certain duke under similar

THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 23

circumstances! "Who the hell are you, sir ?" exclaimed his
grace, coming on an unfortunate wight, hat in hand, capping
the hounds.

" And who the hell z.xe.you ! "' replied the stranger, a captain
in the sea service.

" T\iey cominonl}' call me the Duke of — — ," rejoined his
grace, adding, "Now, sir, there are the hounds, hunt them,
and be d — d to you."

Talking of sailors, reminds us of an amusing account given
bj' Nimrod of a certain nautical M.P. and ex-master of fox-
hounds' mode of addressing a constituent in the field. ''Come
here, you ten-pound radical rascal and open this gate." Here
is another. A few years back an action was brought by a
sailor against a captain of a merchant-man, for ill-usage, when
it appearing to be but the second time of "asking," the judge
was curious to know Jack's reasons for sailing again with so
inhuman a captain.

" Why, please your honour," said Jack, hitching up his
trousers, " I war'nt for sailin' with him again, but I couldn't
help it ; the captain has such winning ways with htm."

"Winning ways," observed his lordship, "what do 30U
mean by winning ways ? " " Why, please m\- Lord," resumed
Jack, " the captain comes alongside me, on the quay, slaps me
on the back and saj-s, ' What ! Jack, you ill-looking, blear-
eyed, squinting scoundrel, arn't you going to sail along with
me ? ' " Jack couldn't resist so touching an appeal.

Beckford gives an amusing account of a Master, whose
blowings up combined the " suavitcr in inodo " with the
"for titer in re."

" An acquaintance of mine," writes he, " a good sportsman,
but a very warm one, when he sees the company pressing too
close upon his hounds, begins with crying out, as loud as he
cslW," Hold hard\" Ifanyone should persist after that, he begins
moderately at first, and says, "/ beg, sir, you, li'ill stop your

•J4 THE HUNTING FIELD

horse : Pray, sir, stop ; God bless you, sir, stop ; God d — n
your blood, sir, stop your horse ! "

Mr. Vyner, in his very able work, " Notitia Venatica," gives
the following amusing account of Mr. Nichol, better known as
Sam Nichol, in the blowing-up line.

When Mr. Nichol first took the New Forest, he was des-
perately annoyed by some of the attendants on his hounds,
and after vainly begging and beseeching several of the hard-
riders, who were wantonly pressing on the pack, to desist, he
at length launched out in no measured terms, to the utter
astonishment of one unfortunate wight, who claimed the pri-
vilege of exhibiting himself, on the plea of being a committee
man. " The committee be d — d," replied Nichol, " you are
not worth d — ing singly, so I'll d — n you all in a lump."

Mr. Smith in his " Diary of a Huntsman," recommends the
indirect or at them, rather than the to them style of rating,
such as " Hold hard ; pray black horse hold hard ! "

The renowned Mr. Jorrocks was doubtless a disciple of Mr.
Smith's, for he carried the advice out to the letter, and a little
beyond — ex : gra : " Old ard, you air dresser, on the chesnut
OSS ! " " Hair dresser, sir ! I am an officer in the gist Regi-
ment." " Then 30U hossifer in the 91st Regiment, wot looks
like an air dresser, old ard," rejoined Mr. Jorrocks, trotting on.

But enough of bullying, scolding, and riot act reading, — un-
gracious work at best, and only to be excused under the plea of
the infirmities of poor human nature. When the boiler of poor
human nature's indignation is insufficient to hold all her steam,
let us beseech the owner to get rid of his superfluous stock all
at once. Let the Master, in fact, say his say and be done, but
don't let him incur the censure the nigger passed on his Master,
who having flogged him well, began to preach after. —
" Floggey, floggey, or preachey, preachey, massa ; but no both
floggey and preachey." Blow up and be done, but don't blow
up, and keep " knagging" all the rest of the day.

THE IMASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S

o\

Remember, if the fault is a flagrant one the field will go
with the Master. Their sport is at stake as well as his, but
coarse language always disgusts, and the edge of severity is
blunted by repetition.

" Old ard, you air dresser on the chesnut oss !"

CHAPTER IV

THE MASTER — CONCLUDED

N dealing with this scribblement,
we have treated our " Master "
more as a Master than as one
of those "rare birds," a Master
and huntsman combined.
True it is, that in our specifi-
cation of requirements we
kimped the offices, but that
was done to show what a
''monster of perfection" a
gentleman-huntsman ought to
be. Dis-Siamese the characters, and we have enough in that
of "Master" for all ordinary capacities. Doubtless, in our
long life, we have seen many eminent men in duplicate — Dar-
lington, Ducie, Foljambe, Lambton, Musters, Graham, Gifford,
Sutton, Osbaldeston, Elcho, Nichol, Kintore, Newman,
Templer, Tatchel, and, though last not least, those mighty fox
foes, who have shed renown on the somewhat common name of.
Smith ; but placing the question on its own comprehensive
stern, we are very much of the opinion of Beckford, who s^jys,
that it is an undertaking which, in a general way, had better
be " let alone."

" It is your opinion, I find," writes Mr. Beckford, and we

THE MASTER 27

trust all the foregoing great sportsmen will excuse the freedom
with which we have written their names, " It is your opinion,
I find," writes Mr. Beckford, " that a gentleman might make
the best huntsman ; I have no doubt that he would, if he chose
the trouble of it."

It is just the " trouble '" that chokes people off half the pro-
jects and enterprises of life. If it wasn't the trouble, and per-
haps a Icctlc the fear of Mr. Hardwick, we would give that
confounded organ-grinder, who has just struck up under our
window, for the third time this morning, an uncommon good
quilting, but as it is, we will just sit still and let him grind
himself out.

Thank God, he's gone at last, though he has sorely put us
out. Let us see what was it we were writing about. Oh, we
have it — gentlemen-huntsmen and paid-huntsmen. Well, our
next sketch shall be that of a paid " Huntsman," a jolly black-
capped, red-faced, purple-lapped huntsman ; meanwhile we
will glance at the other duties of a " Master," lest the non-
hunting portion of the community may suppose " blowing
out " and " blowing up " are the only qualifications requisite
for one.

For the benefit of embryo gentlemen-huntsmen, we may,
however, quote what Colonel Cook wrote on the subject in his
" Observations on Foxhunting "" — an able work written by a
practical sportsman, and published some twenty years ago —
"Gentlemen," says he, "should recollect, let their situation in
life be ever so exalted, if they condescend to hunt their own
hounds, that when in the field they are huntsmen; a huntsman
is a public character, and as such is liable to have remarks and
criticisms made by the field (who it is always to be remem-
bered are Init lockers on, and as such are apt to flatter tlieinseives
they knoi^' as much of the game as the actual player) and to be
spoken to 1)\- farmers and others on the occurrences which

28 THE HI XTIXG FIELD

commonly happen in the day's huntinf^ ; if thinfjs go on well,
and the sport is good, the Master of the pack is no doubt the
person most pleased, feeling conscious that his exertions con-
tribute much to the amusement of the day ; and there is cer-
tainly no pleasure more gratifj'ing to ourselves than that of
pleasing others. On the contrary, if everything should go on
untowardly, which will frequently happen on a bad scenting
day, he ought to be mindful that the field likewise participates
in his disappointment."

Now for the other qualifications we dotted down in our first
paper : —

The generalship of a Master consists in making the most of
a country, and the greatest use of his friends. We don't mean
to say he is to borrow money or horses of them, but he should
urge each individual to put his shoulder stoutly to the wheel to
promote the general interest in his particular localit}'. Thomp-
son's woodman can make up a gap in a cover without trouble
or expense ; but if the Master has to send a man half-a-dozen
or a dozen miles to do it, wh}' there's a da}- work. Wise
Masters, however, will have nothing to do with covers. They
will leave them to the management of those whom Mr. Nichol
d — d in the aggregate.

Diplomacy, a genteel term for " humbugging," is an essential
requisite for a Master of Foxhounds. A Master, like Jisop's
hare, has generally " many friends," some of whom will advise
him diametrically the reverse on the same point. Is it not
diplomacy to make each believe you intend doing as he advises,
and yet have your own wa}' after all ? The necessity for a
Master combining the libcralit}- of a sailor with his other
qualifications, is sufficiently illustrated in the following obser-
vation of Lord Petre, then Master of a first-rate establishment,
to Mr. Delm6 Ratcliffe, when about to take the Hertfordshire
hounds : — " Remember, however," added his lordship, after
going through a recapitulation of the hundreds — " Remember,

THE PIASTER :.'{>

li,-, 'his, 30U will never have your hand out

ways have a guinea in it."

'' requisite both for "Ma~,i(;i

i]uick as thought ; and when

^ ery cogent reasons appear to

^?rhaps, we cannot do better

nt a country, and to make

satisfaction, requires some

a thorough knowledge of

:r be led by others, for you

\ they have ni. ofily some selfish motives, and

en mislead you; Ji .^non case," says he, " for a

u ...ner of hounds to be i i to draw such and such a

covert,* merely because it 1. . . : , pen to accommodate some

of the gentlemen out, by 1% ing on their way home ; now if an

acquiescence in this should cause no inconvenience or material

alteration in t* oments made for the day, it may be all

very\s "' ' 11 to oblige any particular person or

set of ' :ld nevertheless be remembered by

nil rii !ial as people are in the habit of coming great

es /// ti'ery direction, to the point where the hounds meet

in ihc morning, by thus acceding to the wishes of a /fw/ you

are likelj' to inconvenience many ; besides the probability of

occasioning yourself, servants, hounds, and horses (should the

draw he from home instead oi towards it) to remain out late in g

a wet December nii'l-.t. without even the moon or stars to guide ^

\i)U. Some men will I you to avoid having their ^

.OMTts disturbed, fearr ' mt may fly away to his "

o
nei.L;hbours' preserves. est to be firm, and never 'J

change the plan of drawmg which you have fixed upon and •-

considered to be the most probable one for sport. c

" A country ought to be regularly hunted, the good and the j

* This chap puts in a " t." — Printer i Devil.

>

<

a

THE JNIASTER 29

however, that, after all this, you will never have your hand out
of your pocket, and must always have a guinea in it."

Decision is an indispensable requisite both for "Master"
and huntsman. It should be quick as thought ; and when
once taken, adhered to, unless very cogent reasons appear to
the contrar\'. On this point, perhaps, we cannot do better
than quote Colonel Cook. " To hunt a countr}^ and to make
the most of it, so as to give general satisfaction, requires some
consideration. Supposing jou have a thorough knowledge of
it, use your own judgment, and never be led by others, for you
will find they have most commonly some selfish motives, and
will often mislead you. It is a common case," says he, " for a
Master of hounds to be requested to draw such and such a
covert,* merely because it may happen to accommodate some
of the gentlemen out, by lying on their way home ; now if an
acquiescence in this should cause no inconvenience or material
alteration in the arrangements made for the day, it may be all
very well to do what you can to oblige anj- particular person or
set of men out ; but it should nevertheless be remembered by
all the field, that as people are in the habit of coming great
distances hi every direction, to the point where the hounds meet
in the morning, by thus acceding to the wishes of a yO^w you
are likely to inconvenience many ; besides the probability of
occasioning yourself, servants, hounds, and horses (should the
draw he from home instead o{ towards it) to remain out late in
a wet December night, without even the moon or stars to guide
you. Some men will mislead you to avoid having their
coverts disturbed, fearing a tame pheasant may fly away to his
neighbours' preserves. After all, it is best to be firm, and never
change the plan of drawing which you have fixed upon and
considered to be the most probable one for sport.

" A country ought to be regularly hunted, tlie good and the

* This chap puts in a " i."— Printer's Devil.

30 THE HUNTING FIELD

bad alternately, to give general satisfaction, and in the long run
you will have a better chance of sport. If you are continually
disturbing your best country you may have blank days, and the
foxes will be very shy ; where there are many earths they will
lay at ground. There can be no doubt but it must be more
agreeable to hunt a good country always, if you have extent
enough for an open season. Provided you cannot hunt the
inferior one, so as to give satisfaction, it is more liberal to give
it up altogether to some neighbouring pack, or even to some
one from a distance, who might be glad to hunt it regularly.
The keeping a country, or requiring owners of covers to pre-
serve, without hunting it, is too much to expect, and gives
people an opportunity of alluding to the story of the dog in
the manger."

Mr. Pryse Pryse, an old Master, summed up the relative
duties of himself and field very ably, in the following words,
at a dinner given hmi by the Goggerdan Hunt, some years
since: — "As a Master of Hounds," said he, "I have many
things to expect. I have a right to expect a strict preservation
of foxes from every one. I have a right to expect old foxes,
and also a strict preservation of cubs ; for, without young
foxes, the stock cannot be kept up, and blank days will be the
result." [Mr. Pryse Pryse would seem to have been hitting at
some of the Cottonwool tribe.]

"On the other hand," continues he, " you have a right to
expect from me the most polite attention in the field, and out
of the field, to expect a correct announcement of all the meets ;
in fact you have a right to expect me to hunt the country, not
for my own convenience, but to the satisfaction and amuse-
ment of others "

Some people, wc may observe, are very difficult to jilease,
and very unreasonable in their expectations about hunting,
especially on the point of hounds going out without due notice.
Nothing can be more absurd, for any one who has watched

THE MASTER 31

the weather and localities, must be .aware that, during the
ticklish part of the season, hounds can often hunt in one part
of a country and not in another, and that "hunt" or "no
hunt " is sometimes the work of one capricious hour. When
the electric telegraph is established throughout the country,
out-lying gentlemen will have a better chance of being com-
municated with, but even then we question whether any of the
grumblers will come or not. As things stand, parties nearest
the kennel have the best chance, and properly so. Some
people are as difficult to please about their hunting as the
soldier was about his flogging.

Mr. Beckford appears to have been clear both of subscribers,
clubs, committees, and all the modern paraphernalia of the
chase, most likely paying everything himself, and accommoda-
ting such sportsmen as chose to come to him on his own
terms. At all events his book is silent on the management of
a country, as it is called, though he makes a distinction be-
tween managing a pack of hounds and hunting them. On the
former point he says : " Some art may be necessary to make
the most of the countr\' that \'ou hunt. I would advise you
not to draw the covers near your house while you can find
elsewhere ; it will make them certain places to find in when
you go out late, or may otherwise be in want of them. For the
same reason, I would advise you not to hunt those covers late
in the season. They should not be much disturbed after
Christmas. Foxes will then resort to them, will breed there,
and you can preserve them with little trouble."

We have heard various opinions as to the best man to hunt
a country, some advocating native Masters, others contending
that strangers are the best. It is a point on which much may
be said on both sides, though the great question hinges on the
stj'le of man himself. Perhaps it may not be an unfair pro-
position to lay down, that a popular resident gentleman is
most likely to be agreeable to the farmers, while a sportsman

32 THE HUNTING FIELD

of established reputation and station may unite the whole fox-
hunting force, and prevent the petty jealousies that sometimes
arise when a Master is drawn from the " body of the county,"
as they say of a jur}-. Farmers will put up with a great deal
from a man they know. It is " stranger damage " they object
to — townsmen's particular!}', not one in ten knowing what
they are riding over. " A lord," we may add, is a trump card
anywhere.

If we thought a Mastership and the duties of huntsman
too much for one man, what shall we say to the triplicate
character of a Master supported by subscription and hunting
the hounds ? We think we may say that a successful one is
little short of a miracle, an eighth wonder of the world, at all
events. We all know the ease and readiness with which people
find fault. Hunting critics, like Lord Byron's reviewing ones,
"are ready made;" and some think it necessary to censure,
just as others think it right to halloo, according to the amount
of their subscriptions. Nay, we have heard of men censuring
to escape subscribing, just as skinflint travellers used to pick
holes with guards and coachmen, to escape paying them.
The " hallooing and hunting tariff" was thus laid down by
Nimrod some years ago, and as no mention has been made of
it in any of Sir Robert Peel's new ones, we suppose it remains
the same, viz., the man who subscribes twenty-five pounds
a-year may halloo once, fifty twice ; but, if he give a hundred,
he ma}- halloo all da}' long.

Hunt subscriptions are as difficult to realize as the assets
of a bankrupt tommy shopkeeper. Unless there is a huge
nest egg to start with, it is weary up-hill work trying to keep
a pack of hounds by what the hospital people call "voluntary
contributions." Voluntary contributions, forsooth ! We read
in the " Old Sporting Magazine," that, at a fashionable Spa, a
poor laundress had been mulct of her few shillings towards the
keep of what brought the white breeches to her tub. This is

THE MASTER 33

not as it should be. Much as we desire to uphold hunting, yet
we must advocate its support on proper gentlemanly principles.
Better knock-off a day a-week than resort to such means. If
such expedients are had recourse to, at idle, money-spending
watering-places, what can we expect from the hard money-
getting penury of the country ?

Some people may suppose that a Mastership of Hounds
is fulfilled with the mere home and iield management, but
such is very far from being the case. A Master of Hounds
e,\ercises no small influence on the manners, we might almost
say the morals of a country, as well by his own example as
by the style of people his management brings about him.
Mankind are prone to imitation — young men, especially ; and
a Master of Hounds is of all others the most likely for them to
look up to.

" He who excels in what we prize,
Appears a hero in our eyes."

If the Master is what may be termed a show fox-hunter —
a dandified petit inaitre — he will have every chance of making
the field the same, for many will be glad to add what we may
call the "impotence of dress" to the general attractions of
the red coat. If the Master is a coarse, swearing, overbearing
fellow, his companions will be the same ; for there is no truer
saying, than that " birds of a feather flock together," and none
but blackguards will put up with one ; but if our Master is
what a Master ought to be — a high-minded, liberal, gentlemanly
man, affable with his equals, courteous to all, keen without
pedantry, neat without puppyism — he will not only raise the
character of fox-hunting generally, but will e.xercise a most
wholesome influence on the minds and manners of the rising
generation within his own peculiar sphere. And this leads us
to observe, that there is not, perhaps, in the whole range of
the duties of a Master, an act admitting of such graceful
compliments as the judicious presentation of the brush. It is

D

34 THE HUNTING FIELD

in trifles such as this that tact and gentlemanly feeling are
shown. If a lad}', Henrietta Cottonwool, for instance, is out,
looking after Smashgate, the flattering trophj-, of course, will
be hers. If not, the claims of the rising generation may be
considered. The younger the recipient the greater the charm.
" My first brush " is a recollection that will survive the more
important features of life. A stranger may be complimented.
" That brush was given me by the ' best fellow under the
sun,' after a good hour and twenty minutes, finding at Waterloo
Gorse, in the Harborough country, and running right up into
the heart of Leicestershire," is a fine speech for a Devonshire
sportsman to make to his provincial friends, as they sit sipping
their port and toasting their toes over the fire, on whose
ancient mantel-piece the proud trophy is stuck. The pads,
too, may be turned to account in the way of minor compli-
ments. Some men keep pad-deries.

Hunt dinners are nasty things, but upon the whole, perhaps,
they are advisable. If men ever have their purses in their
pockets — a problem that we almost doubt with regard to
some of the community — it will most likely be at "a hand
in the pocket " dinner, as hunt ones invariably are, and an
" insinivating " secretary maj' cajole reluctant sovereigns from
those whom no penny postage efforts would move. Wonderful
world tliis ! Men talk of their thousands, from whom it is
easier to extract an eye-tooth than a sovereign.

In speaking of a " hunt dinner," we mean one of those
general hawls, that are meant to include '' all the world and
his wife," every one friendly to foxhunting, and not the
ordinary mess of sportsmen at their own wine depot. The latter
are generally very pleasant meetings, especially when divested
of form, speechifying, health-drinking, and so on. Toasts
should never be resorted to so long as men can talk. They
arc sure to bring conversation to a check. But to business.
We have had our Master in Cottonwool's domestic circle, we

THE MASTER 35

must now transport him to a worse scene — a hunt dinner at a
countrj- inn — "time being called," as Nimrod says in the
Quarterly — "say a quarter to six — nearly our great-grand-
father's supper-hour," sundry boors in boots, and sundry boots
in shoes, are seen wending their ways in charge of sundry
buckets of soup, roasts and boils, sirloins, saddles, rounds,
geese, sucking pig, a haunch of venison, game, tarts, celery,
&c. By the time the odd quarter of an hour has elapsed they
have got them set square on the table, and all having cooled
alike, "the Master," who sometimes plays the double part of
" host " and " cock guest," leads the way from the travellers'
room, where the company have been deposited in the enjoy-
ment of damp great coats and stale smoke, followed by all the
" train band bold," who forthwith commence a desperate
onslaught on the wittles.

But our humane disposition shrinks from describing the
horrors of the evening — the hot wine and cold soup — the
fatless venison and the gravy-congealed mutton. Taking old
Cottonwool's for the alternative, we may truly say " the last
state of this Master is worse than the first." Wool's had the
redeeming quality of women — here it is all men. Instead of
first a foxhunter, then a lump of Cottonwool, &c., it is fox-
hunter and " preterea nihil." The only variety is here and
there a stranger, or man in morning's black coat dotted in
among the orange vermilion ones of the hunt. A wretched
old hack song, sung by a man with a spavin'd voice and a
desperate running at the nose, is all we have in lieu of the
vigorous but not unpleasant playing of the Miss Cottonwools.
But we are getting in advance of the evening ; for though we
spared the dinner we must have the speech. " Brief let it be,"
as old Hamlet — not the jeweller — but the ghost of that name
said. Yarn spinning is only for harehunters. The best speech
we ever read, was one of the late Lord Kintore's, delivered on
the presentation of a piece of plate. A " Ciceronian Master "

36

THE HUNTING FIELD

will easily adapt it to a " health," returning one for himself.
" Gentleman," said his lordship, " I hardly know how to thank
you for this totally uncalled for, and most unmerited mark of
your friendship towards me. If, during the dull winter months,
the foxhounds have shown you any sport, it has been owing
to }our individual exertions in having preserved the foxes, in
having cut rides, &c., in your covers, with, I trust and hope I
may add, the goodwill of the tenantry to boot, that has enabled
me to show you sport. To you both I return my hearty
thanks. But to you, gentlemen, here present, in particular, I
cannot sufficiently express how much I appreciate this kind-
ness, and can now only beg 3'ou to accept the humble but
grateful thanks of an individual whose soul from his cradle has
been rivetted to the chase, and who will ever hold fast, until
the earth receives him, this distinguished token of your good-
will. Gentlemen, I have the honour to drink your good
healths, sincerely wishing from my heart, that unanimity, good-
fellowship, and foxhunting, may long flourish, in this northern,
but most hospitable ' land of cakes.' "

That's a true sportsman's speech ! Woe with the day that
took so good a Master from among us !

CHAPTER V

THE HUNTSMAN

" A huntsman's fame rises and falls with the sport he shows."

F we take the whole range
of servitude, we shall not
find any more deserving of
encouragement than hunts-
men and kennel servants
generally. There are none
more respectable in their con-
duct, none more energetic in
their calling, none more
faithful to their employers,
and none more obliging to
the world at large.
A huntsman occupies a somewhat middle station in society,
veering between equality and servitude. To a certain extent
a huntsman must be the companion and confidant of the
" Master,"' a feeling that generally extends itself to the hunting
field. Indeed, it is impossible not to feel a more than ordinary
interest for men imbued with the same passion, transported by
the same pleasures, and daily hazarding life and limb in the
furtherance of our enjoyments. Doubly strong it is when the
object is connected with our earliest recollections and associa-
tions. Beckford, that great sporting luminary, without whose

38 THE HUNTING FIELD

book we " little goes " would get badly on, thus " endeavours,"
as he says, to describe what a good Huntsman ought to be.
"He should," says he, "be yOung, strong, active, bold, and
enterprising; fond of the diversion, and indefatigable in the
pursuit of it ; he should be sensible and good-tempered ; he
ought also to be sober ; he should be exact, civil, and cleanly ;
he should be a good horseman and a good groom ; his voice
should be strong and clear; and he should have an eye so
quick as to perceive which of the hounds carries the scent,
when all are running ; and should have so excellent an ear as
always to distinguish the foremost hounds when he does not
see them ; he should be quiet, patient, and without conceit.
Such are the excellencies which constitute a good huntsman ;
he should not, however, be too fond of displaying them, till
necessity calls them forth. He should let his hounds alone,
whilst they can hunt, and he should have genius to assist them
when they cannot."

We think Mr. Beckford has left but little unsaid in his
catalogue of qualifications, though many of them hinge on the
first one, that of " youth." Doubtless, perpetual evergreenism
is a most desirable thing, and in engaging a Huntsman,
perhaps a Master of Hounds would hesitate ere he took one in
the decline of life ; but, still, something should be allowed for
experience, and a Master should bear in mind the many
remarkable men we have seen, some of whom combatted not
only with age but with weight.

Who can forget jolly old Koffey, that Surrey trump, or
Stephen Goodall, in Oxfordshire, men who were loads for
dray horses ; or, in point of years, old Ben Jennings, in
Dorsetshire, with his silvery locks ; or Will Neverd, Mr.
Warde's old Huntsman, who took a fresh place at seventy ;
or old Tom Rose, the late Duke of Grafton's Huntsman, who
hunted the hounds till near eighty ; or Winter, with Mr.
Lambton ; or Dick Forstcr, Mr. Villebois's old Huntsman,

THE HUNTSMAN 39

reckoned the best woodland one of the day ; or Oldacre, with
the Berkeley ; or Lambert, with Lord Lonsdale ; or old Tom
Leedham, with Mr. Meynell, or Mr. Meynell Ingram, as he is
now called ; and doubtless many others, whose names do not
occur at this moment to our recollection ?

Some of the best men of recent times are on the wrong side
of fifty — Goosey, Sebright, Shirley, Williamson, Walker,
Burton, and, if we mistake not. Will Long. Davis, too, the
Queen's huntsman, is advancing, and Tom Hill must be
getting on, both in beef and age, but no one can do the trick
like Tom on the Surrey hills. He ought to be called Lord
Hill.

Mr. Smith, late Master of the Pytchley and Craven Hunts,
thus sums up his list of requisites for a Huntsman in his
" Diary of a Huntsman." " To be perfect," says he, " a Hunts-
man should possess the following qualifications : — Health,
memory, decision, temper and patience, voice and sight,
courage and spirits, perseverance, activity ; and with these
he will soon make a bad pack a good one. If quick, he will
make a slow pack quick ; if slow, he will make a quick pack
slow."

The following capital advice cannot perhaps be more season-
ably introduced than at the present moment : —

".But first, to become a good one he must have a fair chance,"
says Mr. Smith, " and should not be interfered with by any one
after he leaves the place of meeting ; previous to which, on all
occasions, it would be best if the Master of hounds was to
arrange with him which covers should be drawn first, &c. It
rarely happens that two men think exactly alike, and unless he
is capable of judging for himself after the above arrangement
(which had much better be done over night) the Master is to
blame in keeping him ; but if he is capable, the Master is to
blame by interfering ; for, consequently, the man will be ever
thinking — what does Master think? and will not gain that

40 THE HUNTING FIELD

independence of thought and action so necessary to be a match
for a fox on most occasions ; for instance, at a checl: there are
many apparently trifling ideas and thoughts in a Huntsman's
head, which he cannot explain to his Master, if asked why he
does this or that ; but, instead of answering, drops his bridle
hand and listens to his Master, although he has made observa-
tions of trifles which are often all he has for his guidance, and
frequently are sufficient to recover his fox ; but probably no
other person noticed them — such as this : The pack is running
best pace ; he sees one hound turn his head, and fling to the
right or left a pace or two. Shortly after there is a check (say
500 yards) ; when he has made the usual casts he recollects the
hound turning his head, and then goes back so far, and hits off
the scent ; but he could or could not tell any one wh}' he was
going back. It is such like trifling observations that Huntsmen
profit by, though unnoticed by others."

It is the want of decision that makes committees such
deplorable things. There is so much hesitation, so much
stopping, so much debating, so much chopping and changing,
that the indecision of the Masters communicates itself to the
field. We never see a lot of committee-men clubbing heads
with the Huntsman without being tempted to ask for the
"ballot-box." Give us a good absolute monarch}-! None of
your three or four Kings of Brentford, all smelling at the same
nosega}- ! Gentlemen who navigate the Thames cannot fail
to have observed a notice " not to speak to the man at the
wheel," and in addition to the excellent hint Mr. Smith gives
to " Masters," it would be very desirable to inculcate some such
precept as the steamboat one upon the field at large. A Hunts-
man, at all events, after he leaves the meet, has something else
to do than receive and exchange the compliments of the morn-
ing, talk of the weather, the state of the country, or the filth of
the roads. He should be running over the da}'s work in his
mind's eye, thinking what he did when he was last at the cover

THE HUNTSINIAN 41

he is now going to draw, considering what is the difference in
the day, and a hundred other things, " too numerous to insert
in a handbill," as the auctioneers say. Young gentlemen in
jackets, and, indeed, middle-aged ones in new scarlet coats,
must not, therefore, take it amiss if Huntsmen become strangely
monosyllabic after leaving the meet, nor must the}^ set them
down as grumpy and ill-natured if they don't laugh at their
wit.

With the reader's permission we will take another slice of
Smith — rather fatter, too, than the last. " That a Huntsman
should be a good rider," says he, " is proved by every check the
hounds come to when he is away ; for even when he is present
he will have enough to do to prevent over-riding ; but unless he
can ride at head, and see the very spot on which they throw up,
he will be puzzled to know who of those up to apply to, and
must often use his own judgment ; in short, the greatest use he
can be of, when on a good scent, is to prevent men doing
mischief; therefore he must have nerve to ride well up, and
equal to anj- man in the kingdom ; for, unless he can be forward
enough to look men in the face and request them to hold hard,
he may ride behind and call after them till he is hoarse, and
they will not turn their heads, probably believing that jealousy
alone is the cause, and they go the faster for it ; but, if he is in
his place, none but a madman will do mischief if requested to
pull up : even the hard riders from the universities (that is, if
they can stop their horses) will do so."

Some Huntsmen are far greater fidgets about their hounds
than others, both on the road and in the field. It is doubtless
advisable always to keep hounds clear of horses ; but as there
is generally some gentleman who will "talk to the man at the
wheel," and as no one likes to be last, even on the road, the
consequence is the field will crowd to the head. Some Hunts-
men have their hounds all huddled round their horses' heels,
others will give them as much line as a regiment of guards, but

42 THE HUNTING FIELD

perhaps the best course is to keep them together in a crowd,
and K've them room when alone.

We are not, however, going to set up to teach Huntsmen
their business, fearing we might get the rebuke Naylor, the
York and Ainsty Huntsman, administered to Nimrod, when he
said "he had forgotten more than Nimrod ever knew"; but
there are a few observations of Mr. Smith, himself a gentleman
huntsman of no small celebrity, that may be administered Uke a
cordial ball without ruffling the coat. Here is one. " There is
nothing more disheartening to a field of sportsmen than for a
Huntsman, or Master of Hounds, to trifle with them h^^ pretend-
ing to draw for a fox, when it is evident they do not intend to
let the hounds find one if they can help it, by taking them
through the parts of a cover quickly where there is no laying,
although there is good on the other side, which they avoid, and
it would be a certain find if they would let the hounds draw it ;
or probably missing other sure places, and drawing unlikely
ones, until their time is spun out that they may go home."

Of course there are days — windy ones, for instance — or days
when few sportsmen are out, on which it is desirable to shut up
as soon as possible ; but in these cases it is always well to give
the "regulars" the hint, by doing which Huntsmen will not
only save censure, but the retirement of the forces will materi-
ally aid their retreat with the hounds. There is a discretion,
however, in all this, which shows the man with the head from
the man without. Tom Babbleton would tell all the country
that they merely took the hounds out for show, while Sir Rasper
Smashgatc, or old Peter Pigskin, would acknowledge the pro-
priety of the step and go home at once. Few sportsmen like to
leaye hounds while a chance of sport remains. Here is another
hint. " When a Huntsman is requested to draw for a second
fox late in the day, it would be fair to say, 'Gentlemen, we
have had work lately, and have some distance home ; but if I
do find, will you promise not to leave me till it is finished ? ' "

* THE HUNTSMAN 43

Some men are very inconsiderate and unreasonable, never
thinking hounds, horses, or men can do too much when they
happen to be out, especially if the draw they recommend is in
their way home.

But to the qualifications of a Huntsman : — Beckford said " he
was not very ambitious of having a famous Huntsman, unless
it necessarily followed that he must have famous hounds ; a
conclusion," writes he, " I cannot admit as long as these so
famous gentlemen will be continually attempting themselves to
do what would be much better done if left to their hounds ;
besides, they seldom are good servants, are always conceited,
and sometimes impertinent. I am very well satisfied if my
Huntsman be acquainted with his' country and his hounds, if
he ride well up to them, and if he have some knowledge of the
nature of the animal which he is in pursuit of ; but so far am I
from wishing him to be famous, that I hope he \\ ill continue to
think his hounds know best how to hunt a fox."

If we were hiring a Huntsman, we should like him to be bred
in the hunting line. We cannot fancy a house-painter's or
cobbler's son assuming the saddle and horn, and setting up as
Huntsman. Doubtless there are fellows who have impudence
enough to set up for anything — archbishops, if the}' saw an
opening — and we think they would almost as soon fulfil the
duties of one as the other. It is not every wide-throated
fellow with "nought to do, and who likes hontin vastl}-," as they
say in Yorkshire, that will make a Huntsman — not a Huntsman
to foxhounds, though we are not sure but a good bow-backed
pedestrian, with his head well down to the ground for "prick-
ing," would not make as good a harrier Huntsman as the best.
The two offices are as different as horse-riding and donkey-
riding. They both "go," certainly, but the "stop" of the
business is the thing. And yet we have seen fellows who,
because they have been able to circumvent a hare, have thought
themselves qualified for foxhounds. The simile of the horse and

44 THE HUNTING FIELD

the ass may be carried still further. Turn a horse loose and
30U don't know where he will go ; but give a donkey his head,
and see if he won't stop. It is just the same with a fox and a
hare. You never know where a fox is bound, but a hare is
almost invariably within the circle of the " magic ring." The
fox is travelling, the hare perhaps squatting under your horse's
feet. So far from having hunted harriers being a qualification
for hunting foxhounds, we should say it was a downright
objection. You have to unteach the harrier man all he knows,
before you begin to teach. Better have a fresh horn and begin
a new spoon. We would rather have a fellow from the roughest
pack going, whose constant pursuit had been " fox," than one
of the psalm-singing gentry. Not that we decry harehunting
as a sport ; legitimately followed it is capital amusement, but
we should never take a Huntsman for foxhounds from a pack
of harriers. Instead of thinking which way the fox had gone,
he would be always thinking which way he had come.

We once heard of a harrier genius who, on the strength of
ha\-ing successfull}- manoeuvred some ten or twelve couple of
waffling beggars, undertook the situation of Huntsman to a
scratch pack of foxhounds. A scratch pack of foxhounds,
especially a newly set up one, is always a dangerous thing.
You have all the wild, resolute, vigorous power of the animal
without the discipline ; added to this, they are generally composed
of the wild, vicious, savage hounds of other packs ; things that
escape hanging by going to scratch ones. Having, however,
subdued the merry mettle of the harriers, generally with a rate,
at all events with a cut of the whip, our hero thinking foxhounds
were to be similarly kept down, " broke kennel " the morning
after his somewhat sudden installation, with a very riotous
crew at his horse's heels. He got to the place of meeting with
his own and the noisy efforts of a young clown in boots, and
the field began to assemble. The meet was in a vallej^ and un-
fortunately on the opposite hill were some newly stubbed, but

THE HUNTSMAN 45

faded gorse bushes. A slight breeze caught one of these, and
set it a-going on the brow of the hill. The hounds caught view
and dashed away full cry, Soup and Chaw riding, rating, and
rioting, which the hounds were just as likely to take for
encouragement as not. On they went full cry, at a most
determined pace, when, wonderful to relate. Chaw instead of
riding at their sterns, got round them, and with uplifted whip
was about commencing operations, when the horse, unused to
such a charge, suddenly stopped short ; Chaw pitched over its
head ; away went the horse with the hounds full cry after it, for
two miles, when fortunately or unfortunately, according to the
value of the respective animals, a flock of sheep interposed, or
as Soup deposed, he verily believed they would have eaten horse
saddle and all. As it was, they compounded by taking several
saddles of mutton. This, it may be said, might have happened
to any pack ; indeed, Beckford relates a somewhat similar
accident with his hounds, owing to the falling off of a whipper-
in at e.xercise ; but it is nevertheless perfectly true, that an
acquaintance with harriers unfits a man for appreciating the
discipline requisite for foxhounds. They think too lightly of it.
They are like a friend of ours, who being asked if he thought he
could edit a Newspaper, replied " he thought any old woman in
their workhouse could do that."

Huntsmen are well aware of the feeling of harrier huntsmen,
and some of them seem to take a pleasure in selling an innocent
a bargain. We once overheard a dialogue between a young
scratch pack gentleman Huntsman and a top-sawyer, which
concluded by the young one, after sundry sporting and pertinent
questions about a draft he had recently got, saying, he " sup-
posed they had never worried sheep." ''Oh, no, sir," replied the
Huntsman with a shake of his head and touch of his cap,
adding, sotto voce, to a friend at his side, " but tlicy d — d soon
will:'

A "real tool," or " cake," of a Huntsman is a thing one

46 THE HUNTING FIELD

rarely meets with, at least not in a civilized country. We once
saw a fellow arrive in a greasy hat, and an old drab great coat
over an older red one, on a visit of inspection to another pack,
who was pointed out as Huntsman to the Scampington hounds,
and very like the thing he looked. They said he was the
cleverest hand at drawing on a public house that ever was seen ;
no matter whether he had ever been in the country before or
not, he could always find them, and his nose did credit to the
liquor. As to hunting a pack of hounds he had not the slightest
idea. When at length he got straggled up at a check, instead of
making a cast at once with promptitude and decision he would
sit on his horse exclaiming, "Ah, dear! whichiver way can he
have gone? Which way Ao you think he's gone, Mr. Brown ?
Which way do you, Mr. Green ? "

Huntsmen — hounds, servants in general — have one charming
quality ; they look down upon every other species of amuse-
ment with the most superlative contempt. We like this. It
shows genuine enthusiasm, without which there is little chance
for anything in this world. We never heard or read of but one
servant who followed hunting merely as a livelihood, without
reference to the enjoyment, and without having any natural
inclination that way, or indeed any pleasure in the chase, and
that was a man of the name of Filer, formerly Huntsman to
the Craven hounds, who used candidly to say, " he never liked
foxhunting, but having been bred up with hounds he would
stick to them." We have heard of men being brought up to
the bar, the sea, or the church, and not liking their professions,
but sticking to them ; but really, for a man to stick to hunting
merely because he had been brought up with hounds, does
seem a piece of pure self-devotion. He had better have turned
policeman. How different to some of the stories that Beckford
and Cook tell ! Old Luke Freeman, who hunted Lord Egre-
mont's hounds, used to say to his lordship's sons, when he
caught them reading, " Stoody, stoody, stoody ! aye studying

THE HUNTSMAN 47

they books ! take, I sa}% m\' advice, sir, and stoody fox-
hunting." Luke, Colonel Cook says, gave his whole body and
and mind to it, and famously he succeeded, as all the country
around could testif}-. A wag, for amusement, and to anno}- a
musical friend that was present, asked the old Huntsman
" how he employed his time out of the hunting season ? "
The veteran disdained a repl}- to a question that showed so
httle knowledge of the duties and cares of a Huntsman, and
the querist proceeded with, " What think you of music for
an amusement ? " " Music ! " contemptuously echoed Luke.
" Aye, fiddling, Mr. Freeman." " Fiddling, fiddling," replied
Luke; "it's all ver}- well for cripples, poor things! I always
give them a halfpenny when I sees them at the fairs." Beck-
ford has a cut at the musicians also. " Louis the Fifteenth,"
writes he, " was so passionately fond of hunting that it occu-
pied him entirel}-. The then King of Prussia, who never
hunted, gave up a great deal of his time to music, and himself
played on the flute. A German meeting a Frenchman, asked
him, very impertinently, 'Si son maitre chassoit toiijoiirs?'
' Oiii, oiii,^ replied the other, ' // tic joue jamais de la flute! "

A Huntsman's head generally runs upon hunting. If he
rides, or rails through a country, he looks at it with reference
to riding over it. If he examines the crops, it is merely to
see when they will be ripe. Woodland scenery draws forth
observations upon cub-hunting. Hills are looked at with an
eye to the easiest way up. When Williamson, the Duke of
Buccleuch's Huntsman, visited London, his Grace told him he
must see the sights. " But," replied Wool, as they call him,
though he is no relation of our friend Cottonwool, " I don't
know the country, and shall be lost." His Grace then sent
him out on horseback, with a groom after him, and Nimrod
says Wool was taken for a newly-made lord. Talking of
countries reminds us of a story they used to tell of the late
Lord Spencer, when Lord Althorp, and Dick Knight, his

48 THE HUNTING FIELD

Huntsman. His lordship had been talking at the meet to
some gentlemen about political matters, and had made use of
the old hack observation that the "country was ruined — "

"Ah," said Dick Knight, with a sigh, "they ruined the
country when they made the Oxford Canal."'

It is singular that such a narrow strip of water as the
British Channel should make such a perfect division between
the tastes, the feelings, and inclinations of the people. What
would be prized and followed at Dover would be scouted and
laughed at at Calais or Boulogne. We are alluding, of course,
to hounds, for which the French have not the slightest feeling,
inclination, or sympathy. Children in England all rush with
delight to see them pass — French ones stare and wonder if the
" soldiers " are going to kill and eat them up with the dogs.
Hunting is quite the peculiar taste of Britons, and let people
say what they will, it must exercise a most beneficial influence
on the national character. Let any one look at a field of fox-
hunters in full chase, and say whether such men are likely to
be stopped at a trifle or not. Above all, let them look at the
Huntsmen and Whip, and fancy them with swords in their
hands instead of whips. Why, they would charge a regiment
of devils in complete armour ! The Duke of Wellington,
himself a foxhunter, and a real friend to the sport, used to say
that for daring, dashing deeds, there were none like the fox-
hunting officers. We believe he generally selected them to
carry despatches and other difficult duties on the battle-field.

A Frenchman looks at the " Chasse," a term they apply
equally to sparrow-shooting and stag-hunting, as a mere
means of achieving an end with the smallest possible trouble.
They can't understand the wit of giving ourselves the trouble
of pursuing an animal over hill and dale, that we can exter-
minate at first sight. They are all for lead. Colonel Cook, who
resided many years in France, relates how that having some
ten couple of hounds consigned to him, he took them into the

THE HUNTSMAN

49

Duke de Albufera (Suchet's) covers at Tankerville, and after a
long draw found a fox in a piece of gorse in an open country,
which being immediately headed into the mouth of the hounds,
a French gentleman rode up, and taking off his hat, exclaimed,
" Sir, I congratulate you on catching him so soon, and with so
little trouble ! '" Frenchmen have a mortal horror of the idea
of a pack of hounds, imagining that if thej' once get into a
cover they will destroy every living thing in it. On this occa-
sion, however, those that were out found great fault with the
chicus Ang/nis, asserting that they were good for nothing, for
they would neither hunt hares, rabbits, nor rats.

CHAPTER VI

THE HUNTSMAN — CONTINUED

" I have always thought a Huntsman a happy man ; his office is pleasing,
and at the same time flattering ; we pay him for that which diverts him.
and he is enriched by his greatest pleasure ; nor is a general after a
victory more proud than is a Huntsman who returns with his fox's head." —
Beckford.

N our last we glanced at the
character and some of the
duties of the Huntsmen, and
ran over the names of several
who have distinguished them-
selves in their calling. The
list was composed more of
by-gone or fading flowers
than of the rising geniuses
of the present day, because it creates no jealousy to award
praise where all allow it, and our object in writing these
sketches is to encourage a wholesome spirit of hunting, and
not to flatter this man or that at the expense of his neighbours.
Comparisons are always odious to some one, and there is no
truer saying than that a Huntsman's fame rises and falls with
the sport he shows. At the same time it is but justice to add,
that there arc many Hniitsnicn at work in our different counties
whose fame will bear comparison with the best of those gone

THE HUNTSMAN 51

by. When their waning day arrives, may some abler pen
portray their merits.

The Huntsman of our Analysis is one of the old school ; his
father was Huntsman before him, his sons now whip in to him.
He has neither read Beckford " On Hunting," nor Nimrod on
" Condition of Hunters," but he can kill a fox with any man
going, and turn out his horse in as good condition as the best.
He carries his library in his head — experience. Look at the
old boy as he sits astride his glossy, well-conditioned black, his
venerable grey locks protruding beneath his new black cap, his
spic and span coat, his fortieth scarlet, with the stout drab
breeches and mahogany tops. He sits on his horse as if he
were a part of him. Old Will is our Huntsman's name. He
most likely has another, but we never heard him called by
anything else, and possibly he may have forgotten his surname
himself. Old Will and young Will and Will junior (or sweet
Will, as the girls call the young one, who is a bachelor), are
the trio now moving the hounds about on the bright green
sward, for Will, though no painter, knows that there is nothing
like a dark background for setting off colours to advantage.
How quiet he is with the hounds ! He gives them their fling,
too, instead of having them cowering under his horse's legs to
avoid the sting of the Whipper-in's lash, but a gentle " //^r^
ng(Uii" with a slight wave of the hand, brings the outsiders
frolicking back to his call. How much better than the noisy,
bullying clamour of idiot boys, showing off, by the loudness of
their rates, the severit}' of their cuts, and the trashing of their
horses.

There isn't a gap, or a gate, or a hole in the wall in the
country, that Old Will does not know, and that he hasn't been
over or through a hundred times. Time has slackened his
leaping powers, but he is a capital hand at screwing through
awkward places, and he always saves his horse in anticipation
of a long day. He never seems in a hurry, and yet he is

52 THE HUNTING FIELD

always near his hounds ; he ne\er gallops when he can trot, or
takes a leap when he can go through a gap. Old Will is sixty-
seven, but he is not older than most men at fifty. He has not
an ounce of superfluous flesh upon him, and is as equal to four
days a week as he was at twenty.

Will and his Whips are turned out as they should be. They
look as if they were going to ride across country instead of to
canter up and down Rotten Row after my lord or my lady.
We don't like to see dandified Huntsmen and Whips. Over-
dressed gentlemen are bad enough in the field, let us have no
over-dressed servants. Shooters always put on their stoutest
and worst things, wet or dry, wood or open ; but some fox-
hunters seem to think that only the best of everything will do
for hunting. Then, if they get to the meet in apple-pie order,
they don't care how soon after they spoil themselves, save and
except, and always reserved, the Muffs and Fribbleton Browns
who are going to lunch with the Miss Cotton wools. Tiny
don't care how soon they get away after the pride of the meet
is over.

Huntsmen and Whips should all wear caps. Nothing looks
so ugly as servants in hats. Strange that Lord Darlington,
who was painted by Marshall in the cap and spare stirrup-
leather of the Huntsman, should, in his ducal days, have put
his men in hats. Lord Lonsdale, too, had his in them latterly,
and very slow they looked. Hats should only be worn at
exercise. Modern times have introduced some frightful pro-
jections at the back of some hunting caps, like sheds thrown
out at the backs of lodges. On inquiry, we found they were
meant to turn the wet off the wearer's back. The same
purpose would be answered by turning the cap peak backwards
in wet weather, as Tom Rounding used to do at a wet Epping
hunt. This would save the wearer's neck, and also the
disfigurement of an otherwise sporting and seemly article of
dress. The projections make caps look like barbers" basons.

:)3

Gentlerri!
should al\
and a caj/

Leather ...
breeches are
cleaning to keep
ijn^i;,'htly than t!i
Hunting servant'^
breeches. Lord <
but it is not every
lordship's men are t!i
turned out in leather:
them in Box,ill'-~
cords. The Alher.,
as well turned out as
the same colour and p
Servants' dress should i
many a vvc
:i evening, i. .
ing about. 1ft'
t half-past
they cann ,
people
the door. ,
ira, after nl
. of course ; they ar
as the humour sti/?es t!
however, must stay til'
times longer, unless, n
away, leaving lost hoi
man we knew used to say.
we kturw him stiM
mule, in?i
quite in hi. .

V cap and a frock coat

in a cutaway coat

I a round hat.

rvants. If the

I J ire a deal of

/ can be more

t ones.

'ler

:n;

. His

really well

•d to wear

"in

.re

. all of

1 mere

-.'o

.*s.

;e-

k

V

-o

>

'J

' a

be

tense, but

c

2

on a

CB

u

iiij ii< seems

as

c

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c

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tt

I

THE HUNTSMAN 53

Gentlemen never look well in caps. A cap and a frock coat
should always go together. A gentleman in a cutaway coat
and a cap looks as absurd as a courtier would in a round hat.

Leather breeches are stupid things for field servants. If the
breeches are good, they are heavy, and require a deal of
cleaning to keep them in order, and nothing can be more
unsightly than thin, dingy, parchment-looking, ill-kept ones.
Hunting servants have plenty to do without cleaning leather
breeches. Lord Yarborough's men, we believe, wear them ;
but it is not every Master that has his lordship's purse. His
lordship's men are the only ones we ever saw really well
turned out in leathers. The Warwickshire men used to wear
them in Boxall's time, but they would have looked better in
cords. The Atherstone men, in Mr. Applewaite's time, were
as well turned out as any men of the day, in neat cords, all of
the same colour and pattern.

Servants' dress should be stout, warm, and weather defying.
They have many a weary, trashing, cold ride, both of a morn-
ing and an evening, that the generality of hound followers
know nothing about. If the generality of men find the hounds
at the meet at half-past ten or eleven, they neither care to
know whence they came, nor whither they go. They look at
them, much as people look at a play ; at a certain hour they
expect to find the doors open, and " nosey " scraping his fiddle
in the orchestra, after which all is looked upon as a mere
matter of course ; they are but spectators, free to stay or go
as the humour seizes them. The Huntsmen and whips,
however, must stay till the close of the entertainment, some-
times longer, unless, indeed, the Huntsman is content to go
awaj-, leaving lost hounds to " follow on," as a treasure of a
man we knew used to say. We spoke in the past tense, but
we kno'M him still, only he carries a horn with letters on a
mule, instead of pretending to hunt hounds, and he seems
quite in his right place now.

54 THE HUNTING FIELD

The Huntsman is the main spring in the machinery of a
hunting estabhshment, and upon his good conduct greatly
depends the comfort and pleasure of the Master. If the
Huntsman is — what we must do them the justice of saying
the generality of them are — a steady, honest, careful, accurate,
economical, intelligent, painstaking man, holding the money
scales fairly between his master and the public, neither cheat-
ing himself, nor suffering others to cheat, soothing asperities,
rather than creating them, demolishing difficulties rather than
raising them ; he will be a credit to himself, a comfort to his
master, and the ornament of a circle composed of men not
onlj' well capable of appreciating, but also in the habit of
substantiall}' rewarding respectability of character and keen-
ness displayed in their service. But if a Huntsman is a low-
lived, careless, gossiping, drinking, grinding fellow, seeking
only to feather his own nest, and that in the shortest possible
time, he will be a torment to himself and everybody about
him ; and when he loses his place, which he most likely very
soon will, he will find his character so blown, that the mere
mention of his name to any other master will insure him a
polite answer that he has no occasion for liis services. A pack
of hounds without a good Huntsman are very much like a
fiddle without a stick.

Despite, however, what we have said about the liberality
of sportsmen to huntsmen and hound servants, we cannot but
fael that, considering what they do, the risks they run, and
the zeal they show, they are sometimes rather under than over
paid. Compare them, for instance, with jockej^s, who occupy
a somewhat similar position in the racing, to what hound
servants do in the hunting world. A jockey gets his two or
three guineas a race, winning or losing, but if he wins a good
stake for his employer, there is no saying to what e.xtent the
delightful delirium of the moment may induce a victorious
master to go. Wc have heard that Jem Robinson got a

THE HUNTSMAN 55

thousand guineas for winning the Leger once, but suppose it
was only a hundred, what Huntsman ever got a tithe of that
for Icilhng a fox ? A race is but a momentary spasm compared
to a hard run over a difficult country, and the dangers of the
one are nothing compared to those of the other, but the
produce is oftentimes very different. It is not, however, for
the purpose of making servants dissatisfied with their places
that we have made these observations ; on the contrary, we
will remind them that hunting, unlike racing, does not admit
of money making, consequently they must put down as no
small part of their perquisites the enjoyment they themselves
derive from the pleasures of the chase, and remember that
though some jockeys may get large presents, yet their em-
ployment is precarious, and that it is better to have the
certainty of a Huntsman's wages than the capricious windfalls
of the uncertain goddess, Fortune ; but we alluded to their
pecuniary position for the purpose of encouraging the custom
that has now almost entirely superseded the old one of
capping — namely, that of gentlemen making huntsmen and
hound servants presents apart from their wages. Capping
certainly had its advantages, but perhaps its disadvantages
preponderated. It added interest to energy, and perhaps
spurred what might have been otherwise indolent men into
activity, but it encouraged mobbing and bag foxhunting,
which are both highly inimical to the chase. It is not killing
the animal that constitutes the charm of foxhunting, but it is
matching the vigour, boldness, and cunning of a wily animal
with the faculties and sagacities of others ; putting them on
fair terms, as it were, and trying which has the best of it.
Mr. Smith says, in his " Diary of a Huntsman," that there
are foxes that can beat any hounds if they have time to prepare
themselves, and have a fair start.

Another recommendation that capping on the death had,
was, that it was done at a time when men's hearts were open

56 THE HUNTING FIELD

to the generous impulses — they had just partaken of the
highest enjoyment they know, and, when an EngHshman's
heart is fairly moved, it always finds vent through his pocket-
hole. The sportsman was carried away by the enthusiasm of
the moment, and the hand went in almost naturally. Let him
cool, let the cap be next week, and it will be very like paying
a heavy doctor's bill a year after a recovery, though we would
gladly have discharged it at the end of the illness. Some
people cannot resist capping as it is. Old Pigskin's hand, for
instance, dives into his drabs as naturally as can be at the
end of a good run, and Piggy's liberality leads us to say a
few words on the tax-gathering style of collecting. In some
hunts, busy men, or men who like to take the credit of others'
liberality, institute a sort of compulsory subscription, levying
an equal rate on the man who hunts his half-a-dozen days a
season, as upon the man who hunts his four or five days a
week, dividing what they get with due importance and perhaps
some favouritism. This is as bad, or perhaps worse, than the
old half-crown system. It takes a guinea from the man who
perhaps would give five, and makes a man pay a guinea to
whom five shillings is an object. It puts Piggy and Sir Rasper
Smashgate on an equality as to means. When lecturing Mrs.
Forcemeat Cottonwool on her treatment of our Master at
dinner, we advised her to give him credit for knowing his
stomach better than she did, and so in this case we advise
gentlemen to let others be the judges of their own means. Let
every man give what is convenient to him, and give at his
own time. Never mind if a few dirty scamps do escape.
Huntsmen and Whips have too much spirit to wish to take
money from such beggars. Let them ride over them the first
time thfy get them down, or give their loose horses a cut
instead of catching them.

Capping has been going out of fashion ever since the present
century came in. Mr. Corbet, we believe, was the last great

THE HUNTSxMAN o7

Master who allowed it, and with the large fields that attended
his hounds, and the many killing runs they had, "Will Barrow
and Co." as Nimrod called them, made a good thing of it.
Will was a provident man, and when he died 1,400/. in money
was found in old stockings and all sorts of odd places, in boxes
where he kept his clothes, besides suits that had never been
on, sufficient for a union workhouse. They still pursue the
system for the benefit of Lord Hill with the Surrey hounds,
and if it is allowable anywhere, it perhaps is in the neighbour-
hood of London, where chance gentlemen may be out every
day, that they may never have the pleasure of seeing again.

The reader will observe that the motto to this paper, taken
from Mr. Beckford's " Thoughts upon Hunting," speaks of
the Huntsman being "enriched by his greatest pleasure,"
which in a note he explains to be Xhe field money, collected at
the death of a fox. But he goes on to show that capping
even then was not universally approved of "I have heard
that a certain duke," writes he, " who allowed no vails to his
servants, asked his Huntsman what he generally made of his
field money, and gave him what he asked instead of it ; this
w'ent on very well for some time, till at last the Huntsman
desired an audience. ' Your grace,' said he, ' is very generous,
and gives me more than ever I got from field money in my
life ; yet I come to beg a favour of your grace, that you would
let me take field money again ; for I have not half the pleasure
now^ in killing a fox that I had before.' "

After all is said and done, however, we come back to the
old opinion that hunting servants are well worthj^ the con-
sideration of the field, and whether they are remembered in
public or private must just remain matter of taste. No master
would ever object either way, because it is the best testimony
of the field to the adequacy of their servants' services.

We are sorry to say that faithfulness among servants is
becoming a rare qualit}'. By faithfulness we mean not only

58 THE HUNTING FIELD

that honesty which forbids their robbing us themselves, but
that integrity — that loyalty we may almost call it — which
ought to prevent their allowing others to do it without telling.
Strange as it may seem, it is no less true, that their con-
sciences seem satisfied with the negative virtue of abstinence
themselves. Dangerous virtue ! The next step to looking on,
is participating, and then comes robbing itself. "Winking"
at robbery is the true school of training for New South
Wales.

Whether this indifference to their master's interests is to
be attributed to the gad-about habits of the day, or the spread
of education and facilit}' of communication by post, or arises
from the distance now maintained between masters and ser-
vants, is immaterial to the present inquiry. Hunting servants,
at all events, have not the latter excuse for their delinquencies ;
and it certainly does favour the supposition that masters and
mistresses are not sufficiently attentive and considerate to
their servants, when we find that those who are in constant
contact with their masters, enjoying their pleasures and sharing
their dangers, imbibe a certain interest and anxiety for them
that the mere payment of wages fails to produce. Huntsmen
are generally intrusted with large sums of money, much of it
frequently to be expended in the way of " secret service," and
yet we never hear of misappropriation or squandering lavish-
ment. On the contrary, if they do err, it is generally on the
side of keenness for their emploj-er. Many excellent stories
are told of Williamson, the Duke of Buccleuch"s Huntsman,
in the way of bargain-driving for his grace. Williamson is a
great economist, but such is his dense Scotch stupidity that
he cannot understand, because his master is a rich duke, that
he ought to pay double for e\'erything he buys. Most servants
would think it a self-evident proposition, but Wool can't see
it. He drives and screws, and screws and drives, just as if
he was bargaining for himself. He had a bad fall a few years

THE HUNTSMAN 59

since, and, riding about shortly after with his arm in a sling,
he encountered a bargain-driving opponent. The man asked
him how he was: " W<?11," said Will, " I'm better, thank ye;
but I can no get my hand i' my pouch yet."" " Gad ! ye never
could do that," replied the man.

The following is shrewd and characteristic : — " I was paying
a bill to a farmer for hay," said Williamson to Nimrod, when
that gentleman visited the duke's establishment during his
Scotch tour, " nearly fifty pounds, and the farmer insisted
upon the odd fourpence halfpenny. " I gave him it,"" said he,
with pleasure, " because it showed I had bought the hay zvorth
the money." Williamson farmed the Lothian lands during the
Duke of Buccleuch's minority, publishing an annual statement
of the disbursements, and he is considered a great authority
on all points of useful economy. Going to market with ready
money and attention to trifles, is, he says, where the great
savings are effected. Talking of meal, " I know a gentleman,"
said he to Nimrod, "who never returns the empty sacks.
Was there ever such a thing heard of," continued he, with a
strong emphasis on his words, "zvas thej-e ever such a tiling
heard 0/ a.s a. person not returning the empty sacks ? " An
amusing circumstance occurred connected with Williamson's
ideas of practical economy. Being a true promoter of hunting,
and consequently anxious to enlist followers by making it as
cheap as possible, he wrote a paper, showing where great
savings might be effected in many of the indispensable articles
of stable use — clothes, saddles, bridles, physic, &c., and sent
it to a London periodical. The cockney sub-editor got hold
of it, and most unceremoniously condemned it, recommending
the author, in his notice to correspondents, "to forward a
copy of it to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, headed ' Hints
for a Budget.' " He doubtless thought his correspondent
was some puffing tradesman, instead of the " King of
Scotch servants," as Lord Kintore christened Williamson.

60 THE HUNTING FIELD

So much for people deciding upon what they don't under-
stand.

Williamson's situation, perhaps, can hardly be called servi-
tude, but his example is not the less valuable on that account.
He receives the duke's money, and every man who accepts the
wages of hire enters into an implied contract that he will
protect and do the best he can for his employer. Williamson's
view of the matter was pithily expressed in the following
observation : — " I found the duke rich," said he, " and I wish
to leave him so.""

Scotch servants, we are almost inclined to think, are more
faithful in a general way than English ones. Whether there
is something about mountainous countries that draws the
affections and binds parties in stronger union we know not ;
but the same may be observed of the Swiss. Spite of all the
contamination of English manners, and the corruption of
English gold, the Swiss, as a nation, are eminently faithful.
The Scotch, we believe, are kinder — more attentive, at least —
to their servants than the English. They treat them more as
friends and companions. There is one thing to be said, that
the Scotch do not often encumber themselves with the useless,
overgrown establishments that some English think necessary
for maintaining their dignity, as they call it, consequently the
attention that would cut up very small among many, makes a
handsome dividend to those servants that are really wanted.
Another thing is, that in large establishments notice or
attention to one more than another only makes jealousy and
mischief among those who are omitted. These points, how-
ever, bear more upon the general question of " servants " than
the particular class under consideration.

We commenced this sketch by placing Huntsmen and
kennel servants at the head of all others, and as Huntsmen
ride first, we presume they would walk first in a procession.
If, for instance, Williamson was to be crowned King of Scotch

THE HUNTSMAN

61

servants, the Earl Marshal would most likely arrange them
somewa}- thus : —

His Majesty King William the Fifth.

Huntsmen.

IJutlers.

\'alets (and such like cattle).

Eldest sons of Huntsmen.

Whips.

Jeams Plushs.

Fat Coachmen.

Stud Ciiooms in cut-aways.

Younger sons of Huntsmen.

Eldest sons of Whips.

Grooms, &c., &c.

CHAPTER VII

THE WHIPPER-IN

"High o'er thy head wave thy resounding whip.''

SOMERVILLE.

VERACIOUS French gen-
tleman writing on England,
observed that we were a
cruel, melancholy nation,
for in all parts of London
he saw written up, " Horses
ttiken in to bait," and
" Funerals performed here.''
Doubtless the same observ-
ing traveller would assert
that people keep hounds, and servants to do nothing but whip
them. The name, " Whipper-in," certainly favours the sup-
position, at all events as much as the sign-boards did the con-
clusions Johnny Crapaud drew from them. Indeed others
than Frenchmen might be of that opinion, especially if they
heard the noisy, clamorous ratings that sometimes attend a
half civilized scratch pack. There is nothing, perhaps, so dis-
tinguishing as the silent quiet manner of the well-appointed,
well-disciplined establishment, and the roaring, cut-them-into-

THE WHlPPER-lN 03

ribbons style of the omniiiin gathcriiiii, refuse, tear away, tcar-
'em-up town pack.

Before railway advertisements increased and multiplied our
advertising sheets, newspaper editors used generally, in the
dulness of autumnal times, to enlarge a leopard or tiger from
the caravan of some travelling showman, which, while it
afforded a fine crop of paragraphs, as long as it was at libertj',
produced a good stout contradiction at the end, and really we
don't think we are going much beyond the mark in saying
that a bona fide tiger or leopard would not be much more
dangerous than some of these enlarged canine bedlams, called
scratch packs.

Beckford relates how a kennelled pack once ate up their
Huntsman — nothing but the unfortunate man's buttons being
found to account for him — and we have seen animals scouring
the country that seemed equal to anything — anything, from a
"helephant down to a hearwig," as the dancing-master Hunts-
man, to the short-lived Fulham harriers, said of his. A man
that has never tried his hand with fox-hounds has not the
slightest conception of the undertaking. He sees forty or fifty
couple of great strapping, high-conditioned animals, all as
docile and obedient as lap-dogs — apparently rather inert than
otherwise — and he very likely fancies that listlessness is their
characteristic, that they are a sort of canine calves, and that
anybody can manage them. Little as hounds are attended to
in the field, it must have struck even the most casual observer
what totally different animals they are in kennel and out. In
kennel they are easy, indolent, devil-may-care sort of creatures,
checked by a word, almost a look, but when their mettle is
roused by the scent, what dash, what energy, what life, what
determination is called forth. The Huntsman's horn and the
Whippers-in rate are equally disregarded, and " getting at
them " is the only chance of stopping them. How small a
man feels in a kennel with some fifty or si.xty couple, looking

64 THE HUNTING FIELD

and smelling at him, as much as to say, " Pray, what business
have you here ? " How pleasant to stand calculating what
proportion of a mouthful a-piece one's carcase would make for
the company. A man who has whipped-in to harriers, labours
under much the same disadvantage that the man does who has
hunted them ; he is ignorant of the discipline indispensable for
foxhounds. Instead of giving a hound one of those hearty
good hidings and ratings that makes him tremble at his voice,
he is alwaj-s flopping and skutching, sometimes hitting, some-
times missing, but never making an impression. A foxhound
requires a tremendous hiding. Let not the French historian,
or the Society for the Suppression of Cruelty to Animals, jump
at the assertion. It is mercy in the end, most likely saving the
animal from the halter. We have seen a sheep worrier so
licked, that he could hardly crawl out of his kennel, and instead
of attacking sheep again, he was afraid to look one in the face.
After one of these sound flagellations, a hound running riot will
stop as if shot, at the sound of the voice that accompanied the
administration of the medicine. Of course these heart}' hidings
are only for flagrant faults — sheep-worrying, deer-hunting,
poultry-killing, obstinacy, and so on. All young hounds will
riot occasionally — a great thumping hare starting up under
their noses is enough to lead any one astray, and it is in the
checking and stopping that the discipline or nondiscipline of
an establishment is shown. Some fellows will set to, roaring
and riding, and cracking their whips, making confusion worse
confounded, while others just trot quietly on till they near the
delinquent, when dropping his name heartily into his ear,
followed by a crack of the whip, if the receipt of the halloo is
not acknowledged, they will check his unlicensed career, and
bring him skulking back to the pack. Some let them have
their riot out, especially when the old hounds are steady, and
then shame the young ones on their return. Bcckford thought
it as well, provided they did not get blood.

THE WHIPPER-IN 65

Some hounds are desperately headstrong, and know the
advantage of having a high wall, coped with mortar and dashed
with broken bottles, between them and the man that is rating
them. For them, Beckford says, " My general orders to my
Whippers-in are, if, when he rate a hound, the hound does not
mind him, to take him up immediately and give him a severe
flogging. Whippers-in are too apt to continue rating, even
when they find that rating will not avail. There is but one
way to stop such hounds, which is to get to the heads of them.
I also tell him never on any account to strike a hound, unless
the hound be at the same time sensible what it is for. What
think you of the Whipper-in, '" asks he, " who struck the
hound as he was going to cover, because he was likely to be
noisy afterwards, saying, " You will be noisy enough by and by,
I warrant you " ?

When discussing the " Huntsman " we related a misfortune
attending a scratch pack Huntsman, or more properly " horn-
blower," with a furze bush and a flock of sheep, and in looking
into Mr. Vyner's book we find a similar case recorded of young
hounds at home : —

" I once knew an instance," says he, " of a lot of wild young
hounds being moved into a field adjoining the kennel where
they were kept, and where a long-tailed black pony was grazing,
attended by the feeder alone; from wantonness one of the
hounds bayed at the pony, which induced another to do the
same, and the pony to declare his approbation or disapproba-
tion by repeated snorting and caprioles ; the main body con-
cluded it was a signal for a rush, when away went the little
horse over a fence into the adjoining lane, and away went the
hounds full cry, to the dismay of the feeder and the rest of the
establishment, who were so suddenly summoned by the music
of the pack ; however, to conclude my story, they were not
stopped until they ran the pony five miles, but without any
further damage to any of the party excepting sowing the seeds

66 THE HUNTING FIELD

of irrevocable wildncss whenever an opportunity might offer
itself."

All packs, however, must have a beginning, and the following
may afford consolation to Masters of newly set up ones: —

"There is an old story told," says Mr. Vyner, " of the Beau-
fort hounds, when that pack was being first formed many years
ago. A new draft of hounds which had arrived on the previous
day were let out into the paddock to be inspected, when they
commenced running the crows, which frequently fly skimming
along close to the ground in windy weather ; and, as the old
kennelman who had the care of them declared, that he believed
they would have never been stopped, if they had not, by the
blessing of God, changed for a jackass."

But to the Whip—

We oftener find a "tool " of a Whip than a " tool " of a
Huntsman — perhaps because they have not so many oppor-
tunities of exposing themselves as Huntsmen, or perhaps because
Whip " tools " are blighted in the flower of whipper-in-hood,
and ne\er have a chance of blooming into Huntsmen. We
have had a letter from a friend, informing us that the "cake"
of a Huntsman we described, who used to exclaim in bewilder-
ment on coming up at a check, " A dear, whichiver way can he
have gone ? " — " which way do yon think he has gone, Mr.
Brown?" — "which way Ao yoic Mr. Green?" — had an orna-
ment of a Whip, who never by any chance rode over a fence,
and the genius having chased a hound to the confines of a
field would sit craning and cracking his whip, hallooing " Get
away, hound! get away f " the hound, of course, pursuing the
same vagaries in the next field as he had done in the one from
which he had been chased, until interrupted by our friend again
cutting round, full grin, at the gate, and repeating the same
farce over again. We have seen non-riding Huntsmen do not
amiss, but a non-ridmg ^^'hip will never do. Indeed, we know
a gentleman, an ex-Master of Hounds, who says that " riding

THE WHIPPER-IN 67

in a Huntsman " and " being a good shot in a Gamekeeper "
are of the least consequence. If the keeper can hit a hawk
sitting, he says it is enough for him, and that "brains, a cool
judgment, a good temper, and a good constitution " are the
indispensable ingredients for a Huntsman. Riding, he adds, is
his least recommendation.

But to the Whip again. Here is Mr. Beckford's opinion of
what a Whipper-in ought to be : —

"With regard to the Whipper-in," writes he, "as j'ou keep
two of them (and no pack of fo.x hounds is complete without)
the first may be considered as a second Huntsman, and should
have nearly the same qualities. It is necessary besides, that he
should be attentive and obedient to the Huntsman ; and as his
horse will probably have most to do, the lighter he is the
better ; though, if he be a good horseman, the objection of his
weight will be sufficiently overbalanced. He must not be con-
ceited. I had one formerly, who, instead of stopping hounds
as he ought, would try to kill a fox by himself. This fault is
unpardonable; he should always maintain to the Huntsman's
holloo, and stop such hounds as divide from it. \\'hen
stopped, he should get forward with them after the
Huntsman."

It is ludicrous, but lamentable to sport, to witness a contest
between a Huntsman and Whip for supremacy. We remember
travelling through Leicestershire some years ago, when the
guard and coachman of the mail got to loggerheads on that
point, and it ended in the stoppage of the vehicle until the
passengers interfered. The coachman found fault with the
guard about something — perhaps having been too long over
his changing drop — when the guard repudiated his interference,
desiring him to " go on and make up lost time — for that the
coachman was his servant." " Your servant ! " exclaimed Jehu,
pulling his horses up into a walk ; " whose servant am I now,
think you ? " added he, grinning over his shoulder. So they

68 THE HUNTING FIELD

went on for a mile or more, the coachman pulhng up as often
as the guard gave his " his servant " orders to go on. Much
such a scene occurs in the hunting field, when Whips and
Huntsmen have not settled that point any better than our
coachman and guard had.

Beckford lays down the law on the point very ably : —
" The Whip," writes he, " must always be contented to act
an underpart, except when circumstances may require that he
should act otherwise ; and the moment they cease, he must not
fail to resume his former station ; you have heard me say, that
when there is much riot, I prefer an excellent Whipper-in to an
excellent Huntsman. The opinion I believe, is new; I must
therefore endeavour to explain it. My meaning is this — that
I think I should have better sport, and kill more foxes with a
moderate Huntsman, and an excellent Whipper-in, than with
the best of Huntsmen without such an assistant. You will say,
perhaps, that a good Huntsman will make a good Whipper-in ;
not such, however, as I mean ; his talent must be born with
him. My reasons are, that good hounds (and bad ones I would
not keep) oftener need the one than the other ; and genius,
which if in a Whipper-in, is attended by obedience, his first
requisite, can do no hurt ; in a Huntsman is a dangerous,
though a desirable, quality ; and if not accompanied by a large
share of prudence, and I may say humility, will oftentimes
spoil your sport, and hurt your hounds."

Mr. Beckford, it should be remembered, was speaking of
the requirements of his own country, Dorsetshire — a country
abounding in riot of all sorts, where the covers are large, and
there is a chase full of deer and game. True, as Mr. Vyner
observes, in a note to this text, that almost all countries now
labour under a similar disadvantage from the unhealthy increase
of game preserves ; but Dorsetshire, perhaps, is still worse than
any, owing to the rather plentiful existence of the little roebuck,
which is a sad temptation to hounds at all periods of the

a

THK WHIPIVKR-IX

♦>{♦

chase. Bcckford, by no means moant
in a Huntsman; yihat he mi»nt to
as he was, he could do b
than in the Whip. IT

He then gives the
Whip is at Hberty to give ,
who must necessarily follow

"A gentleman told ;
famous Will Dean, when

line with Daventry, from

miles distant, swear exceel

'IVAat business have you hetc

question; 'Why don t you k'.

that the great earth at /' •

forward, anel reached t'

fo.x in."

Will Dean, or Deane as s

man to Mr. <

thi;

Hui. :.

Childe's h'

the presen! • ot ridint;

to undervalue abilities

say was, that, situated

in the Huntsman

;., k; -iay.

! more a
n the Huntsman,

me many

.er-in. saying,

ed at the

i t/c d—d to you,

I'' man got

> see the

. Hunts-

...Js

t Mr.

of introducing

is. He was con-

e

1 :

if i

o >,

c

^ o

i ?

e

W

. 1 I U:^ i »- * .ll't LH Id L

r,,r a

your Whipper in be b.ji<l md active, be a
,1 horseman, have a . and clear \

if, . --

hci • " -^"

\y^. v the foolish

conceit of killing a fox without the Hu?. at, on the
contrary, be disposed to a.ssist him ail he can, he then is a
perfect Whipper-in."

Some people fancy b^. ..-, .. man is a .'irst-rate Whipp r-ln

> C

u es
-' b/.

er 3

V> it

= c
■a •<

ni

f

a

- 3.

3
O iL

S 2-

W 3.

*#-^

THE A^'HIPPER-1N 69

chase. Beckford, b_\- no means meant to undervalue abilities
in a Huntsman; what he meant to say was, that, situated
as he was, he could do better with mediocrity in the Huntsman
than in the Whip. Hunting talent was scarce in his day.

He then gives the following instance of how much more a
Whip is at liberty to give play to his genius than the Huntsman,
who must necessarily follow his hounds : —

"A gentleman told me," writes he, "that he heard the
famous Will Dean, when his hounds were running hard in a
line with Daventr}-, from whence they were at that time many
miles distant, swear exceedingly at the ^^'hipper-in, saying,
'What business have you here ? ' The man was amazed at the
question ; 'Why don't you ktion',' said he, ' atid be d — d to you,
that the great earth at Daveiitry is open ? ' The man got
forward, and reached the earth just time enough to see the
fox in."

Will Dean, or Deane as some spell it, was originally Hunts-
man to Mr. Childe, who hunted part of Oxfordshire, anddoubtless
this scene occurred during that time. Dean was afterwards
Huntsman with the late Lord Fitzwilliam, who bought Mr.
Childe's hounds in 1769, and Dean has the credit of introducing
the present dashing style of riding to hounds. He was con-
sidered a great authority in former times.

Mr. Beckford thus recapitulates his qualification for a
Whipper-in : —

" If," says he, " your W'hipper-in be bold and active, be a
good and careful horseman, have a good ear and clear voice —
if, as I said, he be a ver}- Mungo, here there and everywhere,
having at the same time judgment to distinguish where he can
be of most use ; if, joined to these, he be above the foolish
conceit of killing a fox without the Huntsman, but, on the
contrary, be disposed to assist him all he can, he then is a
perfect Whipper-in."

Some people fanc}- because a man is a first-rate Whipper-in,

70 THE HUNTING FIELD

that he must necessarily make a good Huntsman ; such is far
from the case, at least far from being a necessary consequence.
Indeed, on this point, none are more sensible than servants
themselves. We have known several tirst-rate Whips who
have declined Huntsmen's places, fearing they might not
succeed, and have to retrograde in life, a proceeding that is
always disagreeable. The observation of most sportsmen will
supply them with instances of first-rate Whips making first-
rate failures as Huntsmen ; again they will be able to point to
Whippers-in, who have shone far more with the horn than they
did with the couples.

Still it is a good principle of Mr. Beckford's, who says : —

" Your first Whipper-in being able to hunt the hounds
occasionally, will answer a good purpose ; it will keep your
Huntsmen in order: they are very apt to be impertinent when
they think you cannot do without them."

A Whip may come up on an emergency, and do a brilliant
thing ; but as one swallow does not make a summer, so does
not one dashing act make a Huntsman. Some men, doubtless,
are born to be Whips, others to be Huntsmen. Upon this
point we may vouch the authority of Mr. Delmc Radcliffe, an
ex-Master of Foxhounds, and an author to boot : —

" No one," says he, "could ever have seen old Tom Ball,
formerly Whipper-in to Lord Tavistock, without feeling that
he must have been born a Whipper-in. George Mountford
would readily admit that, but for Tom, many and many a fox
might have escaped his skill, which fell a victim to Old Ball's
sagacity, his knowledge of the animal and his line. Patiently
he would sit by a covert side, where, by his mvn line, he had
arrived about as soon as the sinking fox ; there would he view,
perhaps, a brace or more away, without the motion of a muscle,
till his practised eye would recognize the hunted fox, and then
would blithe Echo and other wood nymphs be startled by the
scream which would resound his knell, and, like the war-cry of

THE WHIPPER-IN 71

the ancients, would reanimate his pursuers with certainty of
conquest."

Another very able writer — indeed we think about the best
we know on the real essence of hunting, scent and trusting to
hounds — who used to write in the " New Sporting Magazine "
under the signature of " Thistle-whipper," also bears testimony
to the importance of a good Whipper-in, and to the superiority
of Tom Ball in that line : —

" I am decidedly of opinion," writes he, " that the success
of a pack of foxhounds is more dependent on the exertions of
a good Whipper-in than on the Huntsman, and that a North
American Indian would be excellent materiel to form one.
How often have I witnessed Wells, the Oakley Huntsman,
when his hounds were approaching a cover in which they were
likely to change, take off his cap, and turn his ear to catch
Tom Ball's holloa on the other side, and when he heard it, dash
to the head of his hounds, catch hold of them, and gallop
round to it."

This gentleman " Thistle-whipper," if we mistake not, was
the author of the " Life of a Foxhound," published in the " Old
Sporting Magazine."

No one can read his papers without feeling that they are
the productions of a real sportsman, a real hunter, which is,
perhaps, a more determining appellation than that of " sports-
man," which, with " sporting man," may be assumed alike by
the foxhunter and the thimble-rigger. Being an observing man
himself, " Thistle-whipper " noted observation in others. Take
the following as an instance : —

" To show how much more observant of little things some
men are than others," writes he, " I was standing with about
twenty men in a riding, while the hounds were drawing and
had drawn a great part of the wood. ' No fox here to-day,'
said one. ' Yes, there is a fox moving in that young plantation,'
said another, ' and you will see him cross,' and two minutes

72 THE HUNTING FIELD

after he did. There was a universal exclamation, ' How did
you know a fox was there? ' 'While you were talking,' said
he, ' I heard a cock pheasant '• ceck up " three or four times,
evidently alarmed.' "

How beautifully that fact corroborates Beckford's observa-
tion, that when you see two men in conversation at the cover
side, }ou may safelj' infer that one at least knows nothing of
what he is out for.

All practical men agree in the necessity of a Huntsman being
efficiently supported by his Whippers-in. Mr. Vyner, in his
" Notitia Venatica," says : —

" Nothing will be found to be of greater importance in the
well-conducting of operations than steadiness and persevering
exertions on the part of the Whippers-in ; servants of that
description are quite as difficult to meet with as a first-rate
Huntsman ; a Master, who ' puts up ' a booby of a groom,
merely because he can ride young horses and scream like a
fish-woman, must never expect to see his hounds anything
else than wild and vicious in their drawing, and heedless
and unhandy in their attention to the Huntsman when
casting."

Mr. Smith, in his " Diary of a Huntsman," says: —

"To be a Whipper-in requires both a good eye and a good
ear ; but the greatest qualification for one is, that he should be
free from conceit, so that he will consider it right to obey the
Huntsman most implicitly, whether he thinks him right or
wrong, and not hesitate, but at once instantly do what is
required ; then he does his duty, but not till then."

Mr. Smith is of the same opinion as Mr. Beckford as to the
importance of a cle\er Whipper-in, and says that men who
have hunted their own hounds have often felt a wish to become
Whippers-in, knowing, as they do, that it is possible for a good
Whipper-in to do more towards the sport most da3's than the
Huntsman. The thing, he says, is to find a man who does not

THE WHIPPER-IN 73

wish to save himself, and he adds, if the Whip is really fond of
the sport he never will.

Upon this point, however, we may observe that the greatest
keenness may be subdued by work, and that the difference
between a gentleman's keenness and a servant's keenness is, that
the gentleman's work is voluntary, but the servant's work
is compulsory ; gentlemen can go or stay at home, as the
humour seizes them, but servants cannot. Even on the wildest
and most unlikely days, some people will turn up at the
appointed meet.

Mr. Smith says, " A Whipper-in should not ride as if he was
riding for amusement or credit, but should have his eye to the
hounds zvithout distressing his horse, which is a great recom-
mendation to every Master of Hounds. The greatest fools ride
the hardest generally ; the proof of their being so, is, that
they forget they must go on till night, but men who hunt with
hounds can go home when they please. A proof of a clever
Whipper-in is, that he is always up at a check, without ever
being seen in front, except by accident, and no one else there;
but it is his duty to hold in, and by that means he has always
something left in his horse, when others are beaten. There are
Whippers-in now going who are never seen in a quick thing,
and yet are never missed, because they are always up when
wanted. Who looks for a ^^'hipper-in except then ? He does
not hunt the fox.''

It has always appeared to us, in our casual observation of
hounds and different establishments, that servants — Whippers-
in in particular — do not give that delightful animal, the hound,
due credit for the extraordinary sagacity it possesses. They
treat them too much like cattle or flocks of sheep. There is no
animal so grateful for kindness, so sensible of injury or reproach
as the dog. We often think a London draj'-horse possesses far
more sense than the great two-legged, plush-breeched buffer
on the flags, whose whip point dangles in our eyes. We should

74 THE HUNTING FIELD

be sorry to say the same of hounds and their attendants ;
but we should like to see a little more reasoning power, and a
little less whip-cord used in some hunting establishments — to
hear men talking to their hounds instead of rating them.

It has been well said that no animals take their character
from their master so much as hounds do from their Huntsman.
If the Huntsman is wild, noisy, or nervous, so will his hounds
be ; if steady, quick, and quiet, he may rely upon it that his
pack will be the same.

The same gentleman* who made that observation gives the
following judicious advice to Whippers-in : —

" In going through riot, let not the hounds be driven in a
heap under their Huntsman's horse, and indiscriminately rated
without reason, as is too often the case ; but, on the contrary,
let the Huntsman seem carelessly to trust them, at a certain
distance from him, to take their own way, with the simple
precaution of having his men a little wide on either flank ; he
will then see which hound is to be trusted and which not, and if
riot is begun, his men are rightly placed to check it, with the
further advantage of knowing and rating the hound that offends,
instead of chiding indiscriminately. If hounds are driven under
their Huntsman's horse when approaching riot, they will pass
it by without looking it in the face, noticing it no more than
they would if a hare were turned down in their kennel while the
men stood by with their whips. Such treatment cannot make
hounds steady ; on the contrary, they have sense enough to
know when they are out of your reach, and, like boys from
school, on the sudden removal of unnatural restraint, they are
the more inclined to join in any riot that may offer. A rate
when given at an improper time does more harm than good ; it
disgusts your honest hound — it shies and prevents from hunting

* " Skim,'' in the " New Sporting Magazine," describing the Hon. Grantlcy
lierkeley's system of manaj^ement.

THE WHIPPER-IN

75

your timid one ; and it is treated with contempt by those of
another character, who may at some future time deserve it."

Mr. Beckford gives an admirable illustration of the absurdity
of supposing,' that because hounds refrain from mischief when
their attendants are by, that they are necessarily steady in their
absence. A friend of his whose hounds were troubled with the
unfortunate propensity of killing their own mutton, bethought
him of turning a ram into the kennel among the hounds.
Vigorously the old gentleman laid about him with his horns,
and patiently the hounds bore it, and after witnessing a good
deal of the fun the master and servants retired, leaving the ram
apparently master of the kennel. Returning in about an hour's
time to show a friend what an admirable receipt he had
discovered for sheep-worriers, the master found that the hounds
had]eaten the old ram up in his absence, and having filled their
bellies had retired to their benches.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WHIPPER-IN — CONCLUDED

HIPPERS-IN, like railway
passengers, may be divided
into three classes; first,
the Huntsman \\'hipper-
in ; secondl}-, the regular
Whipper-in ; thirdl}-, the
second ^^'hipper-in.

The Huntsman Whipper-
in is to be found in the
establishments of gentle-
men hunting their own hounds, as Shirley was with Mr.
Assheton Smith and afterwards with Sir Richard Sutton, Jack
Stevens with Mr. Osbaldeston, Charles Treadwell with Mr.
Smith, Hogg with Lord Elcho, and so on.

Huntsmen Whippers-in have difficult cards to play, having
to change from W^hips to Huntsmen at as short notice as the
harlequin in a pantomime, and the worst of it is, they are
expected to change the feelings of the hounds as quickly, and
to draw animals to tiicm in the securit}' of enthusiastic confi-
dence that for weeks and months, perhaps, thej- have been
chasing and dri\-ing awa}-. In this respect they have a worse

THE WHIPPER-IN 77

chance than the Gentleman-Huntsman who never feeds his
hounds, for he at all events does not lick them, and an animal
remembers a blow much longer than he does a bellyful of
meat.

In addition to this, the Huntsman Whipper-in generally has
the pack pawned off upon him, under disadvantageous circum-
stances— during a hurricane perhaps — or at some out of the
way, or interminable woodland meet, or during doubtful,
changing, frost catching weather. Of all trials, however, that
of wind is the worst. "Take not out your hounds in a very
windy or bad day," says Beckford, and hundreds of Masters
and servants must have echoed the sentiment.

A Huntsman Whipper-in has not a fair chance under such
circumstances, and if we were a Gentleman-Huntsman, and
thought the day too windy to go out ourself, we would keep
the hounds at home rather than risk an accident by sending
them out in such critical times, different to what they usually
go. Wind is the very deuce and all in hunting. Fancy being
pinned, as we have been, horse and all, on the top of a hill,
coat laps flying out, one hand grasping the hat, the other the
reins, with the horse snorting and sticking his feet into the
ground for fear of being blown over, and then let a man ask
himself if that is pleasure. Pleasure ! We would rather pick
oakum or work the treadmill under cover.

" On windy days, or such as are not likely to afford any
scent for hounds, it is better, I think," says Beckford, " to
send the hounds to be exercised on the turnpike-road ; it will
do them less harm than hunting with them might do, and
more good than if they were to remain confined in their
kennel ; for though nothing makes hounds so handy as taking
them out often, nothing inclines them so much to riot as
taking them out to /unit when there is little or no scent,
and particularly on windy days, when they cannot hear one
another."

78 THE HUNTING FIELD

Yet these are the sort of days on which Huntsmen
Whippers-in have to exercise their talent, and upon which
hasty and thoughtless men ground their opinions. Many
people prefer finding fault to praising. They think it shows
acuteness on their part.

Again, another disadvantage some Huntsmen Whippers-in
labour under, is having the pack assigned under difficult
circumstances. Many Gentlemen-Huntsmen can manoeuvre a
pack about Salisbury Plain, who would yet be uncommonly
glad to get rid of them if they got into the " Crick" country.*
Then the Huntsman Whipper-in gets them until the difficulties
are past.

We are all great judges of hunting ; horses and hunting
everybody understands ; and the appearance of the Huntsman
Whipper-in, in the character of Huntsman, of course throws
wide the gates of critical observation. We have many a laugh
in our widely-made sleeve at the contrariety of opinion about
the same man, and the oracular decision with which each is
delivered. If the Master is a favourite with the speaker, then
he is tlic iiiaii, and poor Tom isn't fit to hold a candle to him ;
but if the Master doesn't stand " A i," as they say at Lloyd's,
then Tom is the viaii, and the speaker only hopes the Master
may not return on this side of Christmas. In hunting, as in
other things, the medium is seldom hit ; allowances are never
made ; a man is either a demon or a demigod. What one fool
says another repeats, and that is what they call " public
opinion" — "They say." How disgusting it is to hear some
fellows prating about Huntsmen and Whips. Monkey boj-s in
jackets even think themselves qualified to give an opinion.

Mr. Davis, the celebrated animal painter, and brother to her
Majesty's Huntsman, commenced an admirable work a few
years since, called the " Hunter's Annual," being a series of

* The most strongly fenced part of Northamptonshire.

THE AVHIPrER-IN 79

beautifully executed engravings of the most celebrated of our
hunting establishments, in the various departments of the
kennel and the field, accompanied by short biographical
notices of the hounds, countries, and men. In speaking of the
Burton Hunt, then in the hands of Sir Richard Sutton, Davis
gives a capital illustration in the words of a " Huntsman
Whipper-in " of the difference between the acts of the master
and the acts of the man. " Sir Richard," says Mr. Davis,
" hunts his own hounds, but his locum tencns must not be
forgotten, the prime, good, old John Shirley, one of nature's
noblest works. To John Shirley Sir Richard has trusted all
the care and business of the kennel and the discipline of his
pack. The hounds are made to his hands ; Shirley is
nominally and hard-workingly (if we may coin a word) the
Huntsman. He was early initiated into the mysteries and
duties of stable and kennel in the service of Thomas Assheton
Smith, Esq., and we need not say more to convince that both
are well grounded in him. He came to Lincoln with this
gentleman, and it was here that Sir Richard knew his worth
and abilities as a servant. After he had hunted the hounds for
some seasons, it was signified to him that Sir Richard wished
to take upon himself that task. His answer was, ' Well, Sir
Richard, I am glad of it, very glad of it ; now, whatever jw/ do
wrong, be it ever so zvroiig, it will be called bad luck ; when-
ever / met with bad luck, / was called ignorantly wrong — that
will be the difference. But go on — you will do it well.' "

And well Sir Richard has done it. Long may he continue
to do it, say we.

Jack Shirley, we may remind our readers, is the Whipper-in
described by Nimrod as riding the loose-headed old hunter
down a hill in one of the worst fields in Leicestershire —
between Tilton and Somerby, abounding with ant hills and
deep furrows — the rider putting a lash to his whip, with a
large open clasp knife between his teeth at the time.

80 THE HUNTING FIELD

Huntsmen Whippers-in are like lieutenant-colonels, they
have the full command, except when the colonel is present.
The simile, perhaps, is not quite good, for the presence of the
colonel is the exception, whereas the absence of the Master is
generally so in the hunting field. The seldomer the Master is
absent, the greater, of course, the difficulty of the Huntsman
Whipper-in when he is. Beckford relates how a Master of
Harriers had found out that the use of a Whipper-in was to
ride after the hare, and keep her in view as long as he could ;
and we remember a Gentleman-Huntsman assigning a some-
what similar position to his Huntsman Whipper-in with
foxhounds. Some one observing that he wondered the
Gentleman-Huntsman kept a Huntsman when he did the
thing so well himself, and was so constantly out, received for
answer, that it was " convenient to have some one to ' blow
up 'when things went wrong." "Blowing up," however, is
more generally the perquisite of the second Whip than the
first, he always being younger, and his place more easily
supplied. We know " a Master " who used to use the second
Whip for the purpose of blowing up the field. When he saw
a man do wrong, he would send the Whip to ride within ear-
shot of him, and then he would come storming up, reading the
riot act to the boy, pretending he had done what the gentleman
had done.

Having, however, compared the Huntsman Whipper-in to
the colonel of a regiment, we may pursue the military simile,
and say, that as in the army the comfort of a subaltern is
greatly dependent on the character and disposition of the
colonel, so, in the hunting establishment, the comfort of the
Whippers-in are greatly dependent on the manner and conduct
of the Huntsman. Some Huntsmen are desperately coarse
and overbearing with their Whips, especially their second
ones, and then having frightened and bullied their wits out of
them, they wonder they are good for nothing. We dropped

THE WHIPPER-IN 81

upon one of these bullying gentry unawares one day — a tlash
fool, who thought himself fit for anything, but of whose talent
the world formed so different an opinion, that he is now out of
place — and overheard a rating match that he thought was all
between themselves. " Come and ride behind me, and don't
be showing off there," said he, with all the importance of a
lord-lieutenant, to a poor frightened lad he had stationed at a
gorse cover corner, with orders not to move till he told
him, an order that the lad had implicitly obeyed, but had
unfortunately attracted a group of children, who, we suppose,
the Huntsman thought would have been much better employed
in looking at him. " Like master like man," is a very true
saying, and in no instance more strongly exemplified than in
Huntsmen and field servants. If the Master is a coarse,
swearing, bullying fellow, the man will think it necessary to
imitate him. Huntsmen, of all people, take their " cue " from
the Master, and they have plenty of opportunity of observing
the terms on which each sportsman stands with him. Whip-
pers-in take their "cue" from the Huntsman, and much the
same manners will be found to reign throughout an establish-
ment. To their credit, however, be it spoken, we scarcely
ever met with anything like rudeness or incivility from a hound
servant. Some have more manners than others, but the}' all
" mean well." My lord's men are better drilled, have seen
how things are done in other establishments, but Mr. Rattle-
cover's, though they may not " sky scrape " quite so high,
would be quite as ready to catch a stray horse, or set a fallen
sportsman up on his hind legs. From catching loose horses
Huntsmen are always exempt, they must go with their hounds,
the office therefore devolves on the Whips, unless some
other good Samaritan anticipates them. Let the Whips be
remembered in the sportsman's " budget." They have no
perquisites beyond their pay, and as every little makes a
mickle, so a trifle from each sportsman will make a very

G

82 THE HUNTING ITET.D *

comfortable addition to their income. Old Sportsmen, we
know, will excuse our freedom in mentioning it. They do it
already, the hint is for the " young entry" of the season.

But to the duties of second and third class Whippers-in.
As yet we have only discussed the oiftce of Huntsman
Whipper-in, and glanced more at what the others ought not
to do, than at what they ought. We will have recourse to our
old friend, Beckford, on the subject.

" When you go from the kennel," says he, " the place of the
first Whipper-m is before the hounds ; that of the second
Whipper-in should be some distance behind them ; if not, I
doubt if they will be suffered even to empty themselves, let
their necessities be ever so great, for as soon as a boy is made
a Whipper-in, he fancies he is to whip the hounds whenever he
can get at them, whether they deserve it or not."

Another gentleman, whom we quoted before, " Skim," says,
" some second Whippers-in conceive that they are placed
behind the hounds on the road to flog up all that stop within
their reach, as if they had a drove of pigs before them ; but the
whip should never be applied unless for some immediate and
decided faulty

Mr. Delme Radcliffe saj's : —

" The schooling of a pack will much depend upon the
efficiency of the Whippers-in. The Huntsman is at this time
endeavouring to attach every hound to himself, and will
encourage all (particularly the timid hounds) as they are
driven up to him by his assistants. A sensible and intelligent
Whipper-in will very soon acquire some notions of the peculiar
tempers and dispositions of different hounds, so essential to a
Huntsman ; and will not require to be perpetually cautioned
against the indiscriminate administration of punishment. For
one hound a word maj- suftice, while others may require as
much payment as lawyers before they do anything ; with these
it must necessarily be not only a word, but a word and a blow,

THE WHIPPER-IN 83

and the blow first ; but nothing annoys me more than to see a
cut made at a hound in the midst of others guiltless of the
cause. It is ten to one but the lash, intended for Vagabond
or Guilty, will descend upon Manager or Blameless, and render
others sh\- to no purpose. The difficult}' consists in con-
triving to awe the resolute without breaking the spirit of the
timid."

" ^^'hippers-in, like Huntsmen,"' writes Mr. Delme Radcliffe,
" must feel a pride in their places, an interest in the credit
and reputation of the pack, and thoroughly enjoy the sport,
although their labour is not light, but, on the contrarj-, very
arduous, and often harassing and ve.xatious. Without being
able to ride, a man will, probably, not be placed in such a
situation ; but the}' should be more than mere riders, they
should be active and good horsemen, capable of distinguishing
between the use and abuse of the horse intrusted to them."

Some gentlemen assist in turning hounds, some let them
alone, lest they may be doing wrong, and get a "blessing"
for their trouble ; while others console themselves with thinking
that it is no business of theirs, and just let them have their
fimg until a W'hipper-in arrives. Of course we would not
insult modern sportsmen by supposing that any of them would
be acquainted with the name of a hound so as to check him by
it as well as by the whip, but in the absence of a Whipper-in
there cannot be any harm in one of the field circumventing a
delinquent, and turning him back into cover. Young hands
ride after hounds instead of riding round them, and the effort
is sometimes productive of a fine trial of speed, generally
terminating, however, b}' the intrusion of a fence, through
which the hound skulks.

When a Whipper-in is by, however, it is best to let him do
the work, because he can very likely effect it by a rate ; at all
events gentlemen should trust more to their actions than their
voices, because the latter are strange to the hounds, but it must

84 THE HUNTING FIELD

be a very dull dog that doesn't understand when a person is
manoeuvring to lick him. The human voice divine is doubtless
a fine popular organ, and perhaps it is a pity that the free use of
it does not contribute to the success of the chase, for we never
saw a hunting field yet where there was the slightest prospect
of a deficiency of noise. We shall never have to import any
of that, however. Some few men, however, are so modest or
timid, that they are afraid of the sound of their own voices,
and if they see a fox break cover, they get into such a delightful
state of perturbation, that they don't know what the devil to
do, and it perhaps takes them ten minutes or a quarter of an
hour before they recover their facilities sufficiently to be able
to tell anybody, and even then, they are often in such a nervous
state of confusion, that very likely they have forgotten the place.
For these gentlemen the hat is the thing. Indeed, a hat high
in the air is worth a hundred halloos, especially if the hounds
are in cover and don't see it. The Huntsman can then get
them quietly out, lay them gently on, and in foxhunting, as in
most other things, a good beginning is half the battle. The
hounds settle well to the scent, reynard travelling quietly on,
perhaps, hears them well in his rear ; he then has time to
consider which way he will go, and, putting his head straight
for his point, gives them a splitter.

Many a fox is lost in the first few minutes. But to the
Whip—

Beckford tells an amusing story of an amateur Whip, who
was got rid of with the following politeness: — "A gentleman,"
says he, " perceiving his hounds to be much confused by the
frequent halloos of a stranger, rode up to him, and thanked
him with great civility for the trouble he was taking; but at
the same time acquainted him that the two men he saw in
green coats" (grecti, the deuce!) "were paid so much by the
year on purpose to halloo, it would be needless for him, therefore,
to give h\mse\{ -dny further trouble."

THE AVHIPPER-IX 85

The first \\'hipper-in, it seems to be clearlj- established, is
to be an independent genius, capable of thinking and acting for
himself, as exemplified in the case of Will Dean and the
Daventry earths. " The station of the second Whipper-in,"
says Mr. Beckford, " may be near the huntsman, for which
reason any bo\' that can halloo and make a ^vhip smack ma}'
answer the purpose."

"May be near tdie Huntsman," and " may answer the pur-
pose," writes our veteran, as though he thought an old head
would be better. In truth, though all men must have a
beginning, bo}- Whippers-in are generally as great nuisances
as boy butlers. They are like the sham " captain " the London
leg proposed to hold the stakes between the Yorkshire yeoman
and himself at Doncaster races: " If you doubt me," said the
leg, with great apparent hauteur, " my friend, the captain, here,
shall hold the money." " But whe hads captin ? " asked the
wily old Yorkshire tyke, with a shake of the head. " The boy
Whipper-in looks after the hounds, but who looks after the
boy ? ••

We once saw a fine scene between a Yorkshire scratch pack
Huntsman, and a newl}' caught j'okel of a lad in top-boots, a
twilled jacket, and jockey cap. They had fallen out in coming
to cover, and the lad arrived in the sulks. Scratch packs
seldom tarry long at the meet, for the best of all reasons —
t/ie hounds won't stay, and moving towards the cover, a cur
dog took fright, and went away like a fox, with all the
pack full cr_\- after him. Yokel sat grinning. " Torn them
hooundcs." roared the Huntsman. " Torn them thyscl I " replied
the youth.

That sort of work, however, will not do for our second Whip,
who is supposed to belong to a regular establishment. " There
is nothing like experience for impressing things properly on
people's minds," says Mr. Delme Radcliffe, "especially if the
consequences are disagreeable " — indeed, according to him, the

M«5 THE HUNTINC; FIELD

mind is not the only part susceptible of an impression. In
elucidation of this, he relates an anecdote of a " hawbuck,"
who being monstrously bothered with the word " miracle '' that
occurred frequently in the course of a sermon, requested an
explanation of it from the clergyman after the service was over.
The reverend gentleman gave bunch-clod a tremendous kick
behind, asking him at the same time if it " hurt him ? "
"Hurt ine!" exclaimed bunch, "you've hurt me most
woundily."' "Then," replied the clergj'man, "it would have
been a miracle if I had not." To bring this to bear upon
hunting, Mr. Radcliffe recommends practical inconvenience for
properly impressing the duties of a second Whipper-in.

" Send your second Whipper-in back," says he, " some miles
after hunting, and insist upon his return in good time, not
without some hounds that may be missing ; he will be for the
future more awake to the advantage of minding his business,
than by repeated lectures upon the expediency of keeping the
pack together. Follow this principle up, if you would have
deeds rather than ivords ■^x&vz^xX throughout your establishment."
Our Yorkshire friend, if sent on such an errand, would have
replied, " seek them thysel."

"The duty of a second Whipper-in," says Skim, "is to
send on a hound that hangs, to bring up tail hounds,
and to mind all that passes in the rear of his Huntsman ;
and when all are before him together, and clear of the
wood, to act as occasion may require." "As occasion may
require " is a fine comprehensive phrase, capable of containing
anything.

The greatest vice hound servants, whether Huntsmen, first
or second Whips, can be guilty of, is that of drinking, and
unfortunately it is one to which they are peculiarly exposed.
Every person likes to treat them to a glass of something, so
what with one glass here and another glass there, they stand a
very fair chance of becoming, what country people call, tipplers,

i I

JE WHIPPEK IN

that is to say, pe< ; >t get blind drunk, but who are

aJways getting a riroj .

"Bless me!" i- !■■•-■■■' '■' r> .»..r Pw^d-in^ as we were
jogging to cover ;,'. "Bless me I

there's Mr. Lapitup dnnk ass of grog at yon public-

house door. J/e's drank jijuen hundrtd a-year, and /le's dry
still!''

Gentlemen are not alto— '^^ ■■ -^ ^"ipt from the charge of
encouraging drinking. \\ ■ meet at their houses,

they are very apt to send th or Jeames Plush, out

with the brandy-bottle, or somethmg equally potent, and then
there's pretty crashing and ' : ing of gates, and

larking at rails. It is a bad j; .^,j .. . c.-i a custom that had
better be commuted into a goose, or a whole bottle of some-
thing at Christmas ; after a long ride, or on a cold raw
morning, a glass may be all ver>' well. It is against the abuse,
and not the use of spirits that we

We do not object to hospitalit} ts ; far from it. but

then we advocate its exercise at .i>le times. After a

good run, no one would object to the frothing tankard flowing
round— not even Father Mathew himself, provided that great
water saint had first experienced the delightful delirium of a
wet shirt, got in a hard ridden run ; mither would a glass of
something hot and water after a cold wet trashing day be
objected to, but rather recommended, but it is indiscriminate
cold-blooded drinking that should be avoided. It is a dangerous,
a ruinous thing. One glass this y. 'to two next, and so >>

they go on till ruin is the result. .-^ may take our word ^

for it, that in no station or calling in life will drinking answer. _g

A drunken man is not a man, he is only half a man, sometimes ^

not so much. Hound servants, a^ we said before, are exposed u

to great temptations. Tb fly to lie from home «

at night, at inns and pi.. ^ ...J we all know the ^

customs of landlords, and the treating habits of tap-rooms.

<
s:

>

iz

a
a

THE AV HIPPER- IN 87

that is to say, people who do not get bhnd drunk, but who are
always getting a drop.

" Bless me ! " exclaimed old Peter Pigskin, as we were
jogging to cover together the other morning, " Bless me !
there's Mr. Lapitup drinking a glass of grog at yon public-
house door, lle^s drank fifteen hundred a-year, and lies dry
still r'

Gentlemen are not altogether exempt from the charge of
encouraging drinking. When hounds meet at their houses,
they are very apt to send the butler, or Jeames Plush, out
with the brandy-bottle, or somethmg equally potent, and then
there's pretty crashing and flashing, leaping of gates, and
larking at rails. It is a bad principle, and a custom that had
better be commuted into a goose, or a whole bottle of some-
thing at Christmas; after a long ride, or on a cold raw
morning, a glass may be all very well. It is against the abuse,
and not the use of spirits that we contend.

We do not object to hospitality to servants ; far from it, but
then we advocate its exercise at seasonable times. After a
good run, no one would object to the frothing tankard flowing
round— not even Father Mathew himself, provided that great
water saint had first experienced the delightful delirium of a
wet shirt, got in a hard ridden run ; neither would a glass of
something hot and water after a cold wet trashing day be
objected to, but rather recommended, but it is indiscriminate
cold-blooded drinking that should be avoided. It is a dangerous,
a ruinous thing. One glass this year leads to two next, and so
they go on till ruin is the result. Servants may take our word
for it, that in no station or calling in life will drinking answer.
A drunken man is not a man, he is only half a man, sometimes
not so much. Hound servants, as we said before, are exposed
to great temptations. They have frequently to lie from home
at night, at inns and public-houses, and we all know the
customs of landlords, and the treating habits of tap-rooms.

88 THE HUNTING FIELD

Even in moving about home, exercising hounds, or looking
after kennel matters, they are always liable to the offer.

The farmers, the saddlers, the blacksmiths, the bootmakers,
all like to give them a drop. They belong to a popular sport,
and are popular characters. We once heard an amusing story
of Jack Shirley going from Lincolnshire to Mr. Ralph
Lambton's, with a draft of hounds, and what was his surprise
on getting into the county of Durham (where he had never
been before) at finding himself accosted every now and then
by the familiar " Jack," and asked what he would drink ? He
was taken for Jack Winter, Mr. Lambton's Huntsman, whom
he greatly resembled.

In the matter of " drink," gentlemen are very apt to treat
hound servants as they treat the unfortunate sisters of the
pave — debauch them first, and then blame them for being what
they are ; give them drink and then abuse them for being
drunk. Each man thinks what he himself gives can do no
harm ; but if hounds met before gentlemen's houses every day
they went out, it would be the ruin of half the establishments
going. Mr. Vyner comments severely on the vice of drunken-
ness, and gives the following amusing anecdote of what
happened w ith the men belonging to his pack : —

" There can be but one opinion upon the vice of drunken-
ness in any man," says he, " and the second fault in either a
Huntsman or Whipper-in ought to be the last to be over-
looked. Many of my readers may, I have no doubt, have been
disgusted in the course of their lives by such an outrage ; but
to see a Whipper-in drunk on champagne would be rather a
novel sight. I remember once meeting at the house of a jolly
good foxhunter, ' of the olden time,' who shall be nameless,
where he had a most splendid breakfast upon the occasion ;
and our Nvorth}' host, not being content with giving his guests
plenty of that exhilarating beverage, absolutel}- sent a bottle

THE WHIPPER-IX 89

out to the men who were waitint; with the hounds upon the
lawn : the result may be imagined. Upon remonstrating with
the elder of the two upon this most disgraceful occurrence, the
answer was, that he was sorry for what had happened, but that
he thought there could be no harm in the contents of the
bottle, as he had seen a lady drinking some of the same kind
through the window just before."

"This man," adds Mr. Vyner, "had but one fault in the
world ; in other respects he was a most excellent and trust-
worth}' servant, and one of the quickest and best sportsmen I
ever saw handle a whip ; he had lived twenty years in two of
the most noted hunting establishments in England, but gin
became his ruin."

Drink is a thing that, sooner or later, shows itself in all men,
and, perhaps, in Huntsmen and Whips sooner than in most,
through the medium of the voice. There is a huskiness about
the voice of the dram-drinker, far removed from the joyful,
cheerful note of the sound, healthy-lunged, sober man ; indeed,
we sometimes fancy that men's voices sound differently after a
" lawn meet," to what they do at the ordinary run of the
hunting fixtures. After the huskiness comes the broken voice
of the old practitioner. \\'e have heard men whose notes have
been broken right in two.

It is curious to see how hunting runs in families — to see
how certain names pervade our different hunting establish-
ments— how like begets like, and son succeeds father. Shirley,
for instance, has a son Huntsman to Sir John Cope : old Tom
Ball, if we mistake not, has one or two Whipper-in sons — one,
we know, whipped-in to Mountford, in Leicestershire, in Lord
Suffield"s time, and we think there was another with the
Pytchley, during Mr. Payne's first occupation of the country,
if not in Lord Chesterfield's reign. Smith, Lord Yarborough's
Huntsman, is great-grandson of the first Huntsman of that

90 THE HUNTING FIELD

nv me ; his father, our readers may remember, had the mis-
fortune to break his neck at a trifling place the very last day of
a >ason.

ir. Davis, speaking of Smith, the father, in the " Hunter's
Annual," where, of him and his two sons, as Whippers-in,
c )ital likenesses are given, says : —

" Of the natural requisites for a Huntsman of foxhounds, so
rf ich has been said before, and really so much seems to be
expected, that a man to shine in this department is one to be
chosen out of ten thousand, and then his youth ought to be
spent in j;he education fitting his peculiar line pf life. It has
been said of Smith, that if schooling had done as much for
him as nature had endowed him with, that no situation in
life would be too high for his powers. It is highly honour-
able to him and his family, that he is the third generation
filling the office of Huntsman to the Brocklesby Hunt. In
1816, the Lord Yarborough of that day presented the grand-
father of the present Huntsman with a handsome silver cup,
capable of holding the liberal quantity of upwards of two
quarts, on which was this inscription — ' The gift of Lord
Yarborough to his huntsman, after having been more than
fifty years in his service ; made as an acknowledgment of that
indefatigable and unremitting attention to the business of his
vocation, which may be recommended for a pattern to those
who succeed him, and can never be surpassed.' " Of the
estimation in which the late one was held by the country,
we add a description of the present made to him by his sporting
friends : — A large salver, with a bold and richly embossed edge
and border, and a broad chased wreath encircling a plain
shield in the centre, on which is engraved — "This salver and
a teapot, coffeepot, sugar-basin, and cream-ewer (purchased
by subscribers of five shillings each), were presented to
Mr. William Smith by his friends and the sportsmen in the

THE AVHirPER-IN 01

Brocklesby Hunt, as a testimony of their high estimation. of
his propriety of conduct and great ability as a Huntsman :
October, 1834." Sebright had a somewhat similar prer-.-nt
from the gentlemen and yeomen of Lord Fitzwilliam's Hi it,
in 1S36. Sebright is another instance of the passion for
hunting running in families. He is the son of a fam 1 is
Huntsman, and was almost nursed in the kennel. He has
gone through all the gradations of service. At fifteen le
entered the list of Whips under West, who hunted the old
Surrey when Mr. Xevill was Master. He then went to Mr.
Osbaldeston, and from him he came to Lord Fitzwilliam.
Skinner is a good name. There were three brothers at work
with hounds a few years since, all by old Skinner, who was
five-and-fifty years with Mr. Meynell. There were four Hills,
all Huntsmen or first Whippers-in at the same time. Tom
and his brother Peckham in Surrey, Jem in Wiltshire, and
Dick in Oxfordshire, or Jem in Oxfordshire and Dick in
Wiltshire, we forget which. The Oldacres were all sportsmen,
and the name not to be beat ; the celebrated old Tom was
father of two Huntsmen. Treadwell is a good name in the
hunting world. There are two brothers who have graduated
from Huntsmen-Whipper-in-ships to be regular Huntsmen ;
one under Mr. Codrington and Mr. Horlock, the other under
Mr. Smith of the Craven. Mr. Codrington's Treadwell now
hunts Mr. Farquharson"s hounds, and has a son a Whipper-in
with the Hambledon ; Charles, Mr. Smith's one, is now
Huntsman with Lord Harewood. Old Tom Rose got young
Tom Rose; and, if we mistake not, Tom Wingfield, Mr.
Drake's Huntsman, in Oxfordshire, is son of Tom Wingfield,
who whipped-in to Raven and Goodall in Leicestershire in
Lord Sefton's time, Mr. Drake's Huntsman, Wingfield, has,
or had, a Whipper-in of the name of Goodall, very likely a
son of Goodall the Huntsman. Tom Leedham, Mr. Mevnell

92 THE HUNTING FIELD

Ingram's Huntsman, is or was whipped-in to by his two sons.
There is one name, "Jones," that is about extinct in the
hunting field. Mr. Meynell had a famous cork-legged Whipper-
in of that name, who was also a bit of an author, and
published some journals of their doings. He was a great rider
and a great drinker also. They say he used sometimes to get
so drunk that he could not recollect, when he awoke in the
morning, where he had left his leg over-night. There was also
a Robert Jones, who hunted a joint pack, kept by the late
Colonel Wardle and the late Sir Harry Goodricke's father, in
Flintshire. The celebrated Tom Crane, afterwards Huntsman
to the Fife hounds, came, we believe, from that part of the
kingdom, and has left no hunting descendants that we know
of. Crane, from all accounts, was a most extraordinary man.
It was said of him that one of his eyes was worth two of most
other men's, and that his ear was as true as his eye was quick.
Crane hunted the Duke of Wellington's hounds during the
Peninsular war, and one day in the ardour followed his hounds
almost into the enemy's camp.

Most of these men rose from the ranks, that is to say, from
Whipper-in-ships.

John Winter entered life as Pad-Groom under Mr. Ralph
Lambton in Leicestershire, in Mr. Meynell's time, and passed
through all the gradations of second and first Whip, and
Huntsman Whipper-in, when Mr. Lambton hunted the hounds.
Dick Foster whipped-in to Lord Foley, in Worcestershire ;
Will Long whipped-in to Philip Payne with the Duke of
Beaufort's ; the late Jack Richards, Huntsman to the Bads-
worth, whipped-in to Sir Bellingham Graham, in the Atherstone
country ; so did Will Staples, afterwards Huntsman to Sir
Rowland Hill — Will was by old Tom Staples, once Huntsman
to Lord Middleton. In short, most of our eminent men have
filled the subordinate offices of Whipper-in, and risen to

THE WHIPPER-IN

93

eminence by talent and good conduct. Let the rising generation
emulate them ; but let them remember that talent is of no
use without conduct. Above all, let them beware of the

DRINK.

CHAPTER IX

THE EARTH-STOPPER

'•Six crafty Earth-stoppers in hunters' green drest,
Supported poor Tom to ' an earth ' made for rest."

Tom Moodv.

ERTAIN things there are
we never wished to be — we
never wished to be a sailor ;
we never wished to be an
"old Charley"; we never
wished to be a great span-
gled cock ballet dancer at
the Opera; we never wished
to be Lord Mayor of York ;
we never wished to be Mr.
Green, the aeronaut ; we
never wished to be a dentist ; we never wished to be King of
the Cannibal Islands ; we never wished to be a surgeon-
accoucheur ; we never wished to be postmaster of Heligoland ;
we never wished to be Stunning Joe Banks; and, most cer-
tainly, we never wished to be an Earth-stopper. An Earth-
stopper ! oh, no ! Of all coldj candle-light, frigid, cheerless,
teeth-chattering, arm-flopping occupations, that of an Earth-
stopper assuredly is the most so. When all the world is
"snoring" fast asleep, our unfortunate woodland watchman

THE ^ARTH-STOPPEll 95

has to lea\c his do\vn\- couch and encounter the elements and
roughnesses of the thicket. Lord hless us ! fancy such a
night as last, the rain beating against the casements, the wind
howling, and blowing a perfect hurricane : the brooks swelled
into torrents, the rivers into seas ; and fancy having to leave
the warm house, the bright crackling fire, to grope and prowl
about the country like a thief in the night time : a man ought
to be well paid for such work as that.

Earth-stoppers are of two sorts — the resident Earth-stopper,
and the head Earth-stopper, or Earth-stopper in Eyre, as the
old law books designate the judges of assize. The head
Earth-stopper is an officer peculiar to great establishments ;
he is like the military inspector of a district, and it is his
business to go about and see that his subordinates do their
dut}'. In summer he receives and examines into the truth
of reported breeds ; in winter he sees that the right range of
country is properly stopped ; and, above all, properly opened.
The Earth-stopper only does half his business who only stops
the earths ; opening them after hunting is quite as important.

Yon weather-beaten old man, in the two-5'ear old cap, and
three-year old coat, is the head of the department of our
hunt ; he is to the Earth-stopping fraternity what the " super-
intendent " is to the police; he is paid by the year, they bj'
the stop. Old Foxfix, for such is his name, is a varmint
looking old fellow, and when the old grey — or rather white —
is away from the high conditioned horses of the field, and the
new scarlet coats of the men do not throw the old plum colour
into the shade, he makes a very respectable appearance. He
knows every hill — every rise from which a view of the varmint
may be obtained ; and often when the chase has lagged, and
hopes began to pall, old Foxfix's cap, on the sky line of the
horizon, has infused joy into the field below, and brought
hounds, horses, and men, to his welcome and undoubted
halloo.

96 THE HUNTING FIELD

Tlie Earth-stopper is generally a popular man in the
country, and many of them are as good hands at finding
their ways into the earths of farmers and gentlemen's houses,
as they are at finding the fox earths. Besides ascertaining
the breeds and probable number of foxes, they have also to
hear evidence as to their ravages, and keep a check on the
poultry account. Here they act as middle men between the
Master and the hen farmer, and in this department we would
advise them to give the cast of the scale in favour of the
farmer. Never mind if the hunt does pay for a few more
hens and geese than reynard really consumes. Foxhunters
pay nothing for field damage, hedging, rail-mending, and so
on ; and, moreover, the poultry is generally the perquisite of
the ladies, to whom foxhunters are always ready to do suit
and service. Indeed, were we a Master — which had we to
make out a catalogue of wishes instead of one of objections —
we should place at the head of the list — we should always be
glad to hear of a good lot of poultry damage. We should
regard the ravages of reynard much as we regard the appetite
of our friend Peter Pigskin, who it does our heart good to see
feed. The more damage say we the more foxes, at least we
would flatter ourselves so, though some ungentlemanly foxes
certainly will commit waste as well as proper plunder. These,
however, are the shabby dogs of the country, who generally
die ignominiously in cover, their distended bellies "with fat
capon lined."

In no instance is the popularity or unpopularity of a Master
more apparent than in the abundance or scarcity of foxes.
The man who can command a country full of foxes without
the aid of a superintendent Earth-stopper, resembles a monarch
who can trust himself among his people without a body guard.
There is no criterion — in a hunting country at least — so in-
fallible as a goodly show of foxes. It shows that the farmers
and the country people are pleased — rank, wealth, large

THE EARTH-STOPPER 97

demesne, will not insure what the single word " popularity "
will achieve. Popularity is, in truth, the foundation of fox-
hunting. It is very true that the sport is popular itself, but it
is also equally true that a popular man with moderate means
will far outstrip in his show of foxes the richest millionaire
who lacks that qualit}'.

Not that we mean to insinuate that keeping a regular Earth-
stopper is any sign of want of popularity ; on the contrary,
we have known some most popular Masters who have always
had them, but we say that half a hundred regular Earth-
stoppers will not insure foxes to a Master who is personally
offensive or objectionable. Fox-preserving, like voting by
ballot, is a good deal matter of conscience. A man prorhises
to " preserve " just as he promises to " vote " for you, but
if he keeps his own counsel you cannot detect the contrary.
After all is said and done, therefore, popularity is the best
fox-finder.

There is something very sporting and picturesque about
a fox earth. They are generally in romantic, sequestered,
secluded places ; in deep ravines, or on the side of woody hills.
Their adjuncts are all pure and rural. The clean thrown up
sand at the mouth, the projecting rock above, or knarled root
supporting its lofty time-honoured oak, with the little accom-
paniments of bright growing hazel, knotty black thorn, and
withered fern or faded heath. It is strange how fox after fox
draws to the same spot ; what was a breeding earth a century
ago is a breeding earth now, and is as notorious to a country
as a turnpike gate. How creditable it is to the lower orders
that they should be held, as they are, inviolate, at least in all
countries where hounds come, or are even expected to come.
The man who has killed a fox is quite as much an object of
execration among the lower orders, as the acred vulpecide is
in the higher circles, with the disagreeable addition of moving
among men accustomed to speak their minds without the gloss

H

98 THE HUNTING FIELD

of courtly phraseology. " U7io slwt the fox? " is an exclama-
tion that has sent many a skulking vagabond out of the
public-house, when a group of honest rustics have been
exulting over a day's sport. Indeed, the lower orders set an
example well worthy the imitation of many who call them-
selves their superiors in their respect for the fox. They look
upon him as a sort of privileged animal. He even seems to
shed a sort of lustre over those in any way connected with
him. Ask the first people you meet in a village where the
constable lives, and they either can"t or won't tell you, but
ask where the man lives " wot stops the fox earths," and they
will not only tell you, but accompany you to the door. This
is as it should be, and long may it continue so. It is this that
gets Earth-stoppers — it is this that makes men nervous and
fidgety in their beds, lest they oversleep themselves, and very
possibly causes them to bolt master reynard's door before he
has left the house. They are anxious for the sport themselves,
and anxious for the amusement of the country at large. They
feel that the honours of the day are greatly dependent on
them, and are correspondingly alive to their duties.

Mr. Daniel, in his " Rural Sports," says, "The fox knows
how to ensure safet}', by providing himself with an asylum,
which he either does by dispossessing the badger, or digs the
earth himself; in either case it is so contrived as to afford the
best security to the inhabitants by being situated under hard
ground, the roots of trees, &c., and is, besides, furnished by
the fox with proper outlets, through which he may escape
from every quarter ; here he retires from pressing dangers, and
here brings up his j-oung ; so that the fox is not a wanderer,
but lives in a settled domestic state." Daniel makes him
quite a respectable character, a housekeeper in fact, with a
back and front door to his residence, though we cannot say
we ever saw an earth with such accommodation. In running
to ground where rabbits abound, it is not uncommon for

THE EARTH-STOPPER 99

reynard to bolt out of one hole while the foxhunting " na\-ies"
are busy at another, but those holes are made by the
" bunnies," not by the foxes : reynard is there only a lodger.
Speaking of his domestic habits, Daniel says further, " The
idea of a settled place of abode indicates a singular attention
to self ; the choice of a situation and of rendering that abode
commodious, and of concealing the avenues to it, imply a
superior degree of sentiment ; the fox is endowed with this
quality, and manages it with advantage ; he prefers the covers
near divellings, where he listens to the cries of the poultry ; in
his attacks upon them he chooses the time with judgment,
and concealing his road, slips forward with caution, and
seldom makes a fruitless expedition." Daniel had not been
much of a fox-man, we think, or else the animal must have
changed its habits a good deal since his book was written.
We have often seen foxes found in covers in the neighbour-
hood of farm-houses, but we do not remember at this moment
ever seeing an earth at all that would be called close to farm
buildings. Daniel's book, however, was written forty years
ago, since when foxhunting has undergone considerable
change, particularly the lodging — we might almost say the
domestication of foxes. We have now all sorts of artificial
contrivances, from the fagot cover down to Mr. Smith's
masonic drain. In Daniel's time, indeed, it seems to have
been a " moot " point whether foxes were entitled to protection
or not, just as we have heard people contend for the right to
shoot persons who have the luck to be outlawed. Daniel
says, " The destruction and preservation of foxes are points
upon which there is a difference of opinion ; the law holds out
a reward for the death of the aniiual, to be paid by the church-
wardens of every parish, whilst the foxhunters and their
friends use all possible exertions to protect the breed and
increase their numbers." He then gives the letter of a noble-
man to his agent in Leicestershire, desiring the agent to show

100 THE HUNTING FIELD

every accommodation to the tenants who had been friendly to
the hunts of " Lord Spencer, the Duke of Rutland, Mr.
Meynell, and Lord Stamford." " On the other hand,"
writes the noble lord, "you will take care and make very
particular inquiries into the conduct of those tenants who
shall have shown a contrary disposition, by destroying foxes
or encouraging others so to do, or otherwise interrupting
gentlemen's diversion, and will transmit me their names and
places of abode, as it is my absolute determination that such
persons shall not be treated with in future by me upon any
terms or consideration whatever. I am convinced that land-
owners, as well as farmers and labourers of every description,
if they knew their own interest, would perceive that they owe
much of their prosperity to those popular hunts, by the great
influx of money that is annually brought into the country ; I
shall therefore use my utmost endeavours to induce all persons
of my acquaintance to adopt similar measures ; and I am
already happy to find that three gentlemen of very extensive
landed property in Leicestershire, and on the borders of
Northamptonshire, have positively sent, within these few days,
similar directions to their stewards, which their tenants will
be apprised of before they re-take their farms at next Lady-
Day. My sole object is, having the good of the community at
heart, as you and all my tenants know that my sporting days
have been over some time ago."

That letter is as good now as it was the day it was written.

Having mentioned Mr. Smith's artificial earths or drains,
we may here quote what he says on the subject of stopping, in
his " Diary of a Huntsman."

" Hunting countries," says he, " which abound with fox-
earths are very liable to have blank days, according to the
usual method of arrangements ; for where there are earths,
foxes at times will be in them when they are wanted elsewhere,
even when the Earth-stoppers do their duty ; but the first

THE EARTH-STOPPER 101

question to put is, whether it is hlcely that a man can be
depended on to get up long before daylight in the coldest and
most dreary part of the winter, to stop a cold earth and leave
the warmer clay by his side. It's all very well for men to say
' ygs 1 ' and that they know they do their duty properly, for
they have sent down to ascertain it. Ascertain what ? that
the earths were stopt before it was light. What matters that ?
how long before light does a fox go to ground at this time,
wimi it is not light much before eight o'clock, this being three
hours later than at other parts of the season ; and they are
consequently more often stopt after the fox has gone in than
before, and a very little ingenuity will extort this fact from an
Earth-stopper, that he has often found his stopping remove'd
by a fox scratching out when he has gone to take it out him-
self next morning, which accounts for many blank days."

Some amusing productions used to be published a few years
ago, under the title of" Sporting Almanacks," and assuredly,
as far as making sport went, they were rightly named. In
them the commencement of hunting used to be fixed as
accurately as Horncastle Fair or Doncaster Races. Such a
day of September hare-hunting commenced — such a day of
October fox-hunting began, without any reference whatever to
the seasons. Earth-stopping is dealt with in a similar way by
certain sporting compilers — between such an hour and such
an hour the Stopper is directed to be at his work, without
reference to weather, season, localities, moon, or anything,
just as if foxes had their dressing and dinner bells, and went
to feed with the punctuality of their pursuers. " We viay be
wrong," as Mr. Meynell used to say, but we take it foxes re-
semble a gay club-living bachelor, much more than a punctual
six o'clock family man. They like their chicken, or lamb
chops, just at their own time, without the restraint of specified
hours. Reynard may have fallen in with something dainty
in the middle of the day, and may not feel inclined to turn out

102 THE HUNTING FIELD

on the grand prowl till a later or earlier hour in the morning.
He may put his nose out and find it raining, and having
neither cloak, mackintosh, nor clogs, may decide that he is not
hungry, or that he has a little something in his larder in the
neighbourhood that he can get when the weather improves. ,

From an hour before midnight, till about three o'clock in
the morning, is the prescribed time of the authorities, though
should it be moonlight, and reynard hungry, we don't see
what is to detain him at home so late. Better, however, to be
late than too early, for it is unpleasant, both to fox and
followers, to have him in the " lock-up house " when he is
wanted at large.

Mr. Smith was an advocate — indeed the inventor of the
system of walling up earths at the beginning of the season,
the duties of the Earth-stoppers being to see that the fagots,
or whatever the barrier was made of, were not removed until
the spring, when the vixens were let in to a lay up. A deduc-
tion was made from the pay of a man for each time a fox got
to ground in his district.

Mr. Smith, indeed, considers the disadvantages of having
earths are so much greater than the advantages, that if every
earth in the country were done away with, it would be a
benefit to foxhunting, even as i^espects the breeding of foxes,
for the vixens would breed above ground in furze, or would
find drains which no one knows of.

Colonel Cook published an estimate some years since of the
expense of hunting a country, which has been quoted and
requoted till we are tired of seeing it, for it has always
appeared to us that the expense of hunting one country affords
no more clue to the expense of hunting another, than does the
management of foxes and fox-earths in one country afford a
guide to the management of foxes and fox-earths in another.
Almost all countries are now hunted after some fashion or

THE EARTH-STOPPER 103

other, and a good thing it is that they are, for it not only
keeps men at home, but it affords sport and amusement to
many who would otherwise not get out at all, but one country
may have too many foxes, while an adjoining, and better one,
may be short of them. The better a country is, the greater
the trouble, difficulty, and expense of keeping it stocked with
foxes. This is self-evident, for the greater the security, the
greater the temptation to foxes ; hence the necessity of hunting
good and bad places alternately, or the foxes will be all
huddled together in the bad places. Hills, forests, deans,
crags, rocks, are all friendly to foxes, but unfavourable to the
progression of the chase. We remember breakfasting with a
Master of wiry-haired, rough mountain hounds once, when the
servant came in to say that a neighbouring farmer had sent
word that he must shoot the fox if the gentlemen did not
come to hunt him, for that reynard was constantly eyeing his
lambs. "Tell him to blaze away," replied the gentleman,
adding as the servant left the room, " if there were fewer foxes
I should kill more, but the fact is, if I ask a man in this
country to stay his hand, he will think he has a claim on me
for damage, whereas I hold out that I have a claim on them
for keeping down the stock of foxes, besides," continued he,
"there are many chances in reynard's favour as it is. First of
all, it's ten to one that the old blunderbuss will not go off;
secondly, if it does go off, it's twenty to one that the farmer
misses, and the fox will know just as well as him that he has
got something in his hand, and will take good care not to
let him come within reach." Good logic in the mountains,
but not in the vales. Contrast it with the doings in Hertford-
shire as described by Mr. Delme Radcliffe, who truly says that
a fox there is worth his weight in gold. Speaking of the fees
to keepers he says : —

"In the first place, I condemn the fixed price sut upon each

104 THE HUNTING FIELD

day's amusement, the extravagance of the terms upon which
hounds leave their kennel, as likely to operate, at some time
or other, seriously against bye-days ; and as an increase of
contingent expense which might well be spared. Secondly, I
assert, that with all the good will and support of the noftility,
squirearchy, and yeomanry, the Master of Hounds in this, or
any other similarly circumstanced countr}', is virtually at the
mercy of Gamekeepers and Earth-stoppers. For every fox
that is found, from one end of the country to the other, the
sum of one sovereign is booked, allowed, and regularly paid.
The fees of Earth-stoppers, from half-a-crown to ten or fifteen
shillings, according to the number of stops within the province
of each, amount on the average to four pounds per diem.
Thus, supposing that the sport is limited to the finding of one
fox, we start with an expense of five pounds as the smallest
tax upon the day, independent of all the inevitable wear and
tear. So long as the subordinates have as much interest in
foxes as farmers have in their stocks or any kind of property,
it is not to be wondered that the animal abounds ; and it is
equally clear that it would be better that they should cost two
sovereigns each, than that the stock should be diminished,
seeing that there is no medium — that they are, or are not, that
they are altogether preserved, or utterly destroyed — -as there is
no such thing as modification in the forms of vulpecide."
This is expensive work certainly, but we do not see how it is
to be remedied. Foxhunting, without foxes, will never do ;
there is nothing more disheartening than riding from cover to
cover, with the full conviction that each will be a blank. We
know a man who went to an enormous expense with his
hounds, but somehow or other, he could not find in his heart
to pay his Earth-stoppers properly, consequently the whole
outlay — -some thousands per annum — was absolutely sacrificed
for a paltry saving of a couple of five pound notes, for we

THE EARTH-STOrPER 105

really do not suppose the difference between what he did pay,
and what he ought, would have amounted to more in the j'ear.
" Hertfordshire " does not sound much like huntin.c;, and
doubtless this is an extreme case, and one that is not likely
ever to become general. In fact, none but a rich country
could stand such work. A bad custom, however, is much
easier introduced than got rid of, and gentlemen in other
countries will do well to take warning by Hertfordshire. The
mischief here appears to be the "patent office" of keeper,
the fees to Earth-stoppers not being higher than in other
countries. Earth-stoppers should be well paid. Theirs is the
worst office connected with hunting. A little pettifogging
econom}- is badlj' exercised with them.

Mr. Vyner says that in Warwickshire, in 1830, the Hunt
Committee reduced the pay of the Earth-stoppers to half, and
the result was, what might be expected, in about half the
covers " no find."

An occasional " tip " to a keeper is all very well, but the
regularly "booked demand," described by Mr. Delme Rad-
cliffe, "carries absurdity and inconsistency on the face of it,"
as exposed by the honourable gentleman himself, who says
" that it is done, notwithstanding most of the great game
preservers in Hertfordshire have as much or far more pleasure
in the possession of foxes than of game in their coverts;
therefore it appears somewhat absurd that they should be
compelled to become parties to the purchase of them from the
very servants whose duty it is to protect them. The Master
stipulates with his keeper no less for the protection of the fox
than of the pheasant, and yet allows an extraordinary premium
to be paid, a prize to be directly awarded to him for the
fulfilment of that, in default of which he should, and generally
would, be discharged."

Mr. Delme Radcliffe suggests the following remedy : —

10(3 THE HUNTING FIELD

" I would not entirely abolish rewards to keepers," says
he, " by way of encouragement in the shape of douceurs at
Christmas, or at the end of the season ; but I would have no
regular charge for finds, nor even regular charges for Earth-
stopping, excepting in coverts expressly hired for the purposes
of the hunt. There such payments might be a part of the
wages of those employed ; but I would have the preservation
of the foxes, and the stopping of the earths for hunting matters,
entirely dependent upon their respective proprietors. I would
have every lord of a domain make a point of enforcing his
determination to contribute gratuitously all in his power to the
noble sport."

A very good resolution, say we; but suppose the said lord
is a shooter, how then ? Foxhunters are very apt to fancy that
every one must favour their sport, but some apparently very
friendly people would have no objection 'to see foxhunting
abolished altogether.

" Instead of a regular bill, amounting to from £\o to £15
to be presented by a keeper," writes Mr. Radcliffe, "as the
price of his forbearance, in permitting the existence of animals
considered obnoxious to game, and, in reality, destructive to
the rabbits, which are his perquisites, I would have £<-, the
maximum of remuneration. Such a sum might be adequate
compensation to any good servant for the trouble of doing his
duty, and would be received merely as a token of approbation
of the manner in which he discharged it, when the success of
his endeavours entitled him to such consideration. There can
be no reason why underkeepers, or other labourers, might not
as well undertake the earth-stopping, on account of their
regular employer, as on that of recompense from a separate
body."

" It has always been the custom, in Herts," continues our
author, " to hold two Earth-stopper feasts, one on each side

THE EARTH-STOPPER 107

of the country ; the Huntsman presiding : they are attended
by all the Gamekeepers, Earth-stoppers, et hoc genus ouine, of
the districts ; the annual expense of both seldom exceeding
£30 ; and they tend to implant, and keep alive, sentiments
most desirable to cherish."

Mr. Smith devotes a whole chapter to keepers, between
whom and the world at large he seems anxious to do justice.

" There is an old saying," writes he, " ' give a dog a bad
name and hang him,' — which maxim is too often applied to
gamekeepers : for there are some who are really friends to
foxhunting, and who have more pride in showing foxes with
their pheasants, that is in the same covers, than any others
can have in showing pheasants without them : innumerable
instances can be proved that foxes and pheasants can be had
in abundance in the same covers, particularly where there are
rabbits : the writer has seen five foxes cross a ride in a cover,
and nearly as many hundred pheasants."

In the following, Mr. Smith hits the right nail on the
head : — •

" The great objection which keepers have to foxes is, that
they destroy so great a number of rabbits, which are the
keeper's perquisites, and consequently they are disposed to
destroy foxes."

No doubt about it, and therefore the remedy is not to let
the keeper have rabbits. Some people will say they won't
come without. Won't they, indeed! We know a gentleman
who advertised for a keeper, and had thirty applications in
one week. Keepers are not like Huntsmen or Whips, men
that are difficult to meet with. As Mr. Grantley Berkeley,
the great game authority of the day, says, " Any man who
can shoot a hawk sitting will do for a keeper."

" It is a difficult thing," adds Mr. Smith, " to know how
to act with them ; but it is much the wisest plan to treat them

108 THE HUNTING FIELD

civilly, even if they are doubtful, until proofs can be brought
against them that they do destroy foxes against their master's
will ; for there are many keepers most highly respectable men,
and indeed, under any circumstances, it is the height of folly
to abuse them openl}-, as is too often done."

Mr. Smith afterwards relates an anecdote of a most righteous
keeper, who, being accused of killing cubs, which he offered to
take any sized oath he did not, on the act being brought home
to him, candidly said, " Well, then, I did do it ; for it would
be unnatural in me not to kill what I was brought up to do."

We are, however, getting rather off the line, but keepers
are so connected with foxes and Earth-stoppers, that we
could hardly avoid touching upon them. We agree with
Mr. Smith that there are many highly respectable men among
keepers, men who are really fond of hunting, and we are
not sure that in some instances where they are blamed, the
fault is with the Earth-stopper. Of course an Earth-stopper
cannot " ring" the foxes out at a certain hour, as the bellman
docs the merchants on the Royal Exchange, and he must
just "stop" at the likeliest time for the majority to be
roaming ; and, if an}^ stay at home when they ought to be
out, why they must just go without their suppers. Do not,
however, let sportsmen condemn a keeper for an occasional
blank. Who knows but a fox, finding his earth stopped, may
say to himself, "I'll cut my stick; for, if I mistake not,
those terrible high bred dogs of Mr. Rattlecover's will be here
to-day." It is not attributing too much sagacity to the wily
animal to suppose that he will recognize the features that
preceded a former discomfiture. Foxes are quite as good
hands as other animals at discriminating where harm is meant
and none — who are their friends and who not. How leisurely
a fox disturbed by the sombre dressed shooter trots away,
sniffing the air and looking over his shoulder, as much as to

THE EARTH-STOPPEK

109

sa}', these bothersome people are not -wanting me. He takes
them as coolly as the "Artful Dodger" would take a police-
man in quest of a comrade with whom he has not been doing
" business "' lately.

Here is old Foxfix himself, we declare, doing the electric
telegraph with his cap, rejoicing the hearts of a now despond-
ing field.

t'/^m2-<r^st s\ !,*afe^. — --■

CHAPTER X

THE GROOM

■<:m^.

!•" half the fellows calling
themselves " Grooms " were
in their proper places, how
well the pi,G;s would be at-
tended to 1

Were it not for the in-
consistency of the thing, it
would say much for the
confiding innocence of hu-
man nature, and confidence
in mankind, that while some
men try, and pause, and deliberate, and hesitate, and call in
friends, and, lastly, veterinary surgeons, to examine a horse
ere they buy him, they yet can hire a Groom with often-
times no recommendation but the fellow's own. It never
seems to strike some men that a horse is a horse, or only
half a horse, according to the manner in which he is kept —
that you may make one and the same animal two perfectly
different creatures, by good grooming and bad ; nay, that you
may even keep a groggy, half worn out horse on his legs by
dint of condition and management. Grooms are as various
as geraniums or dahlias — they are of all sorts, from the Stud-

THE GROOM 111

Groom of my lord duke, who occasionally condescends to
hold a stirrup, down to the yokel who looks " arter " old
Miss Frowsington's "one oss chay," digs the garden, waits
at table, milks the cow, washes the poodle, cleans the parrot's
cage, sweethearts the maid, and makes himself generally
useless and troublesome. Grooms rank high in the scale
of servitude, and though in our fancy sketch of the Earl
Marshal's coronation procession we put house servants above
them, yet, if we were arranging them, we are not sure but we
would place Grooms immediately after Huntsmen and kennel
servants. We look upon a Groom as a real useful article
in an establishment ; in our mind they rank equal with the
cook in the domestic department, and, like cooks, are of
exceedingly various orders of merit. We can't do without a
Groom, any more than we can without a cook ; for though in
our moments of high-horseish-ness we may swear that we will
clean our own horse or cook our own dinner, rather than put
up with the impudence of a servant, still it is a feat that no
one would like to be constantly repeating. Grooms, there-
fore, we say, are really useful people, and, like the old story
of the king and the basket-maker of our childhood, rank
before the ornamental " knights of the napkin " and toilette.

Of course in this our " Analysis of the Hunting Field,"
the Hunting Groom is the one we have most in our mind's
eye, and to him we shall chiefly direct our observations.

A great change we imagine has taken place in the whole
style and system of hunting within the last century, and every-
thing appertaining to horses, hounds, country and riding, has
undergone material alteration.

If we take an old map of a county, it looks like a barren
plain instead of the divided town-dotted populous region of
the present day, and though in riding over it we may be told
that this is Thisselton Moor, or that Wideopen Common,
there is nothing to indicate such regions but the name.

11-2 THE HUNTING FIELD

Moors, open fields, common lands, &c., are all favourable to
hunting, not onlj' as tending to promote the straightforward
progression of the chase, but m preventing the honourable
contention of arriving first at big leaps ; for it may be observed
that men are never jealous of each other so long as there
is no fencing. Our forefathers, therefore, had every chance
of being sportsmen : for, besides having no rivalry or emulation
among themselves, the lengths of their runs, with the softness
of their steeds, tended to make the riders save them at all
points. With the exception, too, of perhaps some half-dozen
hunts, Mr. Beckford's, Mr. Meynell's, Lord Talbot's, Lord
Yarborough's, Lord Fitzwilliams's, and a few others, the
majority of the packs were either trencher-fed, or only
kennelled during the winter ; a couple, or so, of hounds,
perhaps, being kept at the house of each follower, whose
attention would be riveted on his darlings in chase, instead
of diverted to the rasping of Thompson, or the bruising of
Jobson. These hunts were doubtless very popular, for there
is nothing so taking as a little bustle and stir, in which all
are at liberty to share. That is what makes a contested
election so popular. Men come out, and fuss, and canvass,
and strut, and swagger, who are heard of no more until
another contest comes round. There was another charac-
teristic attendant on many hunts in former days, which is
almost wholly lost sight of now — namely, hunts that used to
hunt hare till Christmas, and fox after. We never hear of
such establishments now — at least not avowedly — though
there are, doubtless, some that will hunt hare either before or
after Christmas ; but there are still those ubiquitous gentle-
men, the " oldest inhabitant," whose retentive memories are
charged with the miraculous doings of the past — how they
dragged up to reynard by daybreak — how Jowler unkennelled
him — how Towler hit him off at the road, and what a dance
he led them over hill and dale, till all the foot people were

THE GROOM 113

shaken off, and half the horses sent home sad and tired.
These half-and-half hunts had an advantage not apparent at
first sight, which bears upon the heading of our paper. By
running hare till Christmas, sportsmen got their soft horses
into condition for the lengthened and more fatiguing fox-
chases that took place after.

The condition of hunters was certainly not generally under-
stood, or perhaps attended to, until about twenty years ago,
when " Nimrod " essayed his letters on the subject. We do
not mean to say that large first-rate establishments were
ignorant of the subject ; but certainly tired, stopping, and
dying horses were much more common before he wrote than
they have been since. Indeed, we seldom hear of a horse
being killed by sheer riding, unless in the hands of some raw,
enterprising beginner, who has omitted no opportunity of
taking a gallop whenever he could get one, needful or other-
wise— a gallop being a gallop with some, and quite as enjoyable
without hounds as with.

Mr. Beckford, in his " Thoughts upon Hunting," glanced at
what " Nimrod " afterwards wrote into a system, namel}-,
losing all the condition gained by the work and the feeding
of winter, by turning the horses out to grass in the spring.
Mr. Beckford, we imagine, had been of the grazing order :
indeed, for any but a few countries, there is no doubt but the
old-fashioned system, with proper management, will always
produce condition enough for all legitimate riding to hounds.
The heat and flies of summer used to be the great argument
against turning out ; but, as summers go, it is very seldom we
have much to complain of in that way. Doubtless the house
system is the surest and the safest way to hard condition, but
it is much more expensive than the other, though of course its
advocates always swear it is not. A man's hobby never costs
anything.

" Nimrod's" letters on condition did a great deal of good,

I

114 THE HUNTING FIELD

though perhaps he was rather in the extreme, at all events
induced men to run into the extreme, who lost sight of the
fact that " Nimrod" took Leicestershire for his standard, and
that what might be necessary there might be superfluous else-
where. Besides, it is evident that with the variety of constitu-
tions, tendency to lameness, and infirmity of horses, no general
rule can be laid down for their management. Treatment
adapted to each case seems to us a sounder and more sensible
system. We advocate clipping, a practice " Nimrod " never
could bring himself to hear of, though there is no doubt that
all who have tried it will admit its wonderful efficacy.
"Nimrod's" objection seemed to be its cheapness, and its
tendency to make Grooms idle ; but the former is an objection
that poor men will readily pocket, and the latter is easily
remedied by giving each man three horses instead of two to
take care of. As times go, anything that tends to diminish
the expense of hunting establishments ought to be adopted,
and certainly clipping is a thing that not onl}-- saves labour to
the servant, but also needless annoyance and irritation to the
horse. A Groom never knows when he is done with a woolly-
coated horse, for after he has strapped him, and rubbed him,
and got him, as he thinks, after much toil and labour to
himself, and plunging and kicking and wincing on the part of the
horse, all right and comfortable, very likely, on going into the
stable an hour or so after, he finds the horse all broke out again
into a cold clammy sweat, and all the rubbing and whisping to
do over again. Take the animal's pea-jacket of a coat off, either
by clipping, shaving, or singeing, and he not only looks five-and-
twenty per cent, better, but he thrives to the extent of five-and
twenty per cent, more, and does a third more work into the
bargain, with half or less than half the trouble to the Groom.

Clipping used to be quite a trade, na}-, it almost threatened
to become a " profession " at one time, so high did the artists
run up their prices ; but the humlnig of the thing is exploded.

THE GROOM 115

and prices arc down. With very few exceptions, all the
fellows who go about the country clipping are mere grooms
and helpers out of place, who can't clip a bit better than a
man's own servant. Then when they get into a house where
the master is weak enough to let them have wear and tear for
their teeth, unless they have another victim in view, they are in
no hurry to take their departure, and a horse will serve them
the best part of a week. Travelling rat-catchers and itinerant
grooms are things that should be carefully avoided. It is a
far better plan for a master to keep a set of clipping scissors
of his own, and let a Groom try his " prentice " hand on a
hack or some horse that is not much wanted or seen, than to
take in one of these chance-coming clippers. A grey horse,
for instance, shows bad clipping less than any, and a man must
be a very numb hand if he does not get into the way of the
thing after going over a whole horse. Besides, a man's own
Groom clips at his leisure, at those mid-day hours that are
consumed in the saddle room, in polishing that eternal curb
chain. Grooms always have in hand, or ready to let fall, the
moment they see " master coming." A real clipper will clip a
horse in a day, and most likely charge a guinea for it, which,
it must be admitted, is pretty good pay. We have heard of
two guineas being paid in former times.

Shaving is a still easier process than clipping, and we
wonder it is not more generally adopted. Any man who can
shave himself can shave a horse, and shaving is attended with
far less fatigue to the hand than clipping. The veriest
beginner can shave a horse a day — the Groom, village barber,
sexton, anybody. It requires nothing but half-a-dozen razors,
hot water, and common soap, well lathered into the part you
are at work upon. There should be a man or boy to hold the
horse, one to shave, and a third to keep setting the razors, as
it makes awkward work when the shaver has to stop every now
and then, drj' his hands, and commence whetting. It is a

IIG THE HUNTING FIELD

more efficacious process than clipping, and gets rid of much
of the singeing and smell-making that concludes that operation.
The only difference in point of convenience is, that you cannot
well ride a shaved horse without clothing for a week or so after
the operation, whereas a clipped one will come out the day
after — indeed we once saw a horse out with hounds in Kent,
whose forequarters were rough and shaggy, and the hind ones
smooth and smart, looking very like a French poodle, a like-
ness that was increased by the monkeyfied appearance of the
man upon it. As to the risk attending either clipping or
shaving, we confess we never saw or heard of anj' ill effects
arising from either, though, as we said before, we have seen
and felt very great advantages. We ma}', therefore, be called
"clippers."

Now to the general subject of Grooms and condition.

A real Leicestershire Hunting Groom treads closely on the
heels of the Training Groom, with respect to condition: he
is, in fact, a Training Groom without the "humbug," at least
he ought to be without it. Some men keep Grooms to be
their masters, and to these the real Training Groom perhaps
would be the thing. They then would not get a glimpse of
their horses, save by sufferance. We have no notion of paying
a man to be our master. A gentleman ought to be just as
good a judge of the requirements of a hunter as a Groom,
indeed he ought to be a better, because he is the man who
has ridden the animal, and he also is the man who knows when
he wants to ride him again ; it therefore seems the height of
softness and absurdity for a master to put up with the not
uncommon answer to a message that he wants to see his horses,
that the stable " is shut up." This is carrying the mystery
and humbug of the racing stable into the hunting one. It
ma}- be right, and necessary in the racing stable ; we don't
pretend to give an opinion on that point ; but in nine cases out
often it is sheer humbug as applied to hunters. Many a man,

THE GROOM 117

we believe, has been choked off hunting by the over condition
of his horses. Some Grooms have but one system — the very
tip-top condition, good nerves, bad nerves, or no nerves at all.
First-rate, race-horse condition may be all very well for Sir
Rasper Smashgate, who rides fourteen stone, with the nerves
of a Roman gladiator, but for little Paul Poplin, it is nothing
short of cruelty to put him on an over fresh horse — cruelt}-
the most refined, for you make the poor victim pay for his
suffering. What can be more humiliating to a man of " taste,
enterprise, and spirit," as the old " Sporting Magazine "' used
to put on its title page, than being hurried here, there, and
everywhere, knocked against gate-posts, dashed among trees,
bumped against acquaintance, by an impetuous, overbearing,
resolute horse, that the Groom has been coddling and spicing
for the show off on this particular day. Horrid reflection,
when there are five or six more waiting their turns to do the
same thing !

In hiring a Groom, as in buying a horse, it is very material
to see whether they are adapted to the work we intend to put
them to. Hunters are not like carriage or park horses, that
can be kept for show with impunity, and it is no use a man
hiring a Stud Groom and buying six or eight horses merely
because he happens to have plenty of money, when a less
aspiring servant, with fewer nags, would make him much more
comfortable. He had better lay his money out in plate, or in
some less troublesome article than hunters. He must not
mind being called shabby. Surely a man is not to make
himself miserable for the sake of being called liberal. Of
all charges that of shabbiness, " closeness," is the commonest
and easiest made. If a man's stomach "is not equal to the
"drenching" dinner-giving entails, and he is sparing of his
feeds, he is called shabby. If he gives dinners and does not
push his wine, he is said to be trying to save it. If Dick
Sharpwit tries to do him with a horse, and fails, Dick dubs

11^ THE HUNTING FIELD

him a " screw ; " and so the}- ring the changes on the charge
through all the transactions of life. Nothing, however, insures
a man the charge of shabbiness equal to foiling another in a</i?.
It is propagated with double rancour, for the delinquent to
screen himself and get his revenge. The man must lead a
wretched life who troubles himself with thinking what " the
world says of him."

It may generally be remarked, in looking over a hunting field,
that the Grooms who are the neatest and best turned out them-
selves, have their horses best turned out too. This turn-out of
self is difficult to define, varying, when out of livery, according
to the taste of the wearer, and when in livery, restricted a good
deal to the cut and putting on of the clothes. A woolly-hatted
Groom has always a shaggy-headed horse. That is a rule
admitting of no exception. Dingy-clothed Grooms, with inky-
looking tops, have alwa3's dull-coated, ill-conditioned horses.
Fellows with Britannia-metal-looking spurs, gloveless fists,
sloggering boots with the straps hanging out, unbrushed coats,
burst seams, stained waistcoats, flying-ended neckcloths,
generally have their choke-bands as tight as they can draw
them, and the head-stalls of the bridles flapping about, with
buckles and bits as dull as pewter. Some fellows can " dress
the Groom " and can do nothing else. Others, again, are fond
of horses, just as a child is fond of a kitten ; but, as to any
real hard work about them, that they have no taste for. These
creatures are only fit for pony phaetons, or Mr. Brown's
one-horse chay. Of all abominations, however, that of slang
servants is the greatest — fellows who lard their answers with
cant terms, get their waistcoats as near their knees, and their
breeches as near their ankles as they can.

An ill-mannered servant is a thing no gentleman should have.
Manner is a thing that speaks for itself, therefore a master has
no excuse in saying he did not see the want of it when he hired
the servant. There is nothing bespeaks the low-lived ill-

THE GROOINI 119

conditioned fellow so much as calling gentlemen b}- their
proper names, as Thompson, Simpson, and so on. We know
servants do it among themselves ; indeed, it is in consequence
of their doing it among themselves that causes some of them
to slip it out before their masters ; but candidates for place
ma}- rel}- upon it it is very bad policy letting an expectant
master hear it. No judge would ask any questions after such
a display of familiarity. Touching the hat is a thing there is
less of, the lower we get in the scale of servitude, till we reach
John Hawbuck fresh from the plough, who gives a familiar
grin, and says " it's a foine day." We remember the observa-
tion of a nobleman's Stud-Groom one day, on seeing a
newly-caught yokel of theirs answer a gentleman without the
touch of the hat, which was, that " there would have to be a
deal more politeness before he did for them."

Touching the hat is an art, and can be made to convey
almost as much meaning as words. My lord's servant will take
his off, even to a commoner, if the commoner is a friend of his
lordship. Mr. Plantagenet's will do the same, or raise his hand
slowly and respectfully till he gets fairly hold of the brim.
Captain Bolisher's, of the heavies, will give a sort of back
hand salute. Mr. Rattlebar's, whose master drives the coach,
gives a comical sort of twirl of his arm, as though he wanted
to look under his elbow ; while Tom Tinker, Mr. Loose-
fish's young man, gives a quick snatch, when he is just
upon you, as though he hardl}' thought you worth a salute
at all. We have observed that servants whose places are
tottering become singularly assiduous in the matter of the
" felt," and we have even known Grooms out of place
subsisting entirely upon the precarious income derived from
touching theirs.

Grooms are about the onl}' servants upon whom masters can
form anj'thing like an accurate opinion, and it would be well for
them to remember that fact. The communication between

120 THE HUNTING FIELD

masters and all other servants is so slight, and occurs at such
stated and expected periods, that it would be odd if they could
not raise sufficient manners to pass muster; but Grooms — stable-
servants in general — have the " eyes of England " upon them,
as " hard-up " orators say. Not only is the private eye of
England (the masters) upon them, but the real public eye of
the world at large.

Every Groom who enters the hunting field — every Groom,
as he passes along the street — rides as it were upon his
character. His horse and himself show what he is.

There are two things we make it a rule never to keep, a
drunken servant and an oil lamp; and we go upon much the
same principle in both cases, namely, that the servant is sure
to be drunk, and the oil lamp to go out, when we want them.
Drunkenness is an inexcusable vice in any servant — least of
all in a servant entrusted with horses ; yet how man\' fat, ,
comfortable-looking old ladies we see getting into their carriages
in the country, to be whisked home by fellows who have been
boozing in the tap-room all day, and \vhose fine cutting and
tearing earns them the reputation of "excellent coachmen."
Women think of nothing but going fast. If they are fast driven
they think they are well driven. That, however, appertains
more to the branch " Jehu " than the peculiar class of servants
under consideration.

" Honesty, sobriety, and civility " are the cardinal qualities
incjuired after in character ; but there is another very important
one, especially in a Hunting Groom, " punctuality," that
should never be lost sight of. Want of punctuality counter-
balances almost every good quality. Half an hour — nay, five
minutes — is sometimes everjthing in a hunting morning.
Fancy a man coming twenty miles to meet hounds, and his
horse arriving five minutes after the last craner has taken the
distant fence, the panting hack sobbing as the master sits
straining his eye-balls — now after the hounds, now in vain

THE GROOM 121

research about the country. If any one were to put the
following query to us : —

" Would a master, whose Groom was late with his horse,
and so lost him ' the run of the season,' be justified in quilting
him ? "

We should answer, —

" Most decidedly yes — lay into the icannint .''"

Perhaps we might add, —

" Beware that he's not too big."

Want of punctuality attaches to both ends of the morning
start. There is the want of punctuality in getting away
from home, which entails hurrying on the road, and is more
common than the want of punctuality in arriving at the
meet. A fellow who can't get out of his bed of a morning
is only fit to sit in feathered breeches and hatch eggs. Some-
body said of a once prime minister, that he always seemed as
if he had lost half an hour in the morning, and was running
after it all the rest of the day ; and assuredly there is nothing
so annoying as a servant, who, for the want of the early half
hour, hurries and jumbles the work of two hours into one.

To a punctual person there is something strangely self-
speaking, evident, and significant in the movements and
appearances of an unpunctual, dilatory, behindhand servant.
We will suppose the master shaving, at which critical period,
instead of seeing the stable door open, and the horse going
away, Tom is running about in his fustians ; then, when at
length he does appear booted, the saddle and bridle make
their appearance, and have to be put on, till at last the
master, in ungovernable fury, hurries on his things, vowing
he'll go out and lick him, when he sees Tom rushing out of the
stable, scrambling on to the horse, and cutting away at the
rate of ten miles an hour. .\n unpunctual man is always an
irregular man, he never knows where he has anything. We
like to see a quiet, orderly, methodical Groom, who knows

122

THE HUNTING FIELD

where to lay hands on what he wants, and who does his
work as though it were his daily custom, and not something
out of his usual way.

There is nothing so bad as a hurrying, scuttling, muddle-
headed servant in a stable — a fellow who never knows where
he has anything, and who is always applying the wrong article
for want of knowing where the right one is ; " making shift,"
as they call it. Again, we have seen fellows who thought to
ingratiate themselves with their masters, by showing unusual
bustle and activity when they were in the stable — snatching
at this, pulling at that, and dashing here, there, and every-
where. That sort of work won't do with horses. A man
must have a head as well as hands before he can be called
" a Groom."

(a>»:a<-,*j^.i,^.-. .»b,g^-

CHAPTER XI

THE GROOM — CONTINUED

ILLING servants are a "real
blessing " to masters, as
the soothing syrup people
advertise. Willingness co-
vers a multitude of sins,
and saves many a graceless
dog his place. Willingness,
however, is a thing con-
fined almost entirely to
small establishments. Let
a servant be ever so well disposed that way, when he gets into
a large establishment, he is obliged to conform to the rules
and ordinances of the place, and do nothing that can by any
possibility be considered the work of another, or that the odd
boy about the place can be made to do. Idleness is looked
upon as a sacred right, a right that each new-comer is bound
to preserve inviolate, and transmit to his successor perfect
and unimpaired. The true dignity and duties of servitude are
only properly appreciated and perfectly understood in large
houses. Whoever got his hat brushed at a duke's ?

" Willingness " of course includes pleasantness of manner ;

V24: THE HUNTING FIELD

for it is hardly possible for a fellow who goes slouching and
muttering away to obey an order to be called " willing." A
man may never absolutely refuse to do a thing, nor ever
neglect to do it, and yet be a most unpleasant and unwilling
ser\ant — one that we would rather do a thing ourselves than
give an order to.

It is related that one of the Dukes of Bedford used to
declare that he was never so happy as when he awoke in a
morning on a journey and found himself in a chintz bed,
instead of the stateliness of Woburn ; and we, in our humble
meditative rambles, often think, as the opening door of some
great house discloses the bedizened and bepowdered retinue
of servants, what misery, what hardship it would be to have
them calling us " master." We, who direct the energies of
willing and industrious hands, shudder at the thoughts of
ruling a handful of idle, overfed lackeys. " What can they
be all kept for ? " we sometimes think. Surely all the owners
of these great houses cannot be like the unfortunate Miss
Biffin, born without arms or legs, and incapable of doing
anything for themselves. And then a thought strikes us that
these are the necessary concomitants of wealth and station,
and hurrying on we thank our stars that we were not born
with a " sideboard of plate in our mouths," as Dickens
would say.

" The servants are the gentlemen of England," says Sam
Slick. " Next to bein the duke," writes he, " I'd sooner be
groom to a gentleman that sports a four-in-hand than any-
thing.I know of to England: four spankin, sneezing, bosses
that knows how to pick up miles and throw em behind em in
style — g'long you skunks, and turn out your toes pretty —
whist — that's the ticket — streak it off like iled lightning, my
fox tails ; skrew it up tight, lock down the safety valve, and
clap all steam on my busters ; don't touch the ground, skim it
like hawks, and leave no trail ; go ahead handsum, my old

THE GROOINI 125

clays — yes ! the servants are the gentlemen of England; they
live like fighten cocks, and yet you hear them infarnal rascals,
the radicals, callin these indulgent masters tyrants, endeavourin
to make these happy critturs hate the hand that feeds them,
telling these pamper'd gentlemen they are robbed of their
rights, and how happy they'd all be if they lost their places,
and only had vote by ballot and universal suffrage."

Sam is a true observer — many an over-fed fellow is talked
into imaginary grievances that would never occur to him of
his own accord, or if he was out of place. " Idleness," as the
copy heads well saj-, " is the parent of all mischief," and
it is much to be regretted that the system of great houses
encourages idleness as it does in sers'ants. Not only is it
prejudicial to the servants themselves, but most injurious to
those who may happen to be thrown in their way. People
indeed of all sorts are so apt to think of what others have that
they are without, rather than what they have that others are
without. In place, a servant perhaps sees that servants in
other places do not do what he is required to perform, and
instead of recollecting how man}' hundreds there are out of
place who would jump at his situation with all its imperfec-
tions, he tries by every device and shift}' excuse to rid himself
of what he is pleased to denominate " not his work." The
moment a servant begins to talk in this strain, it is time to get
rid of him. They never do any good after. Many, otherwise
well-meaning lads, we believe, are laughed and talked into this
kind of thing ; others again adopt it naturally, from a sluggish,
inert disposition. To the former we would say, " Reflect on
what you may have to do if you fall out of place."

Until all masters' fortunes and ideas are alike, it is im-
possible to suppose that servants' places can be alike, or even
that the place of one master can regulate or guide the place of
another. " Every herring must hang by its own head," as
the saying is, and servants must take each place upon its

126 THE HUNTING FIELD

individual merits, without reference or regard to what is done
or allowed at another. No master ought to allow a servant
to quote the doings of another place to him. These observa-
tions are peculiarly applicable at the present time, for the
increased and increasing facilities of communication, as well
by post as by railway, have brought about such a system
of note comparing and laying heads together, that half the
servants are agog to know what the other half have. Then
if Tom Brown finds out that Harry Jones has a couple of
pounds a year more than himself, he feels it a point of honour
to ask to have his wages raised, forgetful very likely of the
fact that he is in possession of a couple of pounds a-year
more than Giles Scroggins at some other place. A servant's
sliding scale only knows the ascendant. The breed of old
attached family servants, so beautifully described by Washing-
ton Irving, will be almost extinct with their generation. Few
new ones are rising up to supply their places. It may save
annuities to expectant heirs, but we much question whether
the new system is better for the general interest of families.

There are no people under the sun so well done by as
gentlemen's servants. They live on the fat of the land, have
no cares, no anxieties, and are paid out of all proportion to
their labouring brethren. An inflated beef and beer bursting
bragger will assert that he can do what a labouring man
cannot ; but a handy labouring man will do his own work
and the braggart's at his leisure hours. What are the
generality of servants, in fact, but part and parcel of the
labouring population ? They are not a bit better educated ; if
they were, they would aspire to clerkships or shopmen's
places. All the difference is that one lights on his legs in a
gentleman's service, the other sticks to the spade, the axe, or
the trowel, and, we believe, is oftener the richer and the happier
man of the two. Gentlemen's servants are often sadly im-
provident. They have great temptations, it is true, but few,

THE GR0031 127

we fear, try to resist them. The easiness of comfort is soon
acquired, and the chance of adverse circumstances is un-
pleasant to contemplate.

In hiring a Groom, or indeed a servant of any sort, it is
always advisable to get them from places rather under than
above those they are coining to. A retrograding servant is
generally a dissatisfied servant, and as they always ride in the
highest hole in the stirrup of their knowledge, they are very
apt to think it necessary to instruct the new master in the
style and doings of their best place ; instead of serving, they
assume the direction. In the country, the scale of servitude
is as nicely understood, and the position of families as
accurately settled by servants, as the hereditary nobility is
by Mr. Burke or the Heralds' College. Grooms from great
places are often full of whims and conceit, and think nothing
can be right but what was done at Sir John's or my lord's.
Masters are great fools to submit to anything of the sort.
No two books, let alone two masters, agree upon even the
most ordinary point of stable management. Take feeding,
for instance — one man will tell you that hay should be given
in about the quantity of 12 lb. a day; but if you go into a
barrack yard, and ask a soldier what his horse gets, he will
tell you 8 lb. is the allowance. The more ignorant a Groom
is, the more mysterious, conceited, and pedantic he is, the
more he talks about his infallible receipts and nostrums,
known to none but himself, or confided by some equally great
authority. These sort of pretenders are only for young men,
the old stager knows the simplicity of condition too well to
be talked to in that strain. One of the absurdities of the
times is making everything as complicated and mysterious as
possible, using hard words where hard words can be brought
in, and dividing and subdividing trades, professions, and
occupations. The first thing a lad does now-a-days is to set
up a watch, after which, if his mind incline towards horses, he

1-28 THE HUNTING FIELD

buys what he calls a " printed book " about them, and thinks
himself equal to Field, Mavor, or Goodwin. The real require-
ments of horses are very few and very simple : good food, good
grooming, good stables, and work proportionate to the food
and constitution. Apportioning the food to the work is a
thing that never enters the heads of nine-tenths of the horse
fiisscrs calling themselves Grooms ; their great anxiety always
being to get as much food down each horse's throat as they
possibly can. They are quite unhappy if they can"t cram four
feeds down a day. We would rather see them keen about
giving them plenty of e.xercise than plenty of corn. It is in
the exercising department that half the stable servants fail.
Young lads are especially slack, and some have the still worse
trick of trying to put two hours' exercise into one by hurrying,
trotting and cantering. We have seen urchins rushing with
their horses out of the stables, jumping up, snatching their
bridles, and cutting away as if they were riding for the mid-
wife, instead of going out in that leisurely, orderly way, that
belongs peculiarly to the word exercise — exercise in contra-
distinction to errands or work. Indeed there is not one boy
in fift}' fit to be trusted with horses, we mean fit to be left in
the entire charge of them. The}- should always have a man
over them. Let the reader recall the equestrian performances
of his own boyish days, the hurried and protracted ride, the
secret gallop, the stealthy leap, the quiet race, and sa}- whether
he would have been a fit person to trust with a valuable horse
at that time of life. Talk of years of discretion at one-and-
twcnty ! Let a man of forty ask himself if he was discreet at
one-and-twent}'.

Exercising before breakfast is a great promoter of short
commons in the walking department, and a great inducement
for an early return. Wc do not know why Grooms should
like having their horses out before the world is properly aired,
but certainly the managers of large studs generally adhere to

THE GKOOM 129

that system. In the old days of mails and coaches, we have
often passed whole strings of sheeted and hooded horses in the
environs of different hunting quarters, as we have whisked by
in the opening mist of early dawn. Six o'clock is the usually
prescribed stableman's hour for being with his horses, which
is two hours before daylight in winter. Doubtless the earlier
a man is at his stable the better, to see that all is right and
quiet ; but we think it would be better both for horse and
man, if, after setting things fair and straight, the latter
returned to his breakfast, and took his horses out after sun-
rise.

Sheeting and hooding horses at exercise to the extent we
generally see them, and then sending them out next day with
only a saddle on, seems almost an experiment on health.
Again, how seldom we see them clothed according to the state
of the weather and the season of the year. What is once put
on is generally kept on. It is a good rule in hunting stables,
where horses have to lie out often, to clothe lightly at home.
An extra rug or sheet will then tell should the Groom get into
a bad, cold, or unaired stable.

Galloping horses to get them into condition is a dangerous
process, and one in which, we believe, more arc lamed and
broken down than by regular work in the hunting held.
Taking a horse into a field by himself, oppressed with fat and
clothing, and kicking and bucketing him about till the sweat
runs down in streams, and he is fit to drop, does seem an
abuse of the noble animal that nothing can justify. The horse
does not know what it means, what you are about, or what
he is expected to do. Instead of the quick, self-containing,
energetic stride that he takes in the excitement of hunting, he
blobs and flounders about, drops his legs and rolls like a
bullock till the senseless brute on his back either tires himself
or feels the horse failing under him. In sweating, as in
ordinary exercising, the compression system — the putting an

K

130 THE Hl^NTIXG FIELD

hour's work into li:ilf-an-hour — is often the fatal fauU. We all
know that we can sweat a horse by common road riding ;
what then is to prevent the necessary reduction of flesh being
made quietly under clothing ? Nothing, but that it requires
more time. Galloping does it quicker, and lads like galloping
best. Then the way they saw and haul, and hang on by the
mouth is truly awful.

We remember in the days of our adolescence, folding a
shilling in a nice clean crisp " Henry Hase," with the £i
mark figuring like a raspberry tart at the corner, for the
purpose of giving it to the first Groom we met riding on the
snaffle, and feeling his horse's mouth as he went. Well, we
carried that " Henry Hase " for weeks and months until the
shilling wore itself through, and we dare say we might have
carried it till now, without meeting with such a rarity in
London, as a Groom riding on the snaffle. They all hang on
by the curb.

If a Groom can give a ball and bleed a horse, we would
compound for all the other knowledge in favour of that first
of all essentials, good " elbow grease " and exercise. " Giving
a ball," indeed, is about the extent of some of their ability in
the physicing line, the proper preparation of a horse for it
being much beyond the march of their intellect. If a horse
is difficult to move, instead of lengthening the period of his
preparation, they increase the quantity of aloes, until we have
seen a poor beggar with near a doiien drachms in his guts. In
these cases Grooms always swear the aloes are bad, or the
bran is bad, or the water is bad, or something is bad — any-
thing but that their management is bad. Some fellows are fit
for nothing but inventing excuses, and uncommonly quick and
clever they are.

Veterinary surgeons are now so distributed about the
country that in anything out of the ordinary way it is best to
send for one of them. With horses, as with men, cold and

THE GROOM 131

repletion are the principal causes of illness, and when bleeding
and physicing fail, let not a master persevere, but send for the
" vet." Horses sometimes fall lame without any one, not
even the "vet," being able to discover the seat of the lame-
ness, and will as suddenly get well and disappoint all the
prognostications of the learned. Physic is then the thing — it
can do no harm, if it does no good — given in moderation, of
course.

Shoeing is a thing that the green-horns of service are little
acquainted with the importance of. They are always "just
going" to get their horses shod, let the shoes be ever so thin,
when they are asked about them. Foot lameness, that curse
of good horseflesh, whose origin "no one knows nothing of,"
may be all traced to indolent, ignorant stablemen — Grooms
we will not call them — and clumsy, unskilful blacksmiths.
Some men make a fuss about seeing their horses fed ; we
would rather see them shod. Shoeing is a thing upon which
doctors differ, as well as upon other points. One man will
tell you that the shoe should be made to fit the foot, and not
the foot burnt with the hot iron to make it fit the shoe, while
others will say that if the shoe be not burnt and fitted well,
the crust breaks and shivers up. Both these statements may
be found in " printed books." Perhaps it may be enough for
us to observe that a horse should be shod every three weeks or
a month, and that it is better to get them shod every three
weeks, than removed at that period, and shod at the end of
the month. The less wrenching and country-smith working
there is about a horse's foot the better, as we well know.

On this point, however, we shall enlarge when we come to
treat of our friend Elijah Bullwaist, the blacksmith, whose
rubicund visage now greets us as he enters the hunting field
on his shaggy white pony.

Instead of seeing a saddle-room shelf studded with bottles
and boxes, we would rather see a good assortment of combs,

132 THE HUNTING FIET.D

brushes, scissors, towels, buckets, sponges, leathers, knee-
pails, and such like things. Warm water is a grand specific.
It is like tliL- tongue of the dog to a wound. A little sharp
water is useful in cases of cuts and over-reaches. The follow-
ing is a good recipe taken from Mr. Smith's " Diary of a
Huntsman," and he recommends a Whipper-in carrying a
small phial of it, with a feather in the cork, read}' for imme-
diate use : —

8 drops of oil of thyme
10 drops of oil of \-itrol

I ounce of spirits of wine

.\s an alterative medicine the following recipe was given us
by an old sportsman endorsed " an excellent medicine for
horses :" —

4 ounces of nitre

4 do. antimony

4 do. cream of tartar

4 do. sulphur

Mix, and give it once or twice a week in their corn, about a
tablespoonful at a time.

Instead of inquiring into an ordinary working Groom's
scientific acquirements, his knowledge of " Taplin," the
" Gentleman's Recreations," and so on, we would infinitely
prefer putting him into a loose box beside a dirty hunter, and
seeing him set to work. There is something about a work-
man, be he a joiner, painter, glazier, mason, or what not, that
proclaims itself even to the uninitiated in the craft, and in no
case more strongly than in a strapper. Look at the poor,
miserable, feeble creatures that stare at your horse as }ou
dismount at a third-rate London livery stable, or in an ill-
frefjucnted country inn yard : see how they potter and dribble
and fistle about the animal, fearing as it were to tackle with
him, and when the}' do, most likely commencing with that
abomination of all abominations, wiiipping off the saddle, and

; ■■0

5

>.

THi. i..n' "

'111

iwdling, inert

■ of the wtli
j'l- ,1 ■ *. has the

loose, and i; nartingai

has got his shir* -!■ t\es turned up.

When at leir.'.l Dribbles dot
arc he does nothrii; hut tease and ;
ill-arranged whi ■ having sc"-'

mud off its beliy proceed i

the ears by wa\ i making it com;
The real workman having disencun
bridle will shake his litter up, sp'
mouth, and give hi-i his gruel. \\
getting his gruel, it n ist be as refi
of soup to a tired iii.ui. Then he will .
which will occupy tht horse and keep h.
biting at the man or the manger. Sp
all about is a grand thing, and we sb
it. Pulling the ears, too, is a thing ai
less tends much to make them comfoi
Keal good powerful strapping is q>.

condition as feeding and exercise. .;> btnp

horses and starve them.

Ascending a littli- in the scale < ' vv will

take a glance at tht Second Hi b

man should know a little about H

the country in which his perfoi

knowledge of hunting should !• -mi u. m g

doing mischief, at all events. of th<' _

country, and of the usual runs le him to ^

have his horse up, when wanted ■■

be

Looking at the second-h- ■ E

o

day aspect, we cannot; ho\\ '-^

• 'mill dial (if n.i^li ruul hull

a

St.

a
e

3.

3

o
c

THE (illooM i:;:'.

contrast their dawdling, inert movements with the prompt,
vifjorous decision of the well accustomed stableman, who is
stripped to the shirt, has the bridle and stirrups in hand, girths
loose, and hunting martingale off before the other poor ninny
has got his shirt sleeves turned up.

When at length Dribbles does begin to hiss, the chances
are he does nothing but tease and tickle the animal with his
ill-arranged whisp, or having scraped a certain quantity of
mud off its belly he will proceed forthwith to plaister it about
the ears by way of making it comfortable about the head.
The real workman having disencumbered the horse of his
bridle will shake his litter up, sponge his eyes, nose, and
mouth, and give him his gruel. We like to see the hunter
getting his gruel, it must be as refreshing to him as a bason
of soup to a tired man. Then he will give him a bit of hay,
which will occupy the horse and keep him from snatching and
biting at the man or the manger. Sponging under the tail and
all about is a grand thing, and we should like to see more of
it. Pulling the ears, too, is a thing all horses like, and doubt-
less tends much to make them comfortable about the head.
Real good powerful strapping is quite as essential towards
condition as feeding and exercise. Some fellows only strip
horses and starve them.

Ascending a little in the scale of stable servitude, we will
take a glance at the Second Horseman. The Second Horse-
man should know a little about hunting, and a good deal of
the country in which his performances are required. This
knowledge of hunting should be sufficient to keep him from
doing mischief, at all events, while his knowledge of the
countr}', and of the usual runs of foxes, should enable him to
have his horse up, when wanted, fresh and fit to go on.

Looking at the second-horse system in its ordinary every-
day aspect, we cannot, however, help saving, that there is a
good deal of flash and humbug, in the majority of instances,

134 THE HITNTING FIELD

where we see tlieni out. Except for very heavj' men, or very
hard riders on very good days, one horse ought to do all that
reasonable riders need require. Gentlemen's horses are not
like servants' horses, continually on the go. While the men
are trotting and crashing over big places in a cast, gentlemen
have nothing to do but turn their horses' heads to the wind,
and give them their puff. Servants, in far the greater number
of countries, ha\e but one horse a-piece out, and theirs come
more regularly and more continuously throughout the season,
than the horses of any of the field. The servants, too, must
be with their hounds, must go on to the end of the daj-,
whereas gentlemen nia)- shut up and go home at an}- moment
they like.

Roads are now so numerous and accommodating, that a
servant with an eye and moderate brains, ought to be able to
pilot a second horse, without putting him to anything like
work. Some fellows, however, never learn a countr}'. They
will ride over the same country for j-ears, nay, will do the
same circle twice in a day, without discovering that they are
not going straight. They are like the lady who got into the
inner circle of the Regent's Park, and walked for many hours,
thinking she was never going to get round.

Many of the second horses that we see in the hunting field,
however, are there from the repletion of the stables, and by
way of exercise, rather than in expectation of being really
wanted. Doubtless it is convenient to have two out ; one may
fall lame, lose a shoe, and the man who is provided seldom
wants. Here, then, let us recommend Grooms to ride like
Grooms, and not like gentlemen, in the hunting field. They
have no business in the front rank ; neither is it etiquette to
pass in muddy lanes and roads. This latter hint ma}' be
useful to others than servants.

We do not exactl\- know wliLiice the " Pad Groom "" derives
his title, nor indeed what, in a " Castlr of Indolence," would

THE GROOM

135

be considered the lesjitimate duties of his office. In the
humbleness of our ignorance we have confounded them witli
the Second Horsemen, though we beheve there is a distinc-
tion, without, perhaps, much difference. The " Pad Groom,"
we rather think, forms the sort of appendage to his master
that the can sometimes does to the dog's tail — while the
Second Horseman may flourish about the country-, so long as
he keeps on the line of the hounds. The "Pad Groom"
should act as pioneer, and be always ready to ram through a
bullfinch, or blind fence, it being derogatory to a gentleman
to risk his neck, when he can afford to keep a man for the
purpose. Padd\' should be an adept at opening gates, throw-
ing down walls, breaking rails, and great generally in the art of
destruction.

If the Master should be unlucky enough to kill his horse, he
would then take the " Pad Groom's;" in which case, as the
latter would most likely have to "pad the hoof home," it is
not impossible that some such catastrophe may have led to the
creation of the title ; or, it may be that the " pad," on the
death of the fox, is consigned to the guardianship of tliis hero
b}- ambitious claimants.

i^&^

i^»^

CHAPTER XII

THE GROOM — CONTINUED

HE sagacit}' both of hounds
and horses in the matter of
hunting is truly astonishing,
and we hardly know to
which to yield the pre-
ference. It is an undoubted
fact that many of what are
called trencher-fed hounds,
learn to know the hunting
days, and will sit at the
doors listening for the summoning horn, or travel to the
usual ]ilace of meeting by themselves. An old hunter knows
just as well as his Groom the preparations that indicate the
coming chase, and is as delighted as ever he can be. Shorten-
ing the supplj' of water is one of the usual concomitants, but
if a horse was left to himself, he would never drink more than
he ought. We mean if he was left to his own discretion
entirely, with a constant supply of water within reach. Of
course when he only gets it at stated intervals, and then
oftentimes less than he would like, he acquires a greedy
sort of swallow, that hurries it down as quickly as possible,

THE CiROOM i:?7

as he does not know how soon the pail may be withdrawn
from his head.

Some horses are much more fretful and much more easily
excited than others, but as a general principle, fretfulness is
more the characteristic of young horses than of old ones.
Indeed, fretfulness is such a drawback to a hunter, that a
horse that carries it beyond years of discretion, say seven, is
generally recommended " to turn his attention to something
else," as they say in the Guards when they want to get rid of
a man. Young horses may readily be excused for a little
nervous irritability with so exciting a cause as the chase, and
it should be the duty of the Groom to remove all causes
as much as possible, and keep things as near their usual
course and appearance as they can. For instance, in taking a
young horse to lie out over night, instead of leaving him in
the stable when the others go to exercise, and then about the
middle of the day stripping him and rolling up his things and
fussing about the stable, putting all agog, he should just lead
him out when the others go to exercise, sheeted and all, get
his stable things quietly up, and ride leisurely and easily
away, without all the fuss and elbow w'orking that says to the
horse as well as to the whole world — " here we are away for
the Mountain daisy, to meet Squire Rattlecover's hounds to-
morrow." Because horses can't talk and hold dialogues with
their riders after the fashion of Balaam's ass, some fellows
fancy they have no more instinct or memories than the
saddles on which they ride. Starting for cover in the
morning, again, should always be done as quietly and soberly
as possible, where a horse is at all subject to nervous irri-
tation. The sight of a scarlet coat in advance will set many
a horse off, that would otherwise have been got coolly and
comfortably to the meet. Some gentlemen have a nasty
trick of going out to breakfast on hunting mornings and
setting whole strings of horses on the fret by cantering past

138 THE IUTNTrN(; FIELD

tliem in scarlet. A Grriom should ne\ei" calculate on doing
more than five miles an hour in going to cover. Some horses
will go six comfortabh', but fi\'e is about the pace. The first
thing he should do on arriving, of course, is to get his horse
into a stable or outhouse, where with the aid of a little clean
straw and a table towel, he will remove the mud sparks from
the horse's legs and renovate the polish of the bits, buckles,
and stirrups. A damp morning soon clouds the steel. It is
these trifles that mark the difference between the Groom with
the head from the one without. Some men seem to think
if they start fair and clean, or are neat and clean, once a-day,
that is all that can be required of them, and that the\' may
get themselves, their horses, and all about them, dirty,
tarnished, and daubed, without any reflectioji on their care or
neatness. " They have got dirtied since they came out," they
say. A neat servant not onl}- avoids all collision, but removes
little casualties as they occur. There is a wide difference
between a neat man and a smart man. The neat man is
alwaj's neat whatever he has on, the smart man is often the
creature of the moment that degenerates into the carelessness
of the sloven after a flourish.

Lying out over night and mixing in the tap-room societj- of
stable-N'ards, is a sad trial for ser\'ants, and the less a master
throws them into that sort of temptation the better. It is
not onl)' the drinking, swearing, and gambling that not
unfrequently goes on, but tricks are taught that often prove
the ruin of lads : charging for things the}^ never get, putting
down more than they pa}-, and various other devices that all
sooner or later eml in ruin. Servants who wish to do justice
to themselves antl their masters, should never pay anything
without getting a bill of particulars and a receipt. They
then can send theiu in along with their books, ami if wrong
is dnne, the master sees where to apply, and the ser\-ant

THE GROOIN! 139

stands exonerated. Grooms, huntin;;- ones in particular, maj-
rely upon it that ,i;entlenien know the price and value of most
things just as well as they do, and it does not follow because
a master is not always storming or kicking up a row that he
does not observe what is wrong. A dishonest servant is sure
to " catch it '■ sooner or later.

But if we deprecate the country inn yard, what shall we
say to the abomination of some London livery stable ones.
Why, in the words of the author of the " Young Groom's
Guide and \'alet's Directory," that a few weeks at such places
has been the ruin of many a young man. There is nothing,
writes he, " but drinking, tossing, colting, &c., going on from
morning to night ; it begins, as Blacky says, b}- drinking for
dry, and then comes drinking for drinky, and so on to the end
of the chapter." Purl the first thing in the morning before
their eyes are hardly open ; porter at lunch, porter at dinner,
and again a double dose at night. Then, there they are the
next morning, some with a splitting head-ache ; some so sick
and squeamish that nothing but a hair of the same dog will
cure them ; and the cry is, " d — n it, I cannot do my work
without m)- half-pint of ' purl.' Well, away they go for this
precious stuff, and, at the corner, probably meet with some
more ' purl drinkers ; ' and then it is nothing but tossing up
and tossing down, till they return back, half stupefied and
muddled before they begin their work, and are soon obliged to
take another draught to quench the thirst and fever produced
by the first."

That is a sad picture, but we do not belie\-e an overdrawn
one of some of these places, and masters should pause ere they
consign a lad to such a scene of temptation.

One of the most important duties of a Hunting Groom
is taking horses out oxx-r night, and making the best of bad
stables. Fourteen miles is as far as a horse should go from

140 THE HUNTINCi P'lELi)

home on the morning of hunting, and when distances are
beyond that, with the probabiHty of the draw being still
further away, it is always desirable to let them lie out over
night. No doubt a horse does better in his own stable, just
as a man does better in his own bed ; but fourteen miles is
quite distance enough ; and even though some horses may do
more with impunit\', still it takes a good deal away from the
pleasure of the day for a man to think that he has not power
enough under him to do what may be required. Imagination
has a great deal to do in the enjoyment of the chase, as well
as in other things. In going from home a servant should
take everything he usually requires, and never calculate on
finding an3'thing at an inn. Having got everything there, his
next care should be getting them back, for people are very apt
to " borrow."

In naming fourteen miles as the outside distance, we are
talking of meets which are towards home. Gentlemen, whose
horses stand at head quarters, have a great advantage over
out-lying sportsmen, inasmuch as they may readily calculate
on their horses being able to do as much as the horses of the
hunt ; but supposing the fixture to be at the kennel, and a
man travels fourteen miles to get to it, he need not be sur-
prised at finding himself trotted half as far again on the other
side before the day is done.

Lying out over night entails the necessity of being able to
pack, a thing very few servants are up to. So long as
they unpack, also, so that "master"' does not see the
state of confusion things are in, they are very easy how
they are spoiled by being crammed and squeezed together.
Soldiers' servants are always capital hands at packing. We
often wish to get one of them to give a clumsy packer a lesson
in the art. There is another thing soldiers' Grooms excel in,
and that is In the sa\ing of bedding. Instead of coverins' the

THE (;1U)()M 141

wet litter with dry straw, as is too often done by lazy, hiding,
hurr3'ing fellows, they dry the wet straw in the air during the
day, and it comes again nearl}- as good as ever at night.

But here come the first flight of Grooms, with all the
important top-boot bustle that proclaims the coming scarlets.
See how they steal along at that " within-themselves sort of
pace" peculiar to hunters. Let us step aside under the lea
of this old barn, and scan them as they gain the field.

First, comes Timothy Jones, Paul Poplin's young man, all
louped up in gold, with his mare in a white lather, and her
mouth nearly deadened with the hauling of Tim's heavy hand.
Tim and his master are recruits of the season, the master
knowing as much of hunting as the man-boy does of horses.
That hat, with the gold threads binding the oval sides to the
gilt acorn on the crown, is a contrivance of Paul and his
sisters, the idea being taken from the Marquis of Dazzleton's
footman. Tim's Groom's footman's coat, with the red and
blue worsted shoulder knot, and patches of gold lace on the
collar and cuffs, would disgrace anything but the rumble of a
pony phaeton, and his red-seamed blue trousers and bluchers
seem lost for want of the red string of the Italian greyhound.
We don't know that we ever saw such an apology for a Groom
in our lives, and how Tim will have the face to present that
well-lathered mare to his master baffles our comprehension.
Poor weak, washy thing ! She has done her day's work
already, and another such ride will finish Tim's military-look-
ing overalls. She has been the laughing-stock of all the
knowing ones in coming along.

This great woman-thighed, bull-headed, bloated, porpoise-
looking fellow, with his beastly calves bagging over his lack-
lustre, mis-shapen, painted top-boots, is Mr. Spavin, the
horse-dealer's man, with a well-shaped screw for sale under
him. .\t first glance you would think the fellow was a fool.

142 THE FITNTINC; FJELD

till you arrived at his little rof^ueish black eyes, peerinj,' frum
among the lumps of fat composing his unhealthy ginnified
cheeks. The fellow is the biggest scamp in the country. He
lies like truth. He comes out as much to fish out the secrets
of gentlemen's stables as in the hope of selling the horses he
rides, though he is always ready to do his best in that way,
particularly when he falls in with a flat, whom he will persecute,
and ride at, and talk at, with the audacious impudence peculiar
to travelling prospectus men, railway surveyors, and small
horse-dealers' men. He has been making a set at Paul
' Poplin's mare, making her as fidgety and fretful as possible,
in order the better to recommend the antediluvian beggar on
which he is riding. The two Grooms in blue frocks and small-
striped waistcoats next him are neat, and after them there
comes a man made, dressed, and riding to our mind as a hunt-
ing Groom should be. He is short, light, and wiry. Forty
summers may have passed over his head, leaving traces of
the wear, but not the cares of life. On the contrary, his
clear, bright eye beams radiant on the cheerful scene, pro-
duced perhaps by the inward consciousness that his horse
will not be eclipsed by any in the field. See how all that
man's things are in keeping, from the hat on his head to the
spur at his heel. The nap is as close and as flat as his horse's
coat. There are no flowing locks protruding at the sides, the
pride of housemaids and abhorrence of masters. There are
no filthy, bristly, gingery whiskers fringing his cheeks, or
extending round his chin. His horse and he are both well
trimmed. His clean white neckcloth is well put on; no shirt
collars appear above. His dark grey coat and waistcoat show
the wear of work with the care of keeping, while his well-
put on dark drab mother-of-pearl buttoned breeches look as
though they neither courted nor dreaded the assaults of the
mud. Then the tops — there is more in top-boots than in

THE (;k()()M un

any other article of dress — not onl}' in the cut, material, and
keeping, but in the art of putting them on. London Grooms
— we mean men in the habit of coming to London — are almost
the only ones who really can put on top-boots. This arises
in a great measure from their having a proper respect for,
and appreciation of, the article itself. There used to be a
bootmaker in Paris, who, on a complaint being made by a
customer, used immediately to ask if the wearer had been
walking in his boots. If he replied in the affirmative, then
St. Crispin would shrug up his shoulders, and, throwing out
his harnds, exclaim that he ''expressly defended" his customers
from walking in his boots, " that they were only for riding and
carriage work."

London Grooms are the only ones who seem to have any
idea that top-boots are onl_\- for riding in. A fellow in the
country pulls them on at all times and occasions, from walking
to church (or the public-house) to driving the market cart.
The consequence is, that after two or three good trudges and
paddles in them, the boots lose all shape, make, and sit, and
have that dejected mclanchol}' air that only makes their fallen
greatness more painful.

Boots and breeches, with the proper cleaning and putting
of them on, give an air and character to the entire turn out.
Who, on seeing a postilion in dingy leathers, and dull boots,
ever thinks of looking at his horses ? But to our Groom in
the greys. His boots are well made, of good material, well
cleaned, well kept, and well put on. The rose-tinted tops
are longish, not affectedly so, but bearing a fair proportion
to the boot itself. They fall in neat wrinkles down the leg,
and the sole is clean and free from mud stains, instead of
being marked half way up the instep, with the paddling
about before starting. Contrast that man's appearance with
the high-shouldered, blear-eyed, Tom-and-Jerry-looking fellow

144 THE HUNTING FIELD

in the black coat and waistcoat, all creases and whitening,
from kicking about in the saddle room since the " last day,"
with a button off one, and a button out of the other leather
breeches knee, the top-boots pulled up as high as ever he can
get them, and the ends of a dirty twisted white neckcloth flying
out at either side of a half-buttoned straggling waistcoat. The
fellow looks as if he had slept in his clothes, or put them on in
the dark, so hurried and ill arranged is he. He has heard that
long-tops are the " go," so he has got them extra length, and
daubed them so with putty powder, that if it was to come a
shower of rain he would be the same colour from the knee to the
heel. There is a generous supply of mud about his ankles,
almost enough to constitute a forty shilling freeholder.

This great hulking, ill-countenanced fellow, on the badly-
clipped rat tail, is what may be called a register-office servant
— a fellow that is generally on the books, and gets taken up
at short notice, in extremities. He is a sour-tempered, ill-
conditioned fellow, who can only conduct himself decently for
one month after being ground down by poverty and adversitj-
for six. He is now a helper, and takes his master's horse to
cover, though weighing three stone more than his master.
When he applies for another situation he will dub himself
"Pad Groom," or "Second Horseman," despite that he stands
six feet high, with the brawny limbs of a bargeman. The
register-office will endorse him as such, and there is no saying
but by mere dint of impudence and want of contradiction,
some flat may be taken in to hiring him — Second Horseman !
— second ploughman, more like. What a ragged-looking
rascal it is to send to cover. How anybody dare trust such a
fellow with a twenty pound horse we can't conceive. If the
horse patrol were to catch him near London, they would be
sure to take him up for stealing it. There is sometliing
terribly self-convicting about a job-servant. Seed)-, but pain-

THE GROOM 145

full}- well-brushed hats, nast_\- fro\vse\- tartan neckcloths, lonf^
ditto waistcoats, white-seamed, button-covered, greasy-collared
dark coats, stained drabs with tarnished knee buttons, patched
boots with sloggering caps, the whole set off with a pair of
baggy Berlin gloves.

This old bo}', blue and all blue, with the tarnished band
on the greasy hat, is Cottonwool's coachman. What he has
come out for nobod\- knows, unless Henrietta has sent him to
look after Smashgate. Ah, see how old Blue Bluey greets
the baronet's groom ! There's a wring of the hand that looks
like business. Trust a servant for smelling a rat ! They are
at once the best-informed and worst-informed people under
the sun. They know everything and nothing — everything in
the hall, nothing in the parlour. Who would have thought
to see such a swell-consequential-looking man — gentleman, we
might say — with white cords and basket buttons on his brown
cut-away, doing the familiar with such a tawdrv, dirty -clothes-
bag-looking old file as that coachman — a man whose boots
have evidently belonged to his predecessor, and whose plush
breeches would hold two pair of such legs as his ? Never-
theless there they greet. " Well, Matthew." " Well, Mr.
Thomas." Not that Mr. Thomas thinks Henrietta by any
means a match for his master; but Mr. Thomas having cast a
favourable eye on the joint-stock lady's maid at Fleecy Hall,
who, according to the usual etiquette of servitude, will accom-
pany the first married " Miss," Mr. Thomas thinks it well to
favour the suit. What with this double pull upon him, it will
be odd if the baronet is not caught.

But enough for this paper is the scribblement thereof. If
this lecture on Grooms should cause one untidy dog to survey
himself in the limpid stream and amend his ways, one silly
lad to give over considering whether this or that is "his work,"
one thoughtless master to pause ere he throws a servant into

L

146

THE HUNTING FIELD

needless temptation, or induce one infatuated j^outh to dress
his servant like a Groom instead of a strolling player, all we
have got to add is, that we shall be abundantly satisfied if the
benefited party will send us a barrel of oysters.

CHAPTER XIII

PETER PIGSKIN

ERE comes old Peter Pig-
skin ! Peter, of whose ex-
istence we have given so
man}' indications, that we
dare say our readers are
puzzled to know who he
is ; Peter, the family stop-
gap and "back hander " at
Cottonwool's ; Peter, the
man who it does one's
heart good to see feed ; Peter, the man who sings

" We won't go home till morninj,"

and who most probabh- practises what he sings. Now, what
do our readers think Peter is ? A Sportsman, it is quite
clear, or he would not be in our " Analysis ;" and, sportsman-
like, his early appearance procures him the honour of our first
salute.

When we commenced these sketchy papers we little an-
ticipated that the opening numbers would stretch themselves

148 THE HUNTING FIELD

into so many parts ; }-et so they have, and this only fairly
launches us among the field. As yet we ha\e only dealt with
the " master '' and the " men," as it were, leaving the wide
range of character and station forming the ingredients of a
hunting field for discussion and description. The uninitiated
may suppose that a " field" is merely composed of one set of
people, drawn from the same class of life ; but the foxhunter
knows how different is the fact, and how foxhunting rever-
berates, as it were, through the whole of our social system ;
how the joy that a good run inspires in the breast of the peer
descends through all classes, even to the humble pedestrian
who witnesses either the find or the finish. " Foxhunting,"
as was well said by Beckford, " is the peculiar sport of
Britons," and we trust it will ne\er be obliterated from the
national character. It is a fine, generous, comprehensive
sport, that every true follower delights to see his neighbour
partake of. It unites all classes in brotherly union, like
Shakspere's militar)- offer of brotherhood, "be his profession
ne'er so mean."

We need scarcely say that Peter Pigskin wears a dark coat,
for whoever saw a meet of foxhounds where a dark coat did
not arrive first ? It is not a black coat, but a dark coat ; a
bottle green, with metal buttons, straight cut, single breasted,
and short. Peter is a man that has been elevated by fox-
hunting ; not ridiculously raised above his station, but a man
whom foxhunting has brought into contact with parties he
would not otherwise have become acquainted \\ith. Peter
now, and Peter fifty }ears ago, are very different people.
The little, light, bow-legged, shrivelled, gray-headed old man
whose clean but queer-cut clothes bespeak defiance to the
elements, was then the smart, straight, dapper postilion to the
Duke of Blazington, and rode the leaders of his grace's coach
and six. In those days great men turned out like great men,
and not like great midwives, or great jewellers, as too manj-

{ PMiSKIN

141>

six richly-caparisoned horses,

Dtvviiied with a luxuriance of

from the mud by

Peter was then

tiy cheei^s glowed

well-pomatomed hair,

I cap in a knotty p\g-

< almost concealed

il-rleancd leathers

it to the beholders

il Peter on the leaders

IK father on the box,

red £;old-laced

IS back, and

• M I : < t V ' u

do MOW The Duke tii
whov flaunting mam-:-
:ind whose lonj; •
.:.!.>. I) gatherings of m
in the flush of youth. 1'
rubicund beneath the po\>
terminating behind his lace-
tail, the buttons and gold i
the rich scarlet of the mat.
fit so tight and close as to c .
how he ever got into them. Tl.
looked like the rosebud to hi.-
radiant in all the magnificence
hat, projecting pig-tail, botti'
stomach without end.

When the Duke of Blaifin:
a-year ; and when Peter's
most complimentary manner sli
what amounted to ;r20 a-yc- ■
the pretty head housemaid
neat little hostelry called thi
Plumley and Moss Side, so a^;;
readers as the first stage or
Peter shortly after chang
Hounds," and prosperity .
those days, Peter soon found the
would justify him in buying a p<.>ster that would do a little
hunting occasionally. Pet( p out on the

sly, breeched and gaitert-d. m >,,- liand. Some-

how he always happL-ntil t" ii - in the neighbourhood

of where the hounds met — either a ser\ant to hire, a horse to
look at, a pig to buy, corn to pay for, barley for malting to
bespeak, or something of that sort, and l>eing there he would
just stay to see them 'find." y«.>/ sttiy to see them find!

!, he left Peter £zo

which he did in the

ice. Peter got

' then married

and took the

midway between

n to many of our

lonial. This sign

the " Fo.x and

■ te speculation in

■ ntents of his till

r

V

-J

>1

bo

c

it

o

3.

S3

3

it

o

PETER PI(;SKIN 149

do now. The Duke drove his six richly-caparisoned horses,
whose flaunting manes were entwined with a luxuriance of
ribbon, and whose long tails were protected from the mud by
midway gatherings of the same material. Peter was then
in the flush of youth. His plump, healthy cheeks glowed
rubicund beneath the powder of his well-pomatomed hair,
terminating behind his lace-daubed velvet cap in a knotty pig-
tail, the buttons and gold lace of his jacket almost concealed
the rich scarlet of the material, while his well-cleaned leathers
fit so tight and close as to cause astonishment to the beholders
how he ever got into them. The youthful Peter on the leaders
looked like the rosebud to his blooming father on the box,
radiant in all the magniticence of a three-cornered gold-laced
hat, projecting pig-tail, bottle-nose, ponderous back, and
stomach without end.

When the Duke of Blazington died, he left Peter /ao
a-year ; and when Peter's father died, which he did in the
most complimentary manner shortly after his grace, Peter got
what amounted to ;f 20 a-year more. Our friend then married
the pretty head housemaid of Blazington Castle, and took the
neat little hostelry called the " Grapes," midway between
Plumley and Moss Side, so agreeably known to many of our
readers as the first stage on the road matrimonial. This sign
Peter shortly after changed into that of the " Fox and
Hounds," and prosperity attending way-side speculation in
those days, Peter soon found the weekly contents of his till
would justify him in buying a poster that would do a little
hunting occasionally. Peter used then to creep out on the
sly, breeched and gaitered, with a stick in his hand. Some-
how he always happened to have business in the neighbourhood
of where the hounds met — either a servant to hire, a horse to
look at, a pig to buy, corn to pay for, barley for malting to
bespeak, or something of that sort, and being there he would
just stay to see them "find." Just stay to see them find!

loO THE HI XTING FIEIJ)

What a charming, self-deluding sort of allowance that is. As
if anj' man with the feelings of a sportsman within him, and
the feelings of anything like a horse below him, was ever
satisfied with such a snatch of pleasure as that. Nevertheless,
Peter used to try it. " I'll just see them find," he used to
say to himself, as he pulled out his great watch, and followed
the hounds into cover, observing as he went, " there's plenty
of time to ride to Wall House or Kirkland after."

Hark to Joyful ! Hark ! she's on the drag. " Have at him,
good bitch !" \\3.\\oo5 the Huntsman, and Peter's frame shakes
with emotion. Now they get together, and the old grove
echoes their cry a hundred-fold. Peter presses his hat firmly
on his brow, with a half sort of inkling that he may as well
see them away from the cover. Now they go full swing !
Reynard has run the cover's utmost limits, and dare not break.
The hounds are yet "too near," as Beckford would say. The
music ceases ! The fox has slipped back, and the hounds
have overrun the scent.

" Tallvho ! " halloos the second Whipper-in from the far
end of the cover, and " Tallyho " is hallooed, and re-echoed,
and repeated, till ever}- living thing is alarmed.

The Huntsman's horn goes tzaurng, twang, twang, as he
gallops through bush and briar to the halloo. The hounds
strain their utmost powers to overtake him, and horses and
men are in a delightful state of e.xcitement. Peter Pigskin
forgets all about the barley for malting, and settling himself
as well in his saddle as shorts and continuations will allow,
crams and hustles a\vay with the best. Peter was always a
man of first-class nerve, and first-class nerve makes a second-
class horse go uncommonly well. Moreover, a man who is
only going to take an instalment of a run — say five shillings
in the pound — alwa3s thinks he may as well have it as good
as he can get. Awa}' they go over the hill, now down the
vale, and right across Brackenburgh Meadows, pointing for

PETER riGSKIX 151

Disley. The table of precedence and all the Heralds' College
humbug is abolished — nerve reigns triumphant, and the majesty
of horsemanship is established. In our mind's eye we see
them settling into places. Well with his hounds, but not too
near, is the Huntsman ; then a hard-riding farmer ; while
Peter and the parson

" Ride side by side,"

as the song has it ; red-coats come next in prodigal profusion,
and we have not time to look at the tail. There's a rare scent,
a slight frost in the air, and the hounds are bristling for blood
— it is one of those sort of da}-s on which the worst packs
appear good.

Peter keeps his place, intending to pull up on the other side
of each fence, and go and see after his barley. Somehow or
other, the horse carries him over half the next field before he
gets a fair pull at him, and then he thinks that being so far
advanced, he may as well see what they do in the next field,
until twenty minutes are exhausted, and Peter's bay is in a
white lather.

Twenty minutes on paper, and twent}- minutes real riding
across countr}-, are ver\' different things, and a check is grate-
fully received even by the foremost. We have seen it asserted
that no man ever had the candour to acknowledge the oppor-
tuneness of a check ; but we think that all sportsmen are
iready to patronize them at the proper time. It is jour steeple-
chase gentlemen, with their cutting whips, who are always
"just getting into their stride" when they occur. Twenty
minutes' best pace across country is no trifle.

Our pack, however, are at a check, the hounds having
spread like a rocket, and made their own cast, now want the
assistance of the Huntsman.

Peter dismounts, looks at his horse, sees all his shoes are
on, and scrapes the thick of the sweat off with his stick. The

1.V2 THE HUNTING FIELD

soft horse has had a " benefit," and the sweat runs down his
legs and over his hoofs. " I wish I mayn't be givinj^ him too
much," thinks Peter, eyeing his distended nostrils and heaving
ilanks, as he turns his head to the wind.

The barley for malting then comes across his mind, and it
strikes him he's been riding away from it. " It's been a grand
gallop," says he to himself, running its beauties through his
mind, " / ivisli tlieyd killed him.''

" Well, I suppose I must be going," says Peter to himself,
laying hold of his stirrup preparatory to mounting. Just as he
gains his saddle the hounds begin to feather and Peter's eye to
twinkle.

" Tliey are on him again!" exclaims he, in ecstasies, as
gathering his reins with one hand, he brandishes his stick with
the other, and spurs the well-lathered nag into a trot.

Another instant, and with heads up and sterns down, the
hounds race along the hedgerow. Peter forgets all about the
barley for malting, his attention being riveted on the hounds.
There are seldom two bursts in a run, and the second part
exhibits their hunting qualities rather than their speed. No
man innatel}' imbued with the passion for hunting could be
expected to leave hounds under such circumstances, and if
Peter's mission had been ten million times more important
than the mere purchase of barley for malting, we feel assured
he would stand acquitted with our readers for forgetting it.
Not that Peter did exactly forget it, for Dustbin, the sporting
miller, declares he heard him exclaim, as his freshened hunter
took a flying leap over a bullfinch and brook, " Hang the
barley ! I dare say it isn't worth havi-ig ! "

Thus Peter coaxed himself on from point to point, now
declaring he would go another day, now deluding himself that
the hounds were bending his way, now turning his horse as if he
was absolutely leaving, when, as luck would have it, the hounds
invariably turned the same wa\-, and Peter was in for it again.

I'ETER PIGSKIN 153

The story runs that Peter made nine starts before he j;ot to his
destination.

Stolen pleasures are said to be the sweetest, and we are by
no means sure that a stolen hunt is not as good as any. That
single day keeps the latent embers alive, ready to burst into fire
under more favourable circumstances.

Not that Peter's passion was much pent up, for what %\ith
his farm and his inn, he had abundant excuses for riding in
the direction the hounds had to meet. Some people ride out
in the afternoon, to take their chance of falling in with them,
but these are the mere feather-bed coffee-housers of hunting ;
Peter's business always seemed to march with the hounds.
Men of business in those days were shyer of hunting and
daylight amusements than they are now. Hunting used to be
thought incompatible with sober tradesmanlike occupations.

That is quite a mistaken idea, however ; moderately pursued,
we are satisfied that hunting is the finest preparative for business
that ever was adopted.

It is said that whenever Listen, the great surgeon, had a
difficult operation to perform, he used to brace his nerves by a
gallop with harriers on the Pentland Hills; and all London
literary men will acknowledge the refreshing obligations derived
from pure air, strong exercise, and country scener}-. There
are some trades, to be sure, that hunting agrees with better
than others : an innkeeper's, perhaps, at the head of the list.
Of course a great deal depends upon the man, but, as a
general rule, a good sportsman is always welcome whatever
he is.

Peter's was a happy life — money rolled up, and children did
the same, but the means of maintenance kept pace with the
increase. He soon gave up hunting in gaiters. x\ll who have
tried it will admit it is a most expensive amusement. He turned
out a pair of old Blazington boots, which were verj^ soon
accorded the honour of ramming through all the big places first.

lo4 THE HUNTING FIELD

Thus things went on for many years ; young Peters sprang
up, resembhng the portrait we drew of our hero on the Duke
of Blazington's leaders, while Peter himself, instead of expanding
into the red cabbage-looking figure of his father, receded into
the little wiry old man now entering the hunting field.

We should state, that Peter is now what the world calls ,
a gentleman — a gentleman in the idle acceptation of the
term, meaning a man with nothing to do, nothing to do except
hunt. Shortly after the railway mania broke out, the since
celebrated Jeames de la Pluce, Esq., attended by his pugilistic
wally, Fitzwarren, and a man in livery, drove up in a dashing
chariot and four to the Fox and Hounds, and politely intimated
to Peter that he was going to draw a line of railwaj' slap
through his kitchen and back offices. Jeames, who is quite
the man of manners, accompanied the intimation with a hint
that the company " would be 'app}' to pay through the nose
for the ecomodetion." A bait so fairly thrown out was not
likely to be lost on a man like Peter, and after entertaining
de la Pluce with the best of e\erything, he stuck the Fox and
Hounds into him at three times its worth. Peter expatiated
on the loss it would be to him ; Mrs. Pigskin dilated on the
laceration of her feelings at leaving it, and de la Pluce swept
away their expostulations with sovereigns, those weighty
arguments, that settle all accounts between man and man, or
woman either.

Peter now lives at Rosemary Cottage, about three quarters
of a mile from Fleec\- Hall, where the reader may remember
they first met him. Rosemar}- Cottage was built by a jolly
bacchanalian, who having a presentiment that he would break
his neck some night going to bed drunk, built it all on the
ground floor. Unfortunately, however, he sank a well, which
did his business quite as effectually as a staircase.

Peter and Cottonwool began life about the same time, that is
to say, they commenced business about the same time — Peter's

TETER PIGSKIN i:)5

probationary saddle-work being struck off the account, and it
says much for Cottonwool's sense that he hns stemmed the
displeasure of his fine, tight-sleeved, highly-flounced daughters,
and stood by the " friend of his youth," as Lord Melbourne
would sa}-.

Punch says, " the retired wholesales never visit the retired
retails," and we believe something of the same sort of dignity
pervades country life.

In point of breeding there was not much to choose between
the progenitors. Cottonwool being the son of the Duke of
Blazington's saddler, his mother b}' a butler out of a buxom
dairymaid ; while Peter's maternal descent was a cross between
a very respectable market gardener and a milliner.

The Miss Cottonwools, however, do not carr}' their inquiries
into the region of pedigree ; they take things as they are.
Here are they, three fine strapping, slapping lasses, with a
great green coach to ride in, a sky-blue man to drive it, and
another sky-blue man to loll behind, accustomed to receive the
admiration of the first-class country bucks, at the race and
assize balls, and they cannot be expected to tolerate this
dowd}' old man in his drab shorts and gray worsted stockings.
" Reall}', if papa chooses to invite such people to the house on
company days, they ought to dine in the kitchen," they say.

Pigskin, indeed, according to the strict letter of right, we
believe, ought to take precedence of Cottonwool, he being a
retired tradesman, while our friend of the fine daughters still
drives a brisk business, and discourses learnedly on the
produce of Albama, Demerara, Carthagena, the raw article,
long and short stapled. And speaking of that, it is an extra-
ordinary thing how Pigskin and he ever delude themselves
into the idea that they are driving a conversation, for the talk
of one is of nothing but trade, while Pigskin's conversation
runs upon horses and hunting. Nevertheless they get through
their long evenings together most plainly, and each thinks the

i:.(j THE HUNTING FIELD

other a most agreeable man. It is quite clear, then, that
similarity of sentiment and congeniality of mind are not
absolutely necessary for people getting on well together in this
world. We believe brandy and baccy unite more people in
friendship than anything else.

To see Pigskin in perfection, the reader should visit him at
home — see him when he returns after hunting, in all the joyous
abandon of a good run, to his snow-white cloth, strong soup,
strong ale, and beefsteak pudding. See him in his comfort-
able woollens and slippers, in his round-backed chair, pipe and
spit box. See him in his snug room, with fox-brush bell-pulls
at either side of the bright fire, sporting prints on the walls,
and " Bell's Life " on the table.

The Quarterly Review Hunt, by Aiken, after Apperly, that
occupy the place of honour about the middle of the wall, have
their story and association with the sport. Peter having come
to London to see the lions, was riding loosely and leisurely
down Regent Street one afternoon, after a heav\' shower had
rendered his namesake, Peter Laurie's abomination, the wood
pavement, more slippery than usual, when his horse suddenly
fell, shooting Peter Pigskin with his head heavily against a
dust cart wheel. Stunned with the blow, he was carried
insensible into Mr. Ackermann's well-known Eclipse Sporting
Gallery, and extended on the floor amidst all the sporting
pictures and representations of scenes that living he loved so
well. Every attention that kindness or surgical skill could
suggest was offered ; but poor Pigskin exhibited no symptoms
of returning animation. At last the still pause betokening
the exhaustion of all the remedies and the extinction of all
hope ensued, and the lately bustling attendants gradually
subsided into calm meditative spectators. Peter had not
moved since he was brought in. The medical man took his
leave with a solemn air, saying, he would return within an
hour, the doors connecting the picture gallery w ith the shop

v

PETKH ri(.SKl\

157

ed, and e\ti
t. There, as Mr. A
u >t, nature gradually
!i:til ' a low, " thii

ear, .., , vx\y from th

eyes were found fixed >
hanging on a level with
long he had been conten
the one that drew f '
opens the gate for th-, ,
it. When the doctor r
examining the series. '1
Mr. Ackermann was so
insisted upon making P
did more, he stretched
" stretching " poor Peter
to tell the story, and •!
kindest of men and most
Peter enjoys life, for
rises with the sun, anl
his dinner when he e
he dines at two o'clock,
embossed cards with—
honour of Mr. and
so on, but if a l^r. ;
before hunting, li
So in the field ; if
horse, Peter has a
service. Peter
apologies f >r " '
satisfied hi.:
the little old ■ ik table
with its netri.-,)i>
everj- inch of the run

i down to perfect
!ig his unknown
i ere the lapse of

II Hunt,
. 11 -how
vn — but
' Snob "

, IS that
that ho

boy live
' ealth as the

n-. He

He gets

11 other days

it glazed oi

■ the

i;niii I, ' and

. -let the night

it Peter's house.

or tires hi?

pudding at his

and makes no

, when they have

5 to the fire, with

\>OTt or black bottle

'ctcr will go over

\uii rapture on the

•<
r

OS

a

(J

3

at.

3

It

O

c

i^

PETER PIGSKIN 157

were closed, and everything hushed and stilled down to perfect
quiet. There, as Mr. Ackermann sat watching his unknown
guest, nature gradually recovered herself, and ere the lapse of
half an hour, a low, " t/iafs very good," fell upon his astonished
ear, apparently from the dead man. On looking. Pigskin's
eyes were found fixed on the pictures of the Quorn Hunt,
hanging on a level with his eye on the opposite wall— how
long he had been contemplating them remains unknown — but
the one that drew forth the ejaculation was where " Snob "
opens the gate for the good httle bay horse, instead of leaping
it. \\'hen the doctor returned, Pigskin was in an easy chair,
examining the series. The point of the storj-, however, is that
Mr. Ackermann was so delighted with the recovery, that he
insisted upon making Pigskin a present of the set. Nay, he
did more, he stretched them for him also. Far better than
" stretching" poor Peter himself! Long may the old boy live
to tell the story, and drink Mr. Ackermann"s health as the
kindest of men and most liberal of publishers.

Peter enjoys life, for he is not a slave to its forms. He
rises with the sun, and goes to bed when he is tired. He gets
his dinner when he comes in from hunting, and on other days
he dines at two o'clock. Peter never sends out glazed or
embossed cards with — " Mr. and Mrs. Pigskin request the
honour of Mr. and Mrs. Hogslard's company to dinner," and
so on, but if a brother foxhunter wants a billet the night
before hunting, he is sure to find a welcome at Peter's house.
So in the field ; if a man is left far from home, or tires his
horse, Peter has always a stall and steak pudding at his
service. Peter gives him the best he has, and makes no
apologies for what he does not offer. Then, when they have
satisfied hunger, and drawn their easy chairs to the fire, with
the little old oak table to put the bright port or black bottle
with its necessary accompaniments upon, Peter will go over
every inch of the run again, dilating with rapture on the

158 THE HUNTING FIELD

performance of the hounds, and dweUing with enthusiasm on
the exploits of his favourites. We are afraid to mention how
many best runs in his life Peter lias seen ; their name is
Legion.

But we are keeping the old gentleman too long on our easel.
We have sketched him from boyhood, and must now finish him
off as he is. There is something about a sportsman that invari-
ably proclaims itself, whether he be clad in scarlet and leathers
of high life, or the unassuming drabs and bottle-green of middle
station. Peter's eye retains its fire, notwithstanding the lapse
of seventy winters — we will say summers — seventy summers,
for they have passed lightly over him.

The only piece of spruceness about Peter is his neckcloth
and shirt ; the former is of French cambric, and he has a large
pleated frill to the latter. Looking at him one is strongly
reminded of the old adage, " clean shirt, clean shave and a
guinea in one's pocket." His drab breeches are made of
uncommonly stout double-milled cloth, and his old mahogany
tops are scratched and roughed till they look as if they had
been rasped by the cook or the blacksmith.

Peter's horse is like himself, a wiry-looking piece of whale-
bone. There is not a better shaped or a better conditioned one
in the field than the old chestnut, and his saddle and bridle
are models of their order. There is as much character about
saddles as there is about top-boots. It is not going beyond the
mark to say that a good, well-put-on saddle and bridle make
a difference of ten pounds in the looks of a horse. A London
saddle will fit any horse, just as a London coat will fit anj'bod}-.
What a difference there is between Peter's lean, room}-, well-
shaped one, and that fat, lumpy, spongy-looking thing of Paul
Poplin's. Again, look at Peter's well-cleaned, soft, thin-reined
bridle, with the chokeband dangling under his horse's head
like a lady's necklace, while Paul's is made to act up to its
name, by being drawn as tight as ever tlic bewildered, bedizened

PETER PIGSKIN

1 50

lad can get it. We should like to appoint Peter inspector of
hunting cavalry, and get him to go round the stables and teach
ignoramuses the first principles of action. Who would hire a
Groom that ran his choke band up the top hole ?

But enough of that, let us part with Peter. There is not a
man in the hunt more respected than Peter Pigskin, and he
draws his popularity from two sources — his fine, sportsmanlike
horsemanship, and his generous, unaffected character. No
man ever saw Peter Pigskin press upon hounds. He always
rides as though he anticipated a check, but when they ''do
run " and do go straight, when a run is established, oh, but
Peter is there, imbibing delicious enjoyment as he goes. Yet
he has no jealousy ! He is the first to pull up, and the last to
move on again. Long may the old evergreen flourish, and may
many ambitious gentlemen, whom it would be impolitic in us to
name, take a leaf out of his book.

CHAPTER XIV

THE FARMER

N estimating the position or
pretensions of a member of
any calling, it is important
to know whether the indi-
vidual in question is at the
top or the bottom of the
tree. Take a coachmaker,
for instance : it makes all
the difference in the world
whether the party is a Baxter or a Leader, or one of the little
shuffling, shambling shed-holders we see on the City Road, or
in the environs of London ; yet both write themselves up
coachmakers, and both are doubtless entitled to the appella-
tion. So John Slyboots, the unlicensed peripatetic packman,
with his decoy ribbons and shawls, and circulars offering
" equitable exchange " with servants for " household commo-
dities"— inviting domestics to rob their masters and mistresses —
may call himself a haberdasher ; but we suspect " Jones, Loyd,
and Co.," or " Lubbock, Sir John W., Bart., Forster and Co.,"
would regard his "bit of stiff" with a very different eye to
what they would the acceptance of " Swan and Edgar," or
of their felicitously named neighbours, " Evans and Liberty."

THE FARMER 1H1

In talking of a Farmer, it is necessary to make the same sort
of distinction. There is all the difference in the world between
a Leicestershire or Northamptonshire grazier, or a Norfolk
or Northumbrian Farmer, and the little scratching-holders-at-
will we too often meet with, who seem to be running a starving
match between themselves and the land, and look likely to
make a dead heat of it. A Lincolnshire Farmer will have his
^2,000 or /■3, 000 a year in wool ; and Norfolk or Northumbrian
Farmers think nothing of holding land to that amount. Yet
these men, opulent and independent as they are, only rank as
farmers, unless they occupy their own land, in which case they
combine the title of Esquires.

The dictionaries, from which we authors draw half our
apparent knowledge, say that " to farm, is to hire, or take
upon hire; to hold or take, for certain rents or sums to be
rendered, or other considerations required or performed ; to let
land or other property on such conditions ; to till, or cultivate
land ; " so that the payment of money seems to draw the line
between the Farmer and the farming landowner, or what is
commonly called an Esquire.

Most of us have some sort of outline in our mind's eye of the
human form divine filling the various occupations of life, and
the word " Farmer," we should think, generally suggests a
large drab coat, with flap pockets, patent cords, drab gaiters,
and double soles. The term " Gentleman-Farmer " suggests
a green cutaway, with white cords, and top-boots. The
Gentleman-Farmer, we should imagine, was merely a refine-
ment, or buck of a Farmer — not a landowner occupying a
certain portion of his own land, though some of these we see
write themselves up Farmers at the backs of their gigs and
dog-carts.

Taking the word " Farmer," however, in its general and
comprehensive sense, it is suggestive of more innocent if not
more poetical associations than any other title we know of. It

M

10-2 THE HUNTING FIELD

is the " love in a cottage " of industrious life. We who live in
smoky, foggy, pent-up London, to whom Primrose Hill or the
tree-clad heights of Hampstead are a luxury, sigh for the
enjoyment of our own cow, and a shady flower-strewed pasture
to feed her in. What pleasure to turn an old fat hen off her
nest and pick out our own warm egg— to shake the thick
reluctant cream from the spout of the well-filled jug. How
delightful to wander in the flower-garden, amid the hum of
our own bees, all at work for our own profit — to see our own
ducks scudding over our own pond, and instead of the carrier
pigeons of Islington and Holloway, to see the wheeling flocks
alight on our own white dovecote. Above all, picture the
enjoyment of the sunny hay field, with coatless men mingling
with the merry maids of the village green.

Farmers are about the only people exempt from any settled
denunciation on account of their calling. We hear of savage
soldiers, rascally lawyers, humbugging parsons, greedy trades-
men, grasping doctors, exorbitant coachmakers, ruinous
milliners, but the worst accusation we ever hear brought
against a Farmer is that of doltishness or stupidity. That is
a last " refuge of the destitute " sort of charge, answering to
the " ugly old cat " of the ladies, or the school-boy"s objection
to Dr. Fell :—

" I do not like you, Dr. Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell ;
But this 1 know full well,
I do not like you, Dr. Fell."

" You are a thick-headed farmer, and that's the long and short
of it," as a friend of ours would say, in closing what he would
call an "argument."

To appreciate a farmer properly, it is necessar\- for a person
to be acquainted with country as well as with town life. He
will then be able to draw a just estimate of the quiet, respec-
table loyalty that pervades the whole class, and contrast it

THE FARMER l(j3

with the hurried, self-interested excitement and elbowing that
characterizes the gatherings of large bodies. There is some-
thing at once substantial and respectable about the 3-eomanry
of the kingdom, if we may so designate all the landowmers who
are qualified to vote for knights of the shire, instead of the 40J-.
freeholders of former times.

The " yeomany of England " has always inspired in our
landsman's mind the sort of feeling that "Ye Mariners of
England " rouses in that of the sailor. We look upon them as
one of the main-stays of this country.

If there is one class of men, however, who can more properly
appreciate the spirited liberality of the farmer than another, it
is foxhunters ; above all, foxhunters, who themselves are also
farmers. We do not mean foxhunting farmers, but farming
foxhunters ; country gentlemen, who keep a small quantity of
land in their own hands more for amusement than profit —
perhaps. These are the parties who can best enter into the
feelings and appreciate the forbearance of the real farmer,
whose means of livelihood depend on the well-doing and
produce of his crop. • Let the squire picture to himself his
feelings at seeing the well-ploughed, well-worked, well-manured,
well-watched field of young wheat, that he has boasted of the
expected produce of to all his neighbours, counted as so much
gold, nay, perhaps, held up to the admiration of his local
agricultural society — let him picture to himself his feelings,
we say, at seeing this beloved spot crossed diagonally by
a field of fifty horsemen, followed by a score of boys on
ponies, whose rear is brought up by a herd of cows or Scotch
cattle, that sweep round the enclosure before they can be
got out !

How long will it be, we should like to know, before he would
muster resolution to take a cool survey of the spot, and look
with indifference on the varied footings of the horses and the
cattle ? yet this man is a fo.xhunter himself, to whom farming

164 THE HUNTING FIELD

is a secondary object ; how much stronger, then, must be the
feehng of the man who is no foxhunter, and whose sole depen-
dence is on the produce of that trampled soil.

Take a field of turnips — what havoc and destruction a field
of horsemen make in smashing through its contents ! Not
only what the horses absolutely knock out of the ground and
destro}-, but every turnip they hit is more or less injured,
especially if there comes a frost. We must say, and greatly to
their credit we say it, that it really is astonishing the damage
and inconvenience farmers put up with every year, and the
extraordinary good grace with which they do it. It is not the
grumpy, passive acquiescence, that looks — " I'd break your
head if I durst " — but the sheer downright permission to do
what the exigencies of the sport require. All farmers stipulate
for is against "wilful damage," and most justly are they
entitled to what they ask. Nothing can be more annoying to
the true sportsman than to see wanton or unnecessary mischief;
crushing young quicksets for the sake of a leap, letting cattle
escape for want of shutting the gate, or any of the numerous
acts of omission or commission that all go to swell the catalogue
of damage.

Some townspeople have not the slightest idea of the damage
they do, indeed many of them do not seem to think it is
possible to do more harm to one field than to another. There's
our friend John Chub, the ironmonger, of Camomile Street,
who goes pound, pound, pounding, straight as an arrow, whether
hounds are running or drawing, just as he would clatter about
among his fenders, fire-irons, and hardware. Chub means no
harm, indeed there's no better man — regular at church,
punctual at business — kind to his wife, ditto his children, pays
the income-tax without more grumbling than his neighbours,
never keeps the rate or tax-gatherers waiting, and if he only
knew when he was going to do harm he would never attempt
it ; but somehow Chub looks upon the country as a sort of

THE FARMER 165

enlargement of Hyde Park, over which a person is at liberty to
go anyway he can get. True, Chub never attempts the wall or
the rails of Kensington Gardens, but that is only because he
sees they are too big ; so it may be said he never rides at the
Grand Junction or Paddington Canal, but whatever Chub sees
at all "upon the cards" he looks upon as fair and proper
game — nay, as something that he ought to have a shy at.
Nothing short of the fear of a broken neck can turn him to the
right or the left.

So with Paul Poplin— Paul has not the slightest idea of
going out of his way for anything except a toll-bar, which he
shirks, to avoid paying ; and he thinks a red coat would justify
his riding into a lady's drawing-room if he liked. Gardens he
looks upon merely as small enclosures — fields on a small scale —
" retail " ones, as he calls them. Paul has heard of a " bull in
a china shop," and it is just to a china shop that Paul's ideas of
a bull's capabilities of mischief are limited. He can fancy the
consternation the animal would create among the jugs and
basins, but as to thinking it could make the slightest difference
to a Farmer whether the animal was in his own close or a
neighbour's, Paul thinks if he got into the neighbour's it would
be so much the better for the owner, as he would get fed
for nothing.

It is only the real sportsman, or person who takes part in the
management of a country, that can be fully sensible of the obli-
gations foxhunters are under to Farmers. In the first place, we
are indebted to them for the existence of the animal we
hunt ; and their sufferance, nay, protection of it, is the more
disinterested and meritorious, inasmuch as fo.xes cannot by any
possibility do Farmers any good, but, on the contrary, are
almost certain to occasion them loss and inconvenience. They,
in fact, harbour animals for their own inconvenience. This they
do, too, in spite of domestic grievances and expostulations, for
foxes occasionally make sa.d /oraj'es a.mong the poultry, and it

166 THE HUNTIXG FIELD

would be extremely difficult to convince a Farmer's wife that a
hare was not quite so good an animal to harbour for the purpose
of hunting, and a much better one for the purposes of the
table. It may be said that harriers go three times over the
ground for the fox's once, and granted they do, still they do not
go over wheat, or ground on which they can do damage ; at
least they " didn't, ought to do," seeing the case is never one of
urgency. But, with a flying, straight-running fox, with a
burning scent, and main earths open in an adjoining country,
so far from caring for wheat, we believe a field of fox-hunters
would ride over the great Lord Mayor himself, and all the
court of aldermen, if they came in the way. It may also be
said that Farmers enjoy the sport themselves as much as any
one out, and we grant those who come out do ; but for one
Farmer that hunts, there are five hundred that do not. Recent
times have not been favourable to the race of Foxhunting-
Farmers, and many, we fear, are dismounted. Besides, those
who do hunt are generally the top-sawyers of the trade ;
whereas, in many countries, the preservation of foxes may be
quite as much dependent upon a small Farmer who has not the
means of hunting, as upon a large holder.

A favourite argument in favour of F"armers encouraging
foxes and foxhunting, has always been the advantage they
derive from the consumption of hay, oats, straw — farming
produce generally — and the opportunities it affords for selling
their horses to advantage. These arguments are plausible
enough, but like manj- plausible ones, are destitute, or nearly
destitute of truth. There is no doubt that the standing of
large studs, such as we saw congregated at Melton, Leicester,
Leamington, Cheltenham, Coldstream, and other places, must
cause a considerable consumption of the enumerated articles,
but the extra profit goes into the pocket of the middleman,
and not into that of the Farmer : corn-chandlers, inn-keepers,
liverymen, saddlers, are all benefited, and many of them very

THE FARMER K37

largely; but what the /w/(?/(/t' Farmer gets is seldom more
than the mere market price, with the accommodation, perhaps,
of a near, instead of a distant delivery for his produce.

As to selling horses to advantage, that is a point involving
so many contingencies, that we fear even the most sanguine
dare hardly look the matter fairly in the face. Good stock,
good luck, good keeping, good handling, and though last, not
least, good riding. The only way we think that breeding can
pay is where the breeder hunts himself, and can show his
horse off to advantage. Even then a great deal depends upon
whim and caprice. One man can sell anything, and get
almost any price, while people will hardly look at the horse
of another. The riding is, perhaps, the most important point,
and there are not many men with both the nags and the
nerves equal to the task.

Taking the average of countries, we believe it will be found
that a Farmer is generally the best man in the majority of
hunts— either a Farmer or a parson, though rigid discipline
has thinned the ranks of the latter. A Farmer, however, is
generally the best man, and, in stating this, it must be
remembered that they generally give a good deal away by
riding unmade and oftentimes moderately-conditioned horses.

" Upon the w-h-o-o-l-e," as Farmer Wopstraw says in
" Hillingdon Hall," we are inclined to think if it were not
for the innate, national inclination for hunting implanted in
Britons, Farmers would find the preservation of foxes and the
promotion of hunting a very poor speculation for anything they
can get by it in the way of mone\-.

The importance of standing well with the Farmers is a
matter so perfectly understood by all Masters of Foxhounds,
as to require no enforcement at our hands. Ifa Master has
not the goodwill and support of the Farmers, he need never
attempt to hunt a country. Farmers have always been
considered worthy the regard and attentions of all authorities

168 THE HUNTING FIELD

on hunting. The great Mr. Meynell, it is said, used to
arrange a day in each week to suit the convenience of the
graziers attending their market, and Mr. Corbet used to show
the Warwickshire ones similar attention.

Colonel Cook, in his work on foxhunting, speaks of the
Farmers in the countries he had hunted in the highest praise,
and in enforcing the importance of hunting the good and bad
parts of a country alternately, he says, that although Farmers
are liberal, they think it hardly fair play, if they rent a farm
in the best part of the hunt for sport, to have their land rode
over constantly, whilst in the other less favourable part the
hounds never meet. Their conversation, says he, " at the
market dinner, over a bottle, is often on this subject, whereas
if you do but hunt the whole country impartially, there can be
no cause of complaint."

Mr. Smith eulogizes the conduct of the Farmers in all the
countries he has hunted, and urges that every attention and
consideration should be paid them. There is a stor\- told of
Mr. Smith, we forget whether in his book or not, that when he
had the Craven countrj', and was in the habit of cub-hunting
in Marlborough and Savernake Forests in the autumn, that a
fox broke and took through a field of wheat, and on riding to
stop the hounds, a young Farmer came up and begged he
would ride through the wheat, adding, " his father would be
very much offended if he did not."

Indeed it has been frequently observed that Farmers are
generally the first to ride over their own wheat. An amusing
instance of this is related by Nimrod in his northern tour.
A nobleman's Huntsman was blowing somebody up for riding
over a field of wheat, who not attending to the rate, the
Huntsman launched out again with something stronger.
Still the man paid no attention. The Huntsman "at him " a
third time, adding the inquiry if he didn't know he was riding
over wheat ?

THE FARMER 169

"Well," replied the Farmer. ''It's my <?!£'«/" thinking to
silence the reprover with the information. " So viuch the
worse," retorted the Huntsman, adding, " there's the force of
example."

Farmers are the most easily pacified and soonest satisfied
race of men under the sun. The smallest kindness, the
smallest attention, the smallest consideration, is never lost
upon them. Let a Master of Hounds only show that he is
sensible of any damage he may have done thern, or of any
accommodation he may have received, and they do not know
how to stop the expression of his thanks soon enough. It is
in these sort of trifles that Masters of Hounds show their tact
and management. We have seen some Masters desperately
uncouth with the Farmers, taking no notice of them either at
the meet or the finish. Others again have always something
polite or good-natured to say, and a felicitously presented
"brush" has atoned for the tramplement of much wheat.
We remember when it used to be a favourite topic of
discussion, whether riding over wheat did it harm or good,
and we have seen stout pen and ink champions in favour of
the system, but, like many plausible things upon paper, the
theory and practice are very dissimilar. It is quite clear that
Farmers do not think so, otherwise they would turn their
cattle in to their wheat fields.

In some countries Farmers' cups are given, to be contended
for by the horses of Farmers in the limits of the hunt, and
certainly, as a mark of gratitude and attention to this most
praiseworthy class of men, it is a tribute deserving of com-
mendation, but we almost doubt whether the prizes generally
reach the objects the givers would like to see them go to. In
the first place, hunting and racing are such totally different
amusements, that one seldom sees a taste for both combined
in the same person, added to which, Farmers, least of all
people, are likely to cultivate an inclination for both, and if

170 THE HUNTING FIELD

a man keeps a horse for the cup, it is not verj- hkel}' that he
will keep him for the legitimate purposes of hunting. Hence
these prizes too often fall into the hands of itinerant black-legs
and leather-platers, or men in league with some skirting,
nicking, road-riding, fox-heading fellow, who is always getting
among the hounds at the death, or grinning in the Master's or
Huntsman's face at a check, to draw their attention to the
fact of his being up.

If we could be certain of seeing these trophies go into the
hands of the real Foxhunting Farmers of the hunt, if we could
think that each succeeding year was adding a fresh rivet to the
chain of foxhunting, by drawing the recipient in closer union
with the members of the hunt, nothing could be more
desirable than the encouragement of such prizes ; but when,
instead of their going to grace the sideboard of some true
lovers of the sport, to show by their inscription to their
descendants and friends that their zeal was appreciated and
rewarded, they fall into hands who merely value them for
their weight, and who are ready to sell their unprized prizes
for the next year's contest, it raises a question whether some
more suitable acknowledgment could not be devised that
should be exclusively beneficial to Farmers, and incapable of
diversion from the right course. Prizes for the best colts or
hunters bred in the limits of the hunt, prizes for the best sheep,
or indeed for anything exclusively in the province of Farmers,
might, we think, be advantageously substituted, especially
now, when every district has its agricultural association or
Farmer's club.

We like to see a good lot of Farmers in the hunting field.
People may talk of the Excise and the Stamp Offices,
indicating the prosperity of the country, but to our minds,
there is nothing so convincing as seeing plent}' of Farmers out
hunting. Farmers are not improvident people ; they live too
retired to be improvident, and it may be laid down as a

THE FARMER 171

general rule, that no man who communes much with himself
will ever be so. Extrawagance and improvidence are en-
gendered by contact and crowds ; one man leads another
astray, and having embarked in a thing few men like to back
out. But Farmers are not gregarious beings. Society, with
them is the exception, and not the general rule. The family
circle supplies their wants in that way, and a domestic man
will rarely be found doing an act prejudicial to his family.
When times are adverse, then Farmers do not hunt, and
therefore we hold that a good show of them is the most
satisfactory evidence of general national prosperity.

We hope to li\e to see farming occupying a higher position
in the enterprise of our country than it at present holds. Not
but there are many bright ornaments among its peaceful
followers already, but we hope to see farming taken up more
as the occupation of gentlemen, who will adopt its fine,
health}-, interesting pursuits, instead of some of the genteel
starvations called " professions," that many waste the best of
their lives in following, to quit in disgust at the time they
ought to be making money. Farming is not a money-bag
loading business, like many sedentary trades and pursuits, but
then it is a certain means of good and comfortable living, and
requires no long slavish apprenticeship, or extraordinary
power of intellect to learn, and no great capital to set up with.
Suppose a parent can give his son two or three thousand
pounds, to set him up in a farm of from eight hundred to a
thousand a-year rent. For that he gets a good house and
garden, and his farm will furnish him with every real require-
ment— not to say luxury of life, and instead of imbibing the
foul, noisome air of the town, in some confined chamber or
manufacturing office, and getting snatches of life by occasional
dives into the country, his whole year is one of wholesome,
pleasurable excitement and enjoyment. To a lover of the
country no life can compare with that of a Farmer. He

172 THE HUNTING FIELD

enjoys from youth to age what others slave and toil in hopes
of reaching at the end. Farming is the nearest approach to
primitive independence of any calling we can adopt. The
Farmer is his own master, and though he may not derive so
large an apparent income as the investor of money in, or
follower of other pursuits, yet when we come to see what the
Farmer gets for nothing, that others have to pay for, and
observe how one thing dovetails in with another, it will be found
that after all, the enjoyments of life are not regulated by the
figures in three ruled columns of red ink, but in making the
most of such advantages as circumstances afford and put in
our way. Take a horse for instance — a Farmer will keep a
horse well for five-and-twenty pounds a-year, whereas the
Londoner will have to pay his guinea a-week for the keep of
his, and then very likely only have it half " done by." There
is cent, per cent, at once, and there is much the same difference
in the price of articles of domestic consumption. To talk of
dining with a Farmer is enough to set a Cockney's mouth
watering for a week — the very mention of the thing conjures
up all sorts of anticipations of pure, wholesome, rich, abun-
dant excellence. The prime home-fed beef, the dark graveyed
mutton, the clean-fed pork, the plump white turkey, the
delicate chicken, the beautiful ham, the mealy potato, the
scarlet beet, above all, the fine, bright, home-brewed October,
and home-made butter and cheese. A large farmhouse is a
sort of general provision warehouse, containing the genuine,
unadulterated article. Who ever got a snack of anything at a
farmhouse without thinking it excellent ? Who so truly
hospitable as the Farmer ? He gives what he has freely and
heartily, and never apologizes for the absence of what he has
not. Who ever hunted in the midland counties without
retaining a gratified recollection of the excellence of the
Farmer's pork-pies ? The Lewes sausages of former days will
still smack on the palates of many. Again, what place so

THE 1 All.AIER 173

sweet, so enjoyable, as a dairy ? If people would but be satis-
fied, and make the most of what they have, instead of yearning
after what they have not, no mercantile trading life could com-
pare with that of a Farmer. The glittering uniform may delight
the boy, but the easy coat of the country resident, the roomy
house, above all, self-master}', present attractions that no
gaudy outward show can compensate for the want of. Though
we hear of few large fortunes made in farming, we seldom see
a Farmer in "The Gazette" — never almost, unless he has been
speculating in something he ought not. Railways, perhaps.

But let us take a glance at a Farmer in the hunting field.
The jolly-looking chap turning in is Mr. Barleycorn, of
Verdon, one of the old school of Farmers ; he is mounted on
one of the old stamp of hunters. Horse and rider are very
much of a-piece, big, boney, lasting-looking articles. The
horse is two-and-twent}' 3-ears old, and though old " Corn," as
they call him, rides fifteen stone, and is generally first to come
and last to go, there is no blemish or symptom of decay about
the nag. Barleycorn and his friend, Michael Brownstout, of
Sapcote, keep a pack of harriers between them, but when the
fo.xhounds are near they give the preference to them. Barley-
corn has farmed in good times, bad times, and middling times,
but in whatever times he has farmed his heart has always been
in the right place, and he has never given way to despondency
or fear. Fear forsooth ! look at his frame ; there's a fist that
would fell an ox. He d — ns Peel, but only because he con-
siders Peel "did him." He's not a bit afraid of what he calls
the UToHHchecrs.

Barleycorn, to our fancy, is one of the happiest of men.
He is rich — rich in the fewness of his wants — and has nearly
all the requirements of life within himself. A good, large,
roomy, well-built, old-fashioned farm-house, with attic
windows peering out of the stone roof, a comfortable parlour
on either side of the entrance, and the kitchen sufficiently

174 THE HUNTING FIELD

near to make the knocking on the table with his knife answer
the purpose of a bell, to indicate when he is ready for the
second or third steak and the pudding. He has a nice, clean,
healthy-looking girl to wait upon him, and a managing body
of a wife to look after the girl and the interests of the dairy
and larder as well. Barleycorn hunts his twice a week, and
has always hunted his twice a week, and means to continue to
hunt his twice a week, and yet he has only the big nag under
him, and an old brood mare, that takes her turn about the
farm the day after a hard run or a long day. His friend,
Brownstout, is a sort oi double, both in size and dress, and,
when their backs are turned, it is hard to say which is which.
Having great confidence in each other's judgment, they
generally buy in " duplicate," thus, if Barleycorn treats
himself to a new beaver, he buys another for Brownstout ;
and, some people say, that after a " wet night " or two, the
hats become common, and they just take either. Both their
Christian names being John, and their surnames beginning
with a " B," perhaps aids the confusion or commonalty.
Their thunder and lightning coats are cut off the same web,
and made up by the same snip — so are their waistcoats, ditto
their big-ribbed cotton cords, as the dangling drab ribbon
over the mahogany tops testif}'. This similarity of dress is
often seen in the country ; indeed, in the hunting field one
may sometimes tell the residents of particular districts by
their clothes.

In hunting. Barleycorn and Brownstout are equally unani-
mous, both being admirers of the silent system. The}- hunt
by the weather, and not by the card. If Monday is a bad
day they turn out on the Tuesday, or adjourn again till the
Wednesday, the Sabbath and market-da3'S being the only ones
to avoid. It says much for their management, that under
whatever Master the fo.xhounds have been kept. Barleycorn
and Brownstout have never been accused of interfering with

THE FARMER

175

their sport ; on the contrary, they have received the repeated
expression of the thanks both of Master and followers, for
their preservation of the " varmint." At the present moment,
we may add that there is a duplicate round of cold beef at
each of their houses, in case the hounds should happen to
pass either way. As we fear our numerous engagements will
prevent our partaking of either, we shall now bid adieu to
our good friends the " Farmers," regretting our inability to
portray them in the bright colours we could wish, but, assuring
them at the same time, of our hearty appreciation and un-
feigned respect.

^^^*2'--' «ii4*ea^a^-'^'£^te>-i>sS^^'^'®

CHAPTER XV

ELIJAH BULLWAIST, THE BLACKSMITH

ASTING our eye over the
field, the next character that
greets is one of whom we
before spoke — Elijah Bull-
waist, the Blacksmith. Were
it not for the shagginess of
his pony's coat and the red-
ness of Bullwaist's nose, some
apology would be due for
keeping them so long ; but
neither is likely to take harm by standing. Bullwaist is
rightly named, for he is a man of Herculean proportions, six
feet two in his stocking feet, broad shouldered, broad backed,
and big limbed. How he ever can have the conscience to
pile his ponderosity upon that poor, ill-fed, hard-worked,
white pony, passes our comprehension. Surely none of the
" notables " for the suppression of cruelty to animals can have
heard of his performances, or Mr. Thomas would have been
after him, " Dicky Martin " in hand.

It has always appeared to us that the old school of black-

THE BLACKSMITH 177

smiths are as much a distinct class or breed of men as coach-
men, sailors, or Jews. To our mind they are a sort of cross
between a travelling tinker and a stableman — by Vulcan out
of Pitchfork, or something of that sort. They are almost all
sportsmen or sporting men — that is to say, they have a turn
for everything going, or can turn their hands to everything.
They like a hunt, and they like a race ; they like a game at
pitch and toss, are great at quoits, can play at cards, dominoes,
get up raffles, shoot matches, jump in sacks, bait badgers, and
don't care if they go out coursing occasionally. Like the
travelling tinker, they generally have a turn for keeping a
horse. " Keeping," indeed, we can hardly call it — starving,
starving a horse would be nearer the mark. Bullwaist's pony
is a sample of that. Its shape is good, but it is long "over-
due," as the bankers say, only there is nothing on it to make
soup of Yet the poor beast was in the coal cart all yesterday,
and was assisting at a moonlight flitting the night before. Now
it has seventeen stone, avoirdupois weight, piled upon its back.
Bullwaist is a hard taskmaster. He never thinks he can get
enough out of a horse.

The blacksmith's shop is to the country what the saddler's
is to the town, the grand emporium of news. It is to the
servants what the hair-dresser's is to their masters, or perhaps
their mistresses, for we will give our sex credit for having
something else to do than gossip. When the Blacksmith
combines the trade of publican as well, it will go hard if he
is not acquainted with all the "inns and outs" of the country.
It will be odd if he does not know who was at the castle last
week, and who is e.xpected next ; nay, we will be bound to
say he can tell who supplied the Dorking fowls, and what
butcher sent the most beef and mutton. He has a chrono-
logical chart in his head of all the kings and queens that have
reigned there since the days of his boyhood ; can tell what
butler king was most liberal with the beer, and what key-

N

178 THE HUNTING FIELD

carrying queen was most lavish in the larder. Nothing,
perhaps, can equal the gossip of a public-house keeping
country smith, and we often wonder at gentlemen tolerating
such nuisances on their estates. They are the ruin of servants,
and the general haunts of idleness. It is an odd thing,
but let the beer be ever so good and strong and plentiful
at the castle or the hall, the servants will draw to the
public-house to spend their own money in trash. As this
cannot be for the sake of the drink, it must be for the
sake of the gossip, and let any tolerator of such a nuisance
picture to himself what the conversation is likely to run
upon. We have seen many a lazy skulking dog dragging
his legs along to the public-house, who could never " find
time " to go to church.

With gratitude we say it, the Royal Veterinary College has
done much to eradicate a breed of men who were at once
the curse of horseflesh and the countr}-, and in lieu of the
botching, bungling, ignorant, self-sufficient, drunken, daring,
kill or cure, fear-nought horse and cow-leeches of twenty or
five-and-twenty j-ears ago, we have an educated race of men,
combining the business of shoers and veterinary surgeons,
who can be called in when a Groom or Master's knowledge is
exhausted or insufficient. In consequence of the distribution
of veterinary surgeons through the country, we have got a
better set of working smiths — men with some idea of the
anatomy and delicacy of a horse's foot, and not fellows
who cut and wrench and hammer and tear, as if it had
no more feeling than a vice or an anvil. Londoners have
no idea what an old country smith was like ; they would
do anything — set a limb, shoe a horse, make a kej-, mend
a gun, sharpen a plough-share, or prescribe for horse, dog,
cow, and even man. The division between whitesmith and
blacksmith is still unknown in the greater part of the
kingdom.

THE BLACKSMITH 179

Few libraries are without that useful work, "The Horse,"*
written by Lord Brougham, and a select party of sportsmen
(Mr. Leader, most likely, and others), and published under
the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge — a work that contains more really useful matter in
an easy, unpedantic, intelligible-to-the-meanest-capacity-form,
than any that we know of; and were it not for the tendency it
might have to lead ignorant fellows to experimentalize on poor
horses, we could wish it were in every saddle-room as well.
That, perhaps, not being desirable, we may quote a passage on
shoeing that is incapable of perversion, and well worthy the
attention of masters, servants, Bullwaists, and all — if such
bigoted creatures as Bullwaists are open to conviction : — " We
will suppose the horse is sent to the forge to be shod," says
Lord Brougham and Co. : " If the master would occasionally
accompany him there, he would find it much to his advantage.
The old shoe must be first taken off. We have something to
observe even on this. It was retained on the foot by the ends
of the nails being twisted off, turned down, and clenched.
These clenches should be first raised, which the smith seldom
takes the trouble thoroughly to do ; but after going carelessly
round the crust, and raising one or two of the clenches, he
takes hold first of one heel of the shoe, and then of the other,
and by a violent wrench separates them from the foot, and by
a third wrench, applied to the middle of the shoe, he tears it
off. By this means he must enlarge every nail hole, and
weaken the future hold, and sometimes tear off portions of the
crust, and otherwise injure the foot. The horse generally
shows by his flinching that he suffers by the violence with
which this preliminary operation is performed. The clenches
should always be raised or filed off; and where the foot is

* Here let us recommend Mr. Miles's treatise on the foot of the horse to
the especial attention of sportsmen and horse masters generally. It is a
most sensible work.

180 THE HUNTING FIEIJ)

tender, or the horse is to be examined for lameness, each nail
should be partly punched out. Many a stub is left in the
crust, the source of future annoyance, when this unnecessary
violence is used."

His lordship shows himself to be an accurate observer, and
to have profited by his sporting pursuits, albeit followed in
France, not the likeliest country for sporting science. No
doubt the horse does flinch — nay, we have heard them give a
sort of groan, not unlike the sound emitted by a man catching
up his foot on having his corn trod upon.

The man-shoer and the horse-shoer occupy similar stations
in the biped and quadrupedal world, though the latter have,
perhaps, the best of it, in their exemption from the abuse
invariably lavished on a misfitting, uneasyfitting " snob." Let
a man think of the misery he has endured from the uneasy,
uneven pressure of a tight boot, and he will surely have some
consideration for the comfort of his horse. There is in horse-
shoeing precisely the same discomfort, without absolute lame-
ness, that there is in human shoeing, and it is that discomfort
that a careless, off-hand sort of fellow never discovers. A
man with a head, and eyes in that head, can see by the way a
horse stands in his stall whether he is comfortable or not ;
but many fellows will get on their backs and ride them eight
or ten miles without feeling that they are not going in their
usual form, which a master discovers the moment he mounts,
these are the cast-iron, wooden-headed class of servants,
" Grooms " we will not call them, who have no more feeling
or sympathy with horses than hedge-stakes. They go lob, lob,
lobbing along without thought or care, save how to get there,
and how to get back. Notwithstanding the great improvement
that has taken place within the last twenty years in the style of
country blacksmiths, and the manner of country shoeing, there
is still ample room for further advancement. There is still as
much difference between the skilfully town-shod horse, and the

THE BLACKSMITH 181

lumpy, heavy, graceless, iron-bound hoof emancipated from
the hand of the country shoer, as there is between the Bartley
turned out boot, and the shapeless, baggy, half-tanned leather
looking things of John Crookedlast, of the village of Clotting-
ton. There is as much difference in iron as there is in leather.
A set of shoes from one man will last half as long again as a
set of shoes from another man, just as a pair of boots from one
man will outwear two pair from another. We have seen stuff
put on for iron that was almost as soft as gingerbread, driven
in by great tenpenny-nail-looking things, whose fat unburied
heads looked as if they were meant to act the part of one of
Crosskill's clod crushers : regular tear-up-the-land and soil-
looking things.

It is not our intention to discuss the merits of the different
forms of shoes, but there is one point connected with hunting
shoes that merits a word or two, and that is " calkins," or
turnings up of the heels, to prevent slipping. These are very
useful in downy, hilly countries, and if the calkins could be
added on arriving at that sort of country, they would be very
good, especially in frosty weather, where, as all Susse.\ sports-
men know, one side of a hill is often soft and the other side
hard, according as they lie to the sun. Some turn up the
outer heel only, and on soft greasy surfaces, perhaps, the
outer heel is sufficient, but as that causes uneven treading, it
must be prejudicial to the foot on roads and hard surfaces.
If calkins, therefore, are used, they should be used to both
sides of the heel, or the foot either raised up or pared down, so
as to preserve an equalit}-.

There is another very important point connected with
shoeing, particularly hunter shoeing, that even our friend
Lord Brougham and the whole " Useful Knowledge Society"
seem to have overlooked, and that is nails. The best and
neatest of shoes are useless without good nails, just as the
best and neatest of biped ones are useless without strings or

182 THE HUNTING FIELD

fastenings of some sort. Now it is a notorious fact, though
we dare say Elijah Bullwaist will deny it, that the same man
cannot make both shoes and nails. Bullwaist will make what
he calls nails just as he makes what he calls shoes, but if any of
our readers will pop into a veterinary forge, or well-conducted
smithy, he will find making nails and making shoes are dis-
tinct departments, nay, in many, that making nails, making
shoes, and putting them on, constitute three separate branches.
Let the shoes be ever so good and ever so well put on, it is
clear that they are of no use, especially for hunters, unless
they will stay on, and that staying on depends almost entirely
upon the make and quality of the nails.

We do not know a more graceless, thankless office, than
telling a man he has lost a shoe, particularly if the discovery
is made in the middle of a run. We wonder if any person
ever got thanked for such information. Shoe-losing is one of
the drawbacks upon foxhunting, and one of the greatest argu-
ments for the second horse system. A man with a second
horse looks at his nag's feet at a check with very different
feelings to the man who has merely a spare shoe at his saddle.
The man with his groom behind him with a second horse can
afford to be civil when he is told he has lost a shoe : he has
nothing to do but change horses, just as he would change his
plate at dinner. But the man with but one horse, no spare
shoe, and no knowledge of where a blacksmith is to be found,
has a very dejected melancholy air as he turns from the hounds
and rides about among the country people, asking if they can
tell him "where to find a smith?" Shoe cases are now so
common that the exception is seeing a saddle without one,
and there are divers patent contrivances extant for self-fasten-
ings and self-adjustings, that might be very useful if the
patentee was in attendance to work them, but which had
better be discarded in favour of the common shoe, with a few
nails to set it on with.

THE BLACKSMITH 183

What an unfavourable opinion of foxhunters any one would
draw who merely saw them arrive at a blacksmith's on losing
a shoe in the middle of a run. To heighten the loser's chagrin,
after seeing all his lovely companions gradually disappear,
when at length, horse in hand, he arrives at the pointed out
spot, it's ten to one but he finds the shop empty, the black-
smith after the hounds, and the apprentice shading the sun
from his eyes with his hand on the top of a distant wall,
straining his sight after the pack. Then when the unfor-
tunate sportsman does get a creature to attend his behest,
what gaping, poking, and searching after what they know
they have not, work there is ; what fumbling of dray-horse
shoes, and measuring of donkey ones, to see if they will fit.
The eye seems useless to some fellows, they are never satisfied
a thing won't do, until they measure it. If a man has not a
shoe with him, the only plan is to get the best fitting old shoe
the shop will afford put on. Don't let the fidgety sportsman
hurry the man, or he will most likely drive a nail into the
quick. Let "patience" be the word, and if on getting the
horse to the door, and leading him on a few yards, he walks
sound, let our sportsman remount and see if a lucky check or
turn will not let him in again.

Some people are very easily "cowed," if we may use such
an expression in connection with hunting, on losing hounds,
and never attempt to catch them if they once get away from
them, or to fall in with them again after getting a lost shoe
replaced. Instead of doing so, they indulge in all sorts of
imprecations, and conjectures as to the splendour of the affair
they are losing. A pack out of sight are always supposed to
be going best pace, whereas, perhaps, they are pottering on
the other side of the hill, picking the scent over fallows or
cattle-stained ground. A hunt is not like a steeple-chase,
where a few minutes make all the difference. We have seen
a man lose a shoe, find a smith, get another put on, and jump

184 THE HUNTING FIELD

in with the hounds running back with their fox as he led the
horse out of the door.

Some people are desperately inquisitive about a horse's
health, temper, appetite, and peculiarities, asking no end of
wise questions, and taking no end of precautions, and )'et we
dare say it never enters the head of one in a hundred to ask
if he is a shoe-thrower. Some, we dare say, will smile at the
idea, because such a blessing as a shoe-thrower has never
fallen to their lot. \\'e remember some j'ears ago being in
a party of foxhunters, where the productions of a hunting
contributor to one of the sporting magazines was under dis-
cussion, and a gentleman observed that he did not think the
writer could be a man of much experience, because he spoke
of a piebald hunter in the field as a curiosity, whereas, said
the speaker, "piebalds are quite common in our country."
So we are all apt to argue from what we ourselves know.
This gentleman lived in a country where there was a famous
piebald stallion, but we may appeal to our readers whether
a piebald horse is not an unusual sight in the hunting field.
But this gentleman thought not, and we have the same sort of
idea, that shoe-throwers are not so uncommon. Of course all
horses will cast their shoes occasionally, but there are some
that make a point of doing it at the very earliest opportunity.
Indeed we are something like the gentleman who lived in the
country with a piebald stallion — for a friend of ours once
bought a finely shaped white horse at Tattersall's, perfect to
look at, fast in his gallop, temperate at his fences, but who
invariably pulled off a fore shoe before he had gone over half-
a-dozen leaps — nay, we have known both shoes to come off
together. And yet there was nothing the matter with the
horse's feet ; they were good, sound, healthy feet — he did it by
catching the hind shoes with the fore, and no contrivance or
ingenuity could prevent his doing it. Now that is a case
" in point," as the lawyers say, and though we admit the

THE BLACKSMITH 185

occurrence is a rare one, still we think that question might
just as reasonabl}' be asked as half the questions that are put
about hunters.

Speaking of this horse, leads us to observe how beautifully
Providence turns even the infirmities of His creatures to good
account. To look at this animal no sportsman could doubt
the appropriateness of its form for hunting purposes. It was
the hunter all over, with one of the lightest, best set on heads
we ever saw. Added to a commanding figure, it had the
finest freest action imaginable, and though the circumstance
of such a horse coming to the hammer single-handed as it
were — -that is to say not in a stud — certainl}- was suspicious,
still there were always fine venturesome men in the yard
ready to speculate on such a piece of perfection, and it was
sold in different parts of London — at Tattersall's, Aldridge's
the Horse Bazaar, and Barbican a dozen times at least before
it was regularly blown. We recognized it in five hunts one
season— the Royal buckhounds, Mr. de Burgh's staghounds,
the Hatfield, the Surrey, the old Berkelej', and more than
once saw its sleight-of-hand trick of chucking a fore-shoe
half-way up in the owner's face, before we suspected what
screw was loose. On each change of hunt we need hardl}-
say it was in the hands of a different owner, and as luck
would have it, about the twelfth time of " asking," our
friend Blatherington Brown, the Manchester warehouseman of
Friday-street, who thinks he knows more about horses than
muslins, had straj'ed into Tat's with a nice clean fifty pound
note in his blue satin note-case, and seeing this superb animal
trotting to and fro, and Tat labouring up the ladder of
bidders — a very unusual thing for Tat to do, by the way —
Brown thought it wasn't possible he could take any harm even
if he got the horse, and if he didn't, why giving a '" bid " was
a cheap piece of flash that would tell in the City. Shock Jem,
the enterprising Mr. Pywell, and other cheap Johns of the

186 THE HUNTING FIELD

yard, had run the horse up to their utmost hmits, and still he
stood below what Blatherington Brown had in his note-case.
Accordingly he blurted out ''fifty I " on the top of forty-seven,
and turned on his heel with a ut'glige sort of air, as much as to
say, " he's worth that if he"s worth anything."

" F^fty! going for f^fty ! are you all done at f^fty !" exclaimed
Tattersall, with a quick glance around, and in another instant
the hammer was down.

Blatherington wanted a second horse, for he was going to
Brighton, where he meant to play old gooseberry with the
Brighton and Brookside dogs, to say nothing of astonishing
Colonel Wyndham, and the " East Sussex," and very well
pleased he was with his purchase until he got him into the
Sussex play, when he began to play his old tricks, and off
went the shoes. A horse is desperately soon blown in the
country ; we don't mean in his wind, but in his character,
and Brighton being only a slice of London, poor Claudius
Hunter, for so Blatherington christened him, after the great
civic patron of white horses, very soon had his London reputa-
tion tacked to his Brighton one, and he was what theatrical

people call d d. In this dilemma it occurred to the fruitful

mind of old Mr. Boss, the tit-tup-ing, Hessian-booted riding
master, that Claudius might prove a valuable acquisition in
his stud. It may appear singular to our readers that a horse
which was a drug in one man's hands should be an acquisition
in another's, but Boss had lived a long time in the world,
almost as long as Widdicomb, who Punch says has turned
three hundred years, and Boss had learnt a thing or two.
Among other things Boss had learned that half the people
who hunted from Brighton only hunted for the sake of
wearing red coats, and that they were never so happy as
when they got off their horses, having qualified to strut on
the flags and tell their exploits to the ladies. The only
difficulty of doing that is an excuse for coming home, and

THE BL.AIKS.MTTH

ih:

Boss saw that a horse that would furnish his own excuse
would 11. M ly be in great request, but would also be able

to go out \erv often. Ace
Blathe-- — s way as, sliii;
re-en ti : .ghton by lunchi. .

shoe about Firle. Boss, of conrst
and findiiii,- '^rown in the parting m <

udius was the ri
■ 'iLtiLu I -like a belle .

engaged tii four deep. Hi-

favour, for though it is a gener :
white horse should always be forwar:
dozen fields or half-a-dozen fences to
their places. :i Htsc that always <:'■
was reached c:':\\d never be said !•
Indeed Claudius always looked most \

threw himself in

laudius and he

disposed of a

.-; infirmity,

very soon made

horse that ever

" always

y in his

urn that a

it takes half-a-

properly in

' -'--on

,iid.

n other

mad devils were yawning and boring, and rushing and shaking

their heads, like terriers with rats ir
was as cool and collected as po=- '
though he meant tn go on fencing
deception — Claudius was an honest
appointed his rider ; as sure as he
sure would a shf'C be gone or i
regret and disgu-t. the rider w^
the condolence . f the passing ti
of a smithy, and slipper on foot
the longest route, so as to di-
faithful white. Then young i
windows, bending over no\e'
exclaim — "Oh. l.-ar! there's
home from h.i.ting;" or — ' '
Green on the whit*.- horse, look

Then Mr. Sp>".iibill ha\
every inquiry any one wouki

*V1 i .U' JC>b

;s, Claudius

•' nces as

was all

md never dis-

sjxth fence, so

■led

1 n ' fi\ing

t in search

.ton by

-s pink on the

nd balcony

.>ork, would

.'bill coming

here's Captain

way, answering
to put to him

c
o

V)

n

be

c

e
be

Z

Pi

3
It

it.

3

THE BLACKSMITH 187

Boss saw that a horse that would furnish his own excuse
would not only be in great request, but would also be able
to go out very often. Accordingly, he threw himself in
Blatherington's way as, slipper on foot, Claudius and he
re-entered Brighton by luncheon time, having disposed of a
shoe about Firle. Boss, of course, knew the horse's infirmity,
and finding Brown in the parting mood, they very soon made
a deal. Well, Claudius was the most popular horse that ever
entered Brighton — like a belle at a ball, he was always
engaged three or four deep. His colour was greatly in his
favour, for though it is a generally received axiom that a
white horse should always be forward, yet as it takes half-a-
dozen fields or half-a-dozen fences to settle people properly in
their places, a horse that always declined before the rubicon
was reached could never be said to be conspicuously behind.
Indeed Claudius always looked most promising. When other
mad devils were yawning and boring, and rushing and shaking
their heads, like terriers with rats in their mouths, Claudius
was as cool and collected as possible, taking his fences as
though he meant to go on fencing all day. But that was all
deception — Claudius was an honest horse, and never dis-
appointed his rider ; as sure as he came to the sixth fence, so
sure would a shoe be gone or going. Then, with well feigned
regret and disgust, the rider would pull up, and after receiving
the condolence of the passing field, would cast about in search
of a smithy, and slipper on foot would re-enter Brighton by
the longest route, so as to display the faultless pink on the
faithful white. Then young ladies sitting in bay and balcony
windows, bending over novels, or laps full of work, would
exclaim — " Oh, dear! there's that orrid Mr. Spoonbill coming
home from hunting;" or — "Oh! I declare here's Captain
Green on the white horse, looking so nice."

Then Mr. Spoonbill having lingered by the way, answering
every inquiry anj' one would have the kindness to put to him

188 THE HUNTING FIELD

relative to the run, would at last render up Claudius to the
hands of Mr. Boss, and, repairing to his lodgings, would re-
arrange his curls and whiskers, and, putting a most deceitful
little mackintosh over his scarlet coat, would go clonk, clonk,
clonk, with his spurs on the flags the rest of the afternoon, a
cross between a post-boy and a heavy dragoon.

But, Lord bless us ! what a way out of our ground this
rriention of Claudius Hunter has led us. \\'e have been taking
a canter on Brighton Downs, and a ride through the town,
instead of sticking to the hero at the head of our paper. Well,
here goes at him again.

Elijah Bullwaist is a full flowering specimen of the old tribe
of " horse and cow leech," and for the benefit of posterity we
will impale him on our sheet. Bullwaist's monstrous bulk
is further increased by a profusion of foul, filthy clothes. He
seems as if he carried his whole wardrobe on his back. Peer-
ing above his nasty rusty black duffle frock coat, we see as
manj- dirty waistcoats as would serve the gravedigger in
" Hamlet." Above the rusty-stained unwholesome duffle,
with its broad binding, parting from its seams and sides, is
one of those ancient abominations, a ^^'itney coat, with large
mother-of-pearl buttons. It was once white, but the days of
its whiteness are long gone by, and it is now a sort of whitey
brown walking pestilence, combining the odour of tobacco,
aloes, sulphur, oil, turpentine, opium, what Bullwaist calls
Jiarbs (herbs), a definition that he applies to all medical ingre-
dients that he is not particularly acquainted with. Harbs and
brandy are grand specifics in Bullwaist's pharmacopoeia.

Bullwaist's corduroy breeches and gaiters partake of the
general nastiness of his apparel, and two great slits across the
middle of each shoe give him the air of being troubled with
the gout, or perhaps corns, a sort of retribution for the many
his bad shoeing has entailed upon horses. A careless twisted
red cotton kerchief chafes against his unshaven chin, and an

THE BLACKSMITH 189

old shallow-crowned, broad-leafed, napless black hat, protects
his dirty bald head from the winds, and keeps the lank un-
combed grey locks of the sides down upon his greasy coat
collar. Altogether, Bullwaist has a most unwholesome sort
of look ; yet this is the sort of man that deals in drugs and
potions, and is consulted about the ailments and accidents
of cattle and horses ; and, strange to say, many of the country
people prefer these ignorant quacks, these blockheads, these
horse torturers, to regularly educated men. They have heard
of some wonderful cure, some extraordinary operation border-
ing on a miracle, performed by them, that banishes the recol-
lection of all their bungling failures, and of all their broken
promises. Some, indeed, carry the principle out with regard
to themselves, and many a lout would rather be operated upon
by a bone-setter than by a Listen, a Cooper, or a Brodie. It
is wonderful the influence some of these quacks obtain over the
minds of country people ; nay, even over parties from whom
better things might be expected. In a village, not fifty miles
from London, carriagefuls of people used to resort, week
after week, to a man fully as ignorant and as brutal as Bull-
waist ; nay, we believe, more ignorant, for Bullwaist can make
a sort of writing, whereas the individual in question was wholly
ignorant of the art.

Here is a specimen of BuUwaist's spelling. _, We are sorry
we cannot give a facsimile of the calligraphy itself: —
1836.— .\NTHEW Brown to Eli. Bullwaist.
Febery 8. — To a Botel of Blistern oil . • i^o 3 o

28. — To firin the marledg
March i. — To a Jurney .

To a Jurney .

To Oinement

To 2 Doze of Bales

To a Pot of Oinement .

To a Jurney to Ruben them ,

To 2 Doze of Pirgin liales

To a Jurney 026

o 10 6
026
026
020
020
026
030
030

190 THE HUNTING FIELD

The above is really and truly an account rendered by
Bullvvaist so recently as 1836, and looking at the spelling,
and the style of the man, what a mass of cruelty his ignorant,
brutish barbarity must have inflicted upon the poor animals
that the last fifty or five-and-fift}' years have brought under
the ban of his ignorance. " To A Botel of Blistern oil,"
for a bottle of blistering oil ; and to " firin the marledg," for
firing the mare's leg. "The Jurney to Ruben them," perhaps
requires the aid of the glossary even more than the others,
and were it not for the " pot of oinement " that precedes the
item, we should have been puzzled to collect that the
"Jurnej'to Ruben them," meant a journey to rubbing them
with the precious stuff.

We have another bill of the same worthy's before us,
where there is a charge for " a bottel of essens," meaning a
bottle of essence (essence of what? we wonder), and there is an
item "To Rowling the mar and sane," or sow, we cannot tell
which, that quite beats our power of deciphering. Then the
impudence of a fellow so replete with ignorance charging as
much, nay more, for his medicine than the regularly educated
practitioner. Three shillings for two " pirgin bales," meaning,
we presume, two physic balls, which we all know can be
bought at any chemists for a shilling a-piece, or for ten
shillings a dozen. The veterinary surgeons, we may observe,
do themselves no good by exorbitant charges for medicine, it
only drives custom away to the chemist that would otherwise
come to them. " Live and let live," is a good useful motto,
applicable to vets as well as to other trades. There is a story
told of a young " sawbones," who, on sending in his bill to his
solitary patient, added the following note : —

'• Being a young man anxious to get forward I have charged double,"

and Elijah Bullwaist is in a somewhat similar predicament,
only he is an old man whose business has left him.

THE BLACKSMITH 191

Twenty years ago Elijah had the sign of the Rising Sun
in the centre of the village of Hatherly, with a well frequented
smithy adjoining, but irregular conduct caused him at length
to forfeit his licence, and he has now a beer-shop and forge at
the east end of the town, where he carries on a second-rate
business as a blacksmith, and a first-rate one as a black-
guard. This beer-shop is the resort of all the vagabonds in
the country ; poachers, trampers, tinkers, discarded servants,
hawkers, pedlars, raffs of all sorts, who find in Bull waist
and his numerous progeny, congenial spirits and ribald
company.

There, over the lowest, basest, most revolutionary prints,
they charge the result of their own misconduct on the laws,
and heap abuse on every one whose authority keeps them
in control. It is a sad sight to see a hoary old sinner, like
Bullwaist, leading his own children on in a course that
has been productive of his own ruin. It is a sad thing
for a country to see the seeds of vice ready to spread and
waft in all directions : to calculate that the nuisance of old
Bullwaist is to be the lot of many parts — Bullwaist is a
bad man. It is one of his boasts that he never goes to
church, and we never knew one who so boasted that was
to be trusted.

Parents should bear this fact in mind, that there is no
occupation or employment in life in which the character
of themselves is not inquired into with regard to their
children. If the parents are honest, steady, respectable
people, there will be every reason to believe that their
children will be the same, at all events the world will
take them on credit as such, but if parents are notorious
wrongdoers, the evil of their reputation will attach to their
children, and be serious impediments to their worldly advance-
ment.

We may also add, though we have no desire undul}' to

192

THE HUNTING FIELD

stigmatize a class, that few people are fond of engaging with
those who are connected with beer-shops. " Inn " service is
generally considered bad enough, but bold must be the man
who tackles with the offspring of the beer-shop. We never
look at one of their nasty, dingy, common-looking signs, with-
out thinking what apt prototypes they are of the squalor
within. But the hounds are away, and here is old Bullwaist,
as usual, getting in people's way. He doesn't seem to like
water a bit better than his nag. "Now, old boy.'" we fancy
we hear this red-coated buck exclaiming, as he dashes past,
leaving old " Waist " in the lurch.

_.^j^Ii4yi

CHAPTER XVI

THE SQUIRE

^j^^^gifgs T is only those who have
been much abroad that can
rightly appreciate the ad-

vantage of having resident
country gentlemen. It is
only the absence of the class
in other countries that im-
presses us with the convic-
tion of its importance in our
own. In no other country
in the world do we find individuals with the same power and
territorial possessions occupying so unassuming a place in
the national scale — men that in this country rank as mere
Esquires, in other lands would be princes and magnates from
the importance of their possessions. We, who have seen
marquises presiding at gaming tables, and counts figuring off
behind counters, feel proud of belonging to a country whose
greatness is based on such substantial foundations.

The title " Esquire " is so prostituted by the indiscriminate
application of modern usage, that were if not founded in
respectability, and maintained by its "order," it must long

o

194 THE HUNTING FIELD

ere this have fallen into disrepute. Every man dubs himself,
or is dubbed, " Esquire." One of the judges, in reply to an
objection of counsel, that a man had improperly described
himself an " Esquire," observed that it had been held that
every man who was not a gentleman was entitled to be called
"Esquire;" and a still older authority — we believe the
lamented Mr. Thurtell, or one of his confederates — propounded
the doctrine that keeping a gig and horse was proof of a man
being a gentleman. In spite, however, of all its misapplica-
tions— in spite of all the jibes and jeers levelled at the class,
there is still something about the title " Esquire," or
".Squire," peculiarly grateful to Englishmen, and peculiarly
expressive of the tranquil simplicity of country life. Strictly
speaking, we believe the title of Esquire is the prerogative of
parties named in her Majesty's commission of the peace, of
members of certain professions and callings, but there is no
doubt that its real working identity is the lord of the soil, the
country resident — the country justice, if you will, but the
follower of field sports, at all events. This is the sort of being
that the title " Esquire " suggests to the minds of Englishmen,
and this is the sort of " Squire " that the country people look
up to as the highest authority within the scope of their
imaginations. And rightly, we believe, they do so look up,
for a well educated right thinking gentleman is an acquisition
in a district, and are best appreciated, as we said before, by
those who have witnessed their want or removal. We may
even go further, and say, that counties well supplied with
resident gentry exhibit a much smaller amount of crime
than counties where they are scarce. All statesmen are
aware of this, and it has always been an object with
Governments to afford, by the encouragement and protection
of country sports, every inducement to landowners to live on
their estates.

We consider the maintenance of field sports of immense

THE SQUIRE 195

importance to the well-being of a country. They not only
engender a fine manly daring spirit among all who are in any
way drawn within the scope of their influence, but they
materially tend to promote a healthy spirit of sociality and
intercourse among neighbours. Nor are their beneficial effects
confined to the mere followers of field sports ; all the inhabi-
tants of a district, all who are in any way dependent upon
others for the amusement of themselves or friends, are benefited
by their existence and prosperity, and interested in their main-
tenance. To illustrate this, let us look at the case of a large
country house in a sporting district, and one in a country where
there is neither hunting nor shooting.

The great difference between London society and country
society is this : — In London we get people together just when
and for as long as we want them, at a time of day and under
circumstances peculiarly adapted to the development of any-
thing like information, talent, or humour; whereas in the
country, people must be thrown more upon each other than
the average stock of reminiscences and parish politics will
find conversation for. Here people get into their carriages,
if they have them, or street equipages if they have not, and
five or ten minutes will take them to their most distant friend ;
but in the country, visiting is oftentimes a serious job — a
matter of two or three days' business. And then comes the
consideration, what are a host and hostess to do with their
good friends when they have got them scraped together? Now,
we take it will be readily conceded by all who have tried it,
that of all dull, wearisome, up-hill work, there is nothing equal
to dragging out a tedious e.xistence among people with whom
we have little in common, where breakfast, luncheon, and
dinner are the only alleviations of the settled stream of in-
active moriotony ; in other words, that mere eating and drink-
ing are not sufliicient inducements to draw people from home.
Have we a country reader unoppressed with the mental

196 THE HUNTING FIELD

incubus of a three daj's' visit to a stupid country house,
where the good people, though desperately glad to see you,
are high and dry for conversation before it is time to dress
for the first day's dinner. Suppose it a first visit, entailing
the magnificence of the " best of everything," and the usual
pressing and urging of people for miles around to meet. The
scene opens in the drawing-room, with the usual apologies for
the smallness of the party, and the recital of a long list of
invited friends who have been too shrewd to be victimized.
Mr. and Mrs. Gabble were asked, and had promised to come,
but unfortunately Mrs. Gabble's mother had arrived from
Boulogne-sur-Mer, and would neither accompany them nor
hear of their leaving her. Captain and Mrs. Smith were
both laid up of bad colds, or would have been there, and
Mrs. Buggins had just got her eleven boys home from school,
and could not leave them, and Miss Toby and her brother had
just gone on a visit to their rich uncle's ; and so they go on
through a long list of shuffles and apologies, ending with the
usual asseveration that it is " a wretched country for neigh-
bours— not such another bad one in England " — the common
denunciation, in short, of all unluck}' part}' pressers. The
victim listens with polite complacency, inwardly chuckling,
perhaps, at escaping so many bores, until his satisfaction
gradually changes into astonishment at what has brought him
there himself. Some men are so dense as never to remember
that mammas consider it part of their duty to bring all the
single men to their houses to give their daughters a chance,
and think because they have no fancy for any of the girls
that the girls cannot have any design upon them. Innocent
youths ! There is not a man goes into a house where there
are girls, without being more or less bespoke or assigned to
some one or other of them.

But wc must get on with our visit, or we shall make our
sketch as long as the infliction itself. If a dinner passes heavily.

THE SQUIRE 197

what a prospect there is for the evening ! What a spirit-
depressing thing it is to feel that no gentle knock or quiet area
ring, following the slow rumble of wheels, will bring liberation
through the footman's hands, but that we are regularly booked,
and in for the night — not only the night, but two following
ones, with the addition of long unoccupied days. One day,
however, shall serve for all. Let us suppose the dawdling
breakfast at last finished, that it has been protracted even until
eleven o'clock, then comes the appalling conviction of thin
boots, and total indolence. The ladies retire to the drawing-
room, and the wretched male victims of society, whom spurious
hospitality has brought together, either follow them or make
for the library. This is the time that country-house indolence
is most apparent and most appalling. If a man has any, the
smallest occupation or resource when at home, the first hour or
so after breakfast is sure to bring it out ; but in a strange
house, away from his horses, his garden, his dogs, his gun, his
fishing-rod, his books, his everything that makes home home,
what is a man to do ? There cannot perhaps be a greater
nuisance for both sexes than a lot of men hanging about a
drawing-room after breakfast. It must be as great a bore to
the ladies as it is to the men — yet how often we see it — men
lounging and idling and twaddling, until luncheon prepares
them for the excursion to Prospect Hill or the ruined abbey by
the river, the usual inflictions on unhappy victims. Lord bless
us ! we would rather break stones than be condemned to such
ponderous idleness.

There is no " tip-and-go-ish-ness " in the country — none of
that light effervescence that distinguishes the active-minded
man in brief contact with a sparkling circle. People in the
country, though they have nothing to say to you, think they
cannot see too much of you. They must have you alongside of
them, and when at length dull time has dragged through the
imprisonment, and with well-feigned regrets you are about to

198 THE HUNTING FIELD

separate, the}- " bind you over " to appear again on that daj-
three months, or inform you that they are to have the pleasure
of meeting }-ou at dinner the next day at the new goal you are
going to.

Let us take the converse of this sad picture. Let us suppose
a country house in a hunting country, and see the influence
field sports have in procuring society. It is just like the
difference between a volunteer and a pressed man. Instead of
a hostess having to send out urgent solicitations to some, and
embossed cards to others, the probability is that the fixture of
the hounds, in the county papers, conveys the first intimation
that she may prepare for a party ; and instead of apologies,
excuses, and backings out, the plot thickens as the time
approaches.

We have heard it said that extempore speeches are always
the best, and we have met people simple enough to believe
well-conned orations were extempore; but that is a "fallacy"
that does not require Dr. Dixon to expose. We think we shall,
however, be borne out by our readers in asserting that extempoi-e
parties are generally the pleasantest, especially extempore parties
of sportsmen. People may object to the conversation of
foxhunters, just as they may object to the conversation of
lawyers, soldiers, sailors, or any other class of men, but surely
brisk, animated conversation of any sort is infinitely preferable
to the forced, up-hill driblets of words proceeding from
constrained people with nothing in common. Put the case in
its very worst form, it leaves the unconcerned, uninterested
guest the privilege of running his own thoughts and ideas
through his mind, without those tiresome interruptions and
appeals that invariably accompany forced attempts at " most
delightful evenings." Eagerness and animation, however, are
catching, particularly over wine, and we ha\-e seen many a
joll}', laid-on-the-shelf-sportsman, and even unentered host,
the one forget his }-ears, the other his ignorance, and under the

THE SQUIRE 19^

benign influence of wine and hilarity swear eternal attachment
to the sport that has formed the staple of the evening's
conversation.

Then contrast the early activity of the hunting morning with
the sluggish inertness of the mere "house full of company,"
with nothing to do. Gaitered Grooms, and abortions of lads,
not abortions in buttons, but abortions in boots, will be seen
hurrying about getting ready for the start, while breakfast,
instead of being forced as far into the morning as possible, so as
to take a good cut out of the day, will be rung for at the very
moment it is ordered, and woe betide the cook if it is not
ready. How lively the red coats make the table look, and how
each man's eye beams with pleasure as entering the breakfast-
room he casts his eye on the assembled party. The very
servants seem to partake of the general enthusiasm, and bustle
about with unusual activity.

Suppose the meet takes place in the park, then breakfast is
laid for the " million."

" Show meets," as they are called, are not generally popular
with sportsmen, and perhaps deservedly not, but the ladies like
them, and thej' tend to keep up the spirit of hunting. After all
is said and done, they are harmless things ; a quarter of an
hour consumed in liquoring the men and parading the hounds,
and another quarter in running the latter through the
evergreens, under pretence of drawing for a fox, is all the
mischief they do, and the man who does not like "make
believes " has nothing to do but come half an hour late.

Hunt breakfasts are capable of complimentary application,
or otherwise, and require some tact in their management. It
is clearly a compliment for a gentleman to invite a stranger
into his house ; it is a compliment to the man and a compli-
ment to the sport, inasmuch as it shows that he thinks none
but gentlemen partake of it. It is also a compliment to invite
a general acquaintance, with whom he may not be in the habit

200 THE HUNTING FIELD

of visiting, but whom he sees before his house ; but we should
almost question \\hether it would be a compliment to say to
such a man, a day or two before, " The hounds meet at my
house on Monday, and I shall be glad to see you to breakfast,"
because it would be almost tantamount to saying he was "just
worth a breakfast, and nothing more." These, however, are
points that depend upon the peculiarity of each case.

The sketch we have drawn of country visiting for mere
visiting sake, and country visiting for a specific purpose, will
show that hunting is not a question affecting only its followers,
but one in which all the residents are more or less interested.
All who like society — society in its easiest, and therefore its
most agreeable footing — are interested in having a country
hunted. Any one who has seen the change produced by the
introduction or withdrawal of a pack of foxhounds, will be
satisfied of the truth of this observation. With a well-conducted
pack, and the interchange of visiting it engenders, winter
passes away almost as pleasantly as summer : and, even in the
longest, hottest, brightest day, we remember with pleasure the
red-curtained, sparkling fire-side comforts of the previous
winter. An Englishman, indeed, is nothing without his
domestic hearth. The open fields and cloudless skies of
France and Italy, bring joy to the mind of the foreigner ; but
John Bull should be drawn in the Turke3-carpeted, fire-side
party, with the little table and bright bottle of port just starting
on its circular voyage.

To the resident country gentleman having the country
hunted is of vast importance ; and fond of hunting as men
may be, they had better put up with an inferior countrj' and
sport, than leave their homes in search of better. The man
who hunts from home hunts in the most comfortable, rational,
and satisfactory way, uniting pleasure and business, and not
sacrificing the latter to the former.

The man who leaves his home for hunting must, to a certain

THE SQUIRE 201

extent, make a business of it, for what else can he do ? Away
from his ordinary pursuits and occupations, he must either
hunt or he idle, and we need not observe that hunting in other
countries is about half as expensive again as hunting from
home. Not only is everything to be bought and paid for at full
price, but many things paid for that would be had for nothing
at home — lodging, for instance — while a stud that would be
ample for all the requirements of home work will be totally
unequal to the demands of a regular five or six days a week
hunting quarter. The resident, we think, must be very short
of occupation and resources who is not satisfied with three
days a week at the most.

The last quarter of a century has made a great difference
in the style and habits of the country gentleman, and indeed,
with the exception of a few of the old school still remaining,
such a thing as a real country gentleman — that is to say, a
gentleman who lives all the year round in the country — is
scarcely to be met with. The last five-and-twenty years have
effected a wonderful revolution in our whole social system.
The means of mental resources and bodily communication
have been increased a hundred-fold. Railways and steamboats
have superseded coaches, just as magazines and newspapers
have annihilated books. There is quite as much improvement
in the mode and economy of mental improvement as there is
in the way of bodily transit. Information, instead of being
bonded in costly quartos, and voluminous encyclopaedias,
irrigates the whole land in cheap tracts and treatises. A man
can buy just what he wants and nothing more. So with
newspapers. The son of the man who, twenty years ago, was
content with his country paper, now has his London daily, and
Sunday one on the " dies non"

M'Adam was thought a miracle twenty or five-and-twenty
years ago, and gentlemen who had been accustomed to plough
their ways to their market towns with their carriage wheels up

202 THE HUNTING FIELD

to the axles began to think they ran easier on hard surfaces.
Gradually roads became better, and the old fat maggots of
horses were thought equal to two journeys a week instead of
one. Country houses in former daj-s were like besieged towns,
where it was necessary to keep a large stock of everj'thing, and
where everything and everybody was taken in and welcomed.
Inns were then the characteristic of towns, but the improv-ement
of roads and consequent increase of communication have
established them in nearly all parts where a trade can be
driven, and with their establishment the old s3-stem of taking
in servants and horses has been graduall}' going out. Some
object to the discontinuance of the custom, as contrary to the
principles of old English hospitality, but like all antiquated
customs it is as well to get rid of it where no present advantage
is derived, and when the circumstances that gave rise to the
custom have disappeared. If society is looked upon as the
medium of conversation and the interchange of sentiments
and opinions, then it cannot be said that servants or horses
contribute to the purpose ; and though it might be a breach of
hospitality to send a friend's horses away to bad stabling, it
would look rather like "sponging" to send them to private
stables when there is good standing in the neighbourhood. Of
course all this must be received with due allowance for time
and peculiarity of situation, also for the operation of the
reciprocity system. It is a very different thing taking a friend's
horse in over night, and a string of horses coming for a month.
In the one case the accommodation is great to the sender, and
the expense is nothing to the receiver ; added to which, if a
sportsman, he will have a billet for his horse on the other side
of the country, but it would be an awful tax upon the owner of
a house in a good hunting country if he was expected to take
in the studs of all the friends that the fame of the country
might draw within its limits.

A place in a country Squire's house is generally looked upon

THE SQUIRE 203

by servants as the best situation. In them there is that proper
personal inspection by the heads of the establishment that no
really honest servant will ever object to, while there is none of
that curr3'ing favour with upper servants incident to the
steward's room of great houses. Our papers on "The
Groom " drew from a subscriber in Paris, who states himself
to be an " Old Stableman," a letter approving of our " hints," '
but wishing we had given the masters a few as well as the
men, and among others he drew our attention to the fact that
a " talking servant " will frequently command a place to the
exclusion of the quiet, hard-working man. He certainly admits
that the persons who hire such are " simpletons," but the
tongue is such a deceitful, seductive instrument, that we fear
what he says is too true, especially with young men of large
fortune. Much as we are all disposed to repudiate the idea of
a talking servant, often as the impolicy of trusting to them is
exposed, still there is a something about the plausible subtlety
of the tongue that beguiles us when the rule comes to direct
application. So with persons dealing largely in promises and
professions ; as a general rule, we know they are always to be
suspected, yet when the professions come to be made to
ourselves, we are too apt to suppose we are the exceptions,
though we should have laughed at anybody else for doing so.

It has long been a settled opinion of ours, that high wages
do not necessarily procure good servants, and our Parisian
correspondent fully confirms the truth of that position. Great
people, of course, must have servants ; but because my Lord
Duke hires a Groom from Squire Rattlecover, at double the
wages the Squire gave, does it follow that the man, therefore,
becomes doubly good ? Certainly not ; on the contrary, the
chances are that he deteriorates. The Squire was fond of his
stable, he knew all about it just as well as his Groom ; his
Groom knew this, and was glad that his master took an
interest in his department ; the Squire knew what a man should

204 THE HUNTING FIELD

do, and, knowing it, required to have it done, but he was never
unreasonable in his demands, and always considerate in his
indulgences, and a community of interest was established
between them, and the badge of servitude was almost obliterated
by the constant contact with a liberal, right-thinking master.
The man was comfortable with Squire Rattlecover, and though
his wages might not be higher than the common wages of the
countr}', still that word " comfort " comprised an infinity of
attractions.

Let us glance at the same man in a nobleman's establish-
ment. His lordship, we will readily concede, possesses every
amiable qualit}' that the country Squire does, but his inter-
course with his servants is necessarily small, and the man
finds himself under the dominion of other servants, instead of
under the gentle sway of his former master. As our corre-
spondent says, " he has now got to a fresh school, and his
business will be to find out which is the most plausible and
cunning among the upper servants, so as to acquire the
greatest influence at head quarters, and then study to please
and serve those upper servants — drive out the lady's-maid, lend
the butler and valet horses, convey them or their friends to the
railway station, pick out their confidantes among the lower
servants, to praise them to " — in fact, make those upper
servants masters, and trust to them for keeping right with the
real employer. " It is no matter how good a stableman a man
may be," he says, "unless he stands well with the people in
the steward's room, for there is the real dominion. There is
none of this," he adds, "in the house of the w-ell-regulated
country Squire, where every servant stands on his own merit,
and the master and mistress can see who do their duty, without
trusting to what other servants say or think."

Our correspondent, as we said before, being in Paris,
concludes his sensible letter with the following observations on
the difference between English and French servants. " I was

THE SQUIRE 205

surprised," he writes, " to find so many English stablemen
here, some very bad, some good. The English one is always
preferred, because, in the first place, he is brought from a good
practical school : and, secondly, if he is of the right sort, he
will be working whether his master is looking at him or not,
whereas 'monsieur' always wants his employer to see how
busy he is." That is a very capital description of a workman
and a " make believe," and one that will apply to a great many
English as well as French Grooms. We have seen fellows
who did not know how to be hurrying and bustling enough
when their masters were by, and yet who could employ
themselves for a whole morning in jingling a curb chain or
scouring a stirrup iron, when there was no one looking on.
The great mischief of great houses, as we said before, is keeping
more servants than can by any possibility be worked. This is
what people call keeping up their station ; and though we are
far from wishing to see great people degenerate into little ones,
we should be very sorry to accept a servant from many of
them, even though they would pay him his wages.

But to the hunting field.

Modern custom has caused an amazing consumption of
scarlet cloth in the hunting field. We are old enough to
remember the time when the scarlet coat was looked upon
quite as the distinguishing mark of the man of independent
means, just as the gold epaulette is still looked upon as the
badge of the military or naval professions. Few men in trade
or business thought of riding in scarlet, e.xcept the merchant
princes of London, perhaps, in the palmy days of the old
Berkeley. In the country, where things are on a much smaller
scale, and people more narrowly watched, it was rarely seen.
Much as we desire to uphold hunting, and anxious as we are to
draw all real sportsmen within the scope of its enjoyments, we
confess we are not advocates for indiscriminate scarlet-coating.
It imposes on no one, but draws forth ill-natured remarks from

206 THE HUNTING FIELD

many. The man who puts on a scarlet coat advertises to the
world that he is going a hunting — nay more, he advertises that
he goes so often that it is necessary to have a coat expressly for
the purpose. Then come the usual amiable observations that
it would be better if he was looking after his business, wondering
who attends to things when he is away, and so on. Now the
man who goes out in a black coat may be going anywhere,
especially if he carries his whipthong in his pocket ; at all
events he carries no convicting evidence on his back that he is
going to hunt.

People, instead of saying to him, " Well, you are going a
hunting, are you ? " in a tone that as much as says, " What
business have you in a red coat ? " merely inquire " If he is
going to see the hounds ? " and it rests with him to admit he
is, or say, like Peter Pigskin, that he is going to buy barley for
malting, or any other article that comes into his head.

In addition to these arguments against indiscriminate
" scarlet coating," we may adduce another that will perhaps
have more weight than the foregoing. Nothing looks better
than a well-appointed, well-turned out sportsman ; and nothing
looks worse than a badly-turned out one. Things that would
pass muster uncommonly well with a black coat, are made
dreadfully conspicuous by a red one. There is nothing so
offensive to the eye as an ill-cut, ill-coloured, bad cloth'd red
coat. The majority of the wearers of them seem to think that
the coat being scarlet, is all that is necessary ; hence we some-
times see the most antediluvian cuts and the most out-of-the-
way fits — coats that look as if they were sent by the Jews in
Holywell-street on job for the day. Did ever sportsman, we
would ask, see a foxhunter figuring on the stage without a
shudder ? Even Widdicomb himself, great and versatile as he
is, sank beneath the character at Astley's. Who will ever
forget Punch's portrait of him bowing like a man milliner in
the saw-dust circle ? Fancy turning half-a-dozen Widdicombs

THE SQUIRE 207

into each hunting field, with their red baize coats, outrageous
breeches and boots, and marvellously caparisoned horses. Yet
we sometimes see objects that are not much behind the great
equestrian master of ceremonies in misconception of the
character and accoutrements. If occasional sportsmen, and
men dependent on the world's favours, would take our advice,
they would eschew the scarlet coat, by which means they
would escape alike the smiles of their superiors and the
detraction of their equals or inferiors. But here comes a
licensed scarlet coat wearer — Squire Trevanion of the Priory —
followed by three or four friends who have come to his house
overnight for the convenience of the "meet." The Squire's
"chinchilla" whiskers, as Mrs. Gore would call them, show
that he is rather past the prime of life, and like men vacillating
between two periods, he presents a few of the characteristics of
the times in which he has lived. The straight cut coat has
never given way to the swallow tail dress, or round duck
hunter, neither have the lightish drab cords been superseded by
whites or leathers. Even the horse's tail has escaped the long
prevailing switch or swich, and appears in the good old-
fashioned square cut — Lord bless us ! we are old enough to
remember the time when it was the fashion not to allow horses
any tail at all, or ears either scarcely. When we used to see
nags as close docked as the old waggon horses, leaving them
something very like a whitening brush sticking out of their
hind quarters. Squire Trevanion has seen all these, and being
satisfied of the folly of fashion, has adopted and stuck to the
cut of his youth. A clinging to old customs is perhaps one
of his characteristics. Though he travels by railways, he
stoutly insists on the superiority of the chariot and posters.
Squire Trevanion is, however, a right, steady going, well
thinking man, and his word and opinion are taken when
those of many of the " new lights " will not go down. Honest
men will leave matters to his reference, rather than go to

208 THE HUNTING FIELD

Messrs. Sharp and Quirk of the neighbouring town, and he
is considered the worst friend the lawyers have, for he makes
up no end of quarrels that would otherwise bring grist to
their mills.

Like all men whose names end in " ion," he traces his
pedigree back so far that none but a " Burke " could burrow
to his original ancestor. Suffice it for us to say, that the
family have lived so long at the Priory, that the country
people believe they have been there ever since the world
began ; and as in London we have but one " Duke," so in
Mr. Trevanion's neighbourhood there is but one " Squire."
Not but that there are plenty of others, but he is the Squire
par excellence.

The Priory is a comfortable old-fashioned Elizabethan
house, with its stables behind, the whole embosomed in
lofty oaks of stupendous growth, whose spreading branches
harbour myriads of rooks, that keep up a lively clamour
about the place. The house is neither too large nor too
small; no state rooms "put away," but everything com-
fortable, commodious, and neat. The estate shows the best
of farming, and everything about bears the impress of care
and attention.

As a sportsman, in which it is more our province to regard
him, he is one of the " never-do-mischief sort," and though a
fair rider for a man past the grand climacteric, will always
turn out of his line to avoid damage. Living in the country,
and observing the effects of seasons and of circumstances, he
knows what really is harm and what is not, and never makes
unnecessary clamour about trifles ; neither does he sacrifice
one sport for the sake of another, or make a business of one to
the neglect of the other. He has a fair show of pheasants
about the house, and hares, partridges, and pheasants scattered
over the estate in sufficient abundance to show ample sport to
a man blessed with the use of his legs ; but as to drawing them

THE SQUIRE

209

together for a battue, that is a thing he has never thought of.
He has no desire to see his name figuring in the country
papers with so many hundred head of game attached to it.
Down with the battues ! sa}- we.

CHAPTER XVII

LORD EVERGREEN : WITH SOME THOUGHTS ON TUFT
HUNTING

• There is more virtue in a saddle than in the whole materia inedica."

Thistle Whipper.

HO comes here? Who is
the venerable, thoughtful-
looking man riding quietly
into the field with the rein
on the neck of his well-
bred bay hack ? He greets
Peter Pigskin with a familiar
"Halloa, Mr. Pigskin, how
are you ? gldd to see you.''

Peter quickly raises his
hat as high as the hunting

string will allow, with a " Good morning, my lord, glad to see

you down among us again."

" Can't be more pleased than I am, Mr. Pigskin, I assure

you," rejoins his lordship, his intelligent eyes sparkling with

pleasure as he surveys the glad scene —

" Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs ;
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health and universal joy."

By the way, our friend Somervillc is not quite correct in his

LORD EVERGREEN 211

phraseology — " dogs " is a term not allowed in speaking of
hounds. However, never mind, he is a pleasant poet, and we
forgive him.

The nobleman now entering the field is a minister — one of
the Cabinet and Lord Lieutenant of the county. He seeks
relaxation from the toils of office by a run down into his
native county. Last night's mail train brought him down,
to-morrow night's train takes him up. He is going to enjoy a
stolen pleasure. Lord Evergreen has been a sportsman from
his youth, and neither age, cares, nor the trammels of office
can deaden the feeling within him. Deaden it, forsooth ! they
are more likely to cherish it — to increase it.

What so likely on a mild February morning, when mistaken
birds are warbling their premature notes in St. James's or the
Green Park, and sprouting shrubs are opening their silly buds
— what so likely to awaken the victim of red boxes and
Downing Street to the delights of the real country, as the too
palpable imitation and efforts of nature in town.

We are quite certain that the parties who enjoy hunting
most are those who cannot command an unlimited quantity of
it. The regular five-days-a-week-man looks to the sport and
the sport only ; whereas those who only get it by fits and
starts — those who exchange the unsporting, unnatural cere-
ments of brick and mortar for the broad open enjoyment of
unrestricted, unadulterated country — are the people that get
the " sermons out of stones," and good out of everything.

Let people talk as they will of the wild tractable scenery
of St. James's or the Regent's Park, the forest-like glades of
Kensington Gardens, or the open breadth of Hyde Park,
" still, still," as Sterne saj's, " it is not country," and we
cannot divest ourselves of the idea of omnibuses, chimney-pots,
and cabbage gardens in the distance.

But away from London, away from its toils, away from its
cramping narrowness, its coldness, its stiff calculating formali-

'2V2 THE HUNTING FIELD

ties, how the emancipated mind bounds and re\els in the
hixury of unrestricted countr\-. Now along the narrow valley,
now through the woody grove, now o\er the swelling hill, from
whose commanding height we see the shining river circling,
till the landscape runs itself into nothing in the distance. The
very horse seems to partake of the jo}- and inspiration of the
rider, and treads the ground with a light, blithesome step, that
as much as says, " Why don't you hunt oftener ? "' Diana, we
often think, favours the occasional sportsman. How often we
see brilliant runs on the very days we most wish them — days
when strangers are out, or people have come a long waj-.
Trul\-, sportsmen are a happy race, the}- have much to be
thankful for, and little, very little, to complain of. Who has
not seen " splendid runs " on days when hunting appeared to
be almost out of the question ? Again, we often think that
men ride harder on occasional days, such as Lord Evergreen is
now going to take, than they do in a regular four or fi\e days
a-week course of hunting. The extra excitement sends them
along.

If it be true, as asserted by Dr. Johnson, that " the true
state of every nation is the state of common life," who is so
likely to be acquainted with the real wants and condition of a
country as a foxhunting nobleman ? He brings the e.vperience
of other climates, and the benefits of education to bear upon
the absolute condition of the unexpecting, unprepared peasantry.
The foxhunter is the man of all others to get accurate informa-
tion, for he wanders about, without pomp or terror, and is
welcomed rather than avoided b}- any. Take your com-
missioner, with his solemn look, inky fingers or metallic-
pencilled note-book ; is he so likelj- to get a frank, candid
answer as the man whose whole manner and appearance
disarms both fear and suspicion, naj-, inspires confidence, and
Ijrocures a ready answer to ever}- question he maj' ask ? To
get at the real truth w ith some people, the onl\- plan is to make

LORD E\'ERGREEN 213

them believe that you are after something lese, and if Her
Majesty's Government would take a few sharp, enterprising
foxhunters into her public offices, keeping them a competent
stud of respectable-looking horses, we will be bound to say
they would get them far more sound, reliable, accurate
information upon any subject of country interest, such as
stock of wheat, sickly potatoes, poor-law workings, than lord-
lieutenants, or the solemn pompous-looking gentlemen, who
sit in inn parlours, dri\ing away truth, just as a fox or a
shepherd's dog drives away a flock of sheep. Country people
don't like strangers — they don"t understand examination,
cross-examination, re-examination, and blue-booking. They
are afraid of pen, ink, and paper. But put them alongside a
red coat, in a stable, under a shed, or behind a hedge, and they
will tell you anything you like to ask them, simply because
they think you don't care to know it.

This hint is worth the consideration of the Home Secretary,
especially after the expense the late Government was put to in
getting up the potato panic, and if he thinks well of it, but
fears the cost, or doubts what Joe Hume may say, we should
be glad to see if we could not make some arrangement so as to
carrj- it out between us. If the Government, for instance,
would find horses, we would pay expenses, or we might join,
and job a few horses of Tilbury, for the first season, to see how
the thing worked ; all that we should stipulate for would be,
that the parties should be sent into civilized countries where
there is decent hunting, so that their reports of the chase,
for publication, might indemnify us for our share of the
expense.

Certain we are, that there is no invention so fine for suppres-
sing the truth as a Government commission and a fuss.

The hunting field has been said to be the great leveller of
rank, but that is not the case. The hunting field, indeed, is
a place where deference is voluntarily paid to station, because

214 THE HUNTING FIELD

it is in the hunting field that station never demands it. Lord
Evergreen comes in quietl\' on his hack, unattended by servants
or state, and as long as the business of the day is confined to
plain straightforward sailing, every one gives way to his
Lordship ; but when the fox is found, and goes right away,
then the order of things is reversed, and those who ride behind
are extremely welcome to ride in front.

It is this sort of 3'ielding and taking of precedence that has
raised the idea of foxhunting being a levelling amusements but
no one acquainted with it can entertain such an idea — at least
if he does he's a fool. ,

What can be a finer sight than to see the Duke of Wellington
enter the hunting field ! Not one of those gorgeous spectacles.,
it is true, such as a coronation, a review, the Lord Mayo.r s
show, or a procession to the Houses of Parliament — not one of
those pompous continental exhibitions called a chassc, where
armed menials keep back the crowd, and brass bands proclaim
alike the find and finish ; but what can be a finer sight — a
sight more genial to the mind of a Briton — than the mighty
Wellington entering the hunting field with a single attendant,
making no more fuss than a countr}- Squire ? Yet many have
seen the sight, and man}-, we trust, ma}- yet see it. The Duke .
takes the countr}- sport like a country gentleman — no man less
the great man than this greatest of all great men — affable to
all, his presence adds joy and lustre to the scene.

The Duke is a true sportsman, and has long been a sup-
porter of the \'ine and Sir John Cope's hounds. He kept
hounds himself during the Peninsular War, and divers good
stories are related of them and their huntsman (Tom Crane),
whose enthusiasm used sometimes to carry him into the enemy's
country, a fact that he used to be reminded of b\- a few bullets
whizzing about iiis cars.

What a number of noblemen we ha\-e seen keeping hounds
or acting as Masters of Hounds. The Dukes of Richmond,

LORD EVERGREEN

'2U>

Rutland, Buccleuch, Beaufort, Bedford, and Cleveland; the
Marquises of Salisbury, Londoriderr}-, Hastings, and Tavi-
stock ; Earls of Derby, Harewood, Ducie, Chesterfield, Scar-
brough, Lonsdale, Fitzwilliam, Fitzhardinge, Radnor: Lords
Anson, Middleton, Southampton, Forester, Petre, Yarborough,
Hawke, Elcho. Portman, Gifford, Althorpe, Hastings, Glasgow,
Kintore, John Scott, Bentinck, Redesdale, Suffield, Parker,
Galway, and others, whose names do not occur to us at this
moment.

Many of the above hunted to great ages, and lived all their
lives in enjoyment of excellent health, from the invigoratint;
pursuits of the chase. Lord Lonsdale, we believe, rode till he

was near eighty, the late Duke of
hounds till he was well up to si.
Harewood may almost be said t'
somewhat turned of that age. Lor^
tifty, though he has not much chan.
But let us take a glance at the "
the style and magnificence of our :
London, still it is in the countrv !
appreciate their true influence
there are too many of them ; the
say nothing of being over-riddc
them to shi' !\ in their imi

they rule de-r They are ti

hemispheres. Greatness stretci
room to shake and show itself,
more uniform state — more coi^
in London, where recent v

•d hunted his own

nd the late Lord

led in the saddle,

en might pass for

out of si.xtN

cnerally. TiioUj;ii

V ^ very imposing m

should be seen to

ince. In London

closely packed, to

ie of the Court, for

. In the country

of their respective

. and grandeur has

Indeed, we believe there is

II the country than

confined the state

drawing-room days.

equipages and liveries to le\
Greatness has been cropped a gotxl deal, too, by the intro-
duction of railways. Coach and fou; succeeding coach and
four, and saddle and carriage horses, accompanying servant.-;'
van, all tended to keep up the character and importance of the

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LORD EVERGREEN 215

Rutland, Buccleuch, Beaufort, Bedford, and Cleveland ; the
Marquises of Salisbury, Londonderry, Hastings, and Tavi-
stock ; Earls of Derby, Harewood, Ducie, Chesterfield, Scar-
brough, Lonsdale, Fitzwilliam, Fitzhardinge, Radnor ; Lords
Anson, Middleton, Southampton, Forester, Petre, Yarborough,
Hawke, Elcho, Portman, Gifford, Althorpe, Hastings, Glasgow,
Kintore, John Scott, Bentinck, Redesdale, Suffield, Parker,
Galway, and others, whose names do not occur to us at this
moment.

Many of the above hunted to great ages, and lived all their
lives in enjoyment of excellent health, from the invigorating
pursuits of the chase. Lord Lonsdale, we believe, rode till he
was near eighty, the late Duke of Cleveland hunted his own
hounds till he was well up to seventy, and the late Lord
Harewood may almost be said to have died in the saddle,
somewhat turned of that age. Lord Evergreen might pass for
fifty, though he has not much change to take out of sixty.

But let us take a glance at the " order " generally. Though
the style and magnificence of our nobility is very imposing in
London, still it is in the country that they should be seen to
appreciate their true influence and importance. In London
there are too man\- of them ; the)' are too closely packed, to
say nothing of being over-ridden by the dazzle of the Court, for
them to shine singly in their individual lustre. In the country
thej- rule despotic. They are the great stars of their respective
hemispheres. Greatness stretches itself out, and grandeur has
room to shake and show itself. Indeed, we believe there is
more uniform state — more constant show in the country than
in London, where recent years have confined the state
equipages and liveries to levee and drawing-room days.
Greatness has been cropped a good deal, too, by the intro-
duction of railways. Coach and four succeeding coach and
four, and saddle and carriage horses, accompanying servants'
van, all tended to keep up the character and importance of the

216 THE HUNTING FIELD

English nobleman. Now they are put on a truck and tacked
to the tail of a train, with little more ceremony than attends
the transit of Mr. Flatcatcher's race-horse, or Mr. Bullock-
smithy's fat ox. The utilitarians will tell you that it is all the
better, but we don't know that it is for all that. Some one
said " there had been ten men hung for every inch they had
curtailed in the judge's wig," and state — even on the road —
was not without its advantages. To be sure the public style
of travelling favours intercourse with the world and knowledge
of life ; but, as we said before, there is no better place than the
hunting field for acquiring that. However, railroads are now
the universal mode of travelling, and my Lord Duke and
family, who formerly made a grand progress through England
of many days — travelling with a retinue as long as Polito's or
Wombwell's menageries^now whisk from one end of the
kingdom to the other in the liberal limits of a summer's da\'.

Let us look at a nobleman "at home," as Mathews used to
say of himself.

What a world in miniature a nobleman's castle is. Placed
in nature's choicest, sunniest spot, it looks upon all the
luxuries, necessaries, and enjoyments of life ; waving corn-
fields rise beyond the park — herds of deer are scattered over it
— the many-coloured and scarcely less picturesque little wild
Scotch kyloes fatten in droves, while the more sedate and
matronly cows graze indolently in groups — hares, pheasants,
and partridges run and bask about, with a sort of privileged
security- — the rabbit warren is alive, and the sedgy sun-bright
lakes swarm with fish and wild-fowl, and the clear purling
stream with beautiful speckled trout. In those paddocks may
be seen brood mares and foals, the winners, and expected
winners, of our great prizes, while in others the worn-out
favourites of the hunting field close

" A youth of labour with an age of ease."

Then the stables, the coach-houses, the harness-rooms, the

LORD EVERGREEN 217

straw-houses, the granaries, with all their concomitants of
grooms, coachmen, postihons, helpers, and the out-lying
kennels — out-lying, but not too distant for the mellowed notes
of the ba}ing pack to fall with the sweet west wind on the
listener's ear as he stands at the castle gates. There is
nothing sets off, nothing enlivens a place like a pack of hounds.
Even in summer they are an object of attraction. How
beautiful they look in a morning, passing indolently at exercise
among the venerable trees and glades of the park, attended by
the hatted and purple-coated servants of the hunt, wearing at
once the stains and laurels of the bygone year. Even if a
great man does not hunt, still a pack of hounds is an ornament
and attraction to his place. There is nothing so popular as
keeping a pack of hounds. We must all remember the noble
e.xample of the Oxford sweep, who recorded his vote for a
particular candidate, because, said he, " I 'unts with the
duke."'

That duke, however, we may add, was the Duke of
Beaufort, an out-and-out sportsman, one of the most popular
men of the day. We have been cudgelling our brains and
labouring at an imaginary description of a nobleman's esta-
blishment, whereas, if we had cast our eyes westward, we
should have had it all cut and dried to our hands at Bad-
minton. Take a lawn meet there. What could give a
foreigner a finer idea of the vast magnificence of an English
nobleman's establishment than what he would see at that fine
old place ? The splendid hounds, the magnificent horses, the
countless servants, the bountiful hospitality within and with-
out ; above all, the open-hearted, unaffected cordialit}' of the
noble owner. Still hound-keeping for sheer political purposes
would not answer. It is only when the owner is a sportsman,
that " the fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind " principle
tells upon his companions in chase. Keeping hounds, in the
hopes of influencing votes, would be a poor speculation. It

218 THE HUNTING FIELD

would be attempting bribery upon men who are not open to
corruption. Your small voters don't " 'unt ; " nothing under a
master sweep. Indeed, it is no small recommendation to the
chase, that it is so little capable of perversion to other than
legitimate purposes.

A nobleman's influence, however, must always be great in
his own locality. There is the influence of wealth and station,
almost always blended with the influence of private worth.
Common people may not be great judges of etiquette or
accomplishments, but they are all judges of the homely
quahties of which they themselves partake. A bad husband,
a harsh master, an unpunctual pa\'er, are qualities that adapt
themselves to all stations of life ; indeed, we believe the lower
we look in society, the more great people are respected for
what they are than for what they have. The influence of
intercourse is also considerable. The nobleman occupies
much the same place in the country that ro3-alty occupies in
London. People all like to be asked to the Palace. An occa-
sional dinner keeps all things straight in the country — Venison's
very convincing.

And here let us take a glance at a most popular sport that
somehow or other has never been treated with the respect it
deserves — we allude to the noble sport of Tuft Hunting.
True, Lord William Lennox launched a novel under that title ;
but as we prefer letting other people read our thoughts and
ideas to reading the thoughts and ideas of other people, without
meaning the slightest disrespect to his lordship, we can
candidly sa\- we have never read his work ; therefore we trust,
whatever ma}- be the similarity of ideas, that we shall not be
accused of " cribbing " from him.

Tuft Hunting is a fine, delicate, scientific, enterprising,
subtle amusement. If the proper " study of mankind is
man," surely the pursuit of a lord must be proper be}ond all
contradiction.

LORD EVERGREEN 219

We have looked into Bailey, Richardson, and several of the

old dictionaries, to see if they throw an}- light on the origin of

the term, but we have drawn them all blank. Bailey gives

"Tuft " {toitffe F), a lock of hair, or bunch of ribbons, &c., also

the crest of a bird, and then "Tuft (with botanists), a thicket

of trees, bunch of grass," &c. ; while Richardson deals much

in the same sort of description, giving " Tuft — the top, or

summit," leading one to suppose that one might say, "the tuft

of the morning," instead of the " top of the morning to you,"

a species of phraseology we never heard indulged in. In the

long tail of quotations with which this worthy gentleman

obscures the meaning of words, there is one allusion to

hunting, certainly, but not with the pack we allude to. The

quotation is as follows : —

" With liis hounds
The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbaibed grounds,
Where harbour'd is the hart.'

That is not our pack — ours are the two-legged hounds — the
talking, babbling, fawning, courting, humbugging, glozing
things called men. After all is said and done, we are inchned
to adopt the h3pothesis (to make use of a fine word) of a friend,
and attribute the term to the gold tassels or tufts worn by
noblemen at our universities, which distinguish them from the
common herd, just as a fox's brush distinguishes it from a hare.
Indeed there can be no doubt that that is the origin of the
term, and we will thank the next dictionary maker to add
" Tuft Hunter" to the T's, and describe them as " a breed of
men whose offence is rank," or a breed of men desperately
smitten with title. Rank at school doesn't go for much — at
least not at our great schools where lords abound, and a
marquis may be fag to a milliner's son, but at college rank
dawns forth like a meteor, and subsequent adulation atones for
early familiarity and humiliations. Then the fine nose of the
Tuft Hunter begins to show itself, and men lay the foundation

220 THE HUNTING FIELD

of characters that generally remain with them to the end of life
— desperate Tuft Hunters.

Like hounds, Tuft Hunters may be divided into different
classes — varying like hounds in their keenness, energy, and
determination. There is the bold, open-mouthed, dashing,
foxhound Tuft Hunter, who runs at a lord as if he would eat
him — who persecutes him — who lards him with " lordships,"
and does not know how to be subservient and obsequious
enough. There is the pottering, dribbling, babbling hare-
hunting Tuft Hunter, who deals more with lords in conversation
than in reality, and there is the lurching Tuft Hunter, who
professing contempt for the game, never misses an opportunity
of having a run at it — with several minor varieties not important
to our purpose.

We might carry our kennel simile further, and divide the
followers into sexes. Women are generally desperate Tuft
Hunters. There is no denying that. Many a poor man has
been made to stoop to the scent who has no natural inclination
that way. Tuft Hunting is an instinct that pervades nearly
the whole sex. We have heard a tenth-rate milliner knock
the peerage about with her tongue, just as an expert billiard
player knocks the balls about on the table. Nay, there is our
second cousin, old Miss Deborah Crustyface, of Canonbury,
Square, Islington, in whose presence it is absolutely dangerous
to mention the name of a nobleman, for she immediately strikes
a scent, and heads up and sterns down, runs into them even
up to the third and fourth generation, not unfrequently diverging
into collateral alliances and marriages with commoners. Not
only has she Burke, Lodge, and Debrett, peerage, baronetage,
and all at her fingers' ends, but Dod's dignities, privileges and
precedence, with lists of great public functionaries from the
Revolution down to the present time. To hear her talk you
would fancy she was the " lady," as they now call " wives " of
a Lord Chamberlain, so accuratelv has she the ladder of conse-

LORD EVERGREEN 221

quence, called precedence, arranged in her head. She knows
w hat ring of the ladder the Lord Privj- Seal holds, as also the
legitimate consequence of a knight banneret, and the place
of the eldest son of a knight grand cross of St. Michael and
St. George. In fact the old fool is peerage mad, though how she
came to be "bit"" nobody knows; for though in her occasional
west-end rambles she sees people riding in coroneted coaches
whom she takes to be lords, she has never yet accomplished an

identity so as to be able to say that is the Duke of A or

that the Marquis of B . True, that in her ruminating

mind, with the aid of her books, assisted sometimes by Madame
Tussaud's exhibition, she shadows forth certain ideal person-
ages for her titles, nay, sometimes assigns the creations of her
mind to corporeal objects ; but she is generally as wide of the
mark as the celebrated nwdd-be Countess Ferrers* was in her
descriptions of the noblemen and great people with whom her
intended liege lord associated. We remember being \ictimized
b\- our venerable relative down St. James's-street, one after-
noon, when she insisted that a certain duke was Sir Francis
Burdett, merel\- because he wore top-boots ; and Madame
Tussaud"s Sir Francis wears them also ; while every big, burly,
bushy-wigged man she christened Daniel 0"Connell. We met
six Daniel O'Connells between Sam's corner and Slaughter's
coffee-house in St. Martin's-lane. 0"Connell, we may tell him,
may take it as a compliment, for we never knew our cousin,
Miss Crustyface, descend to a commoner before. It was all
owing to his generous breadth of shoulder and the fine dark
cauliflower wig he sports in Madame Tussaud's exhibition.

* The most extraordinary action of modern, or perhaps any times, was
one brought by a Miss Smith, a girl of twenty, against Lord Ferrers, for an
alleged breach of promise of marriage ; which she sought to establish bv a
series of letters, supposed to have been written by herself to herself. After
the trial had lasted four days, the Solicitor-General submitted to a non-suit.
—See Pickering's Report, in l vol.

222 THE HUNTING FIELD

or rather perhaps all owing to his being in Madame Tussaud"s
exhibition, that Miss Crustyface gave herself any trouble about
him.

Talking of the Countess Ferrers — or, alas ! for true enter-
prising talent ! .Miss Smith — talking of Miss Smith — what a
loss was there for want of a little real London information and
experience. We will be bound to say, if Miss Smith had had
but a tithe of the opportunities our cousin, Miss Crustyface,
enjoys, she would have triumphed over the earl — at all events
have made costs — heavy, vindictive costs, compensate for the
loss of the coronet. Inspired young lady ! If the unblushing
" white rose " of the country — if the untrained, untutored mind
of rural life could depict scenes and situations that outwitted
her Majesty's great "cute"' Solicitor-General, what might we
not have hoped from the resources of an ampler field ? It was
not her fault that Lord Clive was painted the very reverse of
what he is. It was not her fault that gentlemen were stationed
at Brighton who were quartered in Scotland, or that Lord
Brougham was made to dine with those with whom he was not
acquainted — it was the fault of circumstances — the want of
opportunity of knowing better. But, take it for all and all, the
performance was a wonderful — a miraculous one.

Talk of our novelists — our Bulwers, our Blessingtons, our
Dickenses, our Jameses, our Hooks, or our Hoods — how they
sink into nothingness, how they must hide their diminished
heads before the maiden efforts of that unadulterated, unso-
phisticated country girl. Their writings are the produce of
active and experienced lives, their ministerings are to minds
predisposed to fiction (which yet they sometimes fail to move),
but here was pure, innocent inexperience, storming the great
citadel of reason, of Plutus, and of power, capturing legal
acuteness, and all but carrying judge and jury in her train.
Such efforts were worthy of a better end.

" Facts arc stranger than fiction," says tiie pro\'erb, and

LORD EVERGREEN 223

assuredly the would-be-countess has proved them so ; yet, let
her not regret the loss of that " bauble," the coronet, as Oliver
Cromwell called the " mace." It would but have consigned
her to a life of inglorious ease, perhaps voluptuous indolence,
whereas she has that within her which surpasses rank and
wealth — the power of leading the world. If the great man of
Great Marlborough Street, or some of the enterprising brethren
of the press, have not a nine-volume novel coming out from her
pen, all we can say is, that fiction must be out of fashion, or
real talent unappreciated.

But to return to Tuft Hunting.

A real, determined, out-and-out Tuft Hunter, is a thing that
loves a title merely because it is a title, without reference to
fame, talent, acquirements, agreeableness, or any of the
hundred-and-one qualities that constitute the difference between
one man and another. Show such a man a lord,- and he "ats
him " as a greyhound would a hare. The peerage occupies the
sort of place in his head that ale and beer measure occupies in
the head of a publican — gallons, half-gallons, quarts, pints,
gills, &c., &c. He looks at a duke as a gallon, an earl as a
quart, a viscount as a pint, and a baron as a gill, and considers
that each rank holds just its own particular quantity, and that
the only difference among noblemen is in the sign of the
measure. In countries where game is abundant, a hound of
this sort may be seen changing from title to title, always, how-
ever, on the ascendant ; just as some hounds will change from
hare to martin cat, and from roe deer to fox. \\'e have known
a real out-and-out Tuft Hunter inconvenience himself b}- taking
up his quarters at hotels frequented by noblemen, even though
he had not the slightest chance of a contact, except on the
staircase or in the passage. Still he could talk about, '" Ah —
yes — ah — I remember we were staying together at the Bedford,
at Brighton ; " or, " Ah — yes — ah — I remember meeting him at
the Plough, at Cheltenham." These are the sort of Tuft

224 THE HUNTING FIELD

Hunters that acute keepers — alias stewards of public dinners —
bait their traps with rojal dukes and p;reat men to catch, well
knowing that their presence will effect what no charitable
motive would accomplish. His Serene Highness the
Grand Duke of Doodletox in the chair, acts like a sugar
saucer upon flies, draws all the Tuft Hunters from their holes,
to flutter and bask in the sunshine of royalty. Then, if his
Serene Highness takes a sham glass of wine with them, the)-
reckon they have established his acquaintance, if not his friend-
ship, for life. Harmless foible ! So let it pass.

The most contemptible species of Tuft Hunter undoubtedly
is the assiduous, cringing, never-miss-a-chance Tuft Hunter,
who yet pretends to great independence, na}', almost blunt
rudeness, to noblemen, when away.

We have met Tuft Hounds of this description — men who
talk as if the}' always spoke their minds most freely — na}-, in-
fluenced the conduct of noblemen, but who yet were the most
abject, servile, sneaking, fawning sycophants in "the presence,"
the carpet ever saw. These are, undoubted!}-, the skirting,
babbling, lurching things of the pack, from which no scientific
master of "tuft hounds'' would even breed. Tuft Hunting,
however, is not a sport to be pursued in packs — indeed tuft
hounds are generally so desperately jealous that it is scarcely
possible to get two to run together. Tuft Hunters never agree.
They are always jealous of each other being on the scent, and
then as the pot called the kettle "black bottom," so the cut
one calls the other " Tuft Hunter." Flashing with titles,
calling noblemen by their names, or by their titles without their
names, as, " Well, duke, how are you ? '" or abbreviating their
names, is all bad taste, and has alwa}-s the contrary effect to
what is intended, making the auditors set the flashers down as
fools, if not something worse, instead of as ver}- " fine fellows,"
and " deuced thick with ni}- lord." Flashing behind their
backs is more common, but equally snobbish. \Mi\- not render

LORD EVERGREEN 225

unto lords the things that are lords' ? There is no doubt that
Tuft Hunting is an hereditary instinct, descending from father
to son, and traceable through families, just like the gout, the
tic, or a taste for foxhunting. A good Tuft Hunting father
generally begets a good toadying son. Still we should observe
that as the slightest twinge of the gout is enough to make
people set a man down as gouty, so the slightest contact with
a nobleman is apt to saddle a man with the charge of Tuft
Hunting. It is of all imputations the easiest made, and is
oftentimes made without the slightest foundation. Now, for
our own parts, we have no objection to bear the imputation of
Tuft Hunting, in as far as admitting that the society of noble-
men is oftentimes preferable to the society of commoners, and
we are really hardened enough not to be ashamed of the
admission. If education, knowledge, talent, manners, inter-
course with the polished world, are recommendations for a
companion, where are we so likel}' to find them as in the
leisured circles of the aristocracy ? To run after a man merely
because he is a lord, is an amusement fit only for a lacquey,
but to shun a man because he is a lord, and because his
acquaintance might entail upon one the charge of Tuft Hunting,
is sacrificing rather too much at the shrine of our estimable
friend " public opinion," or the opinion of the gentleman who
rejoices in the title of " they say."

The fable of the old man, the boy, and the ass, is an admirable
illustration of the opinion of our good friend the world, with
regard to companions. If a man listens to all that is said
respecting the objects of his choice, he would very soon be left
alone in his glory. Tuft Hunting, however, is always more
offensive than what is called keeping " low company," because,
in the first place, some people have a secret pleasure in seeing
others do wrong, while the protege of the nobleman is lifted, as
it were, over the heads of his companions, and thus made an
object both for envy and ridicule.

Q

226

THE HUNTING FIELD

Let no modest, unopinionated youth, then, be deterred, from
fear of incurring the old charge of Tuft Hunting, from paying
proper respect to great men. It is their due. The omission of
it is rudeness, and it is only by carrying it to excess — converting
respect into servility — that it becomes ridiculous.

Vi;.

m0mg

CHAPTER XVIII

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE

EXT to the man who is always
wanting to bet with you,
the man who is always
wanting to sell you a horse
is the most disagreeable.
Most of our readers, we
doubt not, have some

square}', slangy, " I'll-lay-
you-two-to-one-of-///a/" sort of person, among their acquain-
tance, and many, doubtless, are oppressed with an — " I'll sell
}'ou a horse, friend," while some will recognize in Captain
Shabbyhounde a genius combining both these amiable, charac-
teristic, and enterprising qualities.

Both the above figures of speech are sometimes taken up by
young men at the outset of life, more because they think it
sounds fine than from any real inclination to " do" any one, as
it is called, either in betting or in horse-dealing. It is a mis-
taken notion, and one that we dare say only requires the expos-
ing hand of our Analysis to correct. Slang and cant have
fortunately taken their departure from among gentlemen, and
have found refuge among the legitimate denizens of the stable.

228 THE HUNTING FIELD

The real betting man is a decided nuisance ; it is dangerous to
open one's lips in his presence, and they may be looked upon
as the kites and vultures of society. We never see a young
man with a clasped book and metallic pencil without reckoning
him ruined. They always are sooner or later.

The " I'll sell you a horse," friend, is a much more innocent
creature than the betting one. The " I'll sell you a horse,"
sometimes arises from a paucity of ideas ;, it is a sort of " come
uppermost thought," spoken perhaps just for the sake of some-
thing to say, like the passenger who, on a voyage to India, used
to address the captain every morning after the usual salutation,
with " Pray, sir, what do you think of Napoleon Bonaparte ? "

Again, some men indulge in it from excessive delight at the
novelty of ownership. Many people wouldn't know they had a
horse if they did not advertise the fact in that way. The
course of life runs thus : watch, gun, top-boots, and then a
horse. The possession of a horse converts the boy into a man.
Instead of being whipped himself, he gets something to whip.

After aping a stage coachman, there is nothing so disgusting
as seeing a young man acting the groom or horse-dealer : we
mean dressing the character as well as acting it.

Doubtless there is something very pleasant and attractive in
horse-dealing. There is the sort of excitement peculiar to the
lottery about it. We have known men who could not be
trusted at a horse auction, so sure were they to come home
\vith some '" tronendous bargain." A private deal is very
engaging. The greatest ignoramus — the man who would not
know which side of a horse to get on at, will nevertheless go
out of his way to accompany a friend to look at a horse. That
interest is a good deal excited by a desire to see an animal of
which he is likely to hear much more hereafter. It is an
interest that does not attach to a horse-dealer's transactions,
because " dealing " is his trade, and he is supposed to be too
wary to be done.

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 229

Mr. Whipend may buy fifty horses without any one trou-
bling his head about any of them ; but let Mr. Spoonbill be
seen trotting one out, and he will have the whole "town" out,
as they say.

Old John Lawrence, a kind-hearted, if not a very practical
writer on horses, exclaims, " Who shall counsel a man in the
choice of a wife or a horse ! '" but if a buyer were to listen to
all the hints and suggestions he will have made him, he would
stand a good chance of going on foot the rest of his life. In
spite of Mr. Lawrence's exclamation, good stout counsellors
will never be wanting on the animal side of the question at all
events, and the ridiculous thing is, that the lower the figure,
the greater the fear on the part of the purchaser. Time was,
when we used to talk about a twenty pound horse, just as we
did about a twenty shilling note, a guinea hat, a silk umbrella,
or any other unimportant thing ; but now — thanks to the
march of railroads — a twenty pound horse has become an
object of considerable importance. People used formerly to
talk of " giving a horse away for twenty pounds," just as our
friends under the Quadrant talk of giving one a piping bullfinch
for an old coat ; but now twenty pounds is a most difficult sum
to realize. People look at a twenty pound horse as if they
thought the seller had stolen it. A two hundred pounder is an
easier one to sell.

Gentlemen dealing is at best but a ticklish trade, and we
doubt any one being able to pursue it for any length of time,
and retain the title of a "gentleman." Every woman has
been said to be a separate enigma, and the same may be said
of every horse, and yet to hear an ignoramus talk, you would
think there was but one article answering to the name — that
they were all alike. There are very few horses without some-
thing or other that they would be better without, and which a
man is obliged to slur over by himself, or servant, if he wishes
to get rid of the animal without a sacrifice. It is just this

•230 THE HUNTING FIELD

slurring over that constitutes one of the great difficulties of
gentlemen dealing. You must have a servant in your confi-
dence— you must, to a certain extent, place yourself in the
power of that servant, and where is the gentleman who would
like to feel himself under such domination ! Of course, gentle-
men must both buy and sell ; it is the buying with the view of
selling again to a profit that constitutes the horse-dealer. The
best plan is for a man to look upon horses as an article of
luxur)-, for which he must expect to pay something, instead of
expecting a profit, and then that man is best off who pays least.
It is not worth any gentleman's while, for the sake of a five,
ten, or even a fifty pound note, saying anything about a horse
that he knows is not borne out by the facts. We have heard
men assert that anything is fair in horse-dealing, but that is the
mere bravado of some notorious cheat, wanting to carry off his
delinquencies on a general principle. Lying is never allowed
among gentlemen — above all, lying for self-interest. If any
one doubts the truth of this position, let him observe the cool-
ness, the shirking, the cutting that attends a man of this
description in the hunting field. Instead of the heart}', joyous
welcome that greets the legitimate sportsman, there are cold,
sour looks and mutterings about cheating scamp, and wonder-
ings who he is come to " do " now. In remote parts there is
no scope for this kind of work ; a false deal or two does for a
man, and no one will look at his horses after; and even in
London and the metropolitan hunts it is wonderful how soon a
man is " blown." In our opinion, gentlemen dealing, with a
view to money-making, is the most unpromising of all specula-
tions. Some men have a vanity about the thing, and assert
they make money, even though they lose. This is a sort of
vice, or folly, that carries its own correction along with it.
Some again only count their " gains," leaving the long
catalogue of losses to the account current, which somehow or
other ne\er comes to be balanced.

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 231

It has always appeared to us that the prejudice of the day
has affixed a very illiberal and unmerited odium on the trade
of a horse-dealer. Doubtless there are scamps and cheats in
the business, just as there are scamps and cheats in all trades,
but taking them as a whole, we believe there is more honesty
among the regular dealers than there is among what are called
gentlemen dealers. Let us examine the position and peculiari-
ties of the two. The licensed dealer generally does business
in a large way ; for one horse that passes through the hands of
the gentleman dealer he will have fifty through his, and though
quick sale is the soul of trade, and it is his interest to keep
passing horses through his hands, he gets far more abused for
an occasional failure than the gentleman dealer, who must
know all the faults and weak points of his horses from the
length of time he keeps them, and the personal trials and
examinations he makes of them. We consider it just as im-
possible for the licensed dealer — at least a licensed dealer in a
fair way of business — to know all the ins and outs and peculiari-
ties of the horses passing through his hands, as it is for the
gentleman dealer to be ignorant of them. The licensed dealer
must occasionally make mistakes, must occasionally be taken
in himself, yet if he passes the deceptive horse on quickly to a
customer, he gets blown up and abused, as if it had been a
premeditated robbery.

With respectable dealers, the faulty horses are the exception,
and not the general rule ; but we have too much reason to
think that with many of what are called " gentlemen dealers "
the faulty are the rule and the sound ones the e.xception. It is
ridiculous to suppose that men whose business is horse-dealing
— who have been at it all their lives, and many of their fathers
before them— with the extensive ramifications of long-continued
business — can find it their interest to deal in what must be un-
satisfactory articles to their customers, or yet that such men
are to be beat out of their own markets by the newly jumped

232 THE HUNTING FIELD

up capital-less judge of yesterdaj'. These " gentlemen dealers "
as they call themselves often take up the trade, because it is a
ready-money one — ready-mone}' at least as far as the seller is
concerned, though we are not quite so sure about its being a
ready-money one when they are the buyers. It is then " I'll
give you a bill at three months," or, " If you don't want the
money at present, I don't care if I give the odd five : " whereas
the regular dealer is the credit giver, if there is any. Indeed it
is this credit giving that tends to run horses up to such enor-
mous prices in London. Even of licensed horse-dealers there
may be said to be two distinct classes, namely, the dealers in
young fresh horses, and the traffickers in aged, blemished,
second-hand ones, as they may be called. It is the province of
the latter that the "gentlemen dealers " chiefly invade. Again
there are men calling themselves gentlemen, and even admitted
into the society of those who are, who do not hesitate to act as
middle-men between a buyer and a seller. We have known
men who did not scruple to take a five-pound note for buying
a horse " cheaper," as they call it, for another than he could for
himself. These are the men who talk themselves into the
reputation of judges, and the ignorant and uninformed in these
matters are glad to avail themselves of their experience rather
than trust to the word of a dealer. The dealers know these
men, and know that unless they have their good word they
have very little chance of selling their horses, and of course
that good word must be obtained by the usual means, and, as a
natural consequence also, the usual means must be added to
the price of the horse, so that the purchaser by employing sucli
a party is in reality running up his own price. The same sort of
thing descends in the scale of life, and the coachman must be
propitiated when a new pair of horses arrive, or they will stand
a very poor chance of finding favour in his eyes, and the groom
will expect a similar compliment on the arrival of a hunter or
hack.

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 233

The hero whose name we have placed at the head of this
paper, and who is just now entering our hunting field, is an
admirable sample of the tribe we have been describing — a
gentleman horse-dealer. Captain Shabbyhounde is a man who
lives by his wits, and is what is generally called, " up to every-
thing." He can ride a race, ditto a steeple-chase, play
billiards, ditto rackets (which by the way he studied in Denman
Lodge, as they call the Bench), buy a horse, sell a screw,
measure twelve paces, cut the cards, row a match, shoot a
ditto, and take the part of a walking gentleman in private
theatricals.

Forty years, five-and-twenty of which have been spent in
elbowing, and active intercourse with the world, have tended to
polish Shabbyhounde's wits up until he is as keen as a razor.
There are few things that he is not up to, or had a turn at,
though if his habits have acquired any settled direction it will
be for race and steeple-chase riding, billiard playing, and horse-
deahng. Hunting, it will be seen, we have not enumerated in
the catalogue of the Captain's accomplishments, for to tell the
truth, he only hunts as an auxiliary to horse-dealing, and we are
not desirous of enrolling such a character among its legitimate
followers. The Captain's season is summer, or perhaps spring
and summer, when the silk jacket and doeskins are in vogue.

Captain Shabbyhounde has a taste for horses, but it is not
the taste of a sportsman — a taste that amounts almost to affec-
tion for an animal that pleases him ; for Captain Shabbyhounde
would sell anything he has — his own father if he could get any-
thing for him — and his taste amounts to a sort of enterprising
dabbling in an interesting article that brings him in money. He
is a good judge of horses, and a good judge of what they can do,
and has a turn for cobbling them up, and passing infirm ones
off as sound. Hunting, of course, favours this sort of dealing, for
as the Captain only professes to deliver them sound, if they break
down on the second or third day, he shifts any blame from

234 THE HUNTING FIELD

himself to the chapter of accidents. "Most unfortunate," he
will say, " but these accidents will happen ; that horse never
had a moment's illness all the time he was in my stable — must
have put his foot in a rabbit hole, or wrenched himself some
wa\-." If the unfortunate purchaser is a hard rider, perhaps he
will throw in some " desperate leap " he saw him take, to make
his misfortune lighter.

The Captain, though a light weight man, is very tenacious
about not carrying anything e.xtra. Here the racing man
shows itself. Though he would not leave the " coppers " at a
turnpike gate until he returns, he will nevertheless wait till the
toll-keeper fumbles in all his pockets, and looks in the corners
of all his drawers for one of those hide-and-seek fourpenny
pieces, the most uncatchable and slip-through-the-fingers coin.
His clothes are all made on the principle of e.xtreme lightness,
and whether in cords or leathers, of which he has "two and
one," he never wears drawers, and sometimes he even dispenses
with stockings ; his boots, too, are of the paper sort, and spurs
of the true racing cut.

It would puzzle Shabbyhounde himself to make out how he
came by the title of Captain. He was originall}' an apprentice
to a clothier at Frome ; but having a soul above " buttons," he
suddenly disappeared from the scene of action, and, after
vegetating some time at Boulogne, returned to England a
Captain, instead of, as might have been expected, a count.
This was, perhaps, accorded on the strength of moustachios, a
military-looking travelling cap, and a broad black stripe down
a pair of blue trowsers, strapped under Wellington boots, with
ringing heel-spurs. " Captain " is a convenient travelling
name. Shabbyhounde had some little money at starting — a
few thousand pounds — sufficient to make or mar a man. A
part of this he "dropped" in mastering the mysteries of the
magic game of ccartc, for there is little to be acquired in this
world without payment, and the balance, whatever it was, has

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 235

kept the Captain going ever since. Of course he has had his
seasons of prosperity and depression ; but he has never been
seen either at the billiard or card table, or in any gambling and
ready-mone}' concern, without a well-displayed purse full of
sovereigns, or a stiff roll of notes, of which he seemed most
thoroughly careless. Indeed, it is in scenes such as these that
he chiefly shines, for it is much easier to affect the flash man
than the foxhunter. Well-made clothes, smart cravats, clean
gloves, good boots, are things of easy accomplishment ; but it
is difficult for the non-foxhunting man, at least for the man
who has no real taste that way, to pass muster. among sports-
men. People soon see who come out for pleasure and who for
other purposes, though, as we said before, it is no small
recommendation to hunting that it is so little capable of
perversion to other than legitimate purposes. It may be
prejudice, and because we " know the man," but we cannot
help thinking there is something about Shabbyhounde's
appearance indicative of his calling, and different to other
people. His verj* clothes seem to tell his story.

They have neither the neat appropriateness of the well
got-up sportsman, nor the indifference of the careless dresser.
There is a sort of attempt — a sort of shabb\- genteelishness
about them, unknown in the general run of hunt costume.

Of course he rides in a cap. This he does for the sake of
identity, and in order that none of the hazardous leaps he
takes in the prosecution of his calling of horse-seller may be
appropriated hv any one else.

It is not a badly-shaped cap ; neither one of those ridiculous
sugar-loaf things we sometimes see sticking a mile off a man's
head, nor one of the squash order, that look as if they only
want ears to turn down to make very comfortable travelling
ones, but it has the appearance of having been made by a
workman, and not of second-rate velvet either. This cap,
indeed, is the best thing about him : but below it are a pair of

'22Q THE HUNTING FIELD

very watchful, restless, grey eyes, full of anxiety and suspicion.
" Conscience, which makes cowards of us all," keeps Shabby-
hounde in a constant state of alarm. The meet of hounds, so
enjoyable to the sportsman, so fruitful in anticipations, and so
productive of agreeable surprises, is to him a scene of constant
nervous dread and anxiety. //<? does not knozu who may cast up.
The recollection of his misdeeds crowd upon his memory, and his
tormenting brain conjures the figures of appearing sportsmen
into the bodies of those whom his ingenuity has defrauded. He
does not know how parties will receive him. He does not know
whether the secret of his last " do " may have oozed out, how
many of the lies he told in effecting it may have been detected,
or what Groom in whose power he has placed himself may have
betrayed him. All these are sad drawbacks to the pleasures
of the meet — sad drawbacks to the pleasures of anything.

To the man of sensitive mind there can be no humiliation so
great as the quiet, silent, cold shoulder reproof of a party of
gentlemen.

Shabbyhounde's coat, of course, is a dress one — not only a
dress one in cut, but absolutely an evening one. These dress
coats for hunting in — these

■' Beds by night, and chests of drawers by day,"

have always appeared to us to be the economy of extravagance,
paltry in conception and contemptible in execution. If a man
is such a determined out-and-out sportsman that he must
always have the insignia of his calling about him, surely he
can afford a coat for each division of the day, and not have to
look forward to converting the superfine cloth of the drawing-
room into the defier of thorns, and storms, briars and bushes,
out of doors.

We are quite aware that, generally speaking, these coats
are launched on the service they are meant for — that they go
at once into the hunting field, but the theory is the same, they
originated in a paltry idea of converting dress coats into

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 237

hunting ones when they got shabby, and a shabby dog he
must have been who started the idea.

Although we fully agree in the words of the old song, that
there's

'■ Naught like boots and leather breeches,"

we do not carry our admiration for hunting accoutrements
quite so high as to insist upon there being nothing like scarlet
for dining in. Indeed, we don't like it. It makes too much
of a business of the thing, added to which we often see the
greatest cocktails in a morning the most tenacious of appearing
in it in an evening.

If, however, men with their hair stiffl}' curled, and pumps on
their feet, will put themselves into scarlet for dinners and
balls, let us beg of them to get new coats occasionally. Most
things look well when they are fresh and new ; finery, above
all things, should be good, for much of its popularity depends
upon its newness, and scarlet evening coats are no e.xception
to the rule. What can look nastier than a greasy annual, a
keepsake, or book of beauty, for instance, or a frowsy faded
piece of worsted-worked finery ? Nothing but a shapeless,
makeless, old-fashioned red rag dancing about. Yet what
things we have seen, to be sure ! and what men in them !
Tall, gaunt, spectral-looking fellows, with faces the very
antipodes of their coats, and little roundabout, teetotum,
beer-barrel-looking things, that could never by any possibility
sit on a horse. These people have coats that the}' got when
" they hunted," as they call it, some twenty years ago perhaps,
and having them, they think it right to air them every now and
then, that is to say, whenever they can get an opportunity, at
hunt or fancy balls, at which latter place, indeed, hunt coats
are valuable, as saving many a worthy man from being choked
in uniform. But if a man hopes to kill a girl — which, after all,
we suppose is the real object of appearing in scarlet — let him
ascertain before he commits himself, that there are no military

238 THE HUNTING FIELD

going, else his plain coat will have a very denuded, stripped-of-
its-Iace appearance by the side of the glittering uniforms of his
competitors. Hunt coats are best at hunt balls.

Shabbyhounde's coat has not come to the cover before it
was due. It has long lost all the freshness of newness, while
sundry stains on the back and left shoulder give indications of
lamp droppings, or wax swealings, obtained in the fantastic toe
service. Still it is not a badly cut coat, though the collar
rather puts the back to the blush, having only superseded a
black velvet one with a gold embroidered fox on each side, it
shows rather too new for the rest. Of course Shabbyhounde
sports an anonymous button, one we should think made
entirely out of his own head ; but he does not trust the keeping
together of his coat to these usual articles, for he has it secured
by a diminutive steel bit, which, with a curb chain to his
watch, add very materially, he considers, to his sporting
appearance. No flash man was ever seen without pins or
braoches, sometimes both, and Shabbyhounde has a large gold
pin representing two race horses contending for a prize, in the
full stride of extended limb. His cravat is a rich purple and
black-flowered satin one, and his waistcoat a worked one, blue
ground, with yellow roses. We need hardly add that he rides
with a large cutting whip. He is a little man, though hunting
dress has the singular effect of making some little men look
taller and some tall men shorter than they are. Of course the
Captain keeps his moustachios, this being part of his stock
in trade, but he is not prodigal in whisker, neither does he
indulge in flowing hair, at least not in winter.

We will now glance at him in action. He is always in
a desperate stew about a start. His whole thoughts and
conversation turn upon this point. He never cares to see the
fox go away. He never looks to see whether the body of the
hounds are out of cover, but as soon as a hound speaks, he
begins to settle himself in his saddle, gets his horse firmly by

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUXDE 239

the head, and keeps his eye on what he considers the foremost
man to be ready to start the moment he sees him move. Thus
he goes hke a jockey, creeping to the starting post all arms
and legs, jealous in the extreme if any horse's head comes
before his. " Hold hard ! " is the only hunting term Shabby-
hounde knows, and most liberally he vociferates it when any
one gets before him. It is a term, however, he pays little
attention to, if he is first — the Master not up, and an expectant
purchaser in the rear. What places he will then go at ! what
risks he will run !

A looker-on would fancy he had half a dozen spare necks
at home, so little does he seem to care for the one he is
wearing.

How amiable he is about his horses, how tender of their
reputation, how anxious to transfer their faux pas to his own
shoulders. We saw old staggering Bill, as he is called, a big,
bay, wooden-legged old screw, give him a tremendous fall over
a stone wall, which the old beggar absolutely ran at without
the slightest attempt at leaping, and not content with tumbling
him over on the far side, the indolent brute lay on his leg for
some five minutes, which agreeable time was spent by the
Captain in alternate exhortations to the horse to rise, and
protestations to the parties who came to compel him, that it
was " all his own fault ; the horse wasn't to blame in the least.'"
Another day he was riding a groggy old grey in a sharpish
burst over a roughish country, where, as usual, the Captain
was doing his best to distinguish himself, when in crossing a
field of wheat, the veteran fell in a grip, and rolling heavily
over him, left the Captain distended for dead. It is a painful
sight to see a red coat and white breeches lying full stretch
on the land, a painfulness that was increased in the present
instance by the apparent lifelessness of the body and the
springing of the young green wheat all around. There lay the
Captain, and it was not until he was stuck up on end, and

240 THE HUNTING FIELD

some brandy poured down his throat, that he began to give
any symptoms of returning animation, when the first words he
uttered, as he stared wildly around, were, " Good beast as ever
was for all that." In short nobody ever saw the Captain
without an excuse for a horse, whatever he did.

There are some people in the world, not many certainly,
who have no idea of improving an opportunity — indeed upon
whom the temptations of fortune are perfectly wasted, but the
Captain is not one of these. We will give an instance of his
observing acuteness and anxiety to " do business," as they
say on 'Change. As he was getting on to his horse one
morning, he saw a woman coming up with a pig in a string by
the leg, after the approved fashion of pig-driving, and all sorts
of dealing being interesting, she was accosted by a passing
countryman as to what she had given for it. " Far o'er
much," replied the lady, desirous of having the inquirer's
estimate before she told.

" You'd give six-and-twenty shillings, perhaps," rejoined
the man.

" No, a guinea," replied the lad}-.

Well, the Captain went to meet the hounds, and after
drawing Copgrove Hanging Wood and Ashbourne Gorse
blank, they turned in the direction of Harpsford, intending to
go to Drewsborough Great Wood.

On the road coming down the Chequers Hill, what should
Captain Shabbyhounde espy but his friend with the pig in the
string, who, with that obstinate sort of stupidit}' called pig-
headedness, was quartering the road as if to make the most of
the journey. The Captain's keen e3'e saw " opportunity," and
tickling old Beelzebub in the flank, he coaxed him in between
young Tom Pappington and Miles Brown, who were enjoying
an angry discussion on the corn-laws. Both being rather beat
for arguments (indeed what they advanced were only the
crumbs they had picked up at their fathers' tables), they were

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 241

not sorry to transfer the further discussion to the Captain
if he was inclined to accept of the boon. Accordingly they
appealed to him for his opinion of protection, and the Captain
prolonging a draw at his cigar — that most convenient of all
idea furnishers — drawled out at length, as he watched the
upward curl of smoke rise above his nose, that he thought
repeal would bring down prices.

" But," continued he, after a pause, during which he
adjusted the end of the cigar, "you great landowners should
know these things much better than me."

Piggy had now got near hand, and after a snort and semi-
circular dart on meeting the hounds, had adopted the grass
siding of the road, and was advancing in that sort of retro-
grading way that makes one congratulate oneself upon not
being a pig-driver.

" It will bring down the price of bacon, too," observed the
Captain, eyeing the bristling little beggar as it squeaked and
tugged at the cord. " There's a nice little pig," continued he,
pointing it out to Pappington, " What price would you set
upon it ? "

Pappington looked at it with a most sagacious eye, as if he
was in the habit of valuing whole droves every day.

" Thirty shillings," said he, with the greatest confidence.
" What do you say, Mr. Brown ? " asked the Captain.

" I say five-and-twenty," replied Brown.

" Let us make a sovereign sweepstakes," said the Captain,
" for the nearest guesser."

" Done," rejoined Pappington.

" Will you be in ? " asked the Captain of Sam Tubbs, who
was just passing, to whom he explained the purport of the
venture.

Tubbs, who was a judge of pigs, joined and priced the pig at
four-and-twenty shillings.

The Captain guessed three-and-twenty.

R

242 THE HUNTING FIELD

" What did \-ou give for your pig, my good woman ? "
inquired Pappington, riding up.

" Five-and-twenty shillings," replied the woman.

She had been hoaxing the man.

That was a spec deserving of a better result. We shall now
exhibit our Captain in the more genial field of horse-dealing.

He once had a horse that he sold six times over in one year,
receiving from each purchaser a bonus for taking him back.
This was Lambkin, as he was erroneously called, though we
really believe the name had considerable influence in selling
him. Lambkin was a finely-shaped black horse about fifteen
two, or rather under, a size adapted for hacking, hunting, or
harness. The Captain either got him in a gambling debt, or
from some officer ordered to join his regiment, we don't know
whither. Suffice it to say, that in the season of sea kale and
spring captains, Shabbyhounde cast up at Market Harborough
with Lambkin in his stud. Now Lambkin really was a nice-
looking horse — he was what we may call a creditable,
gentlemanly-looking horse, in contradistinction to the
blemished, iron-marked, knuckling, round-legged Tom and
Jerry seedy-looking screws that generally composed his stud.
With any man but Shabbyhounde upon him, the horse would
have looked like a hundred and fifty or two hundred guineas,
but spring captains are always suspicious creatures — such a
spring captain as Shabbyhounde — suspicious beyond all
conception. Many people looked at the horse, many admired
him, many talked of him, and if Shabbyhounde had not been
at Harborough before, he would very soon have sold him.
As it was, he rather hung fire — everybody was satisfied that
there was a screw loose somewhere, and most industriously
they set to work to discover it. One thought his carcass was
too big for his legs, another that his wind wasn't good — that
he didn't cough as he ought, a third that there was an
enlargement of the near knee, a fourth thought he detected

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 243

incipient spavin, a fifth a little warmth in the off leg, a sixth
that his feet didn't match, a seventh suspected incipient
cataract, while the herd of greenhorns condemned his standing
over legs, which were in fact one of the best points about him.
We are not like Luke Lieall, the " Cripplegate Pet," as he is
called b}' the horse-dealers, who invariably expatiates on the
advantages of any infirmity about a horse that he wants to
sell, but we may observe that real standing over legs, such as
Lambkin had, are a recommendation. Standing over legs are
of two sorts, the natural and the acquired. The natural, of
course, are those with which a horse is foaled, while the
acquired are the result of hard work, as are too strikingly
portrayed bj' stage coach and cab horses, knuckling towards
the ground. It is a truism for which we will vouch the great
Tat himself, that naturally standing over legs never fail, while
the others have too palpably failed already. That however is
beside the subject. The question before the house is " what
was the matter with Lambkin ? "' Well reader, what do you
think it was ? D'ye give it up ? Well, we'll tell you. He
li'as difficult to mount !

We have already stated that he was good tempered — even
playful — but he had his peculiarity, and that peculiarity
consisted in kicking people over his head the moment they
mounted. To further his amiable designs, nature had endowed
him with the most powerful back and loins that ever horse
possessed. Even in leaping, it required a good seat to keep in
the saddle with the tremendous lashes out he gave behind,
and the reader may easih- imagine what redoubled force he
would muster for a premeditated kick, and with what awful
violence it would tell on the unsuspecting confidence of a half
acquired seat. Lambkin could spanghew a rider as clean as
ever schoolboy spanghewd a sparrow from a trap. Send him
flying through the air like an arrow or a darting hawk. It
was only at the first mounting he did it. If the rider — or

244 THE HUNTING FIELD

would-be rider — kept his seat — the horse would give in after a
fight, a piece of politeness that tells more with a master than a
stranger, seeing that the stranger, if he gets kicked off, in all
probability will never be master. It was just one of those
nasty sort of tricks that would prevent nine men out of ten
from trying a horse.

Still, beau Shackell, Elmore, Bartley, Anderson, Bill Bean,
a whole jury of horse-dealers, could not have detected anything
wrong about Lambkin. His action was good, he could trot
with a loose head on pavement, and in the field his
performances were first-rate ; first-rate at least with Shabby-
hounde on his back, and a horse wanter behind. His temper
too was perfect, and he had a playful way of rattling and
champing the bit when he had nothing to do, as much as to
say, " Why can't you trust me without this nasty thing in my
mouth ? " Whether it was this playfulness, or to disarm
suspicion of his infirmity, we know not, but Shabbyhounde
christened him Lambkin. Now the name Lambkin certainly
does convey the idea of a very gentle, playful, docile creature,
its disarms suspicion, nay, even inspires confidence, and would
make one go up to an animal in a stall, that we might have
declined had he been called "Beelzebub," "Old Nick," "The
Tiger," or any such name. But Lambkin ! who would be
afraid of Lambkin ! so great is the charm— the magic of a
name. And yet his kicking was not from vice — it was a mere
trick — a trick that he had acquired with a sore back, and
which had grown into habit by repeated successes. Before he
came into the hands from which Shabbyhounde got him, he
had spanghewd two prebendaries, a fat apothecary, a linen-
draper, three ostlers, a master butcher, an official assignee, a
railway surveyor, and two druggists. The uninitiated in
" kicks off" may say that it makes very little odds whether a
horse kicks j-ou off from vice or from fun ; but there we beg to
differ from them, it makes a good deal of difference, especially

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 245

if you fall near. The vicious horse will often follow up his
success by attacking you either with his teeth or his heels,
standing with his nasty frightful iron calkings at your nose,
considering which eye he shall knock out ; whereas the
playful ejector merely seems to have been having a trial of
skill how far he could send you, and stands looking at the
result, just like a baker playing at bowls. The vicious horse to
be sure gives a sort of notice to such few as are capable of
taking a hint. There is a certain liberal display of the white
of the eye, and a muscular cat-like contraction of the back
and loins, all symptomatic of his intentions, but any misgivings
arising out of such symptoms are generally allayed by those in
the secret declaring that it's "all play" — "the quietest horse
in the world when he's mounted" — "child might ride him " —
with that most taking of all appeals to a Briton, " not to be
frightened," an appeal that drives more men to destruction
than even an engineman on a railway. Lambkin, on the
contrary, gave no indication of anything of the sort. He
would let a stranger walk up to him, handle him, gather up
the reins, and even put his foot into the stirrup without
wincing ; but as soon as he felt the souce in the saddle, as
surely down went the head, up went heels, and away went the
intrepid adventurer. And j^et, as we said before. Lambkin
was not obstinately persevering, if he found he could not
unship a chap, he would shut up shop, at all events, confine
his endeavours to an occasional hoist ; but a new customer
invariably drew forth all his best energies, which he continued
to use till one or other gained a decided victory. We
need scarcely say, that Shabbyhounde had gained that
desirable ascendancy, and though he always found it con-
venient to ride Lambkin to cover, and was especially shy of
mounting in the inn yard before strangers, yet that was from a
desire of keeping the peculiarity snug, and not from any
expectation of Lambkin proving " too many for him."

246 THE HUNTING FIELD

It has been well said that there is no secret so close as that
between a rider and his horse, and as Shabbyhounde had no
taste for disclosing the secrets of his stable, it will be
abundantly clear that the only way of selling a horse like
Lambkin — at least the only way of getting anything like a
price for him — was selling him in the field, a process that the
Captain was particularly partial to, especially after having
"gone a good un " before the expected buyer.

Our readers will now have the kindness to consider it a fine
morning in February, and the " Squire's"' hounds meeting at
Kelmarsh, a few miles below Market Harborough, on the
Northampton road. They will further oblige us by supposing
that Captain Shabbyhounde, having mounted Lambkin in the
inn-yard without more trouble than usual, has walked him
quietly to the meet.

We took occasion lately, when sketching the portrait of old
Mr. Bullwaist, to introduce the adventures of another horse —
Claudius Hunter — and to comment on the admirable dispensa-
tions of Providence in turning even the infirmities of His
creatures to good account ; and in relating the adventures of
Lambkin, we may observe how a never-failing supply of flats
is kept up in the world — a fact most perfectly understood by
advertising tailors, persevering wine merchants, and peripatetic
map men.

It so happened that on this particular morning, the
Honourable Julius Milksop, a newly emancipated, but beard-
less Cantab, made his appearance with the Pytchley in all the
luxuriance of flowing locks, cheroots, and a perfumed pocket-
handkerchief. Shabbyhounde's e3-es, which had had " no
speculation in them for some time, glared withal," for
Milksop looked like a man for his money, added to which he
did not seem to have any acquaintance in the field, so the
Captain ascertaining from his groom who he was — a piece of
information that the groom of course accompanied with the

CAPTAIN SHARRYHOUNDE 247

title of Honourable — "Honourable Milksop"' — according to
the then Cambridge idiom, why the Captain took him at once
under his wing — a most prudent proceeding, seeing that it
not only increased his own consequence, but prevented any
of those illiberal remarks or insinuations that an opposition
Shabbyhounde might indulge in. The Captain and Julius
very soon struck up a dialogue, for Julius was just of the age
to rush into indiscriminate acquaintances, and a youth — nay a
man — entering a strange hunting field, is very like a fresh boy
turned into a school — glad to take up with the first one that
speaks to them. Since Mr. Lockhart went down into Leices-
tershire w-ith his good little " bay horse," and wrote the
surprising article on the " Chase," in the " Quarterly Review,"
people have been rather suspicious of strangers in the hunting
field, and many a man has been charged with being a
Quarterly Reviewer, whose banker's or whose betting-book has
been his only claim to literature. Authorship somehow is not
a popular trade in the country. Nimrod was the only author
on horseback who could fairly face a hunting field in /rc/z-M
persona. There was no mystery or concealment about him.
He went in as Nimrod, and as Nimrod he wished to be known.
He even indulged in the lordly privilege of putting " Nimrod "
on the backs of his letters. But to our story — the Honourable
Julius Milksop is landed in Northamptonshire, and " taken
up " by Captain Shabbyhounde, who, riding his best horse,
had got his leather breeches on, and looked more like the
gentleman, if not more like the fox-hunter than usual.

After giving the hounds the usual run of the evergreens
about Kelmarsh, and drawing Scotland Wood blank, they
trotted away to a cover on some broken ground on a hill side
belonging to Sir Justinian Isham, called Blue De\ils, or blue
something we forget what, when a whimper and the Squire's
cheery holloa as he worked among the gorse on foot
proclaimed the varmint astir, as was very soon confirmed by

248 THE HUNTING FIELD

the crash of his redoubtable dog pack forcing their way to the
spot. Presently Jack Stevens's halloo away ! was heard from
below, and joy and fear became depicted on every face.
Scream 1 screech ! twang, twang, crack, crack, whoop !
whoop ! all noise, bustle, and confusion^ — yonder he goes !
Which way ! over the hill ! No, he's turned ! Now d'ye see
him ? No, I don't ! Yes, I do ! No, it's a dog !

" Follozu vie, I know tlic country " cried the Captain to his
pupil, as he hustled along, jostling two or three funkers out of
their places, and leaping over the gorse and brushwood that
obstructed his path, he dived down into the bottom. The
Second Whip brought Osbaldeston his horse, and the Captain
and Milksop start fair with the hounds, followed by all the
bold boys of the county. It's a rare burst ! and there's a rare
scent !

It was worth going a long way to see Osbaldeston ride Pilot,
or any of his

" Cock horses to Banbury Cross,"

followed by that best of good Whips, Jack Stevens, and our
pen even now inclines to follow the Squire instead of sticking
to the subject at the head of our paper — Captain Shabby-
hounde. The Squire, however, and we must part for the
present, for the Captain durst not ride before him, and his
object now was to break the fences for his new acquaintance,
and show what a wonderful horse he was on. Accordingly at
the first divergible point the Captain struck off to the left,
clearing four stiff rails instead of opening the bridle gate
which they joined. Milksop followed him, for all lads like
leaping, and they presently found themselves in great enjoy-
ment among the bullfinches. The Squire's red coat on the
right acted as a sort of guide, and first one, and then the
other, went at the fences, as though they would eat them.
Milksop was no shirker, on the contrary he would take

CAPTAIN SHAEBYHOUXDE

249

anything that anybody else would take, and wanted particularly
to distinguish himself. So Shabbyhounde and he went on
from fence to fence, rejoicing.

As luck would have it, at the end of ten minutes or so the
fox took it into his head to turn short to the right, but
the Squire's hounds turning short also, the}- were getting
together on the line, when our friends found themselves " right
among them before they knew where they were." It is a
general rule that when mischief is done, every person who
is not in the place with the master or fault-finder, whoever he
may be, is wrong, and it required no rhetoric from the Squire
to proclaim " that any but a natural born fool might be sure
that the fox would turn where he did," but when the Squire
came up and saw it was his old tormentor. Captain Shabby-
hounde, who had ridden them to check, he began reading the
Riot Act, most vehemently, exclaiming, as he held the hounds
on across the enclosure, something about d — d horse-dealing
something — that did not sound at all like "gentleman." The
scent was good, the hounds were quickly on the line, without
letting in more of the tail than was desirable, and away they
went again full tilt.

CHAPTER XIX

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE— CONCLUDED

•e«>;si4i. ■

O a stranger, or a man like
Shabbyhounde, who never
looks to hounds, a ring is
as good as a line, and he
reached Cottesbrooke, after
running down nearly to Little
Creaton, without beingaware
that they had not been going
straight. At Cottesbrooke
the pace increased, and the
for Thornby Folly, turned a little towards Naseby,
and was finally run into view in the large fields where the two
cross carving knives on the map denote the battle to have been
fought. The new friends rode gallantl}' together, at least as
far as they went, nor was their cordiality diminished by the
partnership " blowing up " they had received from the Squire.

As luck would have it, Mr. Milksop's horse began to decline
before they reached Thornby Foil}-. He blundered and tripped,
and at last fell on his head on the far side of a fence. Shabby-
hounde saw how it was, and, having alighted, picked up and
scraped his acquaintance, as the late Mr. Hood would have

fox makint

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 251

said, nothing would serve him but he would put Milksop on
Lambkin. If the generality of the Captain's horses had only
been as good on their legs as they were in their wind, they
would have been invaluable, and Lambkin, for a wonder, was
perfect in both. He had gone the run stoutly and well, was
still as gay as a lark, and, with Milksop's lighter weight upon
him, bounded off like an arrow from the bow. Lambkin never
thought of trying to kick Milksop off — that was only a home
exploit ; on the contrarj-, he scuttled awa}-, and very soon was
well with the hounds again.

Naseby Field used to be rather deep in those days — it may
be so still, for aught we know — and after a fair trial, over sound
springy pastures. Milksop found Lambkin had the knack of
getting his hind legs well under him, and of going through deep
also. What a luxury that is ! How delightful to feel the hind
quarters throwing the fore ones on, treading the water, as it
were, instead of the floundering deeper and deeper still, lob, lob,
lobbing, grunting, groaning, sobbing, sighing, hammer-and-
pincering of the mere turf strider.

Give us the horse that can go in deep as well as on grass, the
nag that can creep as well as fly, and we will throw extreme
pace to " Bunbury,"* to divide among the Jockey Club.

Forrard ! forrard! that inspiriting cheer to the fresh — that
tantalizing mockery to the ho.z.t— forrard I forrard ! was still
the cry, and Lambkin responded to it vigorousl}-.

The Honourable Julius Milksop bein'g in
"The morning of life,""
as the elegant Dr. Goss sublimely sings, when

" Middling horse-flesh takes the reason prisoner,"'

it will not surprise our ancient readers to learn that he soon
found out there was a considerable difference between the
horse he was on and the one he had been riding, nor was the

* The great turf writer of the present day.

252 THE HUNTING FIELD

improvement less apparent, owing to the sudden transition
from a beaten horse to a fresh one. Indeed, Mr. Milksop, like
many young gentlemen riding on the top of the morning, went
a good deal upon price. He thought if he gave a good lot of
money, he was sure to get a good horse, a problem not quite so
apparent to those who have made a long journey in old Father
Time's coach. The nag he was on was out of Jordan's stud, a
fair hack hunter when in the superior wind peculiar to the class,
but who had got rather ptirsey from a repletion of oats and
deficiency of work since he entered our friend's (if he will allow
us to call him so) service.

Yonder he goes I cried the Squire, pointing with his whip to
where reynard was stealing over a gently swelling hill in the
distance. Yonder lie goes ! repeated he, urging his horse on to
the pack. The blood of old Furrier was in the ascendant, and
the staunch pack clustered like bees — a sheet would have
covered the whole. The fox gains the hedge-row, and is for
a moment screened from view — another second, and he creeps
through again, hearing hounds on the same side. Ah ! it's all
over with him. The hounds divide, and there's no escape.
Whoo whoop ! Vengeance snaps him !

A fox is one of the few animals whose death never draws
forth compassion.

" Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare,''
wrote Somerville, and hundreds will echo the sentiment who
never feel a pang of compunction for poor reynard. The fact is,
he is a carnivorous dog, and dies game. The scream of the
hare is piteous in the extreme. Our fox will not excite any
more pity, we dare say, from the fact of our having killed
him twice.

" A southerly wind and a cloudy sky " used to be the
huntsman of old's delight, but we confess we have no objection
to sun. We don't get so much of it in England that we can
afford to shut it out even for hunting. Sun adds cheerful

CAPTAIN SHABBVHOINDE

brill •' ' 111 scene — t'^ n rrantl fjvhunting _/?««/« as much as

to a!, .1 nature .; and gay- There can be

nothinj: ;;a\('r cir livelier than a well-grouped kill on a bright
day, in the those about Naseby.

The led ' the dismounted red

coats niui , .. -. jntsmen, with uplifted

fox, in t!u of the pack, the echoing u>hoo

zvhoops of the whips, and ever and anon the unexpected
arrival of some unfortunate outcast brimful of excuses for
not being up.

Such a scene was it on the da\
The Squire was delighted ! All
the lagging lane and line riders
they had passed through,

unqualified approbation of i
readiness to be continua'l'
make affidavit that Osi
England ! "

Who, we should like to
that were not occasionally ti

The Squire, seeing Mr. ^
that he was one of the unfo
the run, most politely li
intimation that he had gone
they had had such a
having acknowledged tb.
a sov., as Jem Biand u
and brush in hand, retir

\V'- inuit now ret
Th ':

th. .
ha.

have been describing.

' " were rejoiced, even

' with the countrs

d in testifyin'u,' their

--rted til ■ '• •

.c Lord

the " best hou;;

e
z

>

L.

3

hunted with a pack *"

V), and xr
had "I
the brush, wi:

V

c

c
o

'J

5

his hand-, by m

It

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 253

brillancy to any scene — to a grand ioxhunt'mg Ji/iale as much as
to anything. All nature looks smiling and gay. There can be
nothing gayer or livelier than a well-grouped kill on a bright
day, in the middle of a large pasture like those about Naseby.
The led horses forming the outer circle, the dismounted red
coats mopping themselves on foot, the huntsmen, with uplifted
fox, in the middle of the baying pack, the echoing zvkoo
whoops of the whips, and ever and anon the unexpected
arrival of some unfortunate outcast brimful of excuses for
not being up.

Such a scene was it on the day we have been describing.
The Squire was delighted ! All the " ups " were rejoiced, even
the lagging lane and line riders were pleased with the country
they had passed through, and all joined in testifying their
unqualified approbation of the pack, and asserted their perfect
readiness to be continually going before the Lord Mayor to
make affidavit that Osbaldeston's were the " best hounds in
England ! "

Who, we should like to know, ever hunted with a pack
that were not occasionally the best ?

The Squire, seeing Mr. Milksop well up, and recollecting
that he was one of the unfortunate wights he had " blessed" in
the run, most politely handed him the brush, with an
intimation that he had gone uncommonly well, and he was glad
they had had such a good day for his first. The stranger
having acknowledged the compliment, and tipped Jack Stevens
a sov., as Jem Bland used to call them, sought his led horse,
and brush in hand, retired from the field in quest of his own.

We must now return to our friend Captain Shabbyhounde.
The Captain got Mr. Milksop's horse just in time, for the pace
they were going, and the loose way Mr. Milksop rode, would
have polished him off in another field or two.

He was not the first tired horse the Captain had had through
his hands, by many ; indeed, the generality of his stud

254 THE HUNTING FIELD

exhibited the sunken, dejected e3'e, pecuhar to stopped and
over-marked horses. By slackening Milksop's horse's girths
turning his head to the wind, rinsing out his mouth, and
other little attentions, the Captain was soon enabled to
pursue the chase on foot with his horse in his hand.

Hunting on foot is only poor sport at best, pursued in top
boots lamentably poor, and the Captain was not sorry to see his
new acquaintance returning on the line of the run. Great was
his joy when the proud trophy waved over Milksop's head
proclaimed the glorious finish, and greater still, though more
suppressed, his delight at hearing that Lambkin had "carried
him well."

What an opportunity was here for a man of Shabbyhounde's

ft

enterprising qualities — what a field for the exercise of his
" insinivating " talents. A youth, as fresh and verdant as
a turnip-field — a splendid horse — a clear stage, and no opposi-
tion. Could but the Captain have had a peep at the banker's
book, he would indeed have been elated. That was his only
fear. He had once been bit by an apparent greenhorn in the
matter of a post obit, and he rather dreaded the innocence of
youth. '■ Nothing venture nothing gain," however, thought the
Captain, and he " at him " again with the virtues of his horse. If
ever animal had cause to be proud of the favours of a master, it
surely was Lambkin — Shabbyhounde did butter him up — did lay
it on thick. Not but that the horse deserved praise; for he was a
"good-un," and nothing but a "good-un," barring the little play-
ful propensity already related. Indeed, Shabbyhounde laid it on
so thick that Milksop, who was most "jolly green," thought it
useless asking if he would sell such a piece of perfection. The
consequence was the Captain was obliged to throw out the bait
himself, a decidedly unskilful move in the grand game of " DO."
However, there is no help for it, where such verdancy does
exist, and the Captain was obliged, after sundr}- beatings about
the bush, to put it to Milksop rather pointedly " If he would

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 255

not like to have Lambkin ? '" There are very few people who
can't take a good horse, the difficulty generally being about
paying for him ; but this did not seem to weigh with Mr. Milksop,
who merely said he would be glad to take him — •" take him,"
just as he would take a hat from a hatter, a pair of braces from
a hosier, or a waistcoat from his tailor. That fine, easy, Can-
tabridgian style of doing business not sounding at all like
money, and " tick " being at all times abhorrent to the mind of
our Captain — at least when he had to give it — and dangerous in
the extreme in a case like the present, he let out at once that
the price would be a hundred and seventy-five guineas.

Milksop didn't seem chagrined at all at the information ;
indeed, he rather looked upon the price as complimentary to his
judgment in horse-flesh, seeing that he pronounced Lambkin
first-rate, and he had given a hundred and twenty for the horse
he was on.

We think the Captain showed great judgment, not only in
asking a high price, but in asking it in such a way as to look as
if he had measured the horse out to the odd five guineas. Had
he asked a hundred and fifty or two hundred, it might have been
regarded as a mere random, off-hand, figure-of-speech sort of
price ; but a hundred and seventy-five guineas carried con-
siderate calculation on the face of it. Time was, when gentle-
men used not to think it right to offer each other less for their
horses than they asked — they used to leave bartering and bargain-
driving to jobbers and dealers — but those days are about
past — gentlemen haggle just as hard as the hucksters. To
this rule, however, we must add that Mr. Milksop was an
exception. His father, old Viscount Creamjug of Papcastle
Tower, had instilled good old-fashioned gentlemanly ideas into
his mind, and Mr. Milksop invariably acted up to them.
Honourable himself, he had no suspicion of dishonesty in
others — a fine healthy feeling, but one that is not exactly
adapted to this extremely sharp world of ours. Be that as it

256 THE HUNTING FIELD

may, the Captain got his price, and how the horse turned out
will soon appear.

Captain Shabbyhounde, like most of the puffing, advertising
tradespeople, not expecting to do business with the same person
a second time, always made a point of bilking the groom, when
he accomplished a sale by himself, and he did not depart from
his custom in the present instance. Indeed, there does seem
something superlatively silly in feeing a servant, because we
have taken it into our head to buy a horse. We might just as
well fee the housemaid on buying a broom, the dairymaid on
buying a cow, or the man or boy on buying a hat.

Nobody who knew the Captain, or rather no one who did
not know him, but who heard him talk, could doubt for
a moment that his objection was founded on pure principle.
He denounced it as an absurdity, as a mere premium for
dissatisfaction, and the urging of frequent changes on the part
of servants.

When, however, the deal was not to be accomplished without,
our friend knew how to plant a sovereign, or even a five pound
note, as well as anybody. The Captain indeed was the
creature of circumstance, now liberal, now mean, just as
it suited his purpose. The character is a common one, and
we need not describe it further.

When Mr. Strutt, Mr. Milksop's valet and stud-groom,
heard that he had presumed to purchase a horse without con-
sulting him, he was highly indignant. Strutt had had cause
for dissatisfaction before, and it was only not seeing his way
clearly to a better place, that prevented him turning his
master off. When he learned that his master had dealt with
Shabbyhounde, he looked upon himself as regularly robbed.
It may seem strange that Mr. Strutt, who had so lately
arrived, should be " up " to the Shabbyhounde dodge ; but
Strutt was a high privilege man, one who stood upon the
rights of his order, and he considered it a downright insult

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 257

for any man, be he who he might, to attempt to " do " his
master without consulting him. He took an enlarged com-
prehensive view of the question — not the mere " A and B "
deal case, as between Shabbyhounde and his master, but he
looked at the general principle of the thing, and he saw if
such work was allowed it would be destructive of settled
principles, and most prejudicial to the interests of his pro-
fession. Moreover, Shabbyhounde's fame was not altogether
unknown to him, though it did not enter into Strutfs imagina-
tion that a man could be so depraved as to think of defrauding
him of his regulars ; the amount of which, however, he could
not but feel greatly depended upon the imparlance before the
deal. It is a delicate case, and one that we feel assured will
come home to the feelings of all stabularian professors. It
makes all the difference in the world, whether the imparlance is
before or after the deal.

Strutt looked as though nature had meant him for the
name, for he was a most bumptious, consequential, rosy-gilled
bantam-cock-looking little fellow, uniting in his apparel the
extravagances of valet and groom. He had a groom's hat
and a valet's hair, a groom's coat and a valet's waistcoat, a
swell satin cravat, and groomish-made trowsers, buttoning up
the leg with French-cut gaiters and thin shoes. At the
time of which we are writing, he might be forty or forty-five
years of age, greyish about the whisker, but not about the
hair, pot-bellied, and uncommonly " long in the tooth." He
knew where sixpence could be laid on, or a shilling squeezed
out, as well as any man going. He had been Lord Creamjug's
" own groom," and had been selected by his lordship to
accompany his son to Cambridge, in the advanced capacity
of valet and groom of the one horse his lordship thought would
assist in digesting his son's mathematics, and other cross-
grained stuff that he had to encounter with his mental teeth.
Of course, Strutt had improved his own education and

s

258 THE HUNTING FIELD

knowledge of arithmetic among the highlj' respectable trades-
men and " talented "' men congregated at Cambridge, and at
the time of which we are speaking you might have drawn
Piccadillj' and Oxford Street too, without finding a more
" knowing hand " than Simon Strutt.

Of course, Strutt had now nothing to do with what he
called the " dirty work " of the stable. The stud had increased
to four, for which he had the second horseman, a regular
helper, and as many occasional ones as he chose to take ;
Strutt superintended. His valeting was onerous. He attended
to all his master's clothes, except his hunting and shooting
things, his morning boots and shoes, dirt}' trowsers and
gloves. Those he assigned to the second horseman. He gave
the linen out to wash, and counted it or not when it came
back as suited his convenience. Altogether, Strutt — we beg his
pardon, Mister Strutt— had a hard easy life of it — laboriously
idle.

Strutt, we need not say, was desperate!}' indignant when
his master informed him that he had bought the " sweetest
horse in the world," and when he mentioned the name of
Captain Shabbyhounde, his gill-less chops reddened like a
turkey-cock's thropple at the sight of a scarlet coat. He did
not like captains in general, or the name of Captain Shabby-
hounde in particular. Our readers may suppose how much he
was disconcerted, when he committed himself by writing the
following letters : —

" George Inn, Nortliampton.
"Sir, — Understanding the Honourable Mr. Milksop has been looking
at a horse of yours, i shall be glad to kno when it will suite you for me to
com over and examine him and so on, yours to command,

" Simon Strutt, Stud Groom.
" To Captain Shabbyhounde, Market Harborough."

The (Captain replied as follows : —

"Sir, — Your master has bought my horse, and he only remains in my

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE i>.yj

stable to suit his convenience, and save the horse a journey southward
when he is going west. He had a hard day at Kelmarsh.and as we thought
he would not be fit for four or five more, we arranged that he should stay
here, and I would send him to meet you at Dunchurch on Friday, where
Mr. Milksop proposes riding him with Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds on Satur-
day.— Yours obediently,

" George Sh.^ibbyhounde.

" To the Honble. Julius Milksop's Groom, Northampton."

We should have premised that J^Ir. Milksop was a mere
bird of passage, hunting his way to Leamington Priors, where
the Viscountess Creamjug had gone in a terrible hurry, suffer-
ing from an affection of the toe (what common people would
call a corn), which she preferred placing under the silent treat-
ment of Doctor Jephson, to undergoing the public gibbeting of
Monsr. Eisenburg, or any of the advertising fraternity.

Before Captain Shabbyhounde's answer reached the anxious
hands of Mr. Strutt, that vile jade rumour had spread some
ver}' unpleasant stories respecting the Captain's mode of doing
business. Indeed it appeared that a jury of grooms had sat on
him only the season before, when they returned an unanimous
verdict that he was a "snob," and strongly recommended that
he " should be transported back to the country from whence
he came, being totally unfit," as they thought, "for a civilized
one," a sentence, we may add, that they would have had some
difficulty in carrjing out, seeing that no one had ever been
able to tell what country claimed the Captain. That case
had originated in much such a transaction as the present — an
unprincipled attempt to defraud a man of his regulars. Indeed
the cases were so analogous, that it was agreed in consultation
that unless the Captain was brought to book before the horse
was delivered, there would be very little hope of getting
anything after. That impression was quite confirmed by the
receipt of the Captain's reply, which did not even hint at
doing the "usual" or the "genteel," or anything that could
be construed into an acknowledgment of vested rights. Strutt

260 THE HUNTING FIELD

was outrageous. He was so put about that he could not take
the chair at the Groom's Champagne Club, which was to hold
its weekly meeting that night.

Instead of going, he concocted the following letter. How
many he cancelled before he got one to his mind, it is
immaterial to say : —

" Sir, — I beg to acknowledge your letter respectin the horse which is
quite satisfactory, i was not awar the honble had gone so far in the matter.
The honble is a very honble gent in horse-dealing, but not quite up to
the thing, and i am sponsible to the Right Honble Lord Viscount Creamjug
for the honbles safety and neck and limbs and other particklars i should
like to have him passed by a vet, and i will thank you to send me his
ped : along with him. Hopin to have further dealings. — I am, .Sir, your
respectful servant,

"SiMOX Strutt, Stud Groom, Northampton.

"To Capt George Shabbyhounde, Market Harborough."

" P.S. — The honble not being up to snuff, it may save trouble if you will
say what kompliment i may kalculate on, so that i may kalculate the
kompliment due to your groom. We wish of course to be quite genteel."

Captain Shabbyhounde was not such a fool as to indulge
in the "pleasures of hope" of having a second deal with Mr.
Milksop, therefore he saved Strutt the expense of a "rule
to compute " by not returning any answer to the letter.

The showman will now change the shade, and the intelligent
and accommodating reader will have the kindness to accom-
pany us to the " Cow" at Dunchurch.

It was mid-day, and Mr. Strutt was airing his little round
stomach before the inn door, indulging in one of his master's
Havannahs. The weather was still fine, rather unseasonably
so if anything, and Strutt, like a good servant, was also airing
a cut tartan velvet waistcoat of his master's, which fitted him
marvellously well, considering the disparit}' of their corpora-
tions. He had also a shirt with a very finelj'-worked front on,
and three diamond studs secured by a diminutive chain down
the middle. Altogether he looked as full of beans and con-

CArTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE I'Gl

sequence as man could possibly do, a gentleman that none
but a public body — the Bank of England, South Sea House,
or some such establishment, could purchase, if taken at
his own valuation. What a contrast to the lean, haggard,
lank-haired, one-eyed man coming up on a worn-out pony
with the redoubtable Lambkin in his hand. The old, napless
seen-better-days looking hat of the stranger is put out of all
countenance b\- the spic-and-span, fresh-from-the-band-bo.\,
blooming-looking affair on the well-anointed curls of the
smoker. "Well to do " must the man be who turns out a
new tile in February, tempting not only the snow, but Jupiter
Pluvius. This, too, Strutt did, in spite of the redoubtable
Moore having prophesied in his wonderful weather column,
" Now dull with frequent downfall." Strutt, of course, found
his own clothes, and affected a sort of mixture of the foreigner
and the country gentleman. Not so the stranger, whose
seedy old drab coat and broad blue-and-white striped livery
waistcoat put all idea of concealment of servitude out of
the question, even if the shabby cockade in the hat had
been wanting.

" I'm blowed, if I don't believe this ere kiddey with the
ventilator in his old tile is a bringin of ni)- new 'orse,"
observed Mr. Strutt, taking his cigar out of his mouth, with
which, and a hand in each coat pocket, he had been straddling,
the observed of all observers of a select circle of post-boys,
horse-keepers, and idlers, the usual concomitants of the
glorious but now departed greatness of stage-coaches.

" I say, old chap ! " exclaimed Strutt to the man who had
now begun fumbling and smelling at the piece of dirty paper
as if he could read, " I say, old chap, are you a lookin' for your
nuss ? "

" Brought a horse for a gentleman," replied the man, again
holding the dirt}- slip of paper upside down before his
nose.

2(i2 THE HUNTING FIELD

" Here, let me see it," said Mr. Strutt, perceiving how it
was. He took and read as follows : —

"The Cow at Duncliurch. Ask for the Honourable Mr. Milksop's
j,'room, and deliver the horse to him."

" I thought so ," s:\^\A Mr. Strutt, tearing the paper up, and
giving it to the winds. " I thought so," repeated he, looking
at the horse.

" And have you no letter from your master ? " asked Strutt.

" No," replied the man.

" No ! " repeated Strutt. " What ! no letter, no message,
no nothing ? "

" No," was all the answer returned.

The " gemman wot does our shades " would not like to have
them dulled by recording the oaths that followed. Suffice it
to say, Strutt saw his worst fears were realized, and stormed
and fumed accordingly.

The horse, too, came in for his share of abuse. What was

the use of bringing such a d d cat-legged, cow-hocked,

sickle-hammed, leg-tied, spavined, glandered, broken-down
rip of a brute to him ! He didn't 'orse a coach ! He didn't
keep a cab !

Poor Job Tod, the spectral groom, had li\'ed in many bad
places, and had had too many blowings-up and blackguardings
to care much about one now, so finding he had got to his
customer, he sought the ostler, who conducted him to
Mr. Milksop's stable, where, notwithstanding Mr. Strutt's
asseverations that he would not receive the horse without
his pedigree, warrant}-, and we don't know \\hat else, he never-
theless let the second horseman lead him quietly in. Strutt's
bumptious, inflated, cock-sparrow manner — his full rubicund
face and boisterous action, contrasted with the lean, haggard,
pensive looks of the ill-fed, ill-paid stranger, whose wrinkled,
cadaverous cheeks were innocent of colour, whose old, mis-

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUXDE 263

fitting clothes hung on him like sacks, and whose short
parchment-looking leathers and tightly-pulled up boots were
a world too wide for his shrunk shanks. The poor creature
did not look as if he had had a good meal for a month, and
most likely he had not ; for the Captain gave him but twelve
shillings a-week, and he had himself, a wife, and three small
children to keep out of it. How meek, passive poverty is
imposed upon in this world ! And yet the poor creature was
faithful, faithful even to the Captain — early and late at his
stable, careful and patient with his horses, attentive to the last
comer as to the first ; his regard for the animal seemed to
extend to the whole equine generation.

The Captain was not the man to tell his right hand what
his left hand did ; but if he had, we really believe he might
have trusted Job Tod. He would have kept his secret.
Indeed, nature seemed to have meant Job for the secret
service department ; for if ever there was a silent, uncom-
municative, monosyllabic creature, it was Tod. "Yes" or
" No " seemed to constitute the stock of his vocabulary.
Honest as Aristides, and always as poor ; patient, attentive,
watchful, without being inquisitive, he served even Shabby-
hounde with all the faithfulness of affection ; yet he had
never risen much above the rank of a horse-dealer's man.
The reader will see why. Job's manner and appearance were
against him — he had but one eye and no tongue.

Strutt, however, was not deficient in that respect. Having
abused every limb and every look about the horse, he turned
the voluble battery of his tongue upon poor Job, whose
master he belaboured, through him, in a most exemplary way.
Job, however, as we said before, cared little for that sort of
thing, and having retraced his steps to Harborough, and
returned the pony to the butcher from whom he had borrowed
it, he betook himself to his stable, just as if he had only been
along at the post office.

264 THE HUNTING FIELD

" Well, Job, j'ou've got back," observed his master, entering
the stable at four o'clock.

" Yes," replied Job, as he knelt, hand-rubbing one of the
ticklish legged stud.

" Did you see the groom ? "

" Yes," was the answer.

" What did he say ? "

" D- -d me well,'' replied Job.

Change the shade again, Mr. Showman, and put us in the
one exhibiting Strutt coming out after dinner fuller than ever
of beer, brandy, baccy, and blackguardism.

That's your sort, Mr. Showman ; now we'll go on again.

" Let's see the d d cripple out," says Mr. Strutt,

swaggering into the yard, hallooing out, " Here, Tom ! John I
James ! ostler ! what are you all about ? " " Saddle me that
'orse," e.xclaims he, as his authoritative voice brings out the
whole crew with their mouths full, they having been regaling
in the kitchen with what had come from the " bar table."

" Take off my straps," said he, cocking up a leg to a
newly caught helper. This is a proceeding, by the way, we
never could understand. We have always imagined that the
use of straps was to keep the trowsers down in riding, but we
see certain of the XX knowing ones always take theirs off
before mounting. The obedient helper quickly had Strutt
divested of his.

" Bring me the honourable's riding whip," continued he,
" you'll find it on my dressing-table, and put them 'ere straps
there."

Here let us pause for a moment to observe on one of the
absurdities of the day. We keep a barometer of impudence,
and we find that when servants begin to call their masters
and mistresses by their names, as Mr. Brown, or Mrs. Green,
instead of " my master " or " mj- mistress," they are generally
getting above themselves, and want taking down a peg or two.

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 265

Time was when such phraseology was unknown ; but that was
before grooms drank champagne, or housemaids wore artificial
flowers and veils. The fact is, however, the whole system of
ser\-itude is gone wrong ; but servants are not the only parties
to blame for that misfortune. Simon Strutt called his master
"the honourable," because being the servant of a lord's son
reflected honour on himself. Had he been plain " mister " he
would have called him "my boy," or " Milksop," or any other
term of familiarity. " Mr. Brown," or " Mrs. Green," we
mean to observe, is a before-your-face style of expression,
instead of the old one of " master " or " mistress."

Now for the last shade of all that ends this strange eventful
story.

Lambkin quickl)- made his appearance, looking all the
better for his feed of corn and entry into the stable. Even
Strutt, prejudiced as he was, could not but feel that he was a
nice-looking horse.

Tom, the helper, sidled him up to where Mr. Strutt stood,
and with one hand at the bits, the other at the stirrup, and
the clean towel over the left shoulder, held Lambkin for the
great little man to mount.

Mount he did, but ere his right foot gained the stirrup,
Lambkin, with one of those tremendous efforts, sent him flying
several yards, pitching him head foremost in the pit of old
Margery Daw, the Banbury cake woman's, stomach, who,
unfortunately for herself, was passing by at the time.

What a hubbub was there ! How the women screamed !
how the men stared ! Gilpin's celebrated ride to Edmonton
did not create greater sensation on that line of road than did
Simon Strutt's summerset.

It was an uncommonly clean thing.

The most provoking part of a "kick off" is, that nobody
can help laughing — great as their anxiety may be, still the
laugh will out. That is ver}' odd, for people do not laugh at

266 THE HUNTING FIELD

each other when thej- tumble out hunting, and yet they
generally fall much softer and dirtier, and consequently with
less chance of being hurt than the victim of a deliberate kick
off. " More dirt the less hurt " is a sound hunting axiom. In
this case, perhaps, there were more than the usual provocatives
of laughter. There was a little bumptious, over-dressed, cock-
sparrow-looking thing, pitching like a cannon ball into an
old cake-woman's bread-basket. Old Margery was floored —
regularly doubled up — her Banbury cakes were scattered all
over the road, while the concussion sent Strutt's head right
into his hat, knocking the crown clean out, and leaving him
with the rest of the hat over his face, looking just as if he were
going to have a game at blind man's buff.

Ye gods, what a rage he was in ! How he did stamp, and
splutter, and groan, and kick, and swear he was finished !
The scene was ridiculous — too ridiculous to pursue, so we will
chop over to the Captain and his doings.

The Captain's acute mind on hearing Job Tod's laconic
account of what had passed, saw there was a chance which,
industrious as he was, he determined not to throw away.
Accordingly he addressed the following letter to Mr. Milksop,
and sent it in a parcel by the next "up" coach to North-
ampton, where Mr. Milksop had to sleep: —

"(Private and Confidential.)

" Dear Sir, — My groom having just reported to me that your servant
Strutt was very dissatisfied on the dchvery of Lambkin, it has just occurred
to me that it is possible he may play some tricks with the horse so as to
prejudice you against him, and I therefore think it due to myself to give
you this hint on the subject. His dissatisfaction, I imagine, arises from
my not complying with a most absurd custom of tipping him because you
bought my horse, a system too much pursued, I am sorry to say, by parties
with lame or inferior horses, in order to get the servants' good word with
their masters. That is a system that has alwavs been strenuously opposed

by.

" My dear Sir, your most obedient, humble servant,
•' George Sh.kbdvhounde,
•• To the Hon. Julius Milksop, " Market Harborough.

" Northampton."

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOLNDE 267

There never was a more perfect master-stroke of policy
than that of the Captain. Generally speaking, it is a foolish,
thankless office, giving a man a hint about a servant ; but in
the Captain's case it was a dashing venture where he could
not lose. Besides we have already stated that Strutt had
cause of dissatisfaction with his master, who had shown certain
rebellious symptoms, all inclining towards having more of his
own way ; and of course what was unpalatable to the man,
would not be altogether lost upon the master. In truth, Strutt
did not accommodate his carefulness of the boy to the grow-
ing independence of the man, and Mr. Milksop had once or
twice gone out of his way rather to let Strutt see that he was
not to have the upper hand. The Captain's hint, therefore,
was not likely to be thrown away. Nevertheless, Mr. Milksop
had forgotten all about it, as in the enjoyment of the " balmy
breeze " of a fine hunting morning, he cantered up to the Cow
at Dunchurch. What did he see ! Strutt, instead of standing
with his usual patronizing air, with a couple of jean-jacketed
helpers behind him, acknowledging his presence with a finger
to his hat, appeared in an old cloth foraging cap, with a blue
pocket handkerchief bound over his left eye, while the other
exhibited symptoms of going into mourning.

" What's the matter ? " exclaimed Mr. Alilksop, pulling up
in astonishment.

"Matter !" replied Strutt, with the dignity of a deeply
injured man ; " matter, by God ! "' continued he, " I've pretty
near lost my precious life with that ere blasted rip of 3'ours."

" What rip ? " asked Mr. Alilksop, who knew the term to be
one of general application.

" Why that d d beast Colonel Scabbydog, or whatever

they call him, has stuck into you."

" What, my new horse ! " exclaimed Mr. Milksop.

"New Devil!" retorted Mr. Strutt, "he's as vicious as a
whole caravan full of tigers."

"Vicious!" repeated Mr. Milksop.

268 THE HUNTING FIELD

" \'icious, aye vicious," reiterated Strutt, with an emphasis,
" he near!}- killed iiic — most pulled the stable down — takes ten
men to hold him — 'bliged to put his corn down through the
rack.""

" God bless me, you don't say so ! " observed Mr. Milksop,
quite disconcerted. " You are none the worse though, I
hope," added he, looking at the little great man's dejected
appearance.

" IViiss / " exclaimed he, his impudence rising with his
master's consideration, " IVt/ss," repeated he, with a shake of
his head and shrug of his shoulders, " never had such a shake
in wj' life, I know. Wish I may ever get over it."

"Well, but what am I to do?" asked Mr. Milksop, seeing
the hounds were about to leave the meet, " I was going to ride
him, you know,'" added he.

" I intend you to ride Apollo," said Strutt, with his usual
consequence, " he's all ready — 'nere, Tom ! " exclaimed he,

" bring out the 'orse ! "

« * * * *• *

When the hounds were drawing Birdingbury Faggot Cover,
who should appear but Captain Shabbyhounde, and with his
appearance returned the recollection of the over-night letter.
Shabbyhounde's quick eye saw at once it was a "case," but
Milksop"s countenance, as he hurried up, had more the appear-
ance of a man wanting information, than the lowering sulky
scowl of one who has been "done." The Captain was a second
Lavater in physiognomy.

"Tell me," said Mr. Milksop, in the hurried way men speak
on the eve of battles and fo.\-hunts, " Tell me," repeated he,
" is that horse of yours vicious ? "

" Noi the least!" exclaimed Shabbyhounde, with emphasis,
squeezing Milksop's proffered hand.

"Tallyho! gone awayX hark, halloo! hark! hoop! hoop!
crack ! crack ! crack ! hold hard ! go on ! Now, sir ! Do go
on or get out of my way ! I'll ride you over ! "

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 269

A\va\' for the Shuckborough hills, and Merston Priors, and
across to Ladbrooke Gorse, where the hounds killed their fox,
or another, which did quite as well, ere our friends had time
to finish their confab. Once indeed

" They met, 'twas in a crowd,"

the majority of whom were craning at a wide brook, and as
Shabbyhounde and Milksop beat simultaneously on the oppo-
site bank, the former flourishing his whip, exclaimed in joyous
exultation at the feat, " Not a sweeter tempered horse in the
world, by God ! " but a paralyzing bullfinch immediately inter-
vening, stopped all further intercourse, and they saw no more
of each other till the end of the run. Not that either of them
shirked the bullfinch, but they got through at different places,
and it is much easier to part company than get together in a
run. The pace was severe. Quickest thing that ever was
seen ! All quick things are. Every season furnishes a bushel
of them. "A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," they
say, and in no case is the truth of the adage more strongly
exemplified than among foxhunters.

We often think if Frenchmen had a turn for hunting, what
hugging and kissing there would be on a kill !

Shabbyhounde and Milksop had each " gone a good-un,"
and some time was consumed in discussing the delightful
variety and size of the leaps ere Mr. Milksop again bethought
him of recurring to Lambkin.

Shabbyhounde assured him he was the most perfect tem-
pered horse he had ever had in his stable, and though it would
be going out of his wa}^ he offered to accompany Mr. Milksop
to Dunchurch to prove it.

******

Had Lambkin been troubled with hydrophobia, he could
not have been more tightly secured than they found him.
Tied short up to the rack, and hoppled both before and
behind.

270 THE HUNTING FIELD

" What's all this about ? " asked Shabbyhounde, following
the disconcerted Strutt into the stable.

"Vicious!'' retorted Shabbj'hounde, in reply to Strutt's
asseveration — "not half so vicious as the man that put those
on," continued he.

Strutt, for once, was taken aback.

The Captain proceeded to liberate the animal, whose
trembling, frightened manner showed he had been abused.
All abused horses show this, if masters would but take the
trouble to observe them. Nevertheless, there are more savage
servants in stables than nine-tenths of the world imagine.

It would be impertinent in us to trouble the sagacious
reader with the dt'noitemcnt of this deal in detail. The most
rusty-brained, wooden-headed cock among them, must an-
ticipate that the Captain was too many for Strutt. The fact
of the horse having been taken out, coupled with Strutt's
assertion of his viciousness, and the Captain's wily insinuation
by letter, all tended to a hasty dismissal, which was not even
softened b}- the stale trick of being allowed to give up the
place himself on seeing he was going to lose it. Strutt was
chassaed.

Having had occasion, however, to exhibit the Captain in
not the most enviable colours, to avoid the imputation of
painting human nature " too severely true," we will add
something that may be placed to his credit. Finding Mr.
Milksop was not sufficiently strong in the fork to compete
with the vigorous efforts of Lambkin, and knowing that his
recent success over Strutt would only add fresh fuel to the
fire of his exertions, the Captain kindly gave Mr. Milksop
the pick of his stud in exchange, and Milksop got a very fine
£-1^ piece of antiquity that was worth "any money," if he
only stood sound. Shabbyhounde's disinterested benevolence
carried him still further. He accommodated Mr. Milksop with
Job Tod, though helpers' wages had ris from twelve to fourteen

CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE

•271

shillings a-\veek, and he could not hope to supply Job's place
under this latter amount.

Job, it may be thought, was not exactly the man for the
heir to a peerage, but when a master has been racked by the
forward, loquacious, tormenting impertinence of an officious,
presuming pupp\-, he is very apt to fall into the other extreme
in the choice of a successor, and Job, it must be admitted, was
the very antipodes to Strutt. Job was too old and too strongly
stamped by nature to change or be spoiled, though good
clothing and diet soon made a very different looking man of
him. Indeed so pleased was Mr. Milksop with Job, that he
looked upon Captain Shabbyhounde in the light of a bene-
factor, and the pjece of antiquity fortunately keeping on his
legs, Mr. Milksop was not at all sorry to see our hero cast up
at Leamington, where the recital of his kindness so touched
old Lord and Lady Creamjug, that Shabb3-hounde absolutely
had the honour of dining with them !

But we must dismiss this illegitimate member of the hunting
field, who has occupied more of our space than any of the real
worthies who have preceded him.

Captain Shabbyhounde, adieu !

CHAPTER XX

LADY FOXHUNTERS
SIR RASPER SMASHGATE AND MISS COTTONWOOL

HERE is nothing we hate so
much as seeing a woman
lolHng alone in a carriage
with a lap-dog sticking out
of the window. It is the
picture of deserted dejection
— of utter loneliness, friend-
lessness, and solitude.

Carriages are now so
multiplied that not keeping
one is the singularity instead of keeping one the wonder.
Roads are so good that we can get almost everywhere upon
wheels ; and feet and horses — saddle horses at least — are about
in equal disuse. We should like to see a return of the number
of carriages kept now, and the number that were kept a
hundred or even fifty years ago.

Considering the luxurious inert lives many of our highest
aristocracj' lead, it is wonderful that the}' still retain their
superiority of appearance. What possible exercise can there
be in lounging on a soft-cushioned, easy hung carriage for two

LADY FOXHUNTERS 273

or three hours in the day, grinding up and down b}' the
Serpentine, or, what is worse, iiurrying from house to house,
changing from hot rooms to cold air, and from cold air to hot
rooms — carved ivory card-case in hand, making what they call
" calls." Surely this system of cold-catching must have been
in\-cnted by the doctors for the purpose of procuring patients.
No wonder dashing ladies think so little of their poor horses
and servants shivering in the cold and night air when they are
so regardless of themselves.

It is said that caricatures contain in a manner the history of
the times, and much such an observation may be applied to
inn and public-house signs. What should we have thought
fifteen or twenty years ago of the sign of the Railway Tavern
or the " Locomotive Inn " depicted, with its hissing engine,
and a long train of railway carriages after it, and yet it has
become quite common, superseding our ancient friend the
pack-horse. "The pack-horse" was eminently characteristic
of the times, speaking, as plainly as words can speak, of heavy
bottomless roads and slow progress. The unspeakable badness
of the roads in former times may perhaps have been one reason
for the fewness of carriages that were kept in comparison with
what are kept in the present day, for formerly travelling was a
real matter of slavish drudgery, and we are not surprised at
our forefathers staying at home, or at our foremothers being
able to spin, pickle, and preserve.

People who were past horse exercise had scarcely any
alternative but staying at home, unless they tacked all the
lumbering long-tailed cart-horses to the old family tub, and
ploughed their way to the next town, furnishing subsequent
lazy road-surveyors with the favourite augument against
improvement, that " Squire Stick-in-the-mud's coach and four
used to travel that road when \twiis /ar zoorse." Squire Stick-
in-the-mud was never in a hurr}-, not so Squire Stick-in-the-
mud's grandson, who is always in a stew — always in motion

T

274 THE HUNTING FIELD

and never doing anything — railways have really made idle
people believe that their time is valuable.

Housekeeping and riding we take it had been part of a
woman's stock education in former days. If we consult the
old novelist we shall find that quite as many heroines dis-
appeared on side-saddles or on pillions, as in the more aspiring
mode of hack chaises and four. Fielding, who had great
knowledge of both town and country life, makes his Sophia
Western arrive at the inn at Upton on horseback at night,
attended solely, if we remember rightly, by Mrs. Honour, the
housekeeper. We have not seen any writer attempt to
subjugate a railway train, so as to invest it with the interest
and sentiment necessary for a novel. The noise, the smoke,
the hiss, the "now, marm, if you please; tickets, tickets, tickets,
show your tickets " — the riotous bell, and alarm whistle, are
all against the quiet privacy of an elopement.

Riding for ladies is now become wholly a matter of luxury
— there are no journey ridings — even the pillions have dis-
appeared with recent years, and farmers' wives drive to market
in gigs with " Giles Jolter," or whatever their husband's name
may be, painted up behind. When her Majesty took her
<iaily promenades a clieval, as the French call them, in the Park,
equestrianism was all the rage, and we had nothing but smart
habits and slate-coloured veils. Indeed, each season shows a
good muster of fair equestrians still, though, perhaps, not so
many as there used to be. We never go into the Park without
thinking how much better it must be for them than the
enervating, listless motion of a carriage. Even park riding is
slow work compared to the free gallop of the country, but to
be sure park riding is generally pursued at a season of the year
■when it is too hot for hard exercise.

One of the great faults of ladies' horses, and one that
prevents a great number of ladies from riding, is having them
too fresh — too much above themselves. Grooms have what.

LADY FOXHUNTERS I'T.)

when properly directed, is a very laudable ambition, a desire to
see their horses look well, and this they are very apt to promote
by over-feedinj; and stimulants. High feeding, however, will
not do for ladies' horses. They should be rather under than
above themselves. Still you cannot get one groom in a
dozen to believe this— at all events to act upon it. " Oh,
mistress is going to ride to-morrow," and down goes another
feed of corn. It would be much better to take one off and give
the horse a gentle canter in the morning. When her Majesty
rode. Miss Quentin always took the fiery edge off her steed in
the riding school for her.

All sportsmen know that half the pleasure of hunting is in
being pleasantly carried by a horse that you have perfect
confidence in, and surely ladies must be equally sensible to the
pleasures of comfort. There can be no enjoyment if you are
constantly calculating when you are likely to be on your back.
We do not know a more frightful sight than a woman run away
with.

If low condition is desirable for the road, how much more so
must it be if a lady enters the hunting field — a scene that is
enough to excite the most sedate and orderly-minded horse.

And here we may observe that there is a wide difference
between ladies hunting and ladies coming to see hounds throw
off. They are as much in their place at the meet as they are
out of it tearing across country. We like to see them at the
meet ; it shows that they take an interest in the amusements of
their husbands, their brothers, or their sweethearts. The meet
then being open to them, it follows as a matter of course that
they should come on horseback. We cannot imagine poorer
amusement than hunting on wheels — starving in a carriage on
a cold winter's day, jolting about country roads, pitching from
one side of the vehicle to the other, wondering which ditch
they will go into. People in carriages seem out of their
element altogether ; they look as if they did not belong to the

276 THE HUNTING FIELD

concern, and have ver}- much the same sort of appearance that
a man in top-boots and spurs would have in a ball-room. Let
ladies come on horseback, especially if the\- are prett\-, for then
the gentlemen can make up to them through their horses, just
as they sometimes make up to gentlemen through the gentle-
men's dogs. Moreover, having to " attend to the ladies" is an
excellent excuse for any " coffee-houser " who wants to cut
home when they find. Having then cantered to the meet, and
seen old reynard start, let our fair friends canter home to
luncheon, " with such appetites as the^• may "' — generally
pretty good ones, we should think.

One of our objections to ladies hunting, though we do not
know that \\e have ever seen it taken before, is that it deprives
gentlemen of the agreeable change and variety which their
society makes in the evening. Without intending the slightest
disrespect to the fair sex, we may say that it is possible to have
"too much of a good thing," and, if we exhaust all our jokes
and small-talk in a morning, it is very likely we shall be " high
and dry " in the evening. It is this sort of over-communication
that makes daily hunt dinners such irksome, tedious things.
You sit down with the same men that you have been riding
about with all the day to a hash of the same conversation that
you have been indulging in before. We have all our fancies
and ideas as to what is most pleasant and agreeable, but to our
mind the good dinner and cheerful female society of the
evening is no small enhancer of the pleasures of the morning.
If, then, the ladies ha\e been at the meet, they can take part
and interest in the hunting part of the conversation, which
otherwise would be extremel)- dull and uninteresting to them.
What man ever wants to be bored with the details of a day
of which he has not partaken ?

When women do ride they generally ride like the very devil.
There is no medium with them. They either "go" to beat
the men, or thc-y don"t "go" at all. We have seen some

LADY FOXHINTEHS -'77

uncommon performers among women, performers that would
put nine-tenths of the men to the bkish. We are puzzled
whether to give the palm to the single or to the married
women in this respect ; but, as the single are most interesting,
perhaps the preference will be yielded to them. Like many
things in this world it makes all the difference who the party
is that hunts. If a pretty woman hunts we are all glad to see
her : if an ugly one comes we wonder what " brings Iier out."
Certainly dishevelled hair, ruddy and perspiring face, and
muddy habits are more likely to be forgiven in the bloom of
youth than in what ought to be the orderly sobriety of maturer
years. We had dotted down a lot of names of first-rate female
performers across country, but in looking it over we find it
contains such a curious medley, that we think it better to
suppress it altogether than risk the chance of offending by
publishing an unpalatable assortment.

Never having been a woman, we cannot understand how it
is they manage to keep their seats. We see what are called
" wash ball '' seated men rolling about constantly, and yet
women, to whom the term as well as the form is much more
applicable and becoming, manage to keep on. Keeping their
seats on the road, and keeping them in the field are very
different things, about as different as riding horses on the road
and riding them with hounds. " Still, when there's a will
there's a way," and pretty dears who would scream at the sight
of a frog or a mouse, will face a bullfinch from which many
men would turn away — indeed that is one of the palpable
inconveniences of ladies hunting, for it is almost a point of
honour for men to go over what ladies have taken. If it were
not their ignorance when horses have done enough, and their
great desire for pace, we would rather be a woman's horse than
a man's. Women have much finer and more delicate hands
than men, and they never fight or bully their horses as men do
— neither do they ever pull them into their leaps— by which

-'rs THE HIXTIXC; FIELD

means nine-tenths of the annual falls are procured. A horse
worthy the name of a hunter would very seldom fall or make a
mistake if left to himself. Let a man watch a loose horse, or
even a raw foal, following the field, and see how safeU', slowly,
and easily, they go over places that some men and some horses
terrify each other into believing are all but impracticable.
Who has not seen horses throw arches, like the dome of
St. Paul's, over places little wider than water furrows ?

There was a neat little jaundice-backed book published a
few years ago by Mo.xon, of Dover Street, called " Hints on
Horsemanship to a Nephew and Niece, or Common Sense
and Common Errors in Common Riding, b\- an officer of the
Household Brigade of Cavalr)-,"" which, barring the officer
authorship, always an objectionable paternit\ in our mind,
gives a greenhorn as much instruction as it is possible to
derive from books, and contains, besides sundry instructions
about how to get on and how to get off, the following very
sensible observations on the subject of pace: — " I cannot finish,"
says he, "without one word to deprecate a piece of inhumanity,
practised as much, perhaps more, by ladies than gentlemen —
the riding the horse fast on hard ground " (our author might
have included our old friends the Grooms, for whoever saw one
that did not select the centre of the road, and how man}- do we
see clattering along making up for lost time, seeming as though
they were trying how soon they could wear the horse's legs
out). " I pray them to consider," continues our author, "that
horses do not die of old age, but are killed because the}- are
crippled ; and that he who cripples them is the cause of their
death, not he who j)ulls the trigger. The practice is as un-
horsemanlike as it is inhuman. It is true that money will
replace the poor sla\-es as you use them up, and if the occasion
requires it, they must, alas ! be used up ; but, in my opinion,
nothing but a case of life and death can justif}- the deed. If
the ground be hard and e\-en, a collected canter may be

LADY FOXHUNTERS 279

allowed, but if hard and uneven a moderate trot at most. One
hour's gallop on such ground would do the soundest horse
irremediable mischief. Those who boast of having gone such
a distance in such a time, on the ground supposed, show
ignorance or inhumanity. Such facts require cruelt}- onl}-, not
courage. Nay, they are performed most common]}- by the
very persons who are too cowardly or too unskilful to dare to
trust their horse with his foot on the elastic turf, or to stand
with him the chances of the hunting field ; and such is the
inconsistency of human nature, that they are performed by
persons who would shudder at the bleeding flank of the race-
horse ! or who would lay down with disgust and some expres-
sion of maudlin, morbid humanity, the truly interesting
narrative of that most intrepid and enduring of all gallopers. Sir
Frjmcis Head. But compare the cases. In the case of the
race-horse, he has his skin wounded to urge him to a two or at
most a five minutes' exertion, from which in ten minutes he is
perfectly recovered and ready, nay eager to start again. In
the case of the wild horse of the Pampas, he is urged for two,
three, or perhaps five hours to the utmost distress for wind,
as well as muscular fatigue ; he is enlarged, and in three or
four days he is precisely the same as if he had never been
ridden. But in the case of this English road-rider, though
no spur is used, unfair advantage is taken of the horse's
impetuous freedom of nature ; his sinews are strained, his
joints permanently stiffened ; he is deprived at once and
for ever of his elasticity and action, and brought prematurely
a cripple to the grave." Let the ladies remember that ; it
is not age that makes most horses useless, but work. It has
been well said that a free-actioned, high-couraged horse will
wear out two sets of legs, and we believe it. Let us then
endeavour to make the one set that nature allows last as long
as possible. Riding on soft ground will be found to be a great
conducer to that end. Now to other matters.

l>80 THE HUNTING FIELD

If any pretty young lady were to propound to us the
following : —

" Do you think it would assist me in catcliing young Mr.
Redrag if I were to take to foxhunting ? "
We should say : —

" Be cautious ; we have our doubts. It may catch him,
or it ma\' scare him. Some men think mounting themselves
as much as they can manage, and would rather have a wife
staying at home looking after the house than tearing about
the country after the hounds. Besides, it is possible you
might beat him, and men don't like being beat b\- their wives
in the held, any more than wives like being beat by their
husbands in the house. Again, we say, be cautious. But
here comes a case in point : our fair friend, Henrietta Cotton-
wool. Henrietta has been after that wear}' Sir Rasger
Smashgate, the whole of this blessed season, and now, as
spring is about to set in, with its usual severity, she feels
herself constrained to take some decided step. " To be, or
not to be," is the point — Lady Smashgate or Henrietta
Cottonwool. Henrietta is a fine, large, full-grown, healthy-
looking girl, who, of course, says she thinks " all girls fools
who marry," and yet at the same time would do anything
to catch a husband herself. She uses the common figure of
speech, in fact, or, rather, the common figure of lie— a figure
so common, that if all men were married it might be abolished,
for it only does for the bachelors, and those must be of the
soft order, who believe it.

A man is not a match for a woman till he's married.
That is an aphorism to which all Benedicts will assent. Our
friend Sir Rasper Smashgate is in a somewhat similar predica-
ment to the half-starved costermonger"s horse, whose guardian
boy declared had plenty of corn only he "hadn't got no time
to eat it." Smashgate is matrimonially inclined, at all events
he has no objection to matrimony, only hunting leaves him

LADV lOXHUNTERS i>81

no time for making love. We should apologize to the baronet
for not sooner sketching him, but the same sort of difficulty
has attended our efforts — we never knew where we had liim.
Our reminiscent readers will perhaps recall that in the early
part of these papers we mentioned the fact of Mr. Cotton-
wool having been partly con\erted to foxhunting, or rather
fox-preserving, from having seen Henrietta in the grasp of
Smashgate (waltzing, or attempting to waltz, as far as the
Smasher was concerned), which, aided b}- the promptings of
the ambitious Mrs. Wool, had induced our friend to have
the Master and " Co." to feed (vide No. i of these papers).
That man " Co.," as the countr\- lad in London wrote to
his father, "he is a great man — he is in partnership with
almost ever\-body ; " but the Co. in this case was meant to
include all the members of the hunt, or, perhaps, more
correctly speaking, it was meant for Sir Rasper in particular
and for the hunt in general. Sir Rasper was to be " Co."
As the best laid plans, however, will occasionalh- miscarry, so,
in this instance, Mrs. Cottonwool's project went awry. On
the day of the dinner, which Sir Rasper accepted " con-
ditionally," as indeed he accepts all his invitations during
the winter, " // he gets home in time," he had gone eighteen
miles "t'other wa\' " to meet Lord Uncommonswell's
magnificent hounds, which, never throwing off before eleven
by their clocks, or half-past eleven b}- other people's, had
been close upon twelve before the\- moved from the meet,
the Countess of Uncommonswell having come in her barouche
and si.x, with five out-riders, to smile benignly on the field,
and try to stick a couple of plainish sisters (now rendered still
plainer by the addition of red noses) into an)- ambitious
Nimrods who might aspire to wives out of a coronetted
carriage. It was a show day, in short, and of course late.
The meet might be unusually protracted perhaps, from
the circumstance of the countess not having anv one in

2S2 THE HUNTING FIELD

Particular to whom she wished to recommend her goods,
she had, therefore, to keep a stall, as it were, and trust to
chance for customers. Some men think of nothing but sweet-
hearting. They are always " dying " for some girl, and
commit as many imaginary demises in the twelvemonth as
old Mantalini himself.

When the hounds did throw off in earnest (for of course
they had to draw two or three sham places first, for the
accommodation of the ladies), the way they dashed into
Everhold Gorse plainly said that sly-boots (if he will allow
us to call him so) was at home, and before Lord
Uncommonswell had got half through his dog-language, a
great banging big-brushed, white-tagged, greyish-back dog-
fox, almost knocked the fifth Whipper-in off his hind legs,
as he was trying to open the bridle-gate at the north end
of the cover. The poor lad was so paraly;^ed — never basing
been in such close contact with so formidable a customer —
that a second or two elapsed ere it occurred to him that he
ought to do something, a pause that master reynard availed
himself of for stealing quietly up the deep newly-cleaned-out
ditch of a thick hedgerow. At last the lad, having climbed
on to his gigantic horse, hoisted his cap in the air, which
had much the effect of the prolonged flourish of the head-
fiddler at the opera.

A terrible noise was the result !

" Now," as Peter Beckford familiarh- asks, " where are
all your sorrows, and your cares, ye gloomy souls ? Or
where your pains and aches, ye complaining ones ? One
halloo has dispelled them all."

Peter's description does not exactl)- fit our hunt, for we
had a hundred halloos at least, and half as many screeches
and yells, to say nothing of the discordant brass music of
the noble Master and his Huntsman.

However, the following will do : —

1 ADY

lEUS

28»

sakes
now

say)

runs to set !i::
face ! ' '

And then !
which we in
accommodatii.
forgetfulness '
of Cottonwool'

igly takes

i traveller for-

t plowman

'awyers

\, and

> in every

vjtviilc,
•ig the
idt the
Lfalness

•1 ! ■

111 .
VI.-'

We like ..I-
man. Sport m
sportsmen. ( •
noses seem o.'
but good spoi
Who has not << ':
every Frenchin.u,
sorrow, and it i
sensible of th'-
been well sal''
when he is miscr.ir

Be that a.~
few cares as i
in his stud, \'
got a good sh
the rest of the '
si.xteen stont
and a stud-p'

for as

I. h,l5g
41

lashgate had ah-

vl hum

.1 \ i:i 111 i .luv

it

a.
>

a.

8

a

A

^- f

^

LADY FOXHUNTERS 283

" What a crasli they make, and echo seemingly takes
pleasure to repeat the sound. The astonished traveller for-
sakes his road, lured by its melody ; the listening plowman
now stops his plow {sic in the original, as the lawyers
say), and every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and
runs to see him break, ^^'hat joy ! what eagerness in every
face!"

And then Peter prigs a bit of poetry from Somerville,
which we in our turn will prig from Peter, requesting the
accommodating reader to turn the sentiment about the
forgetfulness of sorrow into Sniashgate's total forgetfulness
of Cottonwool's dinner : —

" How liappy art thou man when thou'rt no more
Thyself ! When all the pangs that grind thy soul,
In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost,
Yield a short interval and ease from pain ! "

\\'e like old Somerville for that idea ; it speaks the sports-
man. Sporting writing has this charm, it is sure to tell with
sportsmen. Others may turn up their noses (some people's
noses seem only made for turning up), and say "what stuff!"
but good sporting feeling is sure to tell where it is intended.
Who has not felt one tall\-ho ! banish old dull care, for as
every Frenchman has a "suit," so every Englishman has a
sorrow, and it is onh- by increasing their size that we are
sensible of the smallness and absurdity of the old ones. It has
been well said that an Englishman is only thoroughly happy
\\ hen he is miserable.

Be that as it may, howe\er. Sir Rasper Smashgate had as
few cares as most people. His hopes and fears were centred
in his stud, with the addition, perhaps, of his razors. If he
got a good shave in the morning he was generally happy for
the rest of the day, for he had twelve as good hunters as a
sixteen stone man could desire, with two thorough-bred hacks,
and a stud-groom equal to his business, and \et not above it.

■2M THE HUNTING FIELD

Added to this, Sir Rasper was in the heighday of youth, stood
six feet high in his stocking-feet, with a great deal of good
land, and a great deal of money in the funds — two most
desirable concomitants — moreover, he never laid out a shilling
in pills.

Smasher (for so he is called by his friends) came to his title
from an uncle, at an earlier period than uncles are generally in
the habit of putting off their shoes, before which our hero had
lived at home with his mother, who had long held a commission
to get him a wife — a commission that we regret to say she had
departed this life without executing. Smashgate was an
exemphfication of the good and dutiful son. for he ^vas ready
to marry any one his mother recommended ; but thinking she
would be the best judge of the article, he just left it to her to
suit him, as he would the choice of a piece of linen for shirts,
or as he left it to Tilbury to supply him with horses.
Somehow Sir Rasper was never much in society, though many
great ladies had him high on their list of " eligibles," and
some had gone to no little trouble in "touting" him.
Whether his mother had put him up to a thing or two, or he
had too manly a mind to contend with the lisping butterfly
things he had to encounter we know not, but certainly, after
the death of his mother, Sir Rasper seemed more likely to be a
bachelor than a Benedict.

We sometimes meet men like Sir Rasper Smashgate in the
world — men who seem neglected by the sex, just as we see
women neglected by the men. Indeed, there must be many
such, for it was only this morning we encountered the following
amusing advertisement in a Sunday paper : —

•' Matrimonial Society.— Single ladies and gentlemen really desirous
of entering that state which hcaxen has adjudged to be the most conducive
to virtue and happiness, will find the above truly deserving of their
consideration and confidence. A select party of ladies and gentlemen,
combining rank, influence, character, talent, and extensive acquaintance,

I.ADY FOXHrXTERS 285

influenced principally by <i desire to e\tend the social comforts they ha\e
realized to the hermits around them, whose single state is the result alone,
perhaps, of circumstances, have determined to improve their leisure by
promoting, as it lies in their power to do, felicitous unions. To prevent
imposition, a trifling' sum is required as a proof of sincerity, and nothing
afterwards, but on the realization of matrimonial bliss. Both parties
mutually bound to secrecy and sincerity. — None but respectable characters
need apply, who will be treated with the utmost respect and decency.

The prevention of imposition is a charming feature in the
foregoing. It is hke the livery stable notice, " for fear of
accidents, pay before mounting."' Sir Rasper Smashgate had
never been reduced to this deplorable state, but the death of
his mother, and hearing nothing about matrimon}-, coupled
with his e.xtensive prosecution of the chase in winter, and the
attractions of Epsom, Ascot, Limmer's door, club windows,
and yachts in summer, with shooting in autumn, drew him
more and more from the petticoats, till at last disappointed
mammas used to speak of him as that " "orrid man. Sir Rasper
Smashgate," and indulge in the usual insinuation ladies deal
in against men who don't make up to their daughters — '" Poor
lost creature ! " and so on.

We have now run a ring with our hero, and shall bring him
back to the starting place to see if Henrietta Cottonwool 'can
run a " ring " with him too. Oh, could but another Diable
Boiteu.x visit the earth, disclosing the secrets of human breasts,
as Le Sage's Diable disclosed the secrets of the town, what a
real blessing it would be to sighing, dying, suitoring lovers !
When Sir Rasper Smashgate did not cast up at Cottonwool's,
what tormenting thoughts racked the mind of poor Henrietta !
Dressed in her new pale blue satin, with a point berthe, and a
silver thing like a cow tie twisted in her bright brown hair,
and a winter's nosegay in her hand, of which nosegay she was
ready to give Sir Rasper an\- part he asked, or the whole of her
hand if he preferred. All this, too, after she had planned the
proceedings of the drawing-room, the line of march to the

286 THE HUNTING FIELD

dining-room, so as to manoeuvre herself next him at dinner,
ring after ring, and door after door opened, and no Sir Rasper.
Everybody but him.

Cruel Lord Uncommonswell ! or rather cruel fox that took
the cruel hounds such a cruel distance. When Sir Rasper
Smashgate ought to have been sitting down to dinner at
Mr. Cottonwoors, he was sucking off a pair of waterlogged
boots and tripey leathers at a village public twenty miles off.
They had had a tremendous run ! They were sure to have,
indeed. It only requires a man to have a particular engage-
ment in the east to ensure him a splitting run to the west.
Sir Rasper had been uncommonly well carried ; indeed, he
generally was, and wearing a blank button had felt himself
bound to ride for the honour of the world at large. He
was so elevated that we are almost ashamed to say he never
thought of Cottonwool, Henrietta, or anybod\-, until he got
his huge legs dived into a bucket of hot water. Then, as he
sat thinking the run over, and debating whether he should
have "beef-steak," or "mutton-chop" — "mutton-chop" or
" beef-steak," for dinner, it occurred to him that he ought to
be dining at Cottonwool's.

" Ah, well, never mind," observed he, " I said Yd come if
I could," and, with that easy indifference, he settled both
hopes and fears, and the fate of all the roasts, boils, jellies,
and creams. Much as women may pretend to like hunting,
there is not one old one in a hundred who will admit the
excuse of a " late day " for a non-appearance at dinner, at
least at a " spread." Dinner, in their minds, is the grand
business of life, it takes precedence of everything. " Men
have no business to accept invitations, if they ain"t sure they
can come. All stuff about the hounds — 7/iere excuse — Mr.
Spoonbill and Mr. Slowman could both come away — why
couldn't Sir Rasper — could, if he would — where there's a will
there's a way" ; and then they generally wind up with the old

I.ADY FOXHUXTERS 287

assertion, that " he'll come the next time he's asked," meaning

that the\- won't give him another chance, which most likely

they don't do until it suits their convenience, when, like Lord

Byron's lad}-, who

" Loves again,
To be again undone,''

they invite again, to be disappointed a second time.

Gentlemen, however, may take our word for it, it is no use
joking with the ancients about dinner. We have reason to
believe that we lost a very stiff legacy from a sturdy old aunt,
whom nothing could convince that we were not humbuegin"
about the hounds. We had promised to dine with her to meet
old Sir Timothy Grumpington of Grumpington Hall, Gray's
Inn Road (a sweet nis in iirhe on the left, as you go north),
and unfortunately our friend Joseph Lob of Highbury Terrace,
offered us a mount with Lord Derby's staggers (for it is long
ago, and aunt. Lord Derby, Grumpington, staggers and all,
have long been in their graves), which met at the White
Lion, Lock's Bottom, whither Lob offered to drive us, and
bring us back if we liked. The great merit of staggers un-
doubtedly is the certainty of a gallop, and the pretty near
certainty where you will finish ; but, on this provoking day,
the insensate creature seemed to have had a turn for visiting
every part of the country; and north, south, east, and west,
were equally favoured with his presence ; the consequence of
which was, our aunt was not favoured with ours for three-
quarters of an hour after the appointed time, when we found
Sir Timothy Grumpington with half-appeased appetite, but
wholly unappeased mind, and aunt in that direful state of
excitement that old ladies invariably are whose U'liole dinner
has been spoiled by long waiting. People should be all in the
same boat who sit down to a long-delayed dinner.

But let us hark back to Henrietta, Sir Rasper, and Fleecy
Hall, for we want to get a glance at the end of the season

288 THE HUNTING FIELD

before we finish our book. Sir Rasper, as we said before,
did not cast up at the Fleecy Hall dinner, and, as usual, in
all cases of extreme anxiety, no end of mistaken, and, we fear,
somewhat illiberal surmises, were indulged in, as to the cause
of his absence. Mrs. Cottonwool, who had been "trotted
out '■ by a few men before she became Mrs. Cotto"nwool, and
knew all the symptoms of " no go," set it down at once as a
case of desertion — " trifling with her daughter's feelings," as
they call it. It never entered her mind that a man could love
hunting better than his food, after the fashion of Gray's bull-
dog, who is reported to have loved fighting better than his,
and therefore she would ad\ise Henrietta to have no more
to say to Sir Rasper. Indeed, for her part, she thought her
daughter had had a most fortunate escape, for it was quite
impossible to look for conjugal happiness with a man so
thoroughly undomesticated as he was, who thought of nothing
but tearing about the country from morning to night ; indeed,
if all were true, there were other objections, which Mrs. Cotton-
wool indicated by sundry little tosses of her head, much in the
manner of a carriage horse teased by flies.

Old "Wool," of course, said that he never thought there
was anything in it, which procured him the usual recommenda-
tion "to hold his tongue, and not talk about things he did
not understand," for Mrs. Cottonwool had clearly settled in
her own mind that there had been a " nibble," and though
she might pretend to " whip off" at present, she meant to lay
Henrietta on again the first convenient opportunity. Those
opportunities in the country are very rare, especially in the
hunting season, where men will make their engagements sub-
servient to hunting. This is where hunt balls tell ; it giv-es
the women a chance of bringing men to book ; for, as they
cannot be hunting at night, if they have any " ^f«/ intentions "
they can come to a ball.

Henrietta Cotton\\ool, of course, being of the same way of

LADY FOXHUNTERS 289

thinking as " mamma " — indeed, mamma's opinions must have
been chiefly derived from the daughter — has determined not
to let the season close without a final effort for our hero.
Accordingly she has enlisted one of those convenient articles
called a cousin, that women know so well how to use, either as
suitors or cats'-paws, to attend her to the meet. Well she
looks as she sits on her horse, and if the animal was onl}' as
well turned out as she is, she would do uncommonly well.
There is not one woman in a hundred with the slightest idea
about either a horse or a carriage. Thin legs and long tails
are all they look for in a saddle-horse. Small legs, however,
would not exactly do for Henrietta, for she is a good load,
though her well-formed back and waist are admirably developed
by the close-fitting evenness of her well-made London habit.
The hat, too, becomes her. It rather fines than fulls her
plump healthy cheeks, and the maid has given some extra
labour in the brightening and arrangement of her flat-dressed
hair. Most young women look well in hats and habits. But
here comes Sir Rasper, bearing down the road like a man-of-
war in full sail. He comes at the pace of the regular five or
six days a week man, who knows to a minute how long it will
take him to "do " each meet. You can tell at a glance that
he is a workman ; everything bespeaks it, from the hat on
his head to the spur at his heel. What an age of anxiety—
what a world of time is often comprised in a brief unpre-
meditated moment like the present ! A glance, a look, a word,
and the thing is done. Sir Rasper greets our fair friend with
the hearty cordiality of a half-way-met agreeably-surprised
foxhunter. He is pleased with the attention of so fine a girl.
A tinge of pink pervades Henrietta's bright healthy com-
plexion, as she recognises the pressure of her somewhat hard
hand. When hers is released she dives into the saddle-pocket
for the fine lace-fringed handkerchief. Cousin Spooney looks
amazed.

U

290

THE HUNTING FIELD

How long soever a man may be about it, it is clear there
must be a first thought, a first impulse as to marrying a girl,
and Sir Rasper's impulse came on him rather suddenly this
morning. Pleased with Henrietta's appearance, flattered by
her preference, and perhaps wanting a solace for the fast
■\vearing-out season, he said to himself as he changed his hack
for his hunter, " By Jove, iv/ij shouldn't I niciny her ? "

TO OUR READERS.

" If any of you know cause or just impediment why these
two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony,
you are now to declare it."

ORDERED,

" That she be made Lady Smashgate according!}- ; and that
we have two pair of gloves and one pound of cake sent us.
Cards and compliments we dispense with."

="-^5ll£x.- ■

■ '') 9}.f->

'f#^i^"

CHAPTER XXI

COLONEL CODSHEAD ; OR, THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON

"I knows no more melancholic ceremony than takin the string out of
one's at, and foldin hup the old red rag at the end o' the season— a rag
unlike all other rags, the dearer and more hinterestin the older and more
worthless it becomes."— JORROCK'S Sportin Lector.

ORD bless us ! here comes
old Colonel Codshead — old
we may well call him, for
we have seen him cast up
at the end of fifteen seasons,
vowing each time that he
meant to take to hunting
in "right earnest" at the
beginningof the next. Sea-
son after season have we
seen the incursions of good living on his frame, marked the
slow progress of corpulence, as la\-er after layer of fat has
been added to his size. Fourteen years ago, the colonel,
though not slim, was what might be called a fine stout healthy
looking man— full limbed, but not obese— ruddy, without
being pimply, blotchy, or purply.

Now he looks like an over-fed alderman. His lascivious

292 THE HUNTING FIELD

eyes are starting out of his head, the roses of his flabbj- cheeks
have dissolved into numberless little red veins, while his
mulberry-coloured nose has thrown out divers little knots and
hillocks, all indicative of devotion to the jolly god.

Codshead has on the very coat — nay, we believe, the very
coat, waistcoat, breeches, and boots — in which he appeared
fourteen years ago. The coat, we remember, was the first
dress one — the first

" Bed by night, and chest of drawers by day,"

that appeared in our country, and of course produced a corre-
sponding impression. It then fitted him as a coat should fit,
easy and comfortable-looking, neither too tight nor too loose ;
the waist was where the colonel's waist was, and if the collar
was twice or thrice the breadth of collars of the present day,
it was not a bit more ridiculous than the hem-like things of
our times will be hereafter. It was then a fresh well-favoured
coat, and though we cannot say we admire the cut, it never-
theless became the colonel. Alas ! how changed are both coat
and colonel !

There is nothing hurts a man's vanity so much as the
conviction that he is getting fat. So long as he retains his
figure and activity he may be any age, but when this
'■ too, too soUd flesh woiii melt,"

when relentless beef will load the neck, back, reins, loins — all
the places that used to be mentioned in Moore's once indelicate
almanack — a dreadful con\iction comes over him that — to put
it in the mildest form — lie is not so young as lie 2vns.

Against this terrible admission Colonel Codshead has long
borne up stoutly and manfully. — He will not admit that he is
an ounce heavier than he was twenty }-ears ago, and all because
by dint of extreme exertion and compression he can manage to
squeeze himself into the clothes he wore then. It certainly
says much for the elasticity and the accommodating nature of

COLONEL CODSHEAD 293

human raiment that the clothes which then encased our hero,
will now contain a carcase almost half as big again. Pride
feels no pain, they sa}', and that is lucky, or our colonel would
be in the height of suffering at the present moment, for the
once easy, well-fitting coat is now as tight as the parchment on
a drum-head — indeed, all his clothes are in a corresponding
state of uneasiness.

The coat is one of the few instances we have met with of a
scarlet coat being absolutely shabby without bearing any
apparent marks of wear. A hunting coat generally fails at the
laps, which acquire a fine buckram-like feel and plum-coloured
hue, to the enhancement of the rest of the garment. The
Coloners coat has gone down altogether. It has no more sign
of wear — horse wear at least — than an omnibus cad's, or an
old Vauxhall waiter's. There is something healthy, sporting,
and pleasing in the sight of a well-dyed, well-stained, dull-
buttoned old coat. We look at it with the sort of reverence
that we regard the tattered banners in a church chancel, or in
a baronial hall. We respect the old rag for what it has done ;
but a frowsy, dusty, faded, flannelly, bath-bricky-looking thing
like the Colonel's, suggests a finger and thumb to the nose
more than anything else ; yet it has seen service — drawing-
room, dining-room, ball-room service, but little — very little —
out-of-door work.

The history of a hunting coat, from the matter-of-course
fall on the first launch, down to the ultimate dismissal as " too
bad even for a wet day," would furnish a fine theme for the
pen of the biographer of the " fox," or any other gentleman
short of a subject. The Colonel's coat, we don't think, ever
got the initiatory fall ; it has been an upstanding one all its
life. Some men pass with the ladies for great sportsmen
because they never get falls ; the dear creatures never imagin-
ing for a moment that they never get them because they never
give their horses a chance of giving them them. So, again.

294 THE HUNTING FIELD

some ladies, when they hear of Captain Fearnought or Mr.
Daredevil getting two or three tumbles a-day, immediatel}- set
them down as desperate tailors, imagining, of course, that they
tumble off. To adapt the doctrine of hunting mischances to
the " meanest capacit}-," the horses should be described as
getting the falls and not the men. But let us paint away at
the Colonel, for he covers a great breadth of canvas.

The most forlorn-looking things in a hunting field are a pair
of old tight moleskin breeches, bursting at the knees. How
Colonel Codshead ever got his great uncompromising legs
wheedled into his, passes our comprehension. Were it not for
the danger that would attend the performance in consequence
of the frailty of the article, we should imagine that he had had
recourse to the old expedient of being slung into them, as it is
said the booted dandies of George the Third's time used to be
into theirs, when an exquisite giving an order to his leather
breeches maker added these emphatic words, " Mind, if I can
get into them I won't have them."' Colonel Codshead's mole-
skins have seen many seasons — they are far anterior to the
coat — indeed we remember thinking, when it was launched, that
it would have been as well if he had carried his attentions a
little lower, and got himself a pair of new breeches also. Since
then the button-holes have been acting the part of a boy's nick-
stick prior to the holidays. Each succeeding season has scored
a rent until there is not a button-hole without a darn. The
whole ten buttons look as if they were ready to fly off at a
moment's notice. Tremendous work it must have been getting
them coaxed together ! The boots are quite of a piece with
the breeches, with whom, however, they do not seem on
visiting terms ; a great interregnum — supplied certainly with a
protuberance of most puddingey calf— intervening between
them and the moleskins. Spurs he doesn't sport — they might
be dangerous.

Colonel Codshead's anonymous-coloured, collar-marked,

COLONEL CODSHEAl) 295

horse, is of a piece witli his master — a great plethoric, over-fed
creature, incapable of exertion if his rider wished it. Indeed
the evenness of condition of the two is the onlj' point we can
praise ; and certainly' it is much more sensible for men to
regulate their horse's strength to their own, than to strive for that
tip-top condition, the property and prerogative of stout nerves.
What is the use of having a horse equal to double the exertion
the rider is capable of ? The Colonel's horse, in the palmy days
of machiners, would always have commanded forty pounds,
for he has size and strength enough for a wheeler ; indeed we
do not know but he might fetch forty pounds now, prices being
somewhat up. He is a dull, inanimate, heavj'-countenanced,
ugly-looking animal, rendered still worse from having been
badly clipped, and being now in that state of transition so trying
to all horses, the half-way house between his two coats. A badly
clipped horse looks wretched on a frosty, or cold, drying day.

There is something about hunters — indeed about horses that
have any pretensions to that character — that shows itself
before you come to the real hedging and ditching work. The
horse that evinces no increased pleasure or activity of action
on changing from hard ground to grass, has seldom any seeds
of the chase in his composition. His/or/i; is harness. The
horse that puts his feet into ruts, grips, and water furrows,
instead of hitching himself over them as it were, will be very
apt to do the same in the field, and it is perfectly notorious
that a man may break his neck at a small place as well as at a
large one. Indeed, we believe, if the catalogue of accidents
was canvassed, it would be found that the majority of them
have happened at small places. Horses either do not see them
or will not give themselves the trouble to clear them. Hence
men who hunt in parts of Essex, and other widely-ditched
countries, declare that their formidable-looking leaps are the
safest — a comfortable theory to those who can bring themselves
to believe it.

i>96 THE HI NTIXG FIELD

Codshead is al\va\-s " wanting a horse." There are a good
man)' men of this sort in the world, men who are always on
the look out, but who never buj. In introducing Captain
Shabbyhounde to our readers in a former chapter, we com-
mented upon the " I'll sell you a horse " figure of speech some-
times adopted by young men, or would-be great sportsmen, and
knowing ones, and the " Do you know of a horse that will suit
me ? " is the corresponding figure of speech for the other end
of life — adopted either by desperately cautious men, or men
who just ask the question because they think it is fine to ask
about a horse, or from want of something to say. It seems an
absurd sort of question — for how are we to know what will suit
another man. Half the people in this world don't know what
will suit themselves, A quick tailor or bootmaker, they say,
will measure a man with his eye, and perhaps a horse-dealer
may have the same knack at guessing what will suit a customer ;
but the generality of people who are bored with the " do you
know of a horse that will suit me ? " question have no such
ability. To be sure, if one sees a great pudding-headed, snuffy-
nosed, wabbling-gutted fellow stumping about, we may say
" that man's only fit for a cob, or for water carriage ; " but the
bulk of horse-wanters have no particularising mark, no charac-
teristic, or indicating symptoms. It is only m the hunting field
that riders can be classed. There one can say, such and such
a horse will suit such and such a man ; because we see what
both can do, as well as what both " can"t do," or won't try
to do.

If you were to show Colonel Codshead a hundred and fifty
horses he would pick a hole in each. Indeed people are tired
of showing him them, and to say that you know a man who
wants a horse, and named Colonel Codshead, is enough to
provoke a smile on the face of the owner. Young Tom Rapid,
who is always in a hurry, having nothing whatever to do,
always greets our hero with, " Well, Cod, how are you ? "

COLONEL CODSHEAD 297

adding, in the same breath, "/ don't know of a horse that will
suit you."

But hark ! our Master greets the Colonel. Let us hear
what passes. Ten to one but it is the old story.

Master, loquitur. — " Good morning, Colonel Codshead ; glad
to see 3-ou among us at last."

"Good morning, sir," replies Codshead; "glad to iind my-
self out, I assure you ; quite refreshing after the toils and
fatigues of office."

Master. — "Oh, ah, I forgot , I've the honour of addressing
the Mayor of Turtleton (Master raising his hat as he speaks),
I hope we shall see more of you ; though the season, I am
sorry to say, is about over."'

" More's the pity," replies Codshead ; " I was in hopes to
have had some good spring hunting."

"Not this season, I'm afraid," replies the Master; "too dry
— fallows flying — farmers making up their fences."

Codshead. — " Well, better luck next time : must begin early
next 3'ear."

" Do," replies the Master.

" Buy three or four good horses, and hunt regularly," rejoins
Codshead.

" That's your sort ! " replied the Master.

" Never feel so well as I do after a good day's hunting," adds
Codshead, bumping himself in the saddle.

" Fine healthy amusement," observes our Master.

" You don't know of a horse that will suit one, do you ? "
asks Codshead — (hurrah ! we knew it would come).

" Not at present," replies our Master, with a smile, having
had an inward wager himself as to whether Codshead would
ask the question or not.

There are many Codsheads in the world — man)- men who
fancy they would like hunting amazingly when the\- can't get
it, and who never trouble it when it is to be had. Scarlet coats

298 THE HUNTING FIELD

have a \ast of lies to answer for. The Colonel, like his horse,
has not the slightest natural inclination for huntini:; — indeed it
is rather a punishment to him than otherwise — he hunts for the
sake of the society and the good dinners it procures him.
After that, we need scarcely say the Colonel is a bachelor.
Now, a married colonel, and a bachelor colonel, though born in
the same year perhaps, are very different aged people in female
estimation ; and our Colonel — albeit, but a yeomanry one —
ranks rather as one of those pretty boyish colonels peculiar to
the "Guards," than one of the hobbling, frosty-pated, wound-
scarred old cocks of the Peninsula or Waterloo.

A woman's foxhunter and a man's foxhunter are ver\-
different things. If a man in a red coat is always at a woman's
beck and call — always ready with something to say (a feat, by
the way, not in the accomplishment of all) — always read\- to
dance attendance at their carriage sides when they go to see
the hounds throw off — always careless of the hounds for the
sake of their company — they think him a most agreeable, en-
gaging, captivating man — ^^just what a foxhunter ought to be,
and when the " pasteboards " go out such a man is sure to be
remembered.

The man's foxhunter is one who adores the ladies, delights in
their society, would ride a hundred miles in the wet to serve
them (on a non-hunting day), but from the greatest beauty of
whom the joyous Tally Hot would draw him like a shot.
Women like deeds of daring, and the man who would leap
turnpike gates, garden walls, spiked palisades, and such-like
trifles, would find favour in their eyes for the madness, while
the sportsman would set such a performer down for a fool.

We need not say that Codshead is a woman's foxhunter, any
more than that he is not a likely bird to attempt any eccentrici-
ties in the leaping way. He gets out of that scrape by profess-
ing to be one of the "has beens '' — "used to he zs. desperate
rider — would leap almost anything." He is only u " has

COLONEL CODSHEAl) iM»9

been " in the riding wa}' though ; in other respects he looks
upon himself as the pink of perfection, and truly it says little
for a neighbourhood where such a slushbucket is tolerated.

Yet he is not onh- tolerated, but run after. His red coat far
oftener appears abo\e a pair of black shorts than above the
darned moleskins, while the glorious amplitude of calf now
bagging over the too tight top, like an overgrown omelette
souffle over a small dish, procures for him the appellation of a
" monstrous fine man." Somebod}- once told him that he was
like George the Fourth, and he has dressed the character ever
since — puffy, clean shave all round, with a profusion of wiggy-
looking curls at the side of his broad-banded, broad-bound,
broad-brimmed hat. We wonder how many Princes and'
George the Fourths we have seen in the course of our time ?

Codshead is in request among the women, who have a very
favourite maxim, " that a man is never too old to marrj-."
Comfortable assurance !

To be sure Codshead's age varies a good deal, according to
the views and prospects of the speaker. A mamma, with a
" fairish chance " daughter will kindl}- put him down at forty,
while another with small, or diminished hopes, will run him
up to sixty. Still, if there is a dinner going on within ten
miles of Turleton, Codshead is sure of an invite. Single men
are always in request even though the}- are as big as —

''Two single gentlemen rolled into one.''

This 3ear he has shown forth in redoubled splendour — Mayor
of Turtleton, as well as Colonel Codshead, and the consequent
good living is visible alike on his carcase and on his counte-
nance. His hunting serves to bring him in dinners. Ver}- few
appearances in a red coat procure a man the reputation of a
foxhunter among the non-hunting portion of the community,
and the politeness of a well-judging world always associates
good society with the sport. Thus then, if Mr. Closefist

300 THE HUNTING FIELD

objects to having our Colonel invited to dinner, insisting that
he is nothing but a great overgrown sponge, Mrs. Closefist will
retaliate that he is a man in the very first society, a man who
visits everybody, a great man with the Scourcountry hounds,
and Codshead comes, if in the hunting season, of course in his
red coat. Women and mackerel are all for scarlet.

But what a place Turleton must be when Codshead is its
great authority on hunting. He is the Nimrod of the place.
Somehow burgesses are seldom built for boots or saddles.
They sit their horses, as they do their stools, with firmness,
ease and grace — until they begin to move, and then it's all np
with them or rather all down. Colonel Codshead returns thanks
for the toast, " Success to foxhunting," far oftenerthan he puts
the success of it to the proof. He is a slow, pompous, broken-
winded speaker — he looks like one. " Gentlemen,'" says he,
for it is the same thing over and over again ; " gentlemen," says
he, looking especial wise, " I beg to return you my best (gasp)
thanks for the (gasp) honour you have done me in drinking my
(gasp) health in connection with fo.xhunting (gasp). Gentle-
men, it is a (gasp) sport, gentlemen (gasp), peculiar to (gasp)
Britons, and digniiied (gasp) with the (gasp) of the greatest
(gasp) men of the (gasp) day [applause]. I hope (gasp) I shall
never live (gasp) to see the (gasp) day when it \\\\\ be (gasp)
other than (gasp) popular. It brings the (gasp) peer in connec-
tion with the (gasp) peasant, and binds all its (gasp) followers
up in social (gasp) harmony."

But let us dismiss the great puffy porpoise, and talk about
something else. He will soon dismiss himself if they find a fo.x.
This day, however, is to qualify him to talk of hunting for the
summer. Alack-a-day ! talking of it will be the most any of us
can do for some time. However, never mind, we have had a
glorious season — wonderful and curious in weather, and cer-
tainly more than an average one in point of sport. We hope
our readers have laid in a good stock of consolation for its

COLONEL CODSHEAD 301

close, by having made the most of it while it lasted. Cub
hunting was late, owing to the harvest ; indeed, in some
countries they would scarcely have any ; but when hunting did
begin we had a rare and continuous run of it. Hounds could
never be said to be fairly stopped, till just as many were think-
ing of stopping themselves towards the latter end of March,
for, though there were occasional checks in particular districts,
yet, as a whole, they were never brought to a stand-still, as
they are in decided frosts or regular snow-storms. The
weather was various — in most parts fine, in many unseason-
ably so.

At Chiswick the meteorological register kept at the gardens
of the Horticultural Society gave a state of weather unprece-
dented for many years in December and Januar}-, in which
latter month Covent-garden exhibited quite a spring-like ap-
pearance— primroses, violets (sweet-scented), cowslips, ane-
mones, and many of the flowers which in mild seasons usually
bloom in the month of February being seen in profusion. The
fine weather extended throughout the countr}-.

The northern papers of the end of January spoke of the
mildness of the atmosphere producing a premature effect on
vegetation, and said that the thrushes were warbling forth
their " wood notes wild" to welcome the return of spring, and
altogether it was a most unusually open season.

The absence of frost was one of its striking characteristics,
and with the absence of frost may be noticed the almost total
absence of accidents. We never remember a season with so
few — no necks, no limbs, scarcely a collar-bone broken. This
shows that hunting is not a dangerous amusement if people
will only follow it rationally. It makes all the difference in the
world whether a man falls on the flags or on a feather bed. It
is of no use contending with the adverse elements, nor is there
any pleasure in trj-ing to force a season unnaturally into the
spring. That man is the best sportsman who knows when to

302 THE HUNTING FIELD

leave off. But to the close of the season, for we are no
advocates for the family slaughtering of " Mayfoxes."

Winter slipped away beautifully, to the delight of foxhunters
and the Wenham Lake Ice Company, and the dismay of
"native industry" among the confectioners and salmon
picklers. But for the "woodcocks," peculiar to Christmas, we
should never have known it had been here. We are not un-
reasonable in our desires, and if we get the year fairly
hunted out, and a few days for the boys at Christmas, we never
grumble at a fortnight's frost or so ; but this year the weather
was kinder than we even desired — January was open from end
to end — whole thirty-one days — a bumper month. There might
be a sprinkling of snow here and there, and a night or two's
frost, but as a whole, hounds were never stopped. February
we have recorded. The early part of the last week of that
month was as full of warmth and vegetation as many ordinary
Mays or Junes. The trees were all budding, the hedges were
all bursting into leaf, and gentlemen rode up to their horses'
girths in turnip-tops.

Our " oldest inhabitant " — for all discreet authors keep an
oldest inhabitant of their own — our oldest inhabitant always
shook his head, however, when he looked in upon us, and
we observed upon the extraordinary fineness of the season, and
the fact of winter having forgotten us. " Don't halloo before
you are clear of the wood," the old gentleman used to say, for
he was a hunter in his youth, though when that youth was
nobody knows. " Yotill catch it yet,'' he used to say, in the
oracular style peculiar to old gentlemen speaking what they
think parables.

Well, we will let him have his fling through January,
for we thought it likely we should " cdtch it," and we
backed him well into February too, but wiien the birds
began to sing and Covent-garden to blow, why we thought
it was time to follow the fashion, and tiirow " previous

COLONEL CODSHEAD 303

opinions " to the winds ; so the next time the old cock
called, we began to crow over him. " Well, where"s winter ? "
said we; " where"s all the bad weather j-ou promised us?'
" Young man," replied he, gravely (we are onl}' sixty-three),
"young man," replied he, knitting his shaggy, snow-white
brows, " I have lived a long time in the world, and I never
knew Death, the Tax-gatherer, or an English winter forget
to come. I don't mean to sa}-," continued he, "that we
shall have it all in the Mc-tro-po-lis, but I mean to say that
winter is not over yet." With that he resumed his cocked
hat and cane, and went across the water to the other " un-
dying one," at Astley's.

Old gentlemen don't like to be laughed at — \-oung ones
neither, sometimes — and we saw no more of our " oldest
inhabitant " till the middle of March. The season in the
meantime had been quiescent, no great advance in vegetation,
but no check to what had arri\-ed. As the " old "un " had
rather inconvenienced us by his absence, having had some
questions put about events that occurred shortly before the
great fire of London, a scene at which he was particularly
active, we did not think it prudent to broach the subject of the
truant winter, and the " oldest inhabitant " having got
through the arrear of antiquarian questions, took his departure
in the hurried wa}' people do when there's a. disagreeable topic
they don't want mentioned.

Hunting, we reckoned, was fast winding up. March has
never much ingratiated itself with us as a hunting month. It
sounds harsh and repulsive, speaks rather of high winds, hard
dusty roads, and flying fallows, than of that delightful, sloppy,
spongy, splash-my-boots state of things peculiar to the legitimate
chase.

Third week in March, and spring slowly, though steadily on
the advance. This "oldest inhabitant " is getting " too old,"
thought we, for he had looked in at our publisher's, on

304 THE HUNTING FIELD

Saturday (the 14th), and reiterated his conviction that we
sliould catcli it yet.

" We really believe we may have too old an oldest
inhabitant," continued we, thrusting our hands, a la D' Israeli,
into our breeches pockets, and pacing about our apartment.
If we knew where to la\' hands on one from a hundred to a
hundred and fifty years old, we really think we would " shelf"
this oldest inhabitant, for he is evidently getting in arrear of
the times.

A change then came o'er the spirit of our dream.

All our northern and midland letters of the i8th of March,
spoke of the withering influence of the preceding day. They
said the weather was cutting cold, with every appearance of a
fall. When people talk of a fall, in relation to the weather, it
always means " snow " — rain they designate by its proper
title. We would not have met our " oldest inhabitant " that
day for something. Not that the old man would have exulted
over us, for Widdicombe and he are far removed above the
scornful passions and prejudices of the world ; but our own
conscience would have upbraided us for doubting the accuracy
of the ancient. Straightway we went to the leather-breeched
ancient on Snow-hill, and bought our " oldest inhabitant "
half a hundred weight of fleecy hosiery. Nor was the present
unseasonable, for the Scotch, northern, and midland papers of
that week's end brought up direful accounts of hurricanes,
tempests, and tremendous snow-storms, accompanied by
nipping frosts. At Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where the civiliza-
tion of railway shoots across the island to Carlisle, the black-
faced ones were uncommonly well powdered. It appears by
the prints of that region, that her Majesty's mail-bags are
conveyed onward to " Auld Reekie " by means of coaches and
horses, and they talked of si.x horses being necessary on parts
of the road. Such doings sound queer in our railway-netted

COLONEL CODSHEAD 305

world. However, the storm came, and though we escaped in
" We-tro-po-lis," as our ancient calls it, there was plenty of it
in the country, and it was cold enough in town. So the
prophecy of the ancient was fulfilled, and he has risen in our
estimation in consequence. Never will we believe flowers,
thrushes, lambs, or anything of the sort again, in preference to
our own "oldest inhabitant." What with the hosiery and this
notice, we trust our friend will think we have made the amende
honomblc.

A snow-storm is a punishing thing; it puts a stop to
everything. As we said before, we can stand it at Christmas,
but at no other time. At Christmas we can console ourselves
with the thoughts that it is seasonable — that as we must have
it, it is better to ha\e it at the right time, and be done with it
— that the horses want rest, and we draw our chairs round the
fire, and look forward to resuming the field with redoubled
zeal.

But a March storm, while it checks hunting and blights all
our floricultural hopes and expectations, presents no bright
prospect in view. Go when it will, hunting, we feel, cannot
return, at least not in the genuine, natural, other half of the
thing, sort of way.

The only consolation about a March storm — at least one late
on in the month— is that they never last. They are like frosts
in November, which are sometimes uncommonly keen and
iron-bound at night, and }-et extremely wet and sloppy in the
morning. When a March storm gets the turn of its complaint,
it generally subsides very fast. A day of cold, bitter, blustering
storm will be succeeded by one of balmy sunshine, that melts
the snow in half the time it takes in the earlier months. So it
was this year, though snow-wreaths might be seen on the
higher grounds in the month of April. Strange to say, April
was a better hunting month this year than March. It was
wet, and cold, and splashy enough in all conscience.

X

306

THE HUNTING FIELD

The season, so prosperous during its continuance, closed,
we are happy to say, with fewer drawbacks and derangements
to future foxhunting than generally attends the finish of each
year. As some advertising tradespeople are always dissolving
partnership, or retiring from business to get. in their debts, so
some few hunts brought their " stock " to market, most likely
for the purpose of weeding the studs or of getting parties to
" buck up " in the way of subscription. These objects being
accomplished, the " firms " resumed business, in some cases,
perhaps, with a change of " foreman," or cutter-out — we
mean, whipper-in. None of the great hunts were affected
with the "spring cough," and we trust they are now all about
taking the field again with undiminished vigour and long
enduring permanence.

LONDON
PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED,

ST. John's house, clerkenwell, e.c.

FHE AMim OF Tiit- HUMIIj FIELD

%,

^•:

THE i,

ANALYSIS

OF THE

HUNTING
FIELD

R.S.SURTEES

ILLUSTRATED
BY

RALKEM

KEGAN PAULJRENCH,
miiBiNER & CO.UP.

fc6^5

1903

m^ Am

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