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 THE Fox. 
 
THE SPORT 
 OF OUR ANCESTORS 
 
 BEING A COLLECTION OF PROSE AND VERSE 
 SETTING FORTH 
 
 THE SPORT OF FOX-HUNTING 
 
 AS THEY KNEW IT 
 
 EDITED AND SELECTED 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND APPRECIATIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 LORD WILLOUGHBY DE BROKE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 V- 
 
 G. D. ARMOUR 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
v/7 
 
 Printed in Great Britain 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BY the ' Sport of our Ancestors ' is meant the sport of 
 Fox-hunting. Anything to do with Sport has always 
 been so popular in these islands that the word is 
 now used to dignify almost anything in the nature of a 
 competition, being applied to golf, football, lawn-tennis, 
 hockey, or battledore and shuttlecock. But perhaps a better 
 testimony to the supreme value of the idea of Sport in the 
 Englishman's mind is the natural way in which he designates 
 as a good sportsman any one whom he particularly wishes 
 to praise. No man can have greater honour in this country 
 than to be known as a good sportsman, or, in the vernacular 
 of those who are regardless of grammar, as a * Sport/ He 
 may achieve this reputation without ever having been on a 
 horse or handled a gun or a fishing-rod. But he must 
 possess a sense of humour and, above all, an ability to 
 take risks and to play for his side. These attributes, added, 
 of course, to a certain standard of kindliness and good conduct, 
 are what distinguish the good sportsman or ' Sport ' among 
 his fellows. 
 
 But for the purpose of these papers the term Sport will 
 be only applied to field sports, meaning the pursuit of wild 
 
 vii 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 animals by man. And of all field sports it can be claimed 
 that the pursuit of wild animals by packs of Hounds served 
 in the field by men mounted on horses is the most exhilarat- 
 ing, the most varied, and therefore the most attractive. In 
 France, whence came the Norman who probably taught us 
 English to love Sport for its own sake, they hunt with packs 
 of Hounds many different kinds of game. In England the 
 vast majority of packs hunt the Fox. Hunting the Fox, then, 
 is the Sport of our Ancestors. Long may it be preserved 
 for our posterity ! 
 
 Vlll 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTORY i 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AN APOLOGY TO MR. SURTEES 23 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MR. EGERTON WARBURTON 37 
 
 SONG .......... 53 
 
 TAR WOOD ......... 54 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MAJOR WHYTE MELVILLE . . . . . . 62 
 
 IN MEMORIAM ......... 68 
 
 * YOUR HAND-WRITING, SIR ' 69 
 
 EXTRACT FROM ' HOLMBY HOUSE ' 79 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MR. BROMLEY-DAVENPORT 85 
 
 THE DREAM OF AN OLD MELTONIAN . . . . . 93. 
 
 LOWESBY HALL ......... 98 
 
 ix 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BECKFORD ... .... .105 
 
 A Fox CHASE . . . . .. . . , in 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 'NIMROD* 119 
 
 THE CHACE ......... 129 
 
 THE ROAD . . 181 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BAG FOX 237 
 
 THE NOBLE EARL OF AN ANCIENT NAME .... 240 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ANTHONY TROLLOPE 243 
 
 THE OLD KENNELS ........ 251 
 
 GOARLY'S REVENGE ........ 259 
 
 FROM IMPINGTON GORSE ....... 270 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Fox ...... Frontispiece 
 
 ' Brighter in Britain the charms of each daughter, nor 
 
 Dreads the bright charmer to follow the fox ' . facing page 52 
 
 * Stood tiptoe on his loaded sack ' . . . ,,54 
 ' They fetch 'd a team and tackle stout ' . 60 
 1 " Has he fashion enough, think ye, sir ? " . ,, ,, 72 
 
 * " Tally-ho ! " shouts our friend Jack ' . ,,78 
 ' " Come up, horse ! " mutters Charles in reply ' . 80 
 ' Well saved ! We are over ! ' . 94 
 
 * On his greasy cheek and forehead came a colour 
 
 and a light ' . . . . 100 
 
 ' Now let your huntsman throw in his hounds as 
 
 quietly as he can ' . . . ,, 112 
 
 * Gods ! what a crash they make ' . . . 118 
 1 Listening how the hounds and horn ' . . ,,130 
 
 * The second horse * . . 146 
 ' The little bay horse would have no more of it ' . ,, ,,172 
 
 1 " Let 'em go, then," quoth the artist, " and take 
 
 care of yourselves "' . . . . 192 
 
 xi 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 The Stage Coach ..... facing page 200 
 
 ' He can drive a phaeton and two ' . ,, 228 
 
 * Kept in condition by being exercised by the man 
 
 with the big birch broom ' . 238 
 
 ' " It 's p'ison, my lord " . . 260 
 
 Larry and Kate Masters . . . 272 
 
 xn 
 
CHAPTER I 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 ^ I ^HE songs and the chapters which are illustrated in 
 this book by Mr. G. D. Armour's unrivalled pencil 
 have been chosen mainly on account of the manner 
 in which they signify the deliberate, matter-of-course, almost 
 leisurely, but none the less whole-hearted, devotion to Fox- 
 hunting which was once the distinguishing characteristic 
 of the country gentlemen of England. The spacious days 
 of country life from A.D. 1750, when Foxhounds began to 
 be bred for speed, to A.D. 1900, when wars and rumours of 
 wars both at home and abroad heralded the birth of a more 
 hectic existence, must have afforded some rare moments. 
 The culminating point of the comfortable England that some 
 of us have been privileged to enjoy may fairly be said to have 
 been reached at the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria. 
 Then came the Boer War, and with it the first twinges of the 
 suspicion that after all we might have more trouble and less 
 junketing in days to come. Some of us began to feel a 
 draught. It is true that peace was arranged in time for 
 the Coronation of King Edward vn. ; but the short reign 
 of that popular monarch witnessed the final flicker of the 
 luxury and leisure that had for so many generations made 
 the life of comfortable England in the country the easiest 
 A i 
 
TKe Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 of all forms of existence that this planet has produced. But 
 during these first years of the twentieth century signs were 
 not wanting that peace at home and abroad might come to 
 an end. Life became more restless. Party feeling was 
 bitter. There was incitement to class warfare. There was 
 much shouting on the platform. The very Constitution in 
 Church and State was called into question. No thoughtful 
 person could ignore the German menace. And all the time 
 the automobile in the hunting -field was causing grave 
 searchings of heart among the conservative temperaments. 
 
 And not without some reason. Certain aspects of Fox- 
 hunting have never been quite the same since self-propelled 
 traffic took possession of our country roads. The most 
 plausible defence of hunting by motor-car is that the time 
 saved in this manner can be profitably devoted to the trans- 
 action of business, domestic or otherwise. When people 
 say this, they probably mean that the time can be comfort- 
 ably devoted to lying in bed. But granted that the busy 
 man can leave the door at 10.15 A - M - m a motor-car instead 
 of at 9.30 A.M. in a carriage, is there much real saving of 
 tissue ? The time between 9.30 A.M. and 10.15 A.M. might 
 be more restfully spent in the phaeton or the buggy than 
 in talking on the telephone, interviewing the agent, or com- 
 posing letters to creditors. But whether one goes to the 
 meet in a motor-car, in a carriage, or on horseback is entirely 
 a question of taste. Although a motor-car in the hunting- 
 field is sadly out of the picture, its use as a covert hack has 
 had no real effect on the sport. But it has probably had some 
 2 
 
Introductory 
 
 effect upon the sportsman. All boys and girls ought to 
 learn how to jog their hunters quietly to the meet, how to 
 ride them all day with a view to having to get them home 
 at night, and how to get them home after a hard day. Until 
 they have done all these things, and done them in the right 
 way, they are not fit to be called Fox-hunters, or to have 
 horses of their own. Experience is the best school. But 
 the tendency of motor transport is to rob the young genera- 
 tion of this experience. Horse-mastership is left to the 
 servants, and as soon as the fur coat, the thermos bottle, 
 and the car can be found by telephone or otherwise, the 
 horse is handed over to the groom to get home in the best 
 way he can. Equally, the fatal facility with which the 
 motor-car covers long distances to the meet, not previously 
 attempted, may very well make people a little careless about 
 asking their men and horses to cover these same distances, 
 starting while their masters are in bed. 
 
 But this is not all. The general use of mechanical 
 transport on the public roads has caused them to be treated 
 in such a manner as to make riding on them a real danger, 
 a far worse one than jumping the fences. No horse, how- 
 ever quiet, can travel to-day on the glazed surface of our roads 
 without being in constant danger of slipping up, breaking 
 his rider's leg, and very likely injuring himself. This with 
 a quiet horse. To mount a horse that is inclined to jump 
 about on these hard, black, shiny, slippery superficies re- 
 quires courage of no mean order. It was bad enough to 
 have to get on to a snorting animal in the old days before 
 
 3 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 the roads were polished and burnished as they are to-day. 
 The road was even then a hard place to fall on, but at least 
 there was foothold for the horse when he began to dance. 
 In the present state of the roads any movement at all, unless 
 it be a very slow walk, is almost suicidal. The casualty list 
 is already formidable. But when one has got to the meet 
 without disaster by the aid of short cuts and grass sidings to 
 the roads though what happens in some countries where 
 there are no grass sidings is terrible to contemplate what 
 becomes of our good old friend the turnpike road, who has 
 so often enabled us all to save our horses during the run, 
 and to see so many Foxes killed ? It has been turned into a 
 sheet of ice, hard, hideous, and convex, more death-dealing 
 than the stiffest of timber or the blindest of ditches. 
 
 The motor-car, then, seems to have made Fox-hunting 
 more of a luxury and less of a business, and has made riding 
 on the turnpike road almost impossible. In a certain sense 
 it has had more influence than the railway train as an acces- 
 sory of the chase. A railroad is, of course, a horrible nuisance, 
 and has spoilt many a good run, but the general effect of 
 railways on Fox-hunting was so gradual that the change was 
 hardly perceptible. Motor-cars, on the other hand, came in 
 battalions, almost without warning, penetrated places where 
 the railroad did not run, and marked a new era in the general 
 outlook of the Fox-hunter, as they have marked a completely 
 new era in the customs and indeed the manners of the 
 nation. 
 
 It is with the object of recalling something of the spirit 
 4 
 
Introductory 
 
 of an age when comfortable England was contented to think 
 of sport rather than speed that these papers are now offered 
 to the public. 
 
 Whether those boys and girls who first saw the light 
 about the dawn of this century will enjoy field sports as 
 much as did their ancestors is an open question. What is 
 not an open question is that most of them, for the present 
 at any rate, will enjoy them in a different manner, and from 
 a different point of view. What is the nature of this differ- 
 ence ? The answer probably is that for some years past, even 
 before the War, life was becoming more complex, particularly 
 for the agricultural landlords, who for many generations had 
 directed the field sports of the British Isles. The agri- 
 cultural depression which began in the late seventies took 
 away from many county families their hereditary privilege of 
 being the chief financiers of Fox-hunting. Here and there 
 one or two of the great houses whose revenues were perhaps 
 independent of agricultural rents solemnly continued to 
 keep on the family pack with no subscription, as if nothing 
 had happened or ever would happen. But many of the 
 landlords had either to give up the mastership of Foxhounds 
 altogether, or else to be paid a salary. Concurrently with 
 the fall in revenue, political pressure began to occupy more 
 of their time in public duty. They perceived that if they were 
 to keep their influence, their service to the State could no 
 longer be confined to having a good luncheon four times 
 a year at Quarter Sessions, and sitting on the local Bench 
 once a month on a non-hunting day. The whole para- 
 
 5 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 phernalia of local government compelled their attention, if 
 even from no other instinct than that of self-preservation. 
 Parliamentary elections ceased to be a choice between a 
 Whig and a Tory landlord ; the squire was opposed by the 
 Radical, who was not ashamed to confess that he was out to 
 demolish the existing order, and to lay his hands on the 
 very Ark of the Covenant in the shape of the hereditary 
 principle. The electors ceased to take things for granted. 
 The spirit of that pleasant age indicated by the Eton boy 
 who said, ' Don't bother about farming or politics ; all 
 father's tenants have to do is to walk a Foxhound puppy and 
 vote for the Conservatives/ was quickly passing. Leaflets, 
 pamphlets, and all the other horrors of that terrible thing 
 called propaganda were brought into full play. The com- 
 fortable evening at home had to give way, with distressing 
 frequency, to the village meeting. A wise and witty Tory 
 * grande dame ' is said to have remarked that unless this 
 privation were cheerfully borne, ' the eight o'clock dinner 
 would ruin the Conservative Party.' 
 
 All these things, quite independently of war, combined 
 to make life at the beginning of this century much more of 
 a hustle than ever it had been before. Instances of the 
 sealed pattern existence of the affluent country gentleman 
 became very rare. In former times it had been his custom 
 to change his seat of government from his country house to his 
 London house on the same date every year. He purchased 
 a commission for his eldest son in the Household Troops, 
 or sent him into Parliament. The younger sons divided 
 6 
 
Introductory 
 
 the family living, the army, and the navy between themselves , 
 having received from their father a sufficient allowance to 
 make them independent of their not too exacting professions. 
 This arrangement formed a convenient setting for the enjoy- 
 ment of field sports in the autumn and winter, and of other 
 delights in the summer. It is true that there may have 
 been a certain period of boredom for * the sad Meltonian ' 
 in the spring. But this was shortly to be relieved by the 
 festive Yeomanry Week, followed by the London season with 
 Epsom, Ascot, Newmarket, and Goodwood, to say nothing 
 of a country house cricket party, of all forms of junketing 
 one of the most enchanting. The original picture from 
 which this brief sketch is drawn of a certain aspect of leisured 
 life is to be found in the novels of Whyte Melville, who 
 knew the whole subject intimately, and must be accepted 
 as an authority. It is not presented as the lament of laudator 
 temporis acti, still less is it intended to be a defence of a social 
 system as it manifested itself to some of us during a certain 
 epoch. It is rather offered with the idea of trying to trace 
 the change in the atmosphere of country life which was 
 taking place during the last quarter of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury and the first decade of the twentieth. An amusing 
 and touching symptom of the devout attitude of our an- 
 cestors towards field sports marks the contrast between the 
 spirit of this period and that of the age that was passing. 
 They thought it quite natural that even the Church should be 
 the instrument for registering the public veneration for Fox- 
 hunting and horsemanship. It may be within the memory 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 of the oldest inhabitants of a certain parish that the meets 
 of the Foxhounds were nailed upon the church door, if not 
 actually announced from the pulpit by the good parson 
 himself every Sunday. There is yet another instance even 
 more naive than this. The proud parish that had given 
 birth to one of the finest sportsmen, and perhaps the most 
 consummate horseman, of the Victorian era rang its church 
 bells on the occasion of his riding the winner of the Grand 
 National Steeplechase at Liverpool for the second year in 
 succession. The man to whom was accorded this unique 
 tribute was none other than the late Mr. J. Maunsell Richard- 
 son, who won the Grand National Steeplechase in 1873 on 
 Disturbance, and in 1874 on Reugny, both of whom he 
 had himself trained for Captain Machell. 
 
 Mr. Maunsell Richardson, who was born in 1846 and 
 died in 1912, seemed to his contemporaries to be one of the 
 fine flowers of English country life. Was he born at the 
 right time to have enjoyed field sports at their very best ? 
 This question gives rise to much speculation. It is inter- 
 esting to try to compare the respective environments of 
 those sportsmen who were born about the twenties, the 
 forties, and the sixties. Be it understood that such analysis 
 as it is possible to make will be confined to the point of view 
 of the leisured classes who in the last century were mainly 
 recruited from the agricultural landlords. No apology is 
 needed for talking about the leisured classes. Since the 
 War, the acquisition of wealth and leisure, more often than 
 not employed in the pursuit of game, seems to be just as 
 8 
 
Introductory 
 
 fashionable an occupation as it was in the days of the Greeks 
 and the Romans, and perhaps for many thousands of years 
 before their time. Those who were born about 1820, 
 possibly ten years earlier, to the unfettered and affluent 
 enjoyment of field sports, and departed this life at the age 
 of threescore years and ten, would almost seem to have 
 skimmed the very cream of the English countryside. From 
 the picturesque point of view they had the advantage of 
 seeing what England looked like before the railroads. They 
 saw with their own eyes the post-chaises, the private travelling 
 carriages, and the stage-coaches, at that time in the very 
 zenith of efficiency, so well described by ' Nimrod ' in his 
 famous chapter on * The Road ' which appears presently. 
 From the sporting point of view there was little or nothing 
 to hinder them from doing what they liked. The even 
 tenor of their way received occasional shocks, such as the 
 Reform Bill, the introduction of the railroad, and the Repeal 
 of the Corn Laws. On each of these occasions the world 
 was without doubt coming to an end. But strange to say, 
 in spite of these hideous portents, they contrived to enjoy 
 those glorious gallops with Mr. Corbet and Mr. Osbaldeston, 
 and the Fox-hunting parties at the great country houses. 
 The contemporary portraits by pen and pencil give forth a 
 delicious atmosphere of permanence, prosperity, and pro- 
 prietorship. Sir Francis Grant has caught the spirit of the 
 whole thing in such pictures as the Meet of the Cottesmore 
 Hounds during the famous Mastership of Sir Richard Sutton. 
 It is true that some of the Hounds look as if it would take 
 
them all their time to keep out of the way of the horses, 
 even though the horses themselves may look a trifle 
 * coachy.' It would be interesting indeed to have heard 
 Sir Richard's own criticisms when he first saw the picture. 
 Anyway, however they may have been portrayed upon canvas, 
 neither the horses nor the Hounds, unless they had been of 
 the very best, would have satisfied such men as Sir Richard 
 Sutton, Mr. Assheton Smith, the Duke of Rutland, and the 
 other intimate enthusiasts who form this notable group. 
 But the main merit of this picture does not consist in the 
 faithful portrayal of animal anatomy, though we may remark 
 in passing that few artists ever placed a man so easily and 
 comfortably in his saddle as did Sir Francis Grant. His 
 portraits are not of a man on his horse. They are of a man 
 and his horse. Sir Richard Sutton and his horse appear in 
 this portrait to fit each other so gracefully and naturally that 
 it is hard to believe they could ever part company. The 
 charm of this picture and of others like it, such as the Melton 
 Hunt Breakfast, consists of the manner in which they convey 
 the calm spirit of * the gentlemen of England/ There is no 
 suggestion of neurasthenia in the pictures of Sir Francis 
 Grant. He groups and paints those men who met the Fox- 
 hounds in the morning to ride over each other's land, and 
 met together in the evening to drink each other's claret, as 
 possessing an air of assurance, a power of command, a sense 
 of property, a solidity of position, a freedom from worry, 
 a distinction of manner, and a solemn, almost stodgy sim- 
 plicity, which in those days must have been the traditional 
 10 
 
Introductory 
 
 characteristics of the gentlemen who were sportsmen as well 
 as men of substance. They and their kind were in a sub- 
 stantial majority in both Houses of Parliament. In his 
 ' English Constitution ' Mr. Bagehot tells us that ' a cynical 
 politician is said to have watched the long row of county 
 members, so fresh and respectable-looking, and muttered, 
 " By Jove ! they are the finest brute votes in Europe." 
 
 ' What will be your profession when you grow up ? ' 
 said the pompous family friend to a boy who was the younger 
 son of a country parson. * I don't know what it is called,' 
 said the hopeful child, * but it means living in the country, 
 and keeping a lot of horses and dogs and things.' Pathetic, 
 but quite English. This was the life. * If I were as rich as 
 Mr. Darcy,' cried young Master Lucas in ' Pride and Preju- 
 dice,' ' I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle 
 of wine every day.' How many boys to-day would begin 
 talking about a Rolls Royce ? One of the strokes of Surtees's 
 pen portrait in * Ask Mamma ' of the Earl of Ladythorne of 
 Tantivy Castle, who was presumably born about the begin- 
 ning of the last century, hits this existence very shrewdly. 
 His lordship is out cub -hunting with his own Hounds, and 
 is described as ' sitting among his blackthorn bushes like a 
 gentleman in his opera stall, thinking now of the hunt, now 
 of his dinner, now of what a good thing it was to be a lord, 
 with a good digestion and plenty of cash, and nobody to 
 comb his head.' 
 
 Now let us have a look at the next generation that began 
 to be born about the beginning of the forties. In a certain 
 
 ii 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 sense they had in their youth an almost better time than 
 their fathers. The Reform Bill and the Repeal of the Corn 
 Laws had not really begun to make themselves felt either in 
 or out of Parliament. There was a period of ease in the 
 history of English country life, and indeed in political and 
 foreign affairs generally, dating from the suppression of the 
 Indian Mutiny in 1858 down to the beginning of the eighties, 
 the like of which we may not enjoy again for many a long 
 year. It is true that the glass began to fall in the political 
 as well as the meteorological sense towards the end of this 
 period. But the Eastern Question and the troubles in 
 Afghanistan and South Africa, so intimately described in 
 Mr. Buckle's * Life of Disraeli,' did not react upon the Fox- 
 hunter. The wet seasons in the late seventies certainly 
 hastened what the Protectionist pamphleteers of the day 
 called * the Curse of Cobden.' Landlord and tenant alike 
 thought that the days of agriculture were numbered. But 
 the wet seasons, distressing though they were to those who 
 loved husbandry, were not without a queer kind of compen- 
 sation to the actual sport itself in the field, although it should 
 not be forgotten that in the long run the prosperity of Fox- 
 hunting and of farming are linked together. The nature 
 of this compensation resides in the fact that as a general 
 rule a thoroughly well rain -soaked earth carries a good 
 scent. * I suppose we are all ruined/ exclaimed a noble lord 
 who hunted his own Hounds, as after a good run he stamped 
 into the ancestral hall in stained red coat and water-logged 
 top-boots, the picture of a happy, if ruined, Englishman, 
 12 
 
Introductory 
 
 * so we may as well enjoy ourselves out hunting as long as we 
 can. There are no sheep in the fields to bother us, the 
 country is all being laid down to grass, and, by Jove ! we are 
 having a better scenting time than we have had for years/ 
 
 The country gentleman who came to man's estate about 
 A.D. 1860 cannot have been far from the golden age of Fox- 
 hunting. In the matter of creature comforts he was better 
 served than his father. The railroads, so far from having 
 put a stop to hunting, as * Nimrod ' thought they would, 
 became a positive convenience, without being sufficiently 
 numerous to be a hindrance in the field. The Fox-hunter 
 who wished to pursue deer, salmon, or grouse before the 
 hunting season must have found it more comfortable to 
 travel to Perth or Inverness in the train in twelve or eighteen 
 hours than to undertake the same journey by the turnpike 
 road. Sitting up all night in an ordinary railway carriage 
 was not much fun, but in a few years the comfortable sleeping 
 berth and its well-mannered groom of the chambers made 
 the journey almost a luxury. This same railroad also enabled 
 the member of Parliament to meet the Foxhounds within 
 measurable distance of London after a night at Westminster, 
 and unlocked to the Oxford undergraduates the pastures of 
 Warwickshire and Buckinghamshire as alternatives to the 
 groves of Waterperry and the thickets of Bagley Wood. 
 
 But there were other accessories of the Chase that contri- 
 buted to remove certain disabilities under which the previous 
 generation had suffered. There is hardly any record of a 
 good run in the earlier part of the nineteenth century which 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 does not contain some account of the horses getting tired. 
 Sometimes they died, sometimes it was thought necessary 
 to bleed them, sometimes they had to be left out for the 
 night. Such distressing accompaniments to a day's pleasure 
 may be accounted for by the lack of drainage and the conse- 
 quent heavy going, as well as by the fact that in those days 
 horse-masters had still a lot to learn. Clipping must have 
 been a very difficult problem before the clipping machine 
 was invented. Hunters in some stables were shaved with 
 the razor, but no doubt their coats were allowed to grow 
 very late in the autumn in order to postpone such a desperate 
 operation as late as possible, in the hope that it might not 
 have to be repeated before the end of the season. Now there 
 is nothing that handicaps a hunter more than a long coat. 
 His coat begins to grow in the autumn, at the very time 
 when the pores of his skin should be free to give him every 
 possible advantage while the process of conditioning is being 
 carried out. It is not too much to say that the invention 
 of the clipping machine was something like a revolution in 
 the science of horse-mastership. If a gentleman with a stud 
 of hunters were obliged to forgo either his clipping machine 
 or his motor-car, he would have to keep the clipping machine 
 and let the other go if he wanted to enjoy himself out hunt- 
 ing. And the art of the blacksmith was all this time im- 
 proving. We do not hear nearly so much of the vexation of 
 casting shoes. In reading the history of the bygone age it 
 would almost seem to be a matter of even betting whether 
 a hunter kept all his shoes on all day or not. The drainless 
 
Introductory 
 
 ground no doubt contributed to this drawback. On the 
 other hand, it may be urged with some truth that an earth 
 unturned by surface drains carried a better scent than after 
 it was disturbed. But if we put into the scale the pain and 
 grief of riding an undipped horse over undrained land 
 against the exquisite sensation of riding a clean-skinned horse 
 over sound pasture, the balance must surely be in favour of 
 the latter, even though scent may not have served so con- 
 sistently as in former times. This sensation may perhaps 
 be enhanced by the fact that the hairs and the sweat of a 
 curly-coated smoking steed are disastrous to the comfort and 
 personal appearance of the rider. John Gilpin must have 
 been in a nice mess long before he got to Ware. 
 
 We may claim, then, that the soundness of the pastures, 
 and the general advance in the science of horse-mastership, 
 made riding over the country more delightful than ever. 
 Add to these things the glorious thought that barbed wire 
 and patent manures were only in their infancy, and you 
 have an environment for Fox-hunting that no other age has 
 equalled. And who were the exponents of the art of the 
 Chase in those days ? Many of them were men of marked 
 talent and renown. The sixties and seventies and the early 
 eighties enjoyed the last ten years of the ripe experience of 
 Lord Henry Bentinck, perhaps the greatest master of Fox- 
 hounds of the nineteenth century. They witnessed the 
 early part of the career of Tom Firr, perhaps the greatest 
 professional huntsman of all time. The Lord Worcester of 
 the day, then in the prime of his health and strength, was 
 
 15 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 laying the foundation of his great reputation among the 
 amateurs. Lord Willoughby de Broke was restoring to the 
 Warwickshire country the fame that it had once enjoyed in 
 the days of Mr. Corbet and Lord Middleton. Mr. Preston 
 Rawnsley was handling his Foxes after many fine runs over 
 the wolds of Lincolnshire. Among the professional hunts- 
 men such men as Frank Gillard, Will Goodall, George 
 Carter, Frank Beers, Will Dale, and Nimrod Long were at 
 their very best. All these men seemed to have one thing 
 in common which may be worth noting, and it is this : each 
 of them brought to his profession a presence and personality 
 which will stamp them for ever in the memory of those who 
 knew them. There was nothing nondescript or insignificant 
 about any of them. Each of them would probably have been 
 a credit to any other walk of life. Some one may say that 
 brave men lived before Agamemnon, and that the preceding 
 generation had heroes as great as these. Our purpose is to 
 present the age in which they flourished as the Golden Age of 
 Fox-hunting, and we have mentioned their names to prove 
 that the period 1860-1885 will bear comparison with any 
 other in regard to famous masters and huntsmen. 
 
 There remains to be considered the outlook of those 
 members of ' the governing classes ' who began this mortal 
 life at some time during the decade 1865-1875. In a sense 
 they have had the most interesting life of all, packed with 
 experiences. Born to influence and prosperity, they have 
 witnessed many transitions. They have enjoyed the very 
 apotheosis of comfortable and luxurious England. They 
 16 
 
Introductory 
 
 have felt, and are still feeling, the vertical breeze of political 
 and economic upheaval. They have seen war. But to 
 those who have the gift of extracting charm from memory r 
 their greatest treasure is the link they can preserve with 
 that picturesque country life of which their grandfathers 
 could tell them. Some of them, for instance, had the rare 
 privilege of taking their first lessons in driving four horses 
 from the men of old time who had driven the mail coaches. 
 We ourselves made our first attempt at coaching in London 
 under the master eye of the late Mr. Charles Ward, who 
 drove the Exeter Telegraph. As boys and girls they had 
 a glimpse of the placid county society of the undiluted 
 mid- Victorian type, before its character was destroyed by 
 the multiplication of quick trains up to London, automobiles, 
 kodaks, telephones, and week-end parties. The atmosphere 
 of Eton and Oxford was much the same as it had been in 
 the time of their fathers, particularly the Eton of Dr. Hornby. 
 There was a very slight draught, almost imperceptible, when 
 Dr. Warre of revered memory succeeded Dr. Hornby, the 
 effect of which can only be appreciated by those who were 
 at Eton when the change took place. The nature of the 
 change was the substitution of a certain flavour of the 
 orderly room for the dignified, flexible, country-house 
 compromise that prevailed when Hornby was headmaster. 
 At Oxford the Bullingdon, Fox-hunting, steeple-chasing set 
 was still flourishing. Those who went to Oxford at any 
 time, say, between 1885 an< ^ J ^95 found it to be exactly 
 the place their fathers had described. The very henchmen 
 B 17 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 who had ministered to the sport of their ancestors were 
 literally waiting at the door to welcome them. Fox-hunting 
 was almost a recognised part of the system. One mild 
 morning in November, a freshman was summoned to the 
 carpet of the head of his college. His foot was in the stirrup 
 when the message arrived, so he obeyed the summons forth- 
 with in his new red coat, new top-boots, and still newer 
 cap and gown. * Sir/ said he, * I am just starting for hunt- 
 ing, and if I do not start now, I shall be late/ ' When I was 
 an undergraduate at this college/ said the courteous old 
 doctor of divinity, ignoring with fine taste the unusual 
 costume, * I was the only one who did not hunt. I do not 
 know much about hunting, but I do know that it is an 
 offence to be late for the meet. Run away now, and come 
 to see me to-morrow/ A triumph for the Sport of our 
 Ancestors ! The childhood, then, of the generation born 
 about 1870 could preserve some live links with the coaching 
 days ; its adolescence was passed in an environment essen- 
 tially the same as that of the previous generation ; its man- 
 hood, until 1914, was destined to reach the high- water mark 
 of creature comforts. It has been said that the zenith of 
 the British Empire was reached at the Diamond Jubilee of 
 Queen Victoria, and that since that time England has been 
 coming back to her horses. But whatever was happening 
 to the Empire, comfort and convenience, and everything 
 that makes for luxury, steadily increased until the outbreak 
 of the War. Aseptics and anaesthetics, sanitation, transport, 
 communication, the best of everything at a comparatively 
 18 
 
Introductory 
 
 cheap rate ; all these things combined to place the earlier 
 years of the twentieth century in a class by themselves. 
 There were pinpricks, already indicated at the beginning of 
 this chapter. In some counties there was too much barbed 
 wire ; in all counties there were too many political meetings. 
 But it is just possible that to enjoy a good run in spite of these 
 things almost added to the zest of Fox-hunting. In reading 
 a Limehouse speech about ourselves, do not let us forget 
 how Joseph Surface reminded Lady Teazle that if one is to 
 be the centre of a scandal there is no consolation like having 
 done something to deserve it. But what of their sport ? 
 Before they left school, Parliament, while Mr. Gladstone was 
 Prime Minister, had passed the Ground Game Act. It has 
 never been quite certain what was the real object of the 
 promoters of this measure. Was it an attempt to increase 
 agricultural production by decreasing the head of ground 
 game ? Or was it an attack upon the patriarchal system ? 
 We are concerned with the results rather than motives. 
 In so far as this Act has operated to diminish ground game 
 it has been an unmitigated blessing to Fox-hunting. There 
 is no doubt that the matter of riot gave our ancestors a very 
 great deal of trouble. Beckford is full of it. Even the 
 great Lord Henry Bentinck is much concerned to give 
 minute directions as to how to wean his young Hounds from 
 hares. Of course, Hounds may through generations of 
 breeding have become steadier. At the same time they 
 have less temptation in the way of riot. And not only do 
 hares and rabbits cause Hounds to stare about instead of 
 
 19 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 keeping their noses down, but they also foil the ground and 
 spoil the scent. So this generation has an advantage in that 
 there is to-day less distraction in the shape of riot, mainly 
 as a result of the Ground Game Act : though if Mr. Gladstone 
 and his friends had been told that they were ministering to 
 the cause of Fox-hunting by passing it, they might have been 
 very much astonished. In another direction the working 
 of this Act has not been quite so useful. The privilege of 
 killing hares and rabbits presented itself to some occupiers 
 of land as the means of enlarging their opportunities for 
 sport with the gun. So that on some holdings rabbits in- 
 creased instead of being diminished, being encouraged to 
 breed in stickheaps erected for the purpose. There are few 
 greater nuisances in a hunting country than a stickheap. 
 Vixen lay their cubs in them, and litters might easily be 
 born, live, and die in a stickheap without ever being hunted, 
 because in time the Foxes will dig a large earth under the 
 wood, or take possession of the rabbit holes and defy the 
 cleverest earthstopper that ever was bred. But the stickheap 
 nuisance is more than compensated for by the first-mentioned 
 result of the Act, namely, the great advantage of having 
 got rid of so many hares. In certain countries in the 
 Midlands you will hardly see a hare from one end of the 
 season to another in places where our ancestors used to 
 shoot them by the score. 
 
 We have now tried to sketch the respective environ- 
 ments of the three generations of country gentlemen who 
 were born in the nineteenth century. Which of them 
 20 
 
Introductory 
 
 had the best of it the grandfather who was born about 
 1810, the father who was born about 1840, or the son who 
 was born about 1870 ? We cannot give the award to the 
 son. Quite apart from the social and political unrest that 
 was pervading the quiet life of the country before the War, 
 the War itself and its effects are not going to make the after- 
 noon of his life any too cheerful. His great asset is the re- 
 collection of the sports and pastimes of his youth. ' We are 
 having rather a thin time now, old chap, but we have had a 
 bit of the old, and thank goodness ! no one can take it away 
 from us/ is the kind of remark that is made every day. 
 Fox-hunting will revive, and the generation born about the 
 beginning of this century will enjoy their lives just as keenly 
 as English sportsmen can, but the setting will be different. 
 We were speaking of their ancestors. Did the father born 
 about 1840 or the grandfather born about 1810 have the 
 better time ? It is a nice point. On the whole we must 
 decide in favour of the grandfather. Let us assume that 
 he was born in 1810, and died at the age of seventy-six in 
 1886. From the point of view of an agricultural landlord 
 and a Fox-hunter, he would have seen the fairest times tha.t 
 the nineteenth century could offer. He would have seen 
 rural England as yet unscarred by railroads. He would have 
 enjoyed later in life enough of modern comforts to make 
 that life very pleasant. He would have seen what we have 
 ventured to call the Golden Age of Fox-hunting, and would 
 have left his son to compete with a diminished rent-roll, with 
 agricultural depression, and with the spirit of a philosophy 
 
 21 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 whose manifestations have been the incitement to class 
 hatred and the passing of the Parliament Act. Yes, those 
 country gentlemen who came of age when England was 
 beginning to recover from her struggle with Napoleon, and 
 died before she felt the full effect of her struggle with Ger- 
 many, must have drawn a very lucky number. These years 
 roughly correspond with the lives of Warburton, Whyte 
 Melville, Bromley-Davenport, and Trollope, who are among 
 the authors from whose works we have chosen specimens 
 setting forth the Sport of our Ancestors. 
 
 22 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AN APOLOGY TO MR. SURTEES 
 
 IN selecting anything in the nature of an anthology, the 
 trouble is to know what to leave out. Some people 
 who read books of this kind will think that if one of their 
 pet classics is not here it should have been included, and 
 something else that is here should have been omitted. 
 Many will say quite naturally that no symposium of sporting 
 authors can be complete unless Surtees is seated at the 
 board. If we owe an apology to Surtees for not inviting 
 him, we can equally claim that we are paying him the com- 
 pliment of putting him in a class by himself. We take for 
 granted that he is more widely read than any other sporting 
 writer, and that to reprint one or two of the passages from 
 his books that are most familiar would be a work of super- 
 erogation. Some of the gems in ' Handley Cross' are such 
 household words, and have become so hackneyed, that we 
 have not the hardihood to dish them up again. 
 
 The correct title of this famous work is so seldom heard 
 nowadays that it is necessary to say that by * Handley Cross * 
 is meant that book now known by its colloquial or short 
 title of * Jorrocks.' This short title or nickname is so 
 universal that to talk of ' Handley Cross ' sounds almost 
 affected, and would seem to savour of the phraseology of 
 
 23 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 those people, if there be any left, who talk about ' The 
 Times Newspaper,' or ' The Euston Square Railway 
 Station/ Yet it is a real pity if the dear old title of'Handley 
 Cross ' is to be lost. Why not call books at any rate by their 
 proper names ? And such a happy name as this ! To any 
 one with a spark of imagination it conjures up the whole 
 spirit of comedy in a sporting country town. Surtees was 
 clever at finding titles for his books as well as for his char- 
 acters. What better titles could there be than 'Ask Mamma ' 
 and ' Plain or Ringlets? ' ? ' Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour ' is 
 rather wordy, and there is some excuse for cutting it down 
 to plain * Sponge.' But after all, perhaps * Handley Cross ' is 
 justly called * Jorrocks,' because in the long run Surtees's 
 claim to fame must rest on his invention of Mr. John Jorrocks. 
 Other characters in his books, such as Mr. Sponge or Jawley- 
 ford, are indeed cleverly drawn, but for downright, honest, 
 straightforward portraiture there is nothing to touch this 
 picture of the sporting grocer. It is original. The snobs 
 and hangers-on and chalk sportsmen of the other books are 
 vastly well, but we have met them before. Jorrocks he 
 caught in the counting-house of Great Coram Street, and 
 he shows us how the spirit of the Chase compelled the mer- 
 chant to become a master of Foxhounds, in spite of his being 
 a poor horseman with bow window, round thighs, and no 
 nerve. There is no greater tribute to the fascination of 
 Fox-hunting than the mental and physical suffering which 
 some people will endure in its pursuit sooner than stop at 
 home. Surtees must have ridden about a great deal with 
 24 
 
^Apology to ^Mr. Surtees 
 
 the rearguard of the hunt composed of the road, gate, and 
 gap brigade. How well he understands the feelings of the 
 funker ! And how kindly he expresses them when he makes 
 Mr. Jorrocks soliloquise during a run. Here are two choice 
 specimens. Mr. Jorrocks was alone with the hounds on 
 the famous Cat and Custard Pot Day. (It will be re- 
 membered that James Pigg arrived at the meet drunk, and 
 was sent home, while a suggestion from Harry Capper 
 that a subscription should be raised for Pigg, with whom 
 there seems to have been some sympathy, had the effect of 
 dispersing the field.) No one to show him the way down 
 bridle roads. * " 'Eavens be praised, 'ere 's a gate," as his 
 quick eye caught sight of one in the corner of the field.' 
 On another occasion he exclaims, ' What a huntsman I 
 should be if it were not for the leaps/ It would be inter- 
 esting to know how many huntsmen have said, or at least 
 thought, something of the kind. This last saying is in- 
 tensely human, and is one of the best things in the book. 
 It hits the feelings of the funker bang in the middle of the 
 note. It gives with one touch nearly everything that has 
 made Mr. Jorrocks a sportsman, vital, human, and enduring. 
 For the old man understood all about Fox-hunting. In 
 the back office of his tea-dealing establishment in London 
 he had mastered the theory of the Chase by reading Beck- 
 ford until he knew him backwards. He had seen some- 
 thing of the practice of the art in the hills of Surrey where 
 there were not too many fences. Then he comes down to 
 the stiffly enclosed vale of Sheep wash, and would give 
 
 25 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 everything he is worth, Great Coram Street and all, to 
 catch a fox without the assistance of Pigg ; and the one 
 thing denied to him, rich, healthy, enthusiastic, well-versed 
 in woodcraft, is just that little touch of resolution that is 
 wanted to carry him over the fences, take him to his Hounds, 
 and make him the proudest and happiest man in England. 
 Laugh one must, yet there is a tear in the laughter. How 
 on occasion he must have envied James Pigg his undeniable 
 nerve, an attribute not to be bought with all the wealth 
 of all the counting-houses in Europe. 
 
 His lack of nerve he could not control. He does not 
 seem to have tried to control his fondness for port wine 
 and brandy and water. Over-indulgence in the pleasures 
 of the table was near to undoing him more than once, as, 
 for instance, on the night when everything after dinner 
 suddenly became oblivion until he was aroused by the cold 
 water in the swimming bath at my Lord Bramber's of 
 Ongar Castle. Perhaps it would be charitable to put this 
 down to the manners and customs of the age in which he 
 lived. But Mr. Jorrocks had another weakness, appar- 
 ently common to other ages, which also nearly destroyed 
 him. He could not resist the temptation of trying to get 
 his name into print as a successful M.F.H. How edifying 
 for his city associates to read of their merchant friend's 
 career as M.F.H., and to see him handed down to posterity 
 in the company of Musters and Meynell and Corbet ! The 
 letter in which he invited the great Pomponius Ego to 
 come down and write * the puff direct ' is worth preserving. 
 26 
 
to 3\fr. Surtees 
 
 Here it is : 
 
 ' DEAR MR. HEGO, If your intercourse with Dukes and other 
 great guns o' the world, leaves any margin for the doin's of the 
 pop-guns o' the chase, I shall be werry 'appy if you will come here 
 and take a look at our most provincial pack. In course I needn't 
 tell you that my 'ouse is not large enough to require a kiver 'ack 
 to canter from the dinin' to the drawin'-room, neither is the pack 
 on a par with many you have seen ; but I can give you a good blow- 
 out, both in the way of wittles and drink, and shall be 'appy to " put 
 you up," as they say in the cut-me-downs, on as good a quad as I 
 can, and show you sich sport as the country will afford. Entre 
 nous, as we say in France, I want to be famous, and you know how 
 to do it. In course mum's the word. Yours to serve, 
 
 ' JOHN JORROCKS. 
 
 ' P.S. Compts. to Julius Seizeher and all the ancient Romans 
 when you write. 
 
 * To Pomponius Ego, Esq., Calais.' 
 
 The acceptance to this invitation, the day's hunting, 
 and Pomponius Ego's puff that appeared in the Heavy 
 Triumvirate are all treated in Surtees 's most fortunate vein 
 of burlesque. The anxious consultation between Jorrocks 
 and Pigg as to the particular form of * fake ' to be employed 
 to make certain of a run and a kill ; their decision to run 
 a drag and shake a Fox out of a bag at the end of it ; the 
 hideous uncertainty when it looked as if the man with the 
 bag had failed to play the game ; the ultimate triumph ; the 
 dinner at Diana Lodge ; the ill-bred disparagement of the 
 whole thing by Pomponius Ego in his article, and the 
 consequent chagrin of Mr. Jorrocks, are all well worth 
 reading of again. It is generally accepted that Mr. Apperley 
 
 27 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 (Nimrod) was the prototype of Pomponius Ego. Poor 
 Mr. Apperley ! If he sate for the portrait the artist has 
 been cruel. Nobody can have been nearly such an ass as 
 Pomponius Ego. But to paint pleasing portraits with his 
 pen was not characteristic of Surtees. With one or two 
 exceptions, such as Squire Jovey Jessop in ' Plain or Ringlets? ' 
 and Michael Hardy in * Handley Cross,' there is hardly a lov- 
 able character in the whole of his gallery. There is nothing 
 gentle or noble about any of them. The Duke of Tergiver- 
 sation in his social and private life was the slimmest of the 
 slim, having at his command * an engaging smile, well 
 calculated to throw a stranger off his guard/ He would do 
 you if he could. Politically he was a turncoat of the most 
 versatile description, who was always ready to rat at a 
 moment's notice if there was the slightest glimmer of office. 
 If he had lived any time during the last fifty years, he would 
 probably have begun his career as a Gladstonian Radical 
 and finished it as a Die-Hard. The Earl of Scamperdale 
 was a coarse and repellent backwoodsman who could not 
 speak the truth if he tried. And so with all the others. 
 You may search his books from end to end without finding 
 a single individual, unless it were Lucy Glitters for the sake 
 of her good looks, in whose society you would care to spend 
 the evening. But the function of the satirist is not to manu- 
 facture characters like Jane Eyre. He is concerned with 
 the petty and the sordid and the vulgar. And in doing so 
 Surtees has made for himself a name which has already 
 stood the test of three-quarters of a century, and bids fair 
 28 
 
Jfn ^Apology to 3\fr. Surtees 
 
 to outlive most of his contemporaries. Mr. Jorrocks was 
 the fine flower of his imagination, and perhaps the Pom- 
 ponius Ego incident is one of the best illustrations of the 
 character of Mr. Jorrocks. 
 
 * Handley Cross ' probably has more readers than any of 
 the other books. There is enough in it of different kinds 
 to satisfy every one. Those who like the orange-peel and 
 butter-slide sort of humour can revel in such incidents as 
 Pigg in the melon frame, or Mr. Jorrocks calling Benjamin 
 for hunting with the cold-water jug. For those who rejoice 
 in burlesque there are, as well as the Pomponius Ego day, 
 the several excursions of James Pigg and his master, Mr. 
 Jorrocks 's lectures, and the sale of Xerxes to Captain Doleful. 
 For the real lover of the Chase there is Michael Hardy's day 
 at the beginning of the book, one of the most fascinating 
 descriptions of a run in the whole of fiction. But the whole 
 spirit of * Handley Cross ' is the spirit of adventure which led 
 the prosperous tea-dealer to become M.F.H. This same 
 spirit also animated Mr. Romford, and is mainly responsible 
 for the popularity of 'Mr. Romford's Hounds. ' One has a 
 sneaking affection for Facey, in spite of the fact that he 
 was a rogue and a poacher, because he was really devoted 
 to Fox-hunting for its own sake. With another impostor, 
 in the person of Mr. Sponge, one can have no sympathy. 
 His one respectable accomplishment was his horsemanship. 
 Yet * Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour ' can be read with pleasure 
 by any one who has a sense of humour, and who likes to study 
 the manners and customs of the mid- Victorian epoch. The 
 
 29 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 various places where Mr. Sponge got himself invited to 
 stay, and the difficulty that all his hosts and hostesses had 
 to get rid of him, are described by the hand of one who 
 was a master in setting forth the snobbishness to which 
 human nature can sometimes stoop. Surtees's description 
 of Sponge's visit to Jawleyford Court is admitted by many 
 good judges who have never been out hunting in their 
 lives to be the very best of its kind. His portrait of Jawley- 
 ford is a masterpiece. He takes less time to paint Jawley- 
 ford than he takes to paint Jorrocks. Jorrocks occupies a 
 whole book, like Tom Jones. Jawleyford with his shoddy 
 picture gallery, his rabbit-pie luncheon, his frock-coated 
 address to the tenantry, his sour claret, his false good fellow- 
 ship, and his weakness for a title, are all done with the 
 greatest ease in some half-dozen chapters. It is difficult to 
 say which of the facets of Sponge's visit to Jawleyford Court 
 is the most amusing. Our own choice is the wet morning in 
 the art gallery. It would be sacrilege to try to describe it. 
 The frames of mind of host and guest cannot be better 
 indicated than by the books they were reading. Jawley- 
 ford, as a sacrifice to cultivation, had been reading Disraeli's 
 'Lord George Bentinck' though it is doubtful if he under- 
 stood it. Still, it was the book of the day that should be 
 on every gentleman's table, even if the leaves were uncut. 
 Sponge's pursuit of literature was confined to a close study 
 of the invaluable ' Mogg's Cab Fares.' From this promising 
 antithesis of outlook the author gives us a comedy scene 
 which must be read to be appreciated. 
 
 30 
 
Apology to {Mr. Surtees 
 
 4 Ask Mamma ' is quite as good a comedy of manners as 
 Sponge's Sporting Tour.' The central figure is Billy 
 Pringle, reputed to be the richest commoner in England. 
 His mother had been a lady's maid, and wore a ruby ring 
 which ' that gallant old philanthropist ' the Earl of Lady- 
 thorne of Tantivy Castle had slipped upon her finger as he 
 met her (accidentally of course) in the passage early one 
 morning at the house of her employer Lady Delacey. As 
 the widow Pringle she lived in Curtain Crescent not 
 Pimlico, but Belgravia and his lordship's saddle-horses 
 might often be seen tossing their heads in front of her door 
 on a summer's afternoon. Billy was launched into society 
 by a hunting visit to Tantivy Castle. The description of 
 the Earl and his castle is one of Mr. Surtees 's best, and after 
 allowing for the exaggeration which the author admits in his 
 preface, is an indication of what really could be done, and 
 perhaps was done, in the stately homes of England before 
 the days of the illustrated penny press. There was no 
 Countess of Ladythorne. It was the reigning favourite 
 who dispensed the honours of the castle to such of the 
 local toadies as would accept them ; his lordship drove her 
 to the meet in his carriage and four, and would then ex- 
 change her society for that of the famous coquette Miss de 
 Glancy, whom he piloted and made love to in the hunting- 
 field. This was the wicked old gentleman whom good 
 Queen Victoria had in her innocence made Lord-Lieutenant 
 of Featherbedfordshire. Billy's account of the establishment 
 in his letters to his mother, and his mother's answers, full 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 of backstairs worldly wisdom, and advice as to the different 
 way he should behave were he in a nobleman's castle or 
 in the house of a commoner, should on no account be 
 missed. 
 
 Mrs. Pringle writes to her son in a manner which is 
 almost Chesterfieldian, and displays an acquaintance with 
 the manners and customs of the servants hardly less intimate 
 than that of Dean Swift. In one respect she will gain our 
 sympathy more readily than Lord Chesterfield. He despised 
 Fox-hunting, saying that it was only fit for bumpkins and 
 boobies. Mrs. Pringle knew better. She despised every 
 sport except Fox-hunting. Her ideas about Fox-hunting 
 were rather vague, but her instinct told her that * the best 
 introduction for a young man of fortune was at the covert 
 side.* But Billy did not exactly enjoy his first day's hunting. 
 He was not only thoroughly frightened, but suffered sharply 
 from loss of cuticle ; and wrote to his mamma suggesting 
 that he should leave the castle before losing any more. 
 She did not wish him to outstay his welcome there, but 
 was determined that he should become a Fox-hunter. So 
 she wrote to him regarding the length of his visit, and 
 also knew well how to appeal to his love of clothes 
 in order that he might be induced to stick to the hunting- 
 field, and so get himself on in the world. Her letter 
 will bear quoting. The opening of it will be better 
 understood if one remembers that on arriving at the castle 
 Billy had mistaken the groom of the chambers for the 
 Earl. 
 
 32 
 
Jin ^Apology to fMr. Surtees 
 
 1 25 CURTAIN CRESCENT, 
 ' BELGRAVE SQUARE, LONDON. 
 
 * MY OWN DEAREST WILLIAM, I was overjoyed, my own darling, 
 to receive your kind letter, and hear that you had arrived safe, and 
 found his Lord.ship so kind and agreeable. I thought you had 
 known him by sight, or I would have prevented your making the 
 mistake by describing him to you. However, there is no harm done. 
 In a general way, the great man of the place is oftentimes the least. 
 The most accessible, that is to say. The Earl is an excellent, kind- 
 hearted man, and it will do you great good among your companions 
 to be known to be intimate with him, for I can assure you it is not 
 every one he takes up with. Of course, there are people who abuse 
 him, and say he is this and that, and so on ; but you must take 
 people especially great ones as you find them in this world ; and 
 he is quite as good as his whites of their eyes turning-up neighbours. 
 Don't, however, presume on his kindness by attempting to stay 
 beyond what he presses you to do, for two short visits tell better 
 than one long one, looking as though you had been approved of. 
 You can easily find out from the butler or the groom of the chambers, 
 or some of the upper servants, how long you are expected to stay, or 
 perhaps some of the guests can tell you how long they are invited for. 
 
 * I had written thus far when your second welcome letter arrived, 
 and I can't tell you how delighted I am to hear you are safe and 
 well, though I 'm sorry to hear you don't like hunting, for I assure 
 you it is the best of all possible sports, and there is none that admits 
 of such elegant variety of costume. 
 
 ' Look at a shooter what a ragamuffin dress his is, hardly dis- 
 tinguishable from a keeper ; and yachters and cricketers might be 
 taken for ticket-of-leave men. I should be very sorry indeed if you 
 were not to persevere in your hunting ; for a red coat and leathers are 
 quite your become, and there is none, in my opinion, in which a 
 gentleman looks so well, or a snob so ill. Learning to hunt can't 
 be more disagreeable than learning to sail or smoke, and see how 
 many hundreds thousands I may say overcome the difficulty every 
 year, and blow their clouds, as they call them, on the quarterdeck, 
 
 C 33 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 as though they had been born sailors with pipes in their mouths. 
 Remember, if you can't manage to sit your horse, you '11 be fit for 
 nothing, but a seat in Parliament along with Captain Catlap and the 
 other incurables. I can't think there can be much difficulty in the 
 matter, judging from the lumpy wash-bailey sort of men one hears 
 talking about it. I should think if you had a horse of your own, 
 you would be able to make better cut. Whatever you do, however, 
 have nothing to do with racing. It 's only for rogues and people 
 who have more money than they know what to do with, and to whom 
 it doesn't matter whether they win or they lose. . . . No gentle- 
 man need expect to make money on the turf, for if you were to win 
 they wouldn't pay you, whereas if you lose it 's quite a different 
 thing. One of the beauties of hunting is that people have no induce- 
 ment to poison each other ; whereas in racing, from poisoning horses 
 they have got to poisoning men, besides which one party must lose 
 if the other is to win. Mutual advantage is impossible. Another 
 thing if you were to win ever so, the trainer would always keep his 
 little bill in advance of your gains, or he would be a very bad trainer.' 
 
 Before we leave him, we suggest that * The Earl of 
 Ladythorne of Tantivy Castle and Belvedere House, London * 
 is one of the happiest titles in the whole of fiction, connoting 
 as it does the gallantry, the gaiety, the * glad eye,' the love 
 of sport, and the hereditary wealth which were the attributes 
 of the great nobleman who lived in an age when he could 
 do what he liked with impunity. 
 
 From the castle Billy went to Major Yammerton, and 
 thence to Sir Moses Mainchance, M.F.H. Major Yammer- 
 ton was a pretentious little squire, and master of harriers, 
 and might easily have stepped out of Thackeray's 'Book of 
 Snobs. 9 Sir Moses Mainchance 's title speaks for itself. 
 The whole book is full of wit and wisdom, sustained to the 
 
 34 
 
^Apology to 3\fr. Surtees 
 
 very last page. It also contains an interesting essay or two 
 on farming in the forties and fifties, exemplified by the 
 tenants on the estate that Sir Moses Mainchance had pur- 
 chased. Mr. Leech's picture of Sir Moses interviewing 
 Mrs. Turnbull in the hall at Pangburn Park on the rent day 
 is one of the finest caricatures that even he ever drew ; and 
 indeed the great artist's illustrations throughout the book 
 are some of the finest examples of his craftsmanship, acknow- 
 ledged more than once by the author in the pages of * Ask 
 Mamma* 
 
 Mr. Surtees has outlived many of his contemporaries, 
 and is still full of running. l Handley Cross ' may be said to 
 have attained to the dignity of a classic. It is possible that 
 Mr. Pickwick may have more acquaintances than Mr. 
 Jorrocks. But Mr. Jorrocks is one of the master portraits 
 in the Victorian gallery. If he is not, who is ? When one 
 looks to-day at the bewildering mass of modern works in 
 a railway station bookstall, one often wonders who reads 
 them all, and if any of the characters portrayed in their 
 pages will live in the mind's eye of our children in the same 
 way that, say, Becky Sharp, Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Jorrocks, 
 Mrs. Proudie, Sir Willoughby Patterne, or Hetty Sorrel live 
 in our own. These names are taken almost at random ; 
 with many others they are lifelong friends and companions 
 to those of us who have cultivated them. There are many 
 modern authors who are entitled to profound gratitude 
 for diverting the mind in the midst of the devastating worry 
 of modern life. But do they appeal to us by their art of 
 
 35 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 depicting an atmosphere and an environment, or do they 
 get their effect by the delineation of personality and char- 
 acter ? Mr. Surtees certainly succeeds in both ways. No 
 one can deny his skill in penetrating character. And even 
 the most serious student of the countryside of the last 
 century will derive profit from reading his works. For our 
 author had the great advantage of knowing his subject. 
 He was himself a sportsman and country gentleman, being 
 the owner of Hamsterley Hall, near Newcastle-on-Tyne. 
 The date of his birth is not recorded in l Burke* s Landed 
 Gentry,' but he was married in 1841, and died in 1864, so he 
 saw the country pass through the shoals of Reform Bill, 
 railways, and Repeal of the Corn Laws, into the smooth 
 water of the fifties. He hunted with many English packs, 
 as well as on the fells of Northumberland and Berwickshire. 
 It must have been on these hunting tours that he met the 
 prototypes from which he is believed to have modelled 
 not always too mercifully some of the characters in his 
 books. His style of writing is animated by a keen sense 
 of the ridiculous, and fortified by an acute observation of 
 the tendencies of the age in which he lived. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MR. EGERTON WARBURTON 
 
 R)WLAND EYLES EGERTON WARBURTON of 
 Warburton and Arley in the county of Cheshire 
 succeeded in the year 1813 to the estates, but not 
 to the title, of his great-uncle, Sir Peter Warburton, fifth 
 baronet of Arley. He was born in 1804 and died in 1891, 
 and is known to posterity as the Poet Laureate of the Tar- 
 porley Hunt, and indeed of the county of Cheshire, for in 
 addition to his * Hunting- Songs y he published * Cheshire 
 Ballads' a kind of Ingoldsby Legends of his own part of 
 the world. He also wrote a book of * Poems, Epigrams, and 
 Sonnets' which probably has to-day very few readers.. But 
 his l Hunting- Songs ' have survived. To reduce Fox-hunting 
 to verse is a doubtful operation. But on the whole Mr. War- 
 burton performs it as well as any other bard of the nineteenth 
 century, and probably better than most of them. He has 
 also preserved for posterity the convivial atmosphere of the 
 Tarporley Hunt Club, founded in 1762. The home of this 
 club is the Swan Inn at Tarporley, where much claret 
 has been drunk by many generations of Smith -Barrys, 
 Warburtons, Herons, Mainwarings, Davenports, Chol- 
 mondeleys, Leghs, and many other Cheshire families. 
 They must have been jolly fellows, those Cheshire 
 
 37 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 squires. Does not their own poet make them say 
 
 so ? 
 
 ' A Club of good fellows, we meet once a year.' 
 
 Then come their noble sentiments : 
 
 ' We hold in abhorrence all vulpicide knaves 
 With their gins and their traps, and their velveteen slaves. 
 
 Since one fox on foot more diversion will bring 
 
 Than twice twenty thousand cock pheasants on wing, 
 
 That man we all honour, whate'er be his rank, 
 
 Whose heart heaves a sigh when his gorse is drawn blank.' 
 
 The Fox is the thing. Mr. Warburton sings of the un- 
 doubted superiority of hunting the Fox over deer- stalking, 
 hare-hunting, otter-hunting, fishing, shooting, cock-fighting, 
 and bull-fighting. It would be interesting if he had found 
 time to devote a line to pig-sticking. Pig-sticking is the 
 only field sport that might be favourably compared with 
 Fox-hunting by people who have done both. Fox-hunting 
 and pig-sticking alike produce a sensation that is afforded 
 by no other field sport, namely, the sensation of pace. Other 
 field sports, such as shooting on foot at dangerous game, 
 have the excitement of taking risks, but do not produce the 
 exhilaration of taking risks at full speed. It is true that 
 there are occasions, such as running away from a wounded 
 elephant, when full speed is the only thing. But this is 
 done on foot, and pedestrianism, however nimble, cannot 
 be compared with masterly equestrianism. Colonel John 
 Buchan, in his very charming 'Memoir of Francis and River s- 
 dale GrenjellJ quotes a letter from Francis to Riversdale, 
 
 38 
 
. Egerton Warburton 
 
 dated soon after the writer had exchanged into the 
 Lancers from the 6oth. 
 
 Francis draws the comparison between foot and horse 
 with the candour free from offence that seems to have been 
 one of the most engaging characteristics of the twins : 
 ' Of course, I find the riding chaps superior in the same 
 way as we Fox-hunters think the huntsman superior to the 
 gamekeeper. If you can't grip my meaning, it would take 
 me so much time to explain that you would become weary, so 
 I will leave you in darkness/ Isn't this delightful ? Francis 
 Grenfell was right. No words, not even a Baconian essay, 
 could make it clear to any one who had not the temperament, 
 why riding, provided you know how to ride, is so vastly 
 superior to walking. But it is. An advantage that the 
 pig-sticker may legitimately claim over the Fox-hunter is 
 that he does the deed himself instead of having to watch 
 the huntsman doing, or trying to do it. 
 
 True, but in a day's Fox-hunting the adventure is by no 
 means confined to the huntsman. The mere riding to Hounds 
 is enough fun for most people. And the whole environ- 
 ment of Fox-hunting makes even a moderate day with the 
 Foxhounds better than a good day at anything else. Rivers- 
 dale Grenfell knew all about this. He had been to stay 
 with Francis for a week's pig-sticking, and Colonel Buchan 
 tells us that his diary records his disappointment : 
 
 *' Most of us came to the conclusion that even if the pig were 
 there it could not be compared to fox-hunting. One wants to find 
 a pig every fifteen minutes to make it really amusing. Another 
 
 39 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 drawback to my mind is that when a party goes out, if one party 
 enjoys it the other members have probably had no rides, and so 
 been bored to death.' 
 
 Of course it is difficult to compare one sport with another, 
 as each one has its own peculiar charm. Perhaps the acid 
 test is the length of time for which one sport continues to be 
 amusing. And in this regard Fox-hunting wins in a canter. 
 One cannot imagine going out four or five times a week six 
 or seven months in the year for any sport other than Fox- 
 hunting. Pig-sticking for a fortnight or so every now and 
 again, yes ; but for six months without a break, no. If one 
 were very fit and abstemious one might go out deer-stalking 
 four or five times a week for a fortnight or three weeks with- 
 out getting unduly stale and ceasing to enjoy it. But for 
 six months . . . ? Deer-stalking indeed has something in 
 common with Fox-hunting in that two stalks are never 
 exactly the same. Yet, on the whole, one stalk is more 
 like another stalk than one run with the Foxhounds is like 
 another run. And the reason of this is that most runs 
 bring a constant change of scenery. Sport on foot limits 
 the outlook. 
 
 Deer-stalking is, however, the only field sport in the British 
 Isles besides Fox-hunting that calls for anything like physical 
 endurance. Trying to round up a wild covey of partridges 
 in a grass country where all the fields seem to be not less 
 than a hundred acres is certainly fatiguing and produces a 
 most enviable thirst, but there is nothing in it approaching 
 to exposure or distress. But certain phases of a day's deer- 
 40 
 
. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 stalking can produce a colourable imitation of both these 
 experiences. Of course nothing really matters, as one is 
 certain to get home sooner or later to a comfortable shooting- 
 lodge and all that it means. But while the exposure is 
 actually proceeding it can be very real. By exposure we 
 mean lying on a hill-top in a blizzard waiting for a stag to 
 get up, or for a hind to feed away out of sight. The shiver- 
 ing agony may be intensified by having sweated freely in 
 walking up the hill. After lying prone for a few moments, 
 not uncommonly in the snow, the once warm flannel shirt 
 becomes an icy- cold wet compress, the teeth chatter, the 
 hands and feet become numb. Not even the thought of the 
 hot bath and the smoking-room fire can sustain one, and we 
 begin to wonder why we ever left the perfect temperature of 
 the club-house in Pall Mall. Some such thoughts as these 
 are also present to the mind during a stiff climb, particularly 
 through long heather, the most trying of all things to walk 
 in. A stag has been spied on the opposite slope of a corrie, 
 whose Gaelic name translated into the English tongue is 
 4 The Steep Corrie/ Ominous name ! You are already 
 high up and vainly hoping your stalker will let you walk round 
 the top of the corrie and come in on him from above. It 
 looks so easy, and above all so short. You would back 
 yourself to do it in twenty minutes. It seems a shame to 
 throw away the ascent you have already gained. You 
 summon up courage to suggest your plan to the stalker, 
 feeling all the time that it will be turned down. And so it 
 is. You are told you must go right down to the foot of the 
 
 4 1 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 corrie, cross the burn, and climb all the way up the opposite 
 shoulder. You had rather a long walk the day before, and 
 do not feel too fresh. You begin the descent, and keep 
 wondering whether it is more distressing to go downhill 
 than uphill. Going downhill is not so trying to the wind, 
 but the legs seem to be made of paper, and to fold up under 
 you. You almost welcome the thought of the climb that 
 is before you, but when the climb begins you long for the 
 descent once more. The first half-hour is through thick, 
 long heather, which necessitates lifting each foot ever so 
 high at every step. It would seem that wind and limb alike 
 are now strained to the breaking-point, and you wish your- 
 self anywhere else in the whole wide world. Is it worth 
 it ? Why spend all this money on the agony of stalking 
 when you can sit in a chair at home free from pain, and for 
 nothing ? Is the stalker never going to stop ? You almost 
 begin to hate him. At last the heather gets shorter and 
 gives way to moss and stones. The stalker only goes all 
 the faster on the easier going ; but just as the world seems 
 to be coming to an end, he sits down on the very top, and 
 you fling yourself on the ground beside him. Then come 
 twenty minutes of the reptilian movement along the face 
 of the hill in full view of some hinds, and presently the rifle 
 is placed in your hands. If you kill, nothing matters. You 
 eat your sandwiches and smoke your pipe, and the way 
 home seems short and easy. But if you miss ! Then 
 indeed your luncheon is cheerless ; you are very likely let 
 in for another long walk to try for another stag, and every 
 42 
 
Rgerton Warburton 
 
 step on the long downward path home is pain and grief. 
 But in any case all the suffering is forgotten in a very short 
 time, and these are the very aches and pains that make the 
 sport worth having. 
 
 There is less bodily distress about the ordinary day's 
 Fox-hunting ; in these days of motor-cars there is hardly 
 any. But no one is a real Fox-hunter unless he or she has 
 been really hungry and tired, and in that condition has 
 been obliged to ride, or perhaps to lead, a beaten horse home 
 several miles in the dark in the face of a driving storm. 
 This does not happen every day ; but the beauty of Fox- 
 hunting as a mental stimulant is that hardly any day passes 
 without your having the chance, if you choose to take it, to 
 * stiffen the sinews,' to * summon up the blood/ to jump the 
 fences, to think quickly, and to take decisions at full gallop. 
 These are the privileges of any member of the field who is 
 not afraid to exercise them, and form a great deal of the 
 charm that compels people to follow the Hounds, even 
 though they do not take any active part in the actual hunting 
 of the animal. 
 
 But what shall we say of the man who hunts the Hounds, 
 and on whose sagacity so much depends ? To the joy of 
 horsemanship he adds the exercise of his craft. One of the 
 most famous amateur huntsmen of the last century was 
 wont to declare that in hunting a pack of Foxhounds the 
 blanks were so many and the prizes so few that he really 
 enjoyed himself on comparatively few days in the season ; 
 but that even one day on which things went well made up 
 
 43 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 for any amount of disappointments. And he was right. 
 To take out a pack of Foxhounds, every one of whom you 
 have bred and entered yourself ; to know that they will 
 conform to the movements of your horse, and unless they 
 are hunting a Fox will never fail to come to your horn and 
 voice, and will, in fact, do everything that you ask them 
 to do without any whipping-in ; to take them to a covert and 
 hear them open on their Fox ; to see them fling themselves 
 of their own accord to recover the scent when they have 
 overrun it ; to help them out of one or two difficulties ; to 
 see them run into the animal you have never set eyes on 
 until you see him dead beat in the same field with the 
 Hounds, and to enjoy all this from the back of a thorough- 
 bred horse, are things that make life worth living. 
 
 It is a mild morning about the second week in January. 
 The clouds are high. The long bents are nodding to a 
 gentle southerly breeze. The air is moist and the distance 
 clear, favourable for both sight and sound. This is the right 
 atmosphere. It promotes a general sense of well-being. 
 The razor behaves well ; the horn seems to sound of its 
 own accord directly it is pressed to the lips ; leathers, 
 saddle, reins, and gloves are supple and adhesive, so differ- 
 ent from the stiff slippery things that they can be in the 
 winds of March ; and on these warm, humid days the fox 
 tires before the hounds more quickly than in cold, dry 
 weather. 
 
 The meet is in the wilder and less fashionable part of 
 the country, approached by roads that have hitherto escaped 
 
 44 
 
. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 the attentions of the Road Board, so you order the phaeton 
 and pair instead of the motor-car. There will not be more 
 than seventy people out, so the meet will be more like a 
 gathering of Fox-hunters and less than usual like a motor 
 exhibition at Olympia. The crunch of the wheels, the 
 tread of the horses, and the rattle of the pole-chains give 
 forth the sweet music of long ago. You are to meet your 
 hounds at the cross-roads two miles short of the advertised 
 place, so that the tumultuous reception they always insist 
 on giving you may not frighten the Fox out of the covert. 
 Presently you see the small party of second-horse men with 
 the horses drawn up in a rank on the grass siding. Jim 
 has wisely withdrawn the hounds round the corner, so 
 that you may mount in peace before they recognise you. 
 ' Mr. Tiptop wishes you to ride the brown horse first, 
 please,' says Tom, giving you a command you dare not 
 disobey. The Hounds have now heard your voice, and 
 crowd up to the corner to get a glimpse of you, only just 
 restrained by Jim. The next moment they are all round 
 and about, and greeting you with their joyous voices and 
 fondly happy faces. And a rare moment it is. Some one 
 at any rate is unfeignedly glad to see you, and is not ashamed 
 to say so. ' Nineteen and a half, sir/ says Jim. Just the 
 right number, fifteen couple of doghounds and four and 
 a half couple of bitches. You turn your horse's head down 
 the road, and the Hounds come with you, having suddenly 
 become quite sedate now that they have said Good morning. 
 It is not a good omen for scent when Hounds are frolicsome 
 
 45 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 on the way to the meet, and go staring through the gateways 
 and snuffing into the hedges. On a good scenting day 
 each Hound usually keeps his place on the road, and goes 
 solemnly to covert, looking neither to right nor left, as if 
 he were saving himself for a hard day. 
 
 The covert you are going to draw is about fifty acres, 
 carpeted with bracken dotted with patches of blackthorn 
 and brambles, and sheltered by some old oaks and huge 
 whitethorn trees. It was formerly an open heath on either 
 side of the old London road, now overgrown with grass 
 and forming a middle ride for the covert. The acoustics 
 are so good this morning that Jim trots off from the meet to 
 take post at the lodge on the new London road, in case 
 the * old customer ' gets wind of the sport and steals away 
 too soon. The Hounds ' watch him off,' as the stage direc- 
 tions say, and then look up into your face, wondering why 
 you do not make a move. At last the stable-clock strikes 
 eleven. They seem so cocksure of finding that they could 
 be trusted to leave you where you are and draw the covert 
 themselves. But you do not give them the office until you 
 have crossed the park and are within a hundred yards of 
 the covert. The ladies and gentlemen take the carriage 
 drive, and you turn down the trig into the covert to join 
 your Hounds. The anticipation of hearing the first Hound 
 open can best be enjoyed alone with no one to bother you 
 about politics and all the other worries you have come out 
 to avoid. 
 
 There is not a Hound to be seen. The leading Hounds 
 
. Egerton Warburton 
 
 have probably gone straight to the Foxes' kennel, for at 
 that moment one of the old doghounds proclaims with a 
 deep hoarse roar that ' the game 's afoot/ This is quickly 
 endorsed by the lighter tone of one of the bitches, and in 
 less than two minutes they all have something to say. He 
 leads them straight to the corner where Ted the second 
 whipper-in is holloaing ' Forrard away ' with all his might 
 and main. Another Fox ! The boy might have saved his 
 voice, for the pack swings to the left underneath the boun- 
 dary fence, glued to the one they found. You hear your 
 field holloaing him over the middle ride, and he sets his 
 head for Jim's hiding-place at the lodge. The Hounds 
 scream after him down the whole length of the covert, 
 but in spite of this, he thinks he has gained enough ground 
 by the turn in the covert to risk the open. Not only that, 
 the Hounds, the horses' hoofs, and the horn are making an 
 ugly demonstration in his rear. Jim now views him away 
 over the new London road, and you sound the long blast 
 more as an accompaniment to the chorus than as a summons 
 to the open, and emerge through the lodge gates just as 
 the last Hound is disappearing through the fence out of 
 the road. ' All on,' says the well-trained servant, and 
 you feel the good brown horse already balancing himself to 
 jump the fence. He canters up the grassy slope, with his 
 strong hocks underneath him, his head tucked into his 
 chest, and his perfect mouth playing with the bit as he 
 goes. 
 
 The country is undulating, being a mixture of plough 
 
 47 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 and pasture covering a succession of small valleys, each 
 with its own brook that in some cases is best crossed by 
 the bridge. The fences are not too well cut and laid, and 
 the rider has to pick his places. About three miles to the 
 left front is a long, straggling, boggy woodland of about 
 three hundred acres, usually full of Foxes. A gate or two, 
 sundry pieces of low timber, and an easy place at each 
 bottom keep you on terms with your Hounds until you 
 breast the rising ground for the third time. On the top of 
 the ridge there is a cart track, intersecting the line of the Fox. 
 On this track stands a labourer, apparently the only in- 
 habitant of the district. What is he doing there ? He 
 gesticulates as if he had seen the Fox, and you pray that the 
 Fox has not seen him. But of course he has, and has turned 
 short to the right, under the fence, down the cart track 
 or horse road, as they call it in the Midlands. The Hounds 
 have their blood up, and the body are through and over 
 the fence and half-way across the next field before they 
 own their mistake. But two couple make a dive to the right 
 under the hedge, and throw their tongues. You holloa 
 to the leading Hounds, who wheel to the right and conform 
 to the change of direction, though as yet they have no scent. 
 The Fox has re-made his point under the second hedge to 
 the front, and, as the body of the pack on your left flank 
 cross his line, they put down their sterns and slip up the 
 hedge side like lightning, stealing an unhandsome march 
 on the steady two couple who have saved the situation. 
 You open the gate and let these faithful ones into the field > 
 
Jlfr. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 where they race away from you to join the head. It now 
 looks as if you are committed to the woodland, and the 
 practical certainty of changing Foxes. A gentleman who 
 lives on the border tells you that the neighbouring pack 
 were all over it only two days ago, so for once they may 
 have done good by clearing it of Foxes. The Hounds hunt 
 the line into it half-way between a road separating the wood- 
 land from an open heath and the middle ride. Jim takes 
 the road, you take the middle ride. The scent is not quite 
 so good. There is still a steady concentrated cry, but 
 not much pace. Your heart sinks as the cry gets less and 
 less and eventually ' peters out.' They must either be on 
 the line of a Fox who has heard them coming, and has 
 therefore been gone some time, or else their own Fox has 
 turned. You have no alternative but to sit and suffer. 
 After two minutes of devastating anxiety you are rewarded. 
 First one and then another speaks, and then they all 
 chime in again and chatter away nearly to the far end of the 
 wood, but without going fast enough to press him. In the 
 road you join Jim, who has not seen him. The Hounds 
 carry the line into the road, and are brought to their 
 noses. You open a gate out of the road and let the 
 body of the pack through. You then turn your horse 
 to the left, up wind towards the horses. If you go 
 down wind first, the ladies and gentlemen will all follow 
 you, and you will have a difficulty in getting back again 
 if you do not hit it off. The up-wind attempt is on 
 this occasion of no avail, and you turn back down the 
 D 49 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 road. If the Fox has left the covert somewhere here he 
 may be yours. If not . . . ? But you must have luck 
 on some days, and to-day is one of them. The pack 
 cluster together down a furrow in a ploughed field, and 
 throw their tongues merrily on the grass beyond. Is 
 he your original hunted Fox ? This is one of the 
 glorious uncertainties of the Chase. Anyway he is your 
 hunted Fox now, and will have to look sharp to get out 
 of the way. 
 
 The country becomes less provincial. Grass fields and 
 well-laid fences. The next shelter the Fox may be heading 
 for is a kind of amphitheatre or corrie, with a long, narrow, 
 hanging covert running all round the head of it, and a small 
 wood on each shoulder. This is his point, and the Hounds 
 almost race there. They enter the long hanging covert : 
 you ride along the lower edge. You can see all over it 
 right up to the top fence. To-day does not seem to be a 
 good scenting day in covert, or else the Fox is sinking, for 
 now they can hardly own him. This last explanation is 
 the true one, because you catch sight of him a hundred yards 
 ahead of the Hounds, crawling along dead beaten just inside 
 the top fence. The Hounds are all below him, and cannot 
 wind him or see him. You daren't holloa, for if you did 
 they would all come down to you and make matters worse. 
 You would give the wide world for Jim or Ted to be level 
 with you along the top to show him to them. But Ted 
 has quite rightly lost his start from the woodland by hang- 
 ing back and is not here, and Jim has rather rashly got too 
 
 50 
 
J\fr. Egerton Warburton 
 
 far ahead of you. There is only one thing to do. You 
 must slip quietly back along the bottom, ride round and 
 get on to the top, and so try to put them on to him. You 
 canter away without their finding out, and are presently 
 standing on the top where you last saw the Fox. They 
 can't own the scent. He may have turned up over the top 
 across a greasy wheat-field ; you hold them across it as a 
 last chance, and your luck still serving you, you put him 
 up out of the hedge where he has lain down. How he 
 must hate you ! With that marvellous power of reserve 
 which beaten Foxes seem to have, he blunders across the 
 corner of the field back into the covert ; and there they 
 catch him. 
 
 The reputation of Tar Wood is preserved by Mr. War- 
 burton's description of this remarkable run which took 
 place in 1845, during the mastership of Lord Redesdale, 
 who had for his huntsman the celebrated Jem Hills. Ac- 
 cording to a Mr. Whippy who was out, it was a fifteen-mile 
 point, and twenty miles as hounds ran, the whole thing 
 being accomplished in one hour and forty- two minutes. 
 With great respect we doubt whether this distance could 
 have been covered in the time. In a stiffly enclosed 
 country it certainly could not have been done. Even 
 over the open downs and the stone walls of North 
 Oxfordshire the feat is hardly within the bounds of 
 possibility. But this has nothing to do with Mr. Warburton, 
 who has immortalised the run in a lay that conjures up 
 the wildness and mystery of the Chase, and makes the 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 reader wish he had had the chance of seeing this 
 fine run. 
 
 Lord Redesdale was one of the best friends to Fox- 
 hunting that ever lived. It hurt his feelings so acutely to 
 see any covert drawn blank that he is said to have instructed 
 his agent to try to buy the covert in question for him in 
 order that such a disaster might not happen again. He 
 became master of, and in fact founded, the Heythrop 
 Hounds when the sixth Duke of Beaufort relinquished his 
 Oxfordshire country and withdrew to Badminton. 
 
 Jem Hills made his mark in the Midlands, and kept his 
 post for thirty- two years. He is said to have introduced 
 ' the quick forward cast ' into the provinces, as practised 
 by Mr. Osbaldeston in the Shires (sic). Whatever this 
 may mean, neither Jem Hills nor Mr. Osbaldeston, nor 
 any one else, could ever turn a bad scent into a good one by 
 forcing the pace. It is possible that neither the hard riders 
 at Melton nor the Oxford undergraduates cared very much 
 or even knew whether the Hounds had a line or not, pro- 
 vided there was plenty of galloping and jumping. At any 
 rate Jem Hills was very popular at the University. But 
 the Tar Wood run was evidently an orthodox affair, and 
 ranks as one of the classic days of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
"BRIGHTER IN BRITAIN THE CHARMS OK EACH DAUGHTER, NOR 
 "DREADS THE BRIGHT CHARMER TO FOLLOW THE VOX." 
 
. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 SONG 
 
 Stags in the forest lie, hares in the valley-o ! 
 
 Web-footed otters are speared in the lochs ; 
 Beasts of the chase that are not worth a Tally-ho ! 
 All are surpass 'd by the gorse-cover fox ! 
 Fishing, though pleasant, 
 I sing not at present, 
 Nor shooting the pheasant, 
 
 Nor fighting of cocks ; 
 Song shall declare a way 
 How to drive care away, 
 Pain and despair away, 
 Hunting the fox ! 
 
 Bulls in gay Seville are led forth to slaughter, nor 
 
 Dames, in high rapture, the spectacle shocks ; 
 Brighter in Britain the charms of each daughter, nor 
 Dreads the bright charmer to follow the fox. 
 Spain may delight in 
 A sport so exciting ; 
 While 'stead of bullfighting 
 
 We fatten the ox ; 
 Song shall declare a way 
 How to drive care away, 
 Pain and despair away, 
 Hunting the fox ! 
 
 England's green pastures are grazed in security, 
 Thanks to the Saxon who cared for our flocks ! 
 
 He who, reserving the sport for futurity, 
 Sweeping our wolves away left us the fox. 
 
 53 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 When joviality 
 Chafes formality, 
 When hospitality 
 
 Cellars unlocks ; 
 Song shall declare a way 
 How to drive care away, 
 Pain and despair away, 
 
 Hunting the fox. 
 
 TAR WOOD 
 
 (A RUN WITH THE HEYTHROP) 
 
 He waited not he was not found 
 
 No warning note from eager hound, 
 But echo of the distant horn, 
 From outskirts of the cover borne, 
 Where Jack the Whip in ambush lay, 
 Proclaim'd that he was gone away. 
 
 Away ! ere yet that blast was blown, 
 The fox had o'er the meadow flown ; 
 Away ! away ! his flight he took, 
 Straight pointing for the Windrush brook ! 
 
 The Miller, when he heard the pack, 
 Stood tiptoe on his loaded sack, 
 He view'd the fox across the flat, 
 And, needless signal, waved his hat ; 
 He saw him clear with easy stride 
 The stream by which the mill was plied ; 
 Like phantom fox he seem'd to fly, 
 With speed unearthly flitting by. 
 
 54 
 

 'STOOD TII-TOE ox HIS LOADED SACK. 
 
J\fr. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 The road that leads to Witney town 
 He travell'd neither up nor down ; 
 But straight away, like arrow sped 
 From cloth yard bow, he shot a-head . 
 Now Cokethorpe on his left he past, 
 Now Duckington behind him cast, 
 Now by Bampton, now by Lew, 
 Now by Clanfield, on he flew ; 
 At Grafton now his course inclined, 
 And Kelmcote now is left behind ! 
 
 Where waters of the Isis lave 
 The meadows with their classic wave, 
 O'er those wide meadows speeding on, 
 He near'd the bridgeway of St. John ; 
 He paused a moment on the bank, 
 His footsteps in the ripple sank, 
 He felt how cold, he saw how strong 
 The rapid river roll'd along ; 
 Then turn'd away, as if to say, 
 ' All those who like to cross it may.' 
 
 The Huntsman, though he view'd him back, 
 View'd him too late to turn the pack, 
 Which o'er the tainted meadow prest, 
 And reach'd the river all abreast ; 
 In with one plunge, one billowy splash, 
 In altogether in they dash, 
 Together stem the wintry tide, 
 Then shake themselves on t' other side ! 
 ' Hark, hollo back ! ' that loud halloo 
 Then eager, and more eager grew, 
 
 55 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Till every hound, recrossing o'er, 
 Stoop 'd forward to the scent once more ; 
 Nor further aid, throughout the day, 
 From Huntsman or from Whip had they. 
 
 Away ! away ! uncheck'd in pace, 
 O'er grass and fallow swept the chase ; 
 To hounds, to horses, or to men, 
 No child's play was the struggle then ; 
 A trespasser on Milward's ground, 
 He climb 'd the pale that fenced it round ; 
 Then close by Little Hemel sped, 
 To Fairford pointing straight a-head, 
 Though now, the pack approaching nigh, 
 He heard his death-note in the cry ; 
 They view'd him, and now seem'd their race 
 The very lightning of the chase ! 
 The fox had reached the Southropp Lane, 
 He strode to cross it, but in vain, 
 The pack roll'd o'er him in his stride, 
 And onward struggling still he died. 
 
 This gallant fox, in Tar Wood found, 
 Had cross'd full twenty miles of ground ; 
 Had fought in cover, left or right, 
 No shelter to conceal his flight ; 
 But nigh two hours the open kept, 
 As stout a fox as ever stept ! 
 That morning, in the saddle set, 
 A hundred men at Tar Wood met ; 
 The eager steeds which they bestrode 
 Paced, to and fro, the Witney road, 
 
 56 
 
J\Ir. Rgerton Warburton 
 
 For hard as iron shoe that trod 
 
 Its surface, the unyielding sod ; 
 
 They champ 'd the bit and twitch'd the rein, 
 
 And paw'd the frozen earth in vain ; 
 
 Impatient with fleet foot to scour 
 
 The vale, each minute seem'd an hour, 
 
 Till mid-day fun had made the ground 
 
 Fit treading for the foot of hound ; 
 
 Still Rumour says of that array 
 
 Scarce ten lived fairly through the day. 
 
 Ah ! how shall I in song declare 
 The riders who were foremost there ? 
 A fit excuse how shall I find 
 For every rider left behind ? 
 
 Though Cokethorpe seem one open plain, 
 J Tis slash'd and sluiced with many a drain, 
 And he who clears those ditches wide 
 Must needs a goodly steed bestride. 
 From Bampton to the river's bounds 
 The race was run o'er pasture grounds ; 
 Yet many a horse of blood and bone 
 Was heard to cross it with a groan ; 
 For blackthorns stiff the fields divide 
 With watery ditch on either side. 
 By Lechlade's village fences rise 
 Of every sort and every size, 
 And frequent there the grievous fall 
 O'er slippery bank and crumbling wall ; 
 Some planted deep in cornfield stand, 
 A fix'd incumbrance on the land ! 
 
 57 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 While others prove o'er post and rail 
 The merits of the sliding scale. 
 
 Ah ! much it grieves the Muse to tell 
 At Clanfield how Valentia fell ; 
 He went, they say, like one bewitch'd, 
 Till headlong from the saddle pitch 'd ; 
 There, reckless of the pain, he sigh'd 
 To think he might not onward ride ; 
 Though fallen from his pride of place, 
 His heart was following still the chase ; 
 He bade his many friends forbear 
 The proffer'd aid, nor tarry there ; 
 * Oh ! heed me not, but ride away ! 
 The Tar Wood fox must die to-day ! ' 
 
 Nor fell Valentia there alone, 
 There too in mid career was thrown 
 The Huntsman in the breastplate swung 
 His heels his body earthward hung ; 
 With many a tug at neck and mane, 
 Struggling he reach 'd his feet again ; 
 Once more upon the back of Spangle, 
 His head and heels at proper angle 
 (Poor- Spangle in a piteous plight), 
 He look'd around him, bolt upright, 
 Nor near nor far could succour see, 
 Where can the faithless Juliet be ? 
 He would have given half his wage 
 Just then to see her on the stage ; 
 The pack those meads by Isis bound 
 Had reach 'd ere Jem his Juliet found ; 
 
 58 
 
J\fr. Egerton Warburton 
 
 Well thence with such a prompter's aid 
 Till Reynard's death her part she play'd. 
 
 Then Isaac from the chase withdrew 
 (A horse is Isaac, not a Jew), 
 Outstretch'd his legs, and shook his back 
 Right glad to be relieved of Jack ; 
 And Jack, right glad his back to quit, 
 Gives Beatrice a benefit. 
 
 Moisture and mud the * Fungus ' suit, 
 In boggy ditch he, taking root, 
 For minutes ten or thereabout, 
 Stood planted, till they pluck'd him out. 
 By application of spur rowel 
 Charles rubb'd him dry without a towel. 
 
 Say, as the pack by Kelmcote sped, 
 Say who those horsemen cloth'd in red ? 
 Spectators of the chase below, 
 Themselves no sign of movement show ; 
 No wonder they were all aghast 
 To see the pace at which it past ; 
 The * White Horse Vale ' well known to Fame 
 The pack to which it gives a name ; 
 And there they stood as if spellbound, 
 Their morning fox as yet unfound ; 
 Borne from that wood, their Huntsman's cheer 
 Drew many a Tar Wood straggler near, 
 And he who felt the pace too hot 
 There gladly sought a resting spot ; 
 Himself of that White Horse availing, 
 When conscious that his own was failing. 
 
 59 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Thus ships when they no more can bide 
 The fury of the wind and tide, 
 If chance some tranquil port they spy, 
 Where vessels safely shelter'd lie, 
 There seek a refuge from the gale, 
 Cast anchor, and let down the sail. 
 
 The speed of horse, the pluck of man, 
 They needed both, who led the van ; 
 This Holmes can tell, who through the day 
 Was ever foremost in the fray ; 
 And Holloway, with best intent, 
 Still shivering timber as he went ; 
 And Williams, clinging to the pack 
 As if the League were at his back ; 
 And Tollit, ready still to sell 
 The Nag that carried him so well. 
 
 A pretty sight at first to see 
 Young Pretyman on Modesty ! 
 But Pretyman went on so fast, 
 That Modesty took fright at last ; 
 So bent was she to shun disgrace 
 That in the brook she hid her face ; 
 So bashful, that to drag her out 
 They fetch'd a team and tackle stout. 
 
 When younger men of lighter weight 
 Some tale of future sport relate, 
 Let Whippy show the brush he won, 
 And tell them of the Tar Wood run ; 
 While Rival's portrait, on the wall, 
 Shall oft to memory recall 
 60 
 

 "THEY FETCH D A TEAM AND TACKLE STOUT. 
 
. Egerton Warburton 
 
 The gallant fox, the burning scent, 
 
 The leaps they leapt, the pace they went ; 
 
 How Whimsey led the pack at first, 
 
 When Reynard from the woodside burst ; 
 
 How Pamela, a puppy hound, 
 
 First seized him, struggling on the ground ; 
 
 How Prudence shunn'd the taint of hare, 
 
 Taught young in life to have a care ; 
 
 How Alderman , a foxhound staunch, 
 
 Work'd well upon an empty paunch ; 
 
 How Squires were, following thee, upset, 
 
 Right honourable Baronet ; 
 
 How, as the pack by Lechlade flew, 
 
 Where close and thick the fences grew, 
 
 Three bitches led the tuneful throng, 
 
 All worthy of a place in song ; 
 
 Old Fairplay ne'er at skirting caught, 
 
 And Pensive speeding quick as thought ; 
 
 While Handsome proved the adage true, 
 
 They handsome are that handsome do ! 
 
 Then long may courteous Redesdale live ! 
 And oft his pack such gallops give ! 
 Should fox again so stoutly run, 
 May I be there and see the fun ! 
 
 1845. 
 
 61 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MAJOR WHYTE MELVILLE 
 
 DURING fifty-seven years of life, beginning in 1821, 
 Major George John Whyte Melville saw more of 
 hunting, soldiering, and fashion than most people. 
 He entered the Coldstream Guards in 1839, and served 
 with the Turkish Cavalry in the Crimean War. He knew 
 every one in the British Isles who was worth knowing, 
 and his novels were read by a considerable public as well 
 as by a large circle of friends. He wrote verses as well 
 as novels. Some of his contemporaries have gone so far 
 as to call him the Poet Laureate of the hunting-field. Yet 
 * Drink, Puppy, Drink,' perhaps the best known of his hunt- 
 ing-songs, leaves something to be desired. Indeed, he con- 
 fessed to a friend who was sitting next to him at a dinner- 
 party that he would have sacrificed all his other writings 
 if only he could have written ' John Peel/ which had just 
 been sung. Although he did not write * John Peel/ he 
 wrote the words to Tosti's * Good-bye/ which, at other 
 functions than hunt-dinners, is quite as hackneyed as the 
 favourite old hunting-song. 
 
 The two chapters that are chosen as specimens of his 
 work are both admirable monographs, the one on a run 
 with the Pytchley Hounds and the other on a day's horse- 
 62 
 
^Major Whyte {Melville 
 
 coping. His account of a run i characteristic of him, in 
 that he always seems to make riding to Hounds a much 
 more desperate and blood-curdling affair than it really is. 
 He deals in sweat and dirt and tired horses and crashing 
 falls, and gigantic fences, and bottomless brooks. 
 
 His ' Riding Recollections ' is an excellent text-book, and 
 wears well. Yet, after reading it, one wonders how one 
 ever got over a fence at all. This is the kind of thing. 
 In his chapter on * Valour ' he tells that a lady * who had 
 not quite succeeded in clearing a high post-and-rail with 
 a boggy ditch on the landing side was down and under 
 the horse. The animal's whole weight rested on her legs, 
 so as to keep her in such a position that her head lay between 
 its fore and hind feet, where the least attempt at a struggle, 
 hemmed in by those four shining shoes, must have dashed 
 her brains out.' It is true that he is paying a chivalrous 
 tribute to the lady's courage in this very trying position, 
 but the mere description of the thing is enough to prevent 
 one ever riding at a post-and-rail again. All the same, 
 ' Riding Recollections,' as well as his other works, is full of 
 good things. And the charm of the author is that he must 
 have loved the horses and the Hounds and the men and the 
 women who followed them very dearly to have been able 
 to write of them as he did. He is always so gentle ; always 
 the * sahib.' He speaks of the Chase and all that belongs 
 to it with the respect and the affection that entitles him to 
 a place among the authors who have addressed themselves 
 to the Sport of our Ancestors. 
 
 63 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 The chapter selected from * Holmby House ' is thought by 
 some people to be a classic in the literature of the Chase, 
 and is often mentioned when the question is asked, * Which 
 is the best imaginary description of a run ? ' We should 
 ourselves certainly give the blue ribbon to Beckford, whose 
 account will be dealt with presently. But the reader can 
 now set them side by side, and choose for himself. 
 
 * Market Harborough ' can be read again with greater 
 pleasure than any of Major Whyte Melville's works. It 
 wears remarkably well. The central figure is Mr. Sawyer, 
 who, having been rusticated from Oxford, settled down 
 on his estate in some provincial country with enough money 
 to keep a few hunters and to buy another to take down to 
 the Shires on his celebrated visit to Market Harborough. 
 Mr. Sawyer thought and talked of nothing but hunting. 
 In the summer he went to Tattersalls every Sunday after- 
 noon. He was typical of that country gentleman who in 
 those days never did a stroke of work, was animated by 
 no sort of public spirit, read nothing but ' Bell's Life? ' The 
 Field? and the ' Sporting Magazine? and was apparently 
 expected by the rest of the world to do nothing but amuse 
 himself. He had been living up to this standard of conduct 
 by hunting from home, but it occurred to him that he 
 might get m@re amusement out of life by going to Market 
 Harborough. So Major Whyte Melville describes how he 
 walked over to find out if Mr. Job Sloper, the local horse- 
 dealer, had a horse for sale that would carry him over 
 Leicestershire and Northamptonshire, and how he bought 
 
Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 the roan horse. The thing could not be better done. The 
 author brings out the whole humour of horse - dealing 
 without missing a single point. The flattery ; the wonder 
 how such a nice horse came to be in the Sloper establish- 
 ment unless he had some serious * crab ' ; the trial ; the 
 luncheon ; the deal ; the second look at the horse by the 
 new owner ; then the misgiving at finding him smaller 
 than he thought when he got him home next day, are all 
 set down by the hand of a master. 
 
 There is indeed nothing more delightful than going to 
 look for the horse you want and being quite sure that you 
 have found him from the very first moment you are intro- 
 duced to him in the box. In choosing a horse there is no 
 truer guide than love at first sight ; though, if we may 
 criticise Mr. Sawyer, it is wise to ask the price of the horse 
 before you get on his back. Some people can no more 
 conceal their admiration for a horse than they can conceal 
 their admiration for a lady. If he is as good a ride as your 
 instinct tells you he is, you may return so flushed with the 
 pride of what you think is masterly equestrianism that the 
 dealer, if he is half sharp, and somefof them are even more 
 than half sharp, will put 50 on to his price unless you 
 have asked it beforehand. But perhaps Mr. Sawyer could 
 command his own face. 
 
 Those who read this chapter may think it worth while 
 
 to read the whole book again. If they do, they will surely 
 
 be rewarded. There is an incident in it which has some 
 
 bearing on the ethics of selling horses to one's friends that 
 
 E 65 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 is worthy of attention. Mr. Sawyer had been stuck by 
 some one with a flat-catching brute whom he called Mara- 
 thon underbred, slow, sulky, and a dangerous, slovenly 
 fencer. Mr. Sawyer first of all allowed his friend the 
 Honble. Crasher, who had been kind to him, and who was 
 a gentleman to his finger-tips, to believe that Marathon 
 had actually beaten the Honble. Crasher's crack mare 
 Chance in a trial, when he knew that his rascal of a groom 
 had really won the trial on the galloping hack Jack-a-Dandy, 
 concealing the fraud by means of the early morning dark- 
 ness and a rug. Mr. Sawyer then rode the real Marathon 
 out hunting, and was rather avoiding the Hounds, not wish- 
 ing to expose the worthless animal, when they crossed his 
 front, and he nicked in and contrived by great good luck 
 to force the vulgar brute through a bullfinch and cut down 
 Mr. Crasher himself and some more of the first flight. The 
 Honble. Crasher, with the news of the false trial in his 
 mind, offered Mr. Sawyer 250 for Marathon then and 
 there. Ought Mr. Sawyer to have accepted the offer, 
 knowing that it was based upon the fraud perpetrated 
 by his groom quite as much as on the accident that man- 
 oeuvred Marathon through the bullfinch ? Anyway he did 
 accept it, and the Honble. Crasher thought Mr. Sawyer 
 what is now called quite * a card ' for having done so. In 
 fact, he actually complimented Mr. Sawyer on the trans- 
 action, though indeed he never knew about the trial. That 
 is the ugly part of it. The explanation of Crasher's atti- 
 tude is to be found in his unfailing good nature, and his 
 66 
 
{Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 desire to save himself trouble and to have no unpleasantness. 
 But Mr. Sawyer was punished all the same. Did the 
 Honble. Crasher invent the punishment ? Anyhow, he 
 persuaded Mr. Sawyer to sit behind Marathon, who had 
 never been in harness before, and a chestnut horse who 
 was a bad starter, in a phaeton to go out to dinner with 
 Parson Dove. Crasher was a most casual coachman with no 
 nerves, and contrived, either by accident or design, to give his 
 friend a really bad time, and on the way home drove clean 
 through a shut gate and smashed the whole turn-out to pieces. 
 The affair of Marathon is interesting because it opens 
 up the whole question of the ethics of horse-dealing. Did 
 our ancestors deliberately ' do ' their friends in this shame- 
 less manner ? Of course literature is not sworn testimony. 
 But it is difficult to believe that Major Whyte Melville 
 would himself have suppressed the trial. Mr. Sawyer was 
 supposed to know how to ' play the game/ and yet he was 
 undoubtedly guilty of what we should call sharp practice. 
 To-day the buyer is almost too well protected. If he buys 
 a horse at auction described as a ' good hunter/ he can send 
 the animal back unless he can do pretty nearly everything 
 except talk. If he buys from a dealer he can try the horse 
 over made fences, or over the natural country, or in many 
 cases get a day's hunting on him for nothing, and then 
 send any vet. he likes to examine him. Perhaps real ras- 
 cality is reserved, as in ' Market Harbor ough^ for private 
 dealings between friends. Maybe those people are right 
 who will buy a horse from any one except a close friend. 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Major Whyte Melville's heroes and|heroines were usually 
 like himself, without fear and without reproach. There 
 runs through all his books a certain spirit of chivalry and 
 affection, as it appeared to him to exist, and did exist, in 
 spite of Dundreary whiskers and crinolines. It is certain 
 that the possession of these qualities, together with a de- 
 lightful sense of humour, caused him to be well and truly 
 loved by many friends who were shocked at his death from 
 a fall on the flat when out hunting near Tetbury. It was 
 on this occasion that the late Lord Rosslyn wrote the sonnet 
 which follows. The news that a dear friend had broken 
 his neck out hunting would no doubt be a shock. But the 
 age in which we now live has become more familiar with 
 sudden death, and would not be * appalled ' or * petrified 
 with pain ' in the presence of a swift and merciful end. 
 For all that, Lord Rosslyn, himself a gifted writer and an 
 outstanding figure in the world of sport and fashion, must 
 be allowed the licence of the poets. This is what he 
 wrote : 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 The engineer by his own petard slain, 
 The eagle pierced by shaft from his own wing, 
 Are plaintive fancies, such as poets sing, 
 And touch the heart but coldly through the brain ; 
 But thou, dear George, in thine own sport thus ta'en, 
 In all the prime of manhood, and the swing 
 Of gallant gallop, struck stone-dead the thing 
 Appals, and petrifies the mind with pain. 
 68 
 
JWajor Whyte ^Melville 
 
 Bright, brave, and tender, Poesy's pet child, 
 Romance and History's lore alike were thine ; 
 Thy wit ne'er wounded, yet the contest won, 
 For at thy jests the gravest dullard smiled ; 
 Last scion of an ancient Scottish line, 
 Whose ' old folks ' live to mourn their only son 
 
 Dec. 6, 1878. 
 
 1 YOUR HAND-WRITING, SIR ' 
 
 * Mornin', sir/ says Mr. Sloper, scenting a customer as he 
 accosts his guest. * Oh, it 's you, is it, Mr. Sawyer ? Won't 
 ye step in and set down after your walk ? Take a glass of 
 mild ale and a crust of bread and cheese, or a drop of sherry 
 or anythink ? ' 
 
 ' No hunting to-day, Job,' answers the visitor, declining 
 the refreshment ; * so I just toddled over to see how you 're 
 getting on, and have a look round the stables ; no harm in 
 looking, you know.' 
 
 Mr. Sloper 's face assumes an expression of profound 
 mystery. * I 'm glad you come over to-day, sir,' he says, 
 in a tone of confidential frankness, ' of all days in the year. 
 I/ve a 'orse here, as I should like to ast your opinion about 
 a gent like you * as knows what a 'unter really is. And 
 so you should, Mr. Sawyer, for there 's no man alive takes 
 greater liberties with 'em when they can go and do it. And 
 
 1 Words in italics are in italics in original. 
 
 69 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 I Ve got one in that box, as I think, just is more than 
 curious/ 
 
 ' Would he carry me ? ' asks Mr. Sawyer, with well- 
 affected indifference, as if he had not come over expressly 
 to find one that would. * Not that I want a horse, you know ; 
 but if I saw one I liked very much, and you didn't price him 
 too high, why I might be induced to buy against next season, 
 perhaps.' 
 
 Job took his hands out of his coat-pockets, and spread 
 them abroad, as it were to dry. The action denoted extreme 
 purity and candour. 
 
 1 No ; I don't think as he ought to carry you, sir,' was 
 the unexpected reply. * Now, I ain't a-going to tell you 
 a lie, Mr. Sawyer. This horse didn't ought to be ridden, 
 not the way you take and ride him, Mr. Sawyer ; leastways 
 not over such a blind heart-breaking country as this here. 
 He 's too good, he is, for that kind of work ; he ought to be 
 in Leicestershire, he ought ; the Harbor ough country, that 's 
 the country for him. He 's too fast for us, and that 's the 
 truth. Only, to be sure, we have a vast of plough here- 
 about, and I never see such a sticker through dirt. It 
 makes no odds to him, pasture or plough, and the sweetest 
 hack ever I clapped eyes on besides. However, you shall 
 judge for yourself, Mr. Sawyer. I won't ask you to believe 
 me. You 've a quicker eye to a horse than I have, by a 
 long chalk, and I 'd sooner have your opinion than my own. 
 I would now, and that 's the truth ! ' 
 
 Our purchaser began to think he might possibly have 
 70 
 
{Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 hit upon the animal at last. Often as he had been at the 
 game, and often as he had been disappointed, he was still 
 sanguine enough to believe he might draw the prize-ticket 
 in the lottery at any time. As I imagine every man who 
 pulls on his boots to go out hunting has a sort of vague 
 hope that to-day may be his day of triumph with the hounds, 
 so the oldest and wariest of us cannot go into a dealer's yard 
 without a sort of half-conscious idea that there must be a 
 trump card somewhere in the pack, and it may be our luck 
 to hold it as well as another's. 
 
 But Sloper, like the rest of his trade, was not going to 
 show his game first. It seems to be a maxim with all sales- 
 men to prove their customers with inferior articles before 
 they come to the real thing. Mr. Sawyer had to walk 
 through a four-stall stable, and inspect, preparatory to 
 declining, a mealy bay cob, a lame grey, a broken- winded 
 chestnut, and an enormous brown animal, very tall, very 
 narrow, very ugly, with extremely upright forelegs and 
 shoulders to match. The latter his owner affirmed to be 
 * an extraordinary shaped un? as no doubt he was. A little 
 playful badinage on the merits of this last enlivened the 
 visit. 
 
 1 What will you take for the brown, Sloper, if I buy him 
 at so much the foot ? ' said the customer, as they emerged 
 into the fresh air. 
 
 * Say ten pound a foot, sir ! ' answered Job, with the 
 utmost gravity, * and ten over, because he always has afoot to 
 spare. Come now, Mr. Sawyer, I can afford to let a good 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 customer like you have that horse for fefty. Fefty guineas, 
 or even pounds, sir, to you. I got him in a bad debt, you see, 
 sir ; it 's Bible truth I 'm telling ye ; and he only stood 
 me in forty-seven pounds ten, and a sov. I gave the man 
 as brought him over. He 's not everybody's horse, Mr. 
 Sawyer, that isn't ; but I think he '11 carry you remarkably 
 well.' 
 
 1 I don't think I '11 ever give him a chance,' was the 
 rejoinder. * Come, Job, we 're burning daylight ; let 's 
 go and have a look at the crack.' 
 
 One individual had been listening to the above conver- 
 sation with thrilling interest. This was no less a personage 
 than Barney, Mr. Sloper's head groom, general factotum, 
 and rough-rider in ordinary an official whose business it was 
 to ride anything at anything, for anybody who asked him. 
 He was a little old man, with one eye, a red handkerchief, 
 and the general appearance of a post-boy on half-pay ; a 
 sober fellow, too, and as brave as King Richard ; yet had 
 he expressed himself strongly about this said brown horse, 
 the previous evening, to the maid-of-all-work. * He 's the 
 wussest we 've had yet,' was his fiat. ' It 's nateral for 
 'em to fall ; but when he falls, he 's all over a chap till he 's 
 crumpled him.' So his heroic heart beat more freely when 
 they adjourned to the neighbouring box. 
 
 Mr. Sloper threw the door open with an air. It must 
 be confessed he seldom had one that would bear, without 
 preparation, a minute inspection from the eye of a sports- 
 man ; but he knew this was a sound one, and made the most 
 72 
 
"HAS HK /.ISIf/O.Y ENOl'C.H, THINK YE, SIR?" 
 
Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 of it. Clothed and hooded, littered to the hocks, and 
 sheeted to the tail, there was yet something about his general 
 appearance that fascinated Mr. Sawyer at once. Job saw 
 the spell was working, and abstained from disturbing it. 
 As far as could be seen, the animal was a long, low, well- 
 bred-looking roan, with short flat legs, large clean hocks, 
 and swelling muscular thighs. His supple skin threw off 
 a bloom, as if he was in first-rate condition ; and when, 
 laying his ears back and biting the manger, he lifted a fore- 
 leg, as it were, to expostulate with his visitors, the hoof was 
 round, open, and well-developed, as blue, and to all appear- 
 ance as hard, as a flint. 
 
 * Has he fashion enough, think ye, sir ? ' asked Job, at 
 length, breaking the silence. * Strip him, Barney,' he 
 added, taking the straw from his mouth. 
 
 The roan winced, and stamped, and whisked his tail, 
 and set his back up during the process ; but when it was 
 concluded, Mr. Sawyer could not but confess to himself, that 
 if he was only as good as he looked, he would do. 
 
 * Feel his legs, Mr. Sawyer ! ' observed the dealer, 
 turning away to conceal the triumph that would ooze out. 
 1 There 's some legs there 's some hocks and thighs ! Talk 
 of loins, and look where his tail 's set on. I never saw such 
 manners in the hunting-field. Six-year-old not a speck 
 or blemish ; bold as a bull, and gentle as a lady ; he can go 
 as fast as you can clap your hands, and stay till the middle 
 of the week after next jump a town, too, and never turn 
 his head from the place you put him at. As handy as a 
 
 73 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 fiddle, as neat as a pink, and worth all the money to carry 
 in your eye when you go out to buy hunters. But what 's 
 the use of talking about it to a judge like you ? Lay your 
 leg over him only just lay your leg over him, Mr. Sawyer. 
 I don't want you to buy him ! but get on him and feel his 
 action, just as a favour to me.' 
 
 Our friend had made up his mind he would do so from 
 the first. There was no mistaking the appearance of the 
 animal ; so good was it, that he had but two misgivings some 
 rank unsoundness, to account for its being there, or so high 
 a price as to be beyond his means ; for Mr. Sawyer was 
 too fond of the sport to give a sum that he could not replace 
 for so perishable an article as a hunter. 
 
 He was no mean equestrian, our friend, and quite at 
 home on a strange horse. As he drew the curb -rein gently 
 through his fingers, the roan dropped his long, lean head, 
 and champed the bit playfully, tossing a speck of froth back 
 on his rider's boots. 
 
 ' You Ve got a mouth, at any rate,' quoth Mr. Sawyer, 
 and trotted him gently down the hard road, the animal 
 stepping freely and gaily under him, full of life and spirits. 
 The customer liked his mount, and couldn't help showing 
 it. ' May I lark him ? ' said he, pulling up after a short 
 canter to and fro on the turf by the wayside, during 
 which Job Sloper had been exercising his mental arith- 
 metic in what we may term a sum of problematical 
 addition. 
 
 ' Take him into the close, sir,' was the generous reply ; 
 74 
 
{Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 * put him at anything you like. If you can get him into 
 one of these fences, I '11 give him to you ! ' 
 
 So Mr. Sawyer sat down to jump a low hedge and ditch, 
 then stood up, and caught hold of the roan's head, and 
 sent him a cracker through the adjoining plough, and across 
 a larger fence into a pasture, and back again over a fair 
 flight of rails, and lost his flat shooting-hat, and rucked his 
 plaid trousers up to his knees ; and Sloper marked his 
 kindling eye and glowing cheek, and knew that he had 
 landed him. 
 
 ' Walk him about for ten minutes before you do him 
 over/ said that worthy to Barney, as Mr. Sawyer dis- 
 mounted and the latter brought him his hat. ' And now, 
 sir/ added the hospitable dealer, ' you can't go away with- 
 out tasting my cheese the same you liked last time, you 
 know. Walk in, sir ; this way, and mind the step, if you 
 please.' So speaking, Mr. Sloper ushered his guest into 
 a neat little parlour with a strong odour of preserved tobacco- 
 smoke, where a clean cloth set off a nice luncheon of bread 
 and cheese, flanked by a foaming jug of strong ale and a 
 decanter of oily-brown sherry. 
 
 And herein the dealer showed his knowledge of human 
 nature, and his discrimination in the different character- 
 istics of the species. Had his guest been some generous 
 scion of the aristocracy, with more money than nerves, he 
 would have primed him first, and put him up to ride after- 
 wards. But he knew his man. He was well aware that 
 Mr. Sawyer required no stimulant to make him jump, but 
 
 75 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 a strong one to induce him to part with his money ; so he 
 proposed the luncheon after he was satisfied that his customer 
 was pleased with his mount. 
 
 Neither of them touched on business during the meal, 
 the conversation consisting chiefly of the runs that had 
 lately taken place in the Old Country, with many an inferred 
 compliment to the good riding of the possible purchaser. 
 Then Mr. Sawyer produced the Laranagas and offered one 
 to Job, who bit it, and wet it, and smoked it, as men do 
 who are more used to clay pipes, and then they went back 
 to the stable to see the roan done up. 
 
 The gallop and the ale were working in Mr. Sawyer's 
 brain, but he didn't see his way into the roan at a hundred ; 
 so he obstinately held his tongue. The dealer was obliged 
 to break the ice. 
 
 * I 'd take it very friendly of you, sir, if you 'd give me 
 your honest opinion of that horse/ said he, waving the 
 Laranaga towards the animal. ' I fancy he 's too good for 
 our country ; and I Ve a brother-in-law down in Rutland 
 as wants to have him very bad. He 's just the cut, so he 
 says, for these Melton gents ; and he 's a good judge, is my 
 brother-in-law, and a pretty rider to boot. He 'd give me 
 any price too ; but then, you know, sir, askin' your pardon, 
 it isn't always ready money between relations ; and that 
 cuts the other way again, as a man may say. What do you 
 think, Mr. Sawyer ? ' 
 
 ' I '11 find out what he wants for him, at any rate,' thought 
 the customer. * What 's his figure ? J was the abrupt rejoinder. 
 
{Major Whyte ^Melville 
 
 Mr. Sloper hesitated. ' A hundred and ' eighty ', he 
 
 was going to say ; but seeing his customer's eye resting on 
 the roan's back ribs a point in which the horse was some- 
 what deficient he dropped at once to seventy, and re- 
 gretted it the next moment when he caught the expression 
 of the listener's face. 
 
 ' It isn't even money,' answered Mr. Sawyer, without, 
 however, making the same sort of face he had done several 
 times before, when he had refused to give double the sum 
 at which he had eventually purchased. * I should say you 
 might get a hundred and twenty for him down there, if 
 you 'd luck. But it 's a great risk a great risk and a long 
 distance ; and perhaps have him sent back to you in the 
 spring. If I wanted a horse, I 'd give you a hundred for 
 him, though he isn't exactly my sort. A hundred ! I '11 
 tell you what, Sloper, I '11 be hanged if I won't chance it. 
 I '11 give you a hundred guineas come ! Money down and 
 no questions asked.' 
 
 ' I can't warrant him sound,' answered Mr. Sloper ; 
 ' and I 'd rather you had him than anybody. But it 's 
 childish talking of a hundred guineas and that horse on 
 the same afternoon. However, I thank you kindly all the 
 same, Mr. Sawyer. Barney ! shut the box up. Come in, 
 sir, and have one glass of sherry before you start. The 
 evenings get chill at this time of year, and that 's old sherry, 
 and won't hurt you no more than milk. He is a nice horse, 
 Mr. Sawyer, I think a very nice horse, and I 'm glad 
 you 're pleased with him.' 
 
 77 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 So they returned into the little parlour, and stirred up 
 the fire, and finished the bottle of old sherry ; nor is it 
 necessary to remark that with the concluding glass of that 
 generous fluid the roan became the property of John 
 Standish Sawyer, under the following somewhat compli- 
 cated agreement : That he was to give an immediate cheque 
 for a hundred and forty pounds, and ten pounds at the 
 end of the season ; which latter donation was to be in- 
 creased to twenty if he should sell him for anything over 
 two hundred a contingency which the dealer was pleased 
 to observe amounted to what he called ' a moral.' 
 
 The new owner went to look at him once more in the 
 stable, and thought him the nicest horse he ever saw in his 
 life. The walk home, too, was delightful, till the sherry 
 had evaporated, when it became rather tedious ; and at 
 dinner-time Mr. Sawyer was naturally less hungry than 
 thirsty. All the evening, however, he congratulated him- 
 self on having done a good day's work. All night, too, he 
 dreamed of the roan ; and on waking resolved to call him 
 ' Hotspur/ 
 
 When the horse came home next day he certainly looked 
 rather smaller than his new owner had fancied. Old Isaac, 
 too, growled out his untoward opinion that he * looked a 
 sort as would work very light* But then Isaac always 
 grumbled it was the old groom's way of enjoying himself. 
 
TAI.I.V-HO !' SHOUTS OUR FRIEND JACK. 
 
{Major Whyte Melville 
 
 EXTRACT FROM 'HOLMBY HOUSE' 
 
 We can fancy ourselves astride of a good horse by the 
 side of Jack Woodcock as he views the fox away from the 
 lower corner of the gorse. What a long, wiry, tough-looking 
 animal it is, with a white tag to that handsome brush, which, 
 as he steals across the neighbouring pasture, he whisks in 
 derision, as much as to say, ' Gallop away, my fine fellows ! 
 according to your wont ; hurry and bustle, and jump and 
 splutter ! The harder you ride the better for me ! ' 
 
 ' Tally-ho ! ' shouts our friend Jack, erect in his stirrups. 
 ' Twang ' goes Charles Payne's horn from the middle of 
 the gorse. Already the owner of the covert is coming best 
 pace round the corner. Trust him not to lose his start, 
 and to make good use of it when he has got it. In twos and 
 threes the hounds are pouring through the boundary fence ; 
 ten or twelve couple are settling to the scent ; the rest, with 
 ears erect, are flying to the cry. Now they stoop together 
 with collective energy, and drive along over the grass in all 
 the mute ecstasy of pace. A burst such as this is pastime 
 for the gods ! 
 
 It sobers our imaginary steed, our pen-and-ink Pegasus ; 
 he drops quietly to his bridle, and a turn in our favour 
 enables us to pull him into a trot, and to look about us. 
 Seven or eight men are in the same field with the hounds ; 
 half a dozen stiff fences and a couple of miles of grass have 
 shaken off the larger portion of the field, but they are even 
 now coming through a bridle-gate not far distant in the rear, 
 
 79 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 and should a check unfortunately occur at this critical 
 moment, they will be up in plenty of time to do lots of 
 mischief still. But no ; the pack is streaming on. * For- 
 ward/ says Charles Payne, cramming his horn into its 
 case, and gathering his horse for an ' oxer.' ' Forward/ 
 adds Mr. Cust, cracking the far-rail, as he swings over the 
 obstacle in his stride. * Line ! ' shouts a Meltonian at an 
 unfortunate aspirant, whose horse is swerving to the thickest 
 place in the fence. ' Serve him right/ remarks the Mel- 
 tonian to himself, landing safely in the next field, while the 
 aspirant rolls headlong to the earth. Jack Woodcock, with 
 an amused smile, slips quietly by to the front. Three or 
 four other men, one in a black coat, enter the field at differ- 
 ent points ; that quiet gentleman over, not through the 
 gate. A loose horse with streaming reins gallops wildly 
 after the chase ; and the hounds, with a burning scent, are 
 pointing straight for Naseby Field. 
 
 And now every man hugs his trusty hunter by the head, 
 and spares his energies as much as possible ere he encounters 
 the yielding soil of that classic ground. Many a tired 
 horse has Naseby Field to answer for, from the thundering 
 battle-steeds of the Cavaliers, led by hot Prince Rupert, to 
 the panting thoroughbreds of Jersey and Alix, and Cooke 
 and Knightley, and the heroes of fifty years ago, who urged 
 the mimic war over that eventful plain. Ay, down to our 
 times when, although the plough has passed over its marshy 
 surface, and draining and high-farming have given secure 
 foothold to man and beast, many a sobbing steed and de- 
 80 
 

 
 COME rp, HORSE!' MUTTERS CHARLES IN REPLY. 
 
Jlfajor Whyte ^Melville 
 
 jected rider can still bear witness to the exhaustive pro- 
 perties of that black adhesive soil, many a dirty coat and 
 stationary hunter rues the noble impulse that would follow 
 the fleeting pack over such a country as this after a three- 
 days' rain. 
 
 Some of them begin to hope he may have entered the 
 thick holding covert of Naseby Thorns, and that the 
 conclusion of so rapid a burst may save their own 
 and their horses' credit. But a countryman on the 
 opposite hill is holloaing as if his throat must crack. Our 
 fox is forward still ; he has not a notion of entering the 
 covert, warmed as he is by the merry pace of the last 
 mile or so. 
 
 * No occasion to lift them, Charles/ observes Mr. Villiers, 
 as he lends an ear to the far-off countryman, and points 
 to the streaming pack wheeling with every turn of the scent, 
 like pigeons on the wing. 
 
 * Couldn't get near enough if there was. Come up, 
 horse ! ' mutters Charles in reply, as he bores through a 
 black close-cut hedge, sinking up to the hocks on the taking 
 off side. There is no chance of a check now ; and as the 
 professed Jester of the Hunt remarks, * If he don't stop 
 at Tally-ho, he may go on to Texas ! ' 
 
 The field, that enterprising body whose self-depend- 
 ence is so touchingly illustrated at every sign-post, are 
 already somewhat hopelessly behindhand and considerably 
 puzzled by the coincidence of two safe practicable lanes, 
 leading equally in the direction of the line of chase. It 
 F 81 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 divides accordingly into two hurrying columns, neither of 
 which will in all probability see a hound again to-day. 
 
 So * on we go again/ leaving Tally-ho Gorse to the left, 
 and up the hill for Hazelbeech, threading the fine old trees 
 that tower upon its heights, and pointing ever onwards 
 for the wide grassy vale of Cottesbrooke, spread out like 
 a panorama before us, shut in by wooded hills, dotted with 
 fine old standard trees, and smiling beauteous and peaceful 
 in the chequered light of a February sun. 
 
 Thank Heaven ! a check at last. Pegasus was begin- 
 ning to want it sadly. He struck that top-rail uncommonly 
 hard, and has dropped his hind-legs in the last two conse- 
 cutive ditches. There are still some half-dozen men with 
 the hounds, but their horses look as if they had had nearly 
 enough, and we are inclined to believe one or two of the 
 riders are beginning to wish it was over. The country for 
 miles back is dotted with equestrians of every rank and 
 every hue. A child on a pony has turned, not headed ', the 
 fox. Charles Payne opines he cannot have entered the gorse 
 with so * warm a jacket/ as he phrases it ; so he holds his 
 hounds towards the plantations on his right. Fairplay 
 whisks her stern about her sides, and drops a note or two 
 to her comrades as they gather to the line. 
 
 ' Ye-geote, old lady ! ' says Charles, in the inexplicable 
 language of a huntsman. 
 
 ' She 's always right, that old bitch/ remarks Mr. Villiers, 
 who has just turned Olympian's head for an instant to 
 the wind. 
 82 
 
3\fajor Whyte ^Melville 
 
 ' Twang ' goes the horn once more, and away score the 
 hounds through ' Pursar's Hills/ as if they were fresh out 
 of the kennel, and over the wide grassy pastures below, 
 and up the opposite rise, with untiring energy, leaving the 
 foremost horseman toiling a field and a half behind them, 
 till a pause and momentary hover in the Welford Road 
 enables Pegasus and his comrades to reach them once 
 more. 
 
 It is labour and sorrow now, yet is it a sweet and joyous 
 pain. Still, we can hardly call that enjoyment which we 
 wish was over ; and most devoutly now do we all hope 
 that we may soon kill this gallant fox, before he kills 
 our gallant horses. The best blood of Newmarket is but 
 mortal, after all ; and Pegasus is by this time going 
 most unreservedly on his own shoulders and his rider's 
 hands. 
 
 Down the hill between Creaton and Holywell we make 
 a tolerable fight ; but though Olympian clears the brook 
 at the bottom, the rest of us flounder through. We have no 
 false pride now, and do not any of us turn up our noses at 
 gates or gaps, or other friendly egress. Everything is com- 
 parative. A country doctor on his fresh hack, meeting us 
 at this period, opines we are going quite slow, but we know 
 better ; so does Pegasus, so does old Fairplay, so does 
 the fox. 
 
 He is not travelling so straight now. Up and down 
 yonder hedgerow the pack turn like harriers, and we 
 think we must be very near him. But see ! the crows 
 
 83 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 are stooping yonder over a low black object in the 
 distance. 'Tis the hunted fox, pointing straight for the 
 coverts of Althorpe. He will never reach them, for the 
 hounds are now close upon his track, and they run into 
 him in the large grass field by Holmby House under the 
 old oak tree. 
 
 84 
 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MR. BROMLEY-DAVENPORT 
 
 MR. WILLIAM BROMLEY-DAVENPORT of Capes- 
 thorne in the county of Cheshire was born in 1821, 
 was educated at Eton and Christ Church, and was 
 a Tory, a Member of Parliament, a Colonel of Yeomanry, an 
 accomplished sportsman, and a witty writer and speaker. 
 There was no branch of field sports in which he was not 
 thoroughly proficient, and he could write about them like 
 few other people. Just before he died in 1884 he wrote 
 the last lines of a volume entitled ' Sport,' illustrated 
 by General Hope-Crealocke, which is doubtless familiar 
 to many who read these pages. It contains four papers : 
 upon Fox-hunting, salmon-fishing, deer-stalking, and covert- 
 shooting respectively ; each one of them a charming little 
 descriptive essay on its own subject, with much good advice 
 which every young sportsman will do well to read and 
 follow. 
 
 Mr. Bromley-Davenport was, however, something more 
 than a sporting writer. He not only thoroughly understood 
 the values of field sports, but he also had a shrewd apprecia- 
 tion of the signs and portents of the age in which he lived. 
 What Disraeli called ' the miserable philosophy of the day 
 which ascribes everything to " the spirit of the age " ' 
 
 85 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 caused him much uneasiness. He had no use for the 
 schemer and the doctrinaire. He saw that some of these 
 gentlemen were taking themselves too seriously, and feared 
 * lest in grasping after the shadow of national perfection 
 we only attain the reality of a saturnalia of prigs an 
 apotheosis of claptrap/ What would he have had to say 
 about the League of Nations ? This point of view of life 
 is expressed in the pages of * Sport* particularly in the paper 
 on Fox-hunting. This paper is indeed a kind of prose epi- 
 logue to ' The Dream of the Old Meltonian ' and to * Lowesby 
 Hall.' Fox-hunting, he says, is the national sport, because 
 it is a manifestation of ' the manly predilection inherent in 
 our Anglo-Saxon nature for a sport into which the element 
 of danger conspicuously enters/ and because ' all classes 
 enjoy it.' To the accomplished rider to Hounds it is an 
 anodyne for all kinds of trouble. * There is a burning 
 scent, a good fox, a good country ; he is on a good horse, 
 and has got a good start ; then for the next twenty or thirty 
 minutes (Elysium on earth can scarcely ever last longer) 
 he absorbs as much happiness into his mental and physical 
 organisation as human nature is capable of containing at 
 one time . . . that very morning, perchance, he was full 
 of care, worried by letters from lawyers and stewards, an- 
 nouncements of farms thrown upon his hands ; and, if an 
 M.P., of a certain contest at the coming election. Where 
 are all these now ? Ask of the winds ! They are vanished. 
 His whole system is steeped in delight ; there is not space 
 in it for the absorption of another sensation. Talk of 
 86 
 
Jlfr. Bromley-Davenport 
 
 opium ? Of hashish ? They cannot supply such a volup- 
 tuous entrancement as a run like this.' 
 
 A run like this is almost the same run, with names of 
 places left out, that he describes in * The Dream of the 
 Old Meltonian.' It is not too much to say that this is the 
 best imaginary run which the Fox-hunting verse of the last 
 century has given to us. Had it been set to music and to 
 an air that would have tickled the ear, it might well have 
 been the most popular hunting-song of the day. Read it 
 aloud, and you will find that the lilt of the metre is like the 
 gallop of a horse. A sporting recitation at a convivial 
 gathering is apt to be dangerous, and conjures up in the 
 memory such masterpieces as ' Kissing Cup's Race.' But 
 we have heard Mr. Bromley-Davenport's stanzas roll trip- 
 pingly off the tongue and hold spell-bound the attention of 
 such a critical audience as a Bullingdon dinner-party, who 
 would surely have pelted with bread, or whatever came 
 handy, any one who tried to charm them with c Kissing 
 Cup's Race.' 
 
 * Lowesby Hall ' was pronounced by Major Whyte 
 Melville to be the best parody in the English language. 
 If parodies are to be allowed at all, this must surely be one 
 of them. It is free from offence, and does not detract 
 from the dignity of the original. It is not mere parody 
 for the sake of parody ; rather does Mr. Bromley-Daven- 
 port make use of Lord Tennyson's vehicle for the sake of 
 telling his own story and uttering his own prophecy, and 
 in the doing of it occasionally yields to the temptation to 
 
 87 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 sharpen his brains on his model, and indulges for the 
 moment in sheer irreverent parody. * Lowesby Hall ' 
 sparkles with wit, is studded with epigram, and contains 
 some remarkable prophecies. Lord Tennyson's own pro- 
 phecy about airships is startling : 
 
 1 For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, 
 Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; 
 
 Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, 
 Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; 
 
 Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew 
 From the nations* airy navies grappling in the central blue.' 
 
 Now look at Mr. Bromley-Davenport's picture of the 
 condition of England when the Whigs and the prigs whom 
 he hated so cordially had completed their handiwork ; and 
 see that as a prophet he is not far behind his model, even 
 though Fox-hunting is not yet abolished by an Order in 
 Council. Such objection to field sports, particularly to Fox- 
 hunting, as there may have been was probably political in 
 part and in part humanitarian. To-day it has no platform. 
 In truth, it never had a very strong one. No humanitarian 
 who is squeamish about field sports can expect a hearing 
 until he has set forth his views on the condition of such 
 countries as Russia and Ireland. There may have been 
 at one time a sort of abstract political animosity to the 
 whole idea of the Chase on the part of the heresy hunter 
 with a mind tinctured by class feeling. Fox-hunting might 
 appear to such a one to be a rudiment of a haughty and 
 
J\fr. ^Bromley-Davenport 
 
 rapacious feudalism. But although red coats, and hunting- 
 horns, and liveried servants, and meets of the Foxhounds 
 within the drawbridge of the ducal castle or the courtyard 
 of the baronial hall give some colour to this picture, the 
 Sport of our Ancestors is in fact and in practice entirely 
 national. If it were based upon exclusiveness it would 
 have deservedly perished long ago. Those who are re- 
 sponsible for the management of Fox-hunting cannot do 
 better than bear in mind this great truth. A substantial 
 subscription is necessary nowadays to pay the M.F.H. a 
 sufficient salary to enable him to carry on. But a high 
 tariff, difficult as it is to avoid, carries with it the seed of 
 danger if it be too rigidly enforced. And the danger is 
 that Fox-hunting may tend to become the exclusive pleasure 
 of the well-to-do. Now there is one class of man whom 
 on every count it is most undesirable to exclude from the 
 hunting-field. And that is the professional or business 
 man from the country town, be he solicitor, wine-merchant, 
 doctor, or even parson. All these men in the exercise of 
 their various callings see among their clients many sorts and 
 conditions of men and women, and, if they are Fox-hunters, 
 carry with them on their daily round the atmosphere of 
 the sport into sundry and divers places, and indirectly 
 contribute enormously to its popularity. Some of them 
 may even hunt only once a fortnight, or perhaps less, but 
 it will be a bad day for Fox-hunting if ever they and their 
 kind have to give it up altogether under pressure from 
 the tax-gatherer of the hunt. There is no exclusiveness 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 so odious or so vulgar as the exclusiveness which is avowedly 
 based upon nothing except a cash consideration. The 
 practice of capping may possibly be defended on grounds 
 of convenience or utility. But the spectacle of gentlemen 
 dropping half-crowns into a hat looks more like the 
 preliminaries to a sweepstake on board a liner than the 
 beginning of a day's hunting. The thing is sordid and 
 out of the picture, besides being a great nuisance. Part 
 of the delight of Fox-hunting is to steep the senses in 
 forgetfulness of everything to do with finance. Nobody 
 understood all this better than Mr. Bromley-Davenport. 
 He was never tired of pointing out the equality between 
 all the classes that exists in the hunting-field, and has rightly 
 diagnosed this equality as being the principal guarantee 
 for the continuance of the Sport of our Ancestors. But once 
 the Fox had broken covert, and the Hounds had settled to him, 
 he himself had very few if any equals in the knack of going 
 the shortest way. The rest of the field he speaks of as 
 * the blundering mass ' from whom in his dream he extri- 
 cates himself by jumping in and out of the turnpike road ; 
 and although no class privilege hindered any one from 
 being first over the fences, his own dash and dexterity 
 secured to the author the position of leader. He is not 
 ashamed to exult in his pride of place, and to admit the 
 satisfaction of cutting down all his friends save the three 
 who got over the Whissendine without a fall. Equality is 
 now at a discount : it disappears, as always, in the presence 
 of individual character and skill. 
 90 
 
. TSromley-Davenport 
 
 There is no humbug about * The Dream of the Old 
 Meltonian.' It connotes the attitude of the country gentle- 
 men to the House of Commons when it was * the best club 
 in London.' There was, no doubt, a hereditary obligation 
 to represent the county in Parliament, but of course the 
 whole thing was a bore, and every one who knew what 
 was good was naturally thinking about Fox-hunting. So 
 the prosiness of the Member for Boreham sends the Fox- 
 hunter to sleep, and his dream brings him the ecstasy of 
 the hunting-field, which he sets before us with the pen and 
 the imagination of the artist and the enthusiast. 
 
 ' Lowesby Hall ' is different from * The Dream of the 
 Old Meltonian/ Into this fine parody, always with the 
 tongue in the cheek, he introduces one after another of 
 his pet aversions money - lenders, pacifists, Cobdenites, 
 plough countries, and plain women and chastises them 
 publicly. It is a political satire from the point of 
 view of a Tory. Lord Tennyson seems to have written 
 ' Locksley Hall ' in serious vein from the point of view of 
 the International. Not so Mr. Bromley-Davenport. One 
 feels pretty sure that if he and his friends were here to- 
 day they would not have approved of the fusion of either 
 the nations of Europe or the political parties of England. 
 And then he finds the point in Fox-hunting where the 
 ridiculous meets the sublime, and discovers that it is 
 
 ' Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! I J m an idiot for my 
 
 pains ; 
 Nature made for every sportsman an inferior set of brains/ 
 
 91 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 This line has been pronounced by more than one good 
 judge to be the best in the whole field of parody. It is a 
 fine piece of satire with a double edge. It gently rallies that 
 type that consists of nothing but more or less glorified 
 Tony Lumpkins ; but more subtly still does it express 
 what the prig and the intellectual were really thinking about 
 the Fox-hunter, and would have said if they had dared. 
 Here is the original : 
 
 * Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! Woman's pleasure, 
 
 woman's pain, 
 
 Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower 
 brain.' 
 
 With both pieces open before one, it is difficult not to 
 go on comparing the two. But they must be read through 
 from beginning to end to be appreciated. Perhaps those 
 who think it sacrilege to make fun of the really grand music 
 of the then Poet Laureate had better not make the experi- 
 ment. On the other hand, it is not impossible to keep the 
 mind in water-tight compartments, and at one moment 
 to revel in the poetry and rhythm of Lord Tennyson 
 and at another to be tickled by the audacity and clever- 
 ness of Mr. Bromley-Davenport. What is it that invites 
 parody ? Classic or claptrap ? Claptrap certainly deserves 
 it. But ' Locksley Hall ' is a classic, and c Lowesby Hall ' 
 is not its only imitation. ' The Lay of the Lovelorn ' in 
 the * Eon Gaultier Ballads, written by Sir Theodore Martin 
 and Professor William Aytoun, has some shrewd if rather 
 cheap couplets. But it has not the ease and the breadth 
 92 
 
Jlfr. ^Bromley-Davenport 
 
 of * Lowesby Hall/ which we have included in this collec- 
 tion of sporting literature because it is worth preserving, 
 and because an acquaintance with it will add greatly to the 
 humours of the hunting-field. A young lady once went 
 out hunting by train, and looked forward to returning in the 
 same conveyance. But it was not to be. A long point made 
 it necessary to ride home some sixteen or seventeen miles ; 
 the saddle did not get any softer, but some of the long 
 weary miles were made to seem short and less tiring by 
 the fact that her companion was able to recite to her ' The 
 Dream of an Old Meltonian ' and * Lowesby Hall/ 
 
 THE DREAM OF AN OLD MELTONIAN 
 
 I am old, I am old, and my eyes are grown weaker, 
 
 My beard is as white as the foam on the sea, 
 Yet pass me the bottle, and fill me a beaker, 
 
 A bright brimming toast in a bumper for me. 
 Back, back through long vistas of years I am wafted, 
 
 But the glow at my heart 's undiminished in force, 
 Deep, deep in that heart has fond memory engrafted 
 
 Those quick thirty minutes from Ranksboro' Gorse. 
 
 What is time ? the effluxion of life Zoophitic 
 
 In dreary pursuit of position or gain. 
 What is life ? The absorption of vapours mephitic, 
 
 And the bursting of sunlight on senses and brain ! 
 
 93 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Such a life have I lived though so speedily over, 
 Condensing the joys of a century's course, 
 
 From the find till we eat him near Woodwellhead Cover, 
 In thirty bright minutes from Ranksboro' Gorse. 
 
 Last night in St. Stephen's so wearily sitting 
 
 (The member for Boreham sustained the debate), 
 Some pitying spirit that round me was flitting 
 
 Vouchsafed a sweet vision my pains to abate. 
 The Mace, and the Speaker, and House disappearing, 
 
 The leather-clad bench is a thorough-bred horse ; 
 'Tis the whimpering cry of the foxhound I 'm hearing, 
 
 And my ' seat ' is a pig-skin at Ranksboro' Gorse. 
 
 He 's away ! I can hear the identical holloa ! 
 
 I can feel my young thorough-bred strain down the ride, 
 I can hear the dull thunder of hundreds that follow, 
 
 I can see my old comrades in life by my side. 
 Do I dream ? all around me I see the dead riding, 
 
 And voices long silent re-echo with glee ; 
 I can hear the far wail of the Master's vain chiding, 
 
 As vain as the Norseman's reproof to the sea. 
 
 Vain indeed ! for the bitches are racing before us 
 
 Not a nose to the earth: not a stern in the air ; 
 And we know by the notes of that modified chorus 
 
 How straight we must ride if we wish to be there ! 
 With a crash o'er the turnpike, and onward I 'm sailing, 
 
 Released from the throes of the blundering mass, 
 Which dispersed right and left as I topped the high railing, 
 
 And shape my own course o'er the billowy grass. 
 
 94 
 
"WELL SAVED! WE ARE OVER! 
 
. TSromley-Davenport 
 
 Select is the circle in which I am moving, 
 
 Yet open and free the admission to all ; 
 Still, still more select is that company proving, 
 
 Weeded out by the funker and thinned by the fall ; 
 Yet here all are equal no class legislation, 
 
 No privilege hinders, no family pride : 
 In the * image of war ' show the pluck of the nation ; 
 
 Ride, ancient patrician ! democracy, ride ! 
 
 Oh ! gently, my young one ; the fence we are nearing 
 
 Is leaning towards us 'tis hairy and black, 
 The binders are strong, and necessitate clearing, 
 
 Or the wide ditch beyond will find room for your back. 
 Well saved ! We are over ! now far down the pastures 
 
 Of Ashwell the willows betoken the line 
 Of the dull-flowing stream of historic disasters ; 
 
 We must face, my bold young one, the dread Whissendine ! 
 
 No shallow-dug pan with a hurdle to screen it, 
 
 That cock-tail imposture the steeple chase brook ; 
 But the steep broken banks tell us plain, if we mean it, 
 
 The less we shall like it the longer we look. 
 Then steady, my young one, my place I 've selected, 
 
 Above the dwarf willow 'tis sound I '11 be bail, 
 With your muscular quarters beneath you collected, 
 
 Prepare for a rush like the ' limited mail.' 
 
 Oh ! now let me know the full worth of your breeding, 
 
 Brave son of Belzoni, be true to your sires, 
 Sustain old traditions remember you 're leading 
 
 The cream of the cream in the shire of the shires ! 
 
 95 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 With a quick shortened stride as the distance you measure, 
 With a crack of the nostril and cock of the ear, 
 
 And a rocketing bound, and we 're over, my treasure, 
 Twice nine feet of water, and landed all clear ! 
 
 What ! four of us only ? Are these the survivors 
 
 Of all that rode gaily from Ranksboro's ridge ? 
 I hear the faint splash of a few hardy divers, 
 
 The rest are in hopeless research of a bridge ; 
 Vae Victis ! the way of the world and the winners ! 
 
 Do we ne'er ride away from a friend in distress ? 
 Alas ! we are anti-Samaritan sinners, 
 
 And streaming past Stapleford, onward we press. 
 
 Ah ! don't they mean mischief, the merciless ladies ? 
 
 What fox can escape such implacable foes ? 
 Of the sex cruel slaughter for ever the trade is, 
 
 Whether human or animal YONDER he goes ! 
 Never more for the woodland ! his purpose has failed him, 
 
 Though to gain the old shelter he gallantly tries ; 
 In vain the last double, for Jezebel 's nailed him ! 
 
 Whoohoop ! in the open the veteran dies ! 
 
 Yes, four of us only ! but is it a vision ? 
 
 Dear lost ones, how came ye with mortals to mix ? 
 Methought that ye hunted the pastures Elysian, 
 
 And between us there rolled the unjumpable Styx ! 
 Stay, stay but a moment ! the grass fields are fading, 
 
 And heavy obscurity palsies my brain : 
 
 Through what country, what ploughs, and what sloughs 
 am I wading ? 
 
 Alas ! 'tis the member for Boreham again ! 
 
 9 6 
 
. 'Bromley-Davenport 
 
 Oh, glory of youth ! consolation of age ! 
 
 Sublimest of ecstasies under the sun ; 
 Though the veteran may linger too long on the stage, 
 
 Yet he '11 drink a last toast to a fox-hunting run. 
 And oh ! young descendants of ancient top-sawyers ! 
 
 By your lives to the world their example enforce ; 
 Whether landlords, or parsons, or statesmen, or lawyers, 
 
 Ride straight as they rode it from Ranksboro' Gorse. 
 
 Though a rough-riding world may bespatter your breeches, 
 
 Though sorrow may cross you, or slander revile, 
 Though you plunge overhead in misfortune's blind ditches, 
 
 Shun the gap of deception, the hand-gate of guile : 
 Oh, avoid them ! for there, see the crowd is contending, 
 
 Ignoble the object ill-mannered the throng ; 
 Shun the miry lane, falsehood, with turns never ending, 
 
 Ride straight for truth's timber, no matter how strong. 
 
 I '11 pound you safe over ! sit steady and quiet ; 
 
 Along the sound headland of honesty steer ; 
 Beware of false holloas and juvenile riot, 
 
 Though the oxer of duty be wide, never fear ! 
 And when the run 's over of earthly existence, 
 
 And you get safe to ground, you will fear no remorse, 
 If you ride it no matter what line or what distance 
 
 As straight as your fathers from Ranksboro' Gorse. 
 
 97 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 LOWESBY HALL 
 
 Gilmour, leave me here a little, and when John of Gaunt is drawn, 
 If you find the raw material, let Jack Morgan blow his horn. 
 
 'Tis the place, and all around me, as of old, the magpies call, 
 Boding evil to the Lord, and flying over Lowesby Hall. 
 
 Lowesby Hall that in the distance overlooks the grassy plains, 
 Swamped from Twyford to the Coplow by the everlasting rains. 
 
 Many a day from yonder spinney in November moist and chill 
 Have I watched the wily animal sneak slowly up the hill. 
 
 Many a night I Ve watched the vapours of my last remaining weed, 
 When my spurs have ceased to animate my apathetic steed. 
 
 Here in search of sport I Ve wandered, nourishing a verdant 
 
 youth 
 With the fairy tales of gallops ancient runs devoid of truth. 
 
 When I dip't into my prospects far as ever I could get, 
 And felt the wild, delirious joy of getting into debt. 
 
 In the spring the pink no longer clothes the sad Meltonian's breast, 
 In the spring his stumped-up horses are at least allowed a rest. 
 
 In the spring too he must settle for the cursed corn and hay, 
 In the spring the dire conviction comes upon him he must pay. 
 
. Bromley -Davenport 
 
 Then my tradesmen all about my doors most obstinately clung, 
 And their eyes on all my movements with a grave observance hung. 
 
 So I said, * My faithful tailor, do a bit of stiff for me, 
 
 Trust me yet my uncle 's shaky all his coin shall flow to thee.' 
 
 On his greasy cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, 
 As I 've seen the nimble lamplighter turn on the gas at night. 
 
 And he said, ' I 'm proud to serve thee, sir, as any gent in town, 
 If so shaky be thine uncle, thou shalt have the money down.' 
 
 Credit seized the glass of time and dribbled out the golden sand, 
 Every day became more valueless my frequent note of hand. 
 
 Health revived my hardy uncle ; now, alas ! he coughed no more, 
 And the day of his decease appeared more distant than before. 
 
 Many a morning have I waited with my hopes upon the rack, 
 Vainly waited for the footman and a letter sealed with black. 
 
 Oh, my tailor ! shallow-hearted ! oh, my tailor, mine no more ! 
 Oh, the dreary, dreary Bond Street ! oh, the Strand's unhappy 
 shore ! 
 
 Is it well to use me thus, sir having known me, to decline 
 Any further cash advances with securities like mine ? 
 
 But it shall be thou shalt lower to the level of a dun, 
 Seeking custom with acrostics like the Moseses and Son. 
 
 As the tradesman, so the customer, and thou shalt measure clowns, 
 They shall pay thee for thy corduroys in ignominious browns. 
 
 99 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 I would practise oh, how gladly ! in the fulness of my hate, 
 All the slasher's best instructions on thine ugly dial-plate. 
 
 What is that which I could turn to ? Can a gentleman descend 
 To dig the gold which nature intended him to spend ? 
 
 Every ship is filled with footmen, and Australia overflows 
 With the Piccadilly porters and the butlers whom one knows. 
 
 I had been content to perish on the sandy Sussex shore 
 Where Militia men are marshalled to the Minie rifle's roar. 
 
 But the gentle voice of Cobden drowns the first invader's drum, 
 And the Frenchmen do but bluster, and Napoleon funks to come. 
 
 Can I but relive in fancy ? Can I view the past again ? 
 
 Hide me from my deep emotion oh, thou wonderful champagne ! 
 
 Make me feel the wild pulsation I have often felt before, 
 When my horse went on before me and my hack was at the 
 door. 
 
 Yearning for the large excitement that the coming sport would 
 
 yield, 
 And rejoicing in the cropper which I got the second field. 
 
 And at night along the highway, in the evening dark and chill, 
 I saw the lights of Melton from the top of Burton Hill. 
 100 
 
ON HIS GREASY CHEEK AND FOREHEAD CAME A COLOUR AND A LIGHT. 
 
. 'Bromley-Davenport. L I i-"0 % :' 
 
 Then my spirit rushed before me, and I felt the * thirty-four ' 
 Percolating through my system. Noble vintage ! Now no 
 more. 
 
 Brother thrusters ! Brother funkers ! You may well look rather 
 
 blue, 
 For the future that 's impending is a queerish one for you. 
 
 For I looked into its pages, and I read the book of fate, 
 And saw Fox-hunting abolished by an order from the State ; 
 
 Saw the heavens filled with guano, and the clouds at men's 
 
 command 
 Raining down unsavoury liquids for the benefit of land ; 
 
 Saw the airy navies earthward bear the planetary swell, 
 And the long projected railroad made from Halifax to H 1 ; 
 
 Saw the landlords yield their acres after centuries of wrongs, 
 Cotton lords turn country gentlemen in patriotic throngs ; 
 
 Queen, religion, State abandoned, and the flags of party furled 
 In the Government of Cobden, and the dotage of the world. 
 
 Then shall exiled common sense espouse some other country's 
 
 cause, 
 And the rogues shall thrive in England, bonneting the slumbering 
 
 laws. 
 
 101 
 
- ; ! ; : l 0"! I ..2-%.' Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Hark ! my merry comrades call me, and Jack Morgan blows his 
 
 horn, 
 I, to whom their foolish pastime is an object of my scorn. 
 
 Can a sight be more disgusting more absurd a paradox, 
 Than two hundred people riding at a miserable fox ? 
 
 Will his capture on the morrow any satisfaction bring ? 
 
 I am shamed thro' all my nature to have done so flat a thing. 
 
 Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! I 'm an idiot for my 
 
 pains ; 
 Nature made for every sportsman an inferior set of brains. 
 
 Here at last I '11 stay no longer, let me seek for some abode, 
 Deep in some provincial county far from rail or turnpike road. 
 
 There to break all links of habit, and to find a secret charm 
 In the mysteries of manuring and the produce of a farm. 
 
 To deplore the fall of barley, to admire the rise of peas, 
 Over flagons of October, giant mounds of bread and cheese. 
 
 Never company to dinner, never visitors from town, 
 
 Just the Parson and the Doctor (Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown). 
 
 Droops the heavy conversation to an after-dinner snort, 
 And articulation ceases with the sacred flask of port. 
 
 These, methinks, would be enjoyment more than at the festive 
 
 board, 
 Than the hunger-mocking, kickshaw-covered table of a lord. 
 
 102 
 
J\fr. Bromley-Davenport 
 
 Then my heart shall beat no longer with my passion's foolish 
 
 throbs, 
 I will wed some vulgar woman she will rear my race of snobs. 
 
 Double-jointed, mutton-fisted, they shall run but shall not ride, 
 Hunting with the York and Nasty or the harriers of Brookside. 
 
 Fool again ! the dream ! the fancy ! but I know my words are 
 
 stuff, 
 For I hold the swell provincial lower than the Melton muff. 
 
 I to hunt with fustian jackets, my remaining years to pass 
 With the refuse of protection in a land devoid of grass. 
 
 Tied to one perpetual woman, what to me were soil or clime, 
 I who never could endure the same for ten days at a time ? 
 
 I who hold it better to pursue the patriarchal plan 
 Than tamely to submit to a monopoly of man ? 
 
 Not in vain the distance beckons. What 's that skirting the hill 
 
 side ? 
 'Tis the fox ! I '11 bet a hundred ! forward ! forward ! let us 
 
 ride. 
 
 I 'm before them, and they d n me ; but no matter, go along ! 
 Better fifty yards before them than behind among the throng. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! was that an over ? What ! old Rambler ! is he 
 
 dead ? 
 What of that ? pick up the pieces ; he was mortal ! go ahead. 
 
 103 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Oh, Sir Richard, you may holloa ! but my spirit knows no bounds ; 
 Curse the scent, and hang the huntsman ; rot the master, d n the 
 hounds ! 
 
 Lost the fox ! 'Twas I that did it ! Oh, of course, I always do ; 
 Comes Sir Richard, black as thunder. I '11 evaporate adieu. 
 
 Plough the grass, erect wire fences, shoot the foxes, freeze and 
 
 snow ; 
 I can catch the train atJLeicester ; so to Euston Square I go. 
 
 104 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 BECKFORD 
 
 BECKFORD'S ' Thoughts upon Hunting ' was published 
 in 1781, and has a wider reputation than any other 
 work of its kind. The author was a Dorsetshire 
 squire, but not of the type of West Country squire depicted 
 by Fielding. He was well travelled and well read, and his 
 book is cultivated and amusing. A contemporary writer 
 says of him : ' Never had fox or hare the honour of being 
 chased to death by so accomplished a huntsman ; never 
 was a huntsman's dinner graced by such urbanity and wit. 
 He would bag a fox in Greek, find a hare in Latin, inspect 
 his kennels in Italian, and direct the economy of his stables 
 in excellent French/ 
 
 His treatise upon Fox-hunting marks the early years of 
 the increased pace that first became fashionable just after 
 the middle of the eighteenth century. Such men as Meynell, 
 Musters, and Smith-Barry were the pioneers of the new system 
 of finding the Fox in his kennel at eleven o'clock and making 
 him fly or die, instead of dragging up to him in the small 
 hours of the morning. Hounds were now bred for stout- 
 ness and speed. Beckford was in favour of a Hound of the 
 middle size. * I believe/ he says, * all animals of that de- 
 scription are strongest, and best able to endure fatigue. . . . 
 
 105 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Such hounds will not suffer themselves to be disgraced 
 in any country.' His remarks about the handling of Hounds 
 in the field are as fresh to-day as on the day they were 
 written. He liked to see the thing neatly and quickly 
 done, with the least possible expenditure of time and tissue. 
 Fox-hunting had become the amusement of gentlemen, 
 * the intemperance, clownishness, and ignorance of the old 
 fox-hunter ' being * quite worn out.' It therefore ought to 
 be carried out in a gentlemanly manner at a gentlemanly 
 hour, though, if Hounds are out of blood, they should be 
 taken out at an early hour when the Fox has a full belly, 
 so as to give them every advantage. Beckford is indeed 
 sound according to the light of modern experience on 
 almost every point. 
 
 There are, however, two points on which we venture to 
 disagree with him. One is his recommendation that barley- 
 meal should be mixed with the oatmeal. We have before 
 us an edition of * Thoughts upon Hunting ' printed in 1798, 
 with pencil notes in the margin evidently written by some 
 old M.F.H. who knew what he was talking about. * Don't 
 use barley at all,' says he ; ' oatmeal and flesh are the best 
 possible food for hounds.' And later on, * Hounds cannot 
 run on barley-meal, as those who try will prove it.' This 
 gentleman was quite correct, if not quite grammatical. 
 The other matter in which Beckford may be said to be 
 heterodox is with regard to some remarks he makes about 
 the use of the whip. After posing as an opponent of any 
 unnecessary punishment as being nothing less than gratui- 
 106 
 
T&eckford 
 
 tous cruelty, this really great sportsman actually says that 
 if any Hounds * should be more riotous than the rest, they 
 may receive a few cuts in the morning before they leave 
 the kennel.' It is almost incredible. 
 
 It is true that Beckford, like others of his age, was 
 obsessed with the idea of riot, which does not for some 
 reason seem to trouble us so much in these days ; but that 
 a beautiful creature like a Foxhound, or indeed any dumb 
 animal, should be made to suffer pain for no reason or 
 fault is positively revolting, to say nothing of its being 
 quite useless. Yet Beckford returns to the charge on the 
 very next page : ' Such hounds as are notorious offenders 
 should also feel the lash and hear a rate as they go to the 
 covert ; it may be a useful hint to them, and may prevent 
 a severer flogging afterwards/ Fancy a modern hunts- 
 man arriving at the meet with some of the Hounds half 
 cowed, and their beautiful coats marked with the thong 
 as a prophylactic against hunting hares during the day ! 
 We know of at least one establishment where he would not 
 do it more than once. But as a matter of fact, no modern 
 huntsman could be found who would countenance such 
 a brutal and a senseless thing. To-day we are wiser and 
 more merciful. 
 
 Now for something more pleasant. Beckford is parti- 
 cularly happy in everything he says about hunting the Fox. 
 His remarks about what to do, or rather what not to do, 
 when Hounds are at fault are curiously like those of Lord 
 Henry Bentinck in * GoodalVs Practice? and are in harmony 
 
 107 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 with the experience of every authority. And this ex- 
 perience teaches you that when the Hounds come to a check 
 every one should stand still, huntsman included, until the 
 Hounds have done trying for themselves. * The huntsman at 
 a check had better let his hounds alone. . . .' * Hounds that 
 are not used to be cast will themselves acquire a better cast 
 than it is in the power of any huntsman to give them ; 
 will spread more, and try better for the scent. ... I 
 never approve of their being cast so long as they are in- 
 clined to hunt/ and so on. Beckford, like all good judges, 
 was an inveterate opponent of fancy casts. His own hunts- 
 man was always expected to make the orthodox circle first 
 of all before flying any kites on his own account. But 
 although Beckford thoroughly appreciated the golden rule 
 of leaving Hounds alone at the right moment, he quite 
 rightly doubted whether a pack of Hounds, always left 
 entirely alone, would kill a Fox at all. In fact, he goes so 
 far as to say that a Foxhound who will not bear lifting is 
 not worth the keeping. But he adds to this a most invalu- 
 able qualification : * Hounds never, in my opinion (unless 
 in particular cases, or when you go to a halloo), should be 
 taken entirely off their noses, but when lifted, should be 
 constantly made to try as they go.' This looks like a contra- 
 diction in terms, and maybe the sentence is rather slipshod. 
 When Hounds are lifted in the proper sense of the term 
 they should be deliberately taken off their noses, and not 
 allowed to put them down again until the huntsman desires 
 them to do so. But it is easy to see what Beckford means. 
 1 08 
 
IZeckford 
 
 He means that unless they are being taken to a holloa, 
 they should never be taken off their noses when they are 
 at fault. In fact, the huntsman should be able to move 
 them about with their noses down. This is not always 
 easy to do, and the power of doing it is what distinguishes 
 the artist and places him above his fellows. All good 
 packs of Hounds spread out like a fan immediately they 
 lose the scent, and separate this way and that. When the 
 huntsman has presently to manoeuvre them, for instance 
 to get on to fresh or favourable ground, he should on no 
 account call them together again, but move them in ex- 
 tended order in front of his horse. The open formation 
 they have adopted is the most favourable one for cover- 
 ing the ground and recovering the line, and it is a wicked 
 thing to spoil it. Yet how often does one see the hunts- 
 man call the Hounds together, trot off to the place where 
 he wishes to make the ground good, and then ask them 
 to spread out again ? They probably think, as Beckford 
 suggests, that he has abandoned the pursuit altogether, and 
 is going to look for another Fox. When he gets to the place 
 where he wants them to try again, much time is wasted 
 in getting them to spread and put their heads down, if in- 
 deed he succeeds in doing so at all. 
 
 Letter XX. in ' Thoughts upon Hunting ' is one of the most 
 intelligent and sensitive pieces of writing to be found in 
 any text-book of the Chase, and marks Peter Beckford as 
 one of the great master-minds in the study of the science 
 and art of Fox-hunting. It is lucky for posterity that he 
 
 109 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 was able to reduce to writing the result of his keen observation, 
 and to do it in a style which is so readable. He never gets 
 very far away from the laugh. He writes so naturally and 
 fluently that he sometimes gets a little off the line, and then 
 sets himself straight by a footnote. For instance, in this 
 Letter XX. he opens up a very interesting speculation by 
 saying that it is a great fault in a huntsman to persevere in 
 bad weather, when Hounds cannot run, and when there 
 is not a probability of killing a Fox. But no sooner are the 
 words written than he detects the underlying fallacy of this 
 proposition, and says that although he would not go out 
 on a very windy day, ' yet a bad scenting day is sometimes 
 of service to a pack of foxhounds they acquire patience 
 from it and method of hunting.* 
 
 Perhaps Beckford paid all the expenses himself and owned 
 the Hounds he hunted, and in the Dorsetshire of the eighteenth 
 century only had a small band of followers, probably consist- 
 ing of a few neighbouring squires, to propitiate. If so, he 
 could pick his days and go home when he liked. A modern 
 M.F.H. is expected to hunt in all weathers except a hard 
 frost or a dense fog. This convention saves trouble in the 
 long run. Who shall say what is the exact degree of wind 
 that should keep the Hounds at home ? How did Mr. Beckford 
 know that the tempest would not abate in the afternoon ? 
 
 Letter XIII., which is here presented, is the best de- 
 scription of a run from the point of view of the Hound 
 man that has yet appeared in print. The author was a 
 Hound man, first and last and all the time. * Thoughts upon 
 no 
 
TSeckford 
 
 Hunting ' contains but little about horses and nothing about 
 how to ride them. The horse was just an accessory of 
 the Chase. This is where Beckford differs from the other 
 authors in this volume. He says not a word about bull- 
 finches, brooks, posts and rails, cutting people down, 
 thinning out the field, and so forth. His whole soul is 
 concentrated on the Fox and the Hounds. At times he 
 pours it out in language which, if not quite blank verse, 
 contains at least as much poetry as the lines of Somervile 
 whom he quotes so freely. If indeed he was inspired by 
 Somervile and he presumably wrote the chapter with 
 ' The Chase ' open before him he certainly ' gets it over ' a 
 great deal better than his model. So much better that he 
 might almost be using Somervile as a foil. The beauty 
 of the thing is that it not only throbs from start to finish 
 with the joy of the pursuit, but also gives us at the same 
 time the intimate knowledge of the expert. 
 
 A FOX CHASE 
 
 Let us suppose that we are arrived at the cover side : 
 
 ' Delightful scene ! 
 
 Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs ; 
 And in each smiling countenance appears 
 Fresh blooming health, and universal joy.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Now let your huntsman throw in his hounds as quietly 
 as he can, and let the two whippers-in keep wide of him on 
 
 in 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 either side, so that a single hound may not escape them ; let 
 them be attentive to his halloo, and be ready to encourage, 
 or rate, as that directs ; he will, of course, draw up the 
 wind, for reasons which I shall give in another place. Now, 
 if you can keep your brother sportsmen in order, and put 
 any discretion into them, you are in luck ; they more fre- 
 quently do harm than good : if it be possible, persuade 
 those who wish to halloo the fox off to stand quiet under 
 the cover side, and on no account to halloo him too soon ; 
 if they do, he most certainly will turn back again : could 
 you entice them all into the cover, your sport, in all prob- 
 ability, would not be the worse for it. 
 
 How well the hounds spread the cover ! the huntsman, 
 you see, is quite deserted, and his horse, who so lately had 
 a crowd at his heels, has not now one attendant left. How 
 steadily they draw ! you hear not a single hound ; yet 
 none are idle. Is not this better than to be subject to 
 continual disappointment from the eternal babbling of un- 
 steady hounds ? 
 
 ' See ! how they range 
 Dispers'd, how busily this way and that 
 They cross, examining with curious nose 
 Each likely haunt. Hark ! on the drag I hear 
 Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry 
 More nobly full, and swell 'd with every mouth.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 How musical their tongues ! And as they get nearer 
 to him, how the chorus fills ! Hark ! he is found. Now, 
 where are all your sorrows, your cares, ye gloomy souls ? 
 112 
 
"NOW I.F/T YOUR HUNTSMAN THROW IN HIS HOUNDS AS QUIETLY AS HK CAN. 
 
TSeckford 
 
 Or where your pains, and aches, ye complaining ones ? one 
 halloo has dispelled them all. What a crash they make ! 
 and echo seemingly takes place to repeat the sounds. The 
 astonished traveller forsakes his road, lured by its melody ; 
 the listening plowman now stops his plow ; and every 
 distant shepherd neglects his flock, and runs to see him 
 break. What joy ! what eagerness in every face ! 
 
 ' How happy art thou, man, when thou 'it 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 ! * 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Mark how he runs the covert's utmost limits, yet dares 
 not venture forth ; the hounds are still too near ! That 
 check is lucky ! now, if our friends head him not, he will 
 soon be off hark ! they halloo : by G d he 's gone ! 
 
 ' Hark ! what loud shouts 
 Re-echo thro' the grooves ! he breaks away : 
 Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound 
 Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack, 
 'Tis triumph all, and joy.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Now huntsman, get on with the head hounds ; the 
 whipper-in will bring on the others after you : keep an 
 attentive eye on the leading hounds, that should the scent 
 fail them, you may know at least how far they brought it. 
 
 Mind Galloper, how he leads them ! It is difficult to 
 distinguish which is first, they run in such a style ; yet he 
 is the foremost hound. The goodness of his nose is not 
 H 113 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 less excellent than his speed : how he carries the scent ! 
 and when he loses it, see how eagerly he flings to recover 
 it again ! There now he 's at head again ! See how they 
 top the hedge ! Now, how they mount the hill ! Observe 
 what a head they carry, and shew me, if thou canst, one 
 shuffler or shirker amongst them all : are they not like a 
 parcel of brave fellows, who, when they engage in an under- 
 taking, determine to share its fatigue and its dangers, equally 
 amongst them ? 
 
 * Far o'er the rocky hills we range, 
 And dangerous our course ; but in the brave 
 True courage never fails. In vain the stream 
 In foaming eddies whirls, in vain the ditch 
 Wide gaping threatens death. The craggy steep, 
 Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, 
 And clings to every twig, gives us no pain ; 
 But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold 
 To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill, 
 By the swift motion flung, we mount aloft ; 
 So ships in winter seas now sliding sink 
 Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high 
 Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 It was then the fox I saw, as we came down the hill ; 
 those crows directed me which way to look, and the sheep 
 ran from him as he passed along. The hounds are now on 
 the very spot, yet the sheep stop them not, for they dash 
 beyond them. Now see with what eagerness they cross 
 the plain ! Galloper no longer keeps his place, Brusher 
 takes it see how he flings for the scent, and how impetu- 
 114 
 
TSeckford 
 
 ously he runs ! How eagerly he took the lead, and how 
 he strives to keep it yet Victor comes up apace. He 
 reaches him ! See what an excellent race it is between 
 them ! It is doubtful which will reach the covert first. 
 How equally they run ! how eagerly they strain ! Now 
 Victor Victor ! Ah ! Brusher, you are beaten ; Victor 
 first tops the hedge. See there ! see how they all take it in 
 their strokes ! the hedge cracks with their weight, so many 
 jump at once. 
 
 Now hastes the whipper-in to the other side of the cover; 
 he is right unless he head the fox. 
 
 * Heav'ns ! what melodious strains ! how beats our hearts 
 Big with tumultuous joy ! the loaded gales 
 
 Breathe harmony ; and as the tempest drives 
 From wood to wood, thro' ev'ry dark recess 
 The forest thunders, and the mountains shake/ 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Listen ! the hounds have turned. They are now in two parts : 
 the fox has been headed back, and we have changed at last. 
 Now, my lad, mind the huntsman's halloo, and stop to 
 those hounds which he encourages. He is right ! that, 
 doubtless, is the hunted fox. Now they are off again. 
 
 * What lengths we pass ! where will the thundering chace 
 Lead us bewilder'd ! smooth as swallows skim 
 
 The new-thorn mead, and far more swift we fly. 
 See my brave pack ; how to the head they press, 
 Justling in close array, then more diffuse 
 Obliquely wheel, while from their op'ning mouths 
 The vollied thunder breaks. 
 
 "5 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Look back and view 
 
 The strange confusion of the vale below, 
 Where sore vexation reigns ; 
 
 Old age laments 
 
 His vigour spent ; the tall, plump, brawny youth 
 Curses his cumbrous bulk, and envies now 
 The short pygmean race he whilom kenn'd 
 With proud insulting leer. A chosen few 
 Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath 
 Their pleasing toils.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Ha ! a check. Now for a moment's patience ! We press 
 too close upon the hounds ! Huntsman, stand still ! as 
 they want you not. How admirably they spread ! how 
 wide they cast ! Is there a single hound that does not 
 try ? If there be, ne'er shall he hunt again. There, True- 
 man is on the scent he feathers, yet still is doubtful 
 'tis right ! How readily they join him ! See those wide- 
 casting hounds, how they fly forward to recover the ground 
 they have lost ! Mind Lightning, how she dashes ; and 
 Mungo, how he works ! Old Frantic, too, now pushes 
 forward ; she knows, as well as we, the fox is sinking. 
 
 * Ha ! yet he flies, nor yields 
 To black despair. But one loose more, and all 
 His wiles are vain. Hark ! thro' yon village now 
 The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots, 
 And leafless elms return the joyous sounds. 
 Thro' every homestall, and thro' ev'ry yard, 
 His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies.' 
 
 SOMERVILE. 
 
 Huntsman ! at fault at last ? How far did you bring the 
 116 
 
ISeckford 
 
 scent ? Have the hounds made their own cast ? Now make 
 yours. You see that sheep-dog has coursed the fox ; 
 get forward with your hounds and make a wide cast. 
 
 Hark ! that halloo is indeed a lucky one. If we can 
 hold him on, we may yet recover him ; for a fox, so much 
 distressed, must stop at last. We shall now see if they will 
 hunt as well as run ; for there is but little scent, and the 
 impending cloud still makes that little less. How they 
 enjoy the scent ! see how busy they all are, and how each 
 in his turn prevails ! 
 
 Huntsman ! be quiet. Whilst the scent was good, you 
 press'd on your hounds ; it was well done : when they 
 came to a check, you stood still, and interrupted them not ; 
 they were afterwards at fault ; you made your cast with 
 judgment, and lost no time. You now must let them hunt ; 
 with such a cold scent as this you can do no good ; they 
 must do it all themselves ; lift them now, and not a hound 
 will stoop again. Ha ! a high road, at such a time as this, 
 when the tender est- nosed hound can hardly own the scent ! 
 Another fault ! That man at work, then, has headed back 
 the fox. Huntsman ! cast not your hounds now, you see 
 they have overrun the scent ; have a little patience, and 
 let them, for once, try back. 
 
 We now must give them time ; see where they bend 
 towards yonder furze brake. I wish he may have stopped 
 there ! Mind that old hound, how he dashes o'er the 
 furze ; I think he winds him. Now for a fresh entapis ! 
 Hark ! they halloo ! Aye, there he goes. 
 
 117 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 It is nearly over with him ; had the hounds caught 
 view, he must have died. He will hardly reach the cover ; 
 see how they gain upon him at every stroke ! It is an 
 admirable race ! yet the cover saves him. 
 
 Now be quiet, and he cannot escape us ; we have the 
 wind of the hounds, and cannot be better placed : how 
 short he runs ! he is now in the very strongest part of the 
 cover. What a crash ! Every hound is in, and every 
 hound is running for him. That was a quick turn ! Again 
 another ! he 's put to his last shifts. Now Mischief is at 
 his heels, and death is not far off. Ha ! they all stop at 
 once ; all silent, and yet no earth is open. Listen ! now 
 they are at him again 1 Did you hear that hound catch 
 him ? They overran the scent, and the fox had laid down 
 behind them. Now, Reynard, look to yourself ! How 
 quick they all give their tongues ! Little Dreadnought, 
 how he works him ! the terriers too, they are now squeak- 
 ing at him. How close Vengeance pursues ! how terribly 
 she presses ! it is just up with him ! Gods ! what a crash 
 they make ; the whole wood resounds ! That turn was 
 very short ! There ! now ! aye, now they have him ! 
 Who-hoop ! 
 
 118 
 

 GODS! WHAT A CRASH THEY MAKK." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ' NIMROD ' 
 
 MR. APPERLEY, whose literary name was ' Nimrod,' 
 was born in 1777 and died in 1843. He was at 
 one time the Squire of Beaurepaire in the Vine 
 Country, adjoining the property of that name belonging to 
 Mr. Chute, but owing to financial trouble he took to the 
 profession of writing about the sport that he loved. He 
 pursued this profession with much industry and vigour, 
 being a well-documented and painstaking analyst of every- 
 thing to do with the Chase. From the point of view of 
 history his work is valuable, and if he had contented 
 himself with noting and chronicling the things that he 
 saw and understood, it would have been even purer and 
 sounder than it is. But although there is nothing super- 
 ficial about Mr. Apperley's work, a certain pretentious- 
 ness crops up every now and then which would be 
 irritating if it were taken seriously. For instance, in this 
 very paper, he is kind enough to patronise the sixth Duke 
 of Beaufort and his establishment by announcing that he 
 * did not consider his Grace a sportsman of the very first 
 class' 1 There are some indications, which will be re- 
 ferred to presently, that * Nimrod ' was not himself in the 
 very first class as an authority on the huntsman's craft 
 
 1 Our italics. 
 
 119 
 
which he discusses with so much assurance. But the not 
 too modest tone of his writings, fortified though it be by 
 a lavish use of the first personal pronoun, is a minor blemish 
 when it is set beside the masterly manner in which he has 
 illuminated the Sport of our Ancestors. For, indeed, when 
 he was not thinking too much about himself, he could write 
 well. His facility was inspired by his genuine love of 
 horses and Hounds, and enriched by his acquaintance with 
 many men and countries. The only other writer in the 
 same line as * Nimrod' is ' The Druid ' the author of gossipy 
 volumes such as 'Post and Paddock,' ' Scott and SebrightJ and 
 * Saddle and Sirloin* ' The Druid ' had certainly amassed 
 a vast amount of hunting lore, but he can only be placed 
 second, longo intervallo, to * Nimrod.' He is all very well 
 as a reference, but he could not have written a classic like 
 ' The Chace: 
 
 For it is indeed a classic. In the small space of a few 
 paragraphs the author skilfully traces the evolution of the 
 Chase from the fourteenth century down to a meet of 
 the Quorn Hounds at Ashby Pasture in February 1826. 
 The famous amateur huntsman, Squire Osbaldeston, is the 
 central figure. The impression one forms of * The Squire ' 
 is that of a hard-bitten, varminty little North Countryman 
 who liked riding better than hunting, and who was the 
 darling of the English sporting public on account of his 
 being ready to take risks and to back himself to perform 
 any feat of nerve or endurance connected with horses. He 
 was, in fact, * a Sport.' Not the vinous eccentric John 
 120 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 Mytton sort of ' Sport,' but some one much more genuine, 
 who rode fifty four-mile heats in less than ten hours, and 
 hunted his own hounds in the Quorn country six times a 
 week, sometimes having two packs out in the day. Does 
 the fact of being a light-weight add to the popularity of 
 a sportsman ? We certainly enjoy to-day the privilege of 
 living in the same age as an illustrious example of a light- 
 weight sportsman who is the most popular man in the 
 British Empire. Anyhow, Osbaldeston was almost the only 
 one of * Nimrod's ' heroes whom the author did not try to 
 patronise in writing about him. Mr. Corbet was another. 
 These two enjoy the distinction of receiving from ' Nimrod * 
 nothing but unqualified admiration. They represent two 
 opposite types in the gallery of our ancestors. Mr. Corbet, 
 tall, distinguished, courteous, an aristocrat and a Fox- 
 hunter to his finger-tips, was a Hound man who sate on 
 his horse like a gentleman but never jumped a fence. Mr. 
 Osbaldeston, small of stature, excitable, ready of tongue, 
 was a horseman rather than a Hound man, and never stopped 
 to open a gate. Each had a famous Foxhound ; Mr. 
 Corbet's Trojan, and Mr. Osbaldeston's Furrier. But it 
 should not be forgotten that Trojan, by Lord Spencer's 
 Trueboy, was bred by his master, while Furrier, though 
 technically Mr. Osbaldeston 's Furrier, came in a draft from 
 Belvoir, being by their Saladin. Furrier was a short, 
 jumped-up kind of dog who did not meet you very cleverly 
 on the flags. It was said that his being crooked was due 
 to his not having been allowed his liberty when he was at 
 
 121 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 walk. But in spite of the fact that he would not win at 
 Peterborough if he were alive now, Furrier was an un- 
 deniable Foxhound, and his name appears in all the best 
 modern pedigrees. 
 
 Mr. Osbaldeston was delighted with Furrier. Like 
 master like Hound. There was nothing of the line-hunter 
 about either of them : if ' Nimrod ' correctly describes Mr. 
 Osbaldeston, he was a bit wild, and certainly premature 
 in speaking to the Hounds. On the approach to the covert, 
 
 * Nimrod ' tells us that he cheered them in cap in hand, saying, 
 4 Hark in, Hark ! ' and later on he is made to scream with 
 his finger to his ear before a single Hound has said a word. 
 Now of three things, one : either the method here adopted 
 of cheering Hounds before they open was the fashion in 
 those days ; or Mr. Osbaldeston was an impostor ; or 
 
 * Nimrod ' was an ignoramus. It is impossible to believe that 
 to cheer Hounds before they found was ever the fashion 
 at any period in the whole history of the Chase. We would 
 wager a very large stake that neither Will Barrow nor Philip 
 Payne nor any of the great contemporary huntsmen ever 
 did anything of the kind. Did Mr. Osbaldeston do it ? 
 Almost certainly not. ' Nimrod ' then is the culprit. Here 
 is another solecism. While the Hounds were drawing, 
 Rasselas showed himself and took a short turn in the 
 open. Now by all the rules of Fox-hunting, the whipper-in 
 should have kept his mouth shut ; any noise outside pre- 
 vents the Fox breaking covert and distracts the attention 
 of the Hounds inside. It is true that whippers-in con- 
 
 122 
 
* Nimrod 5 
 
 stantly have to be checked for rating a stray Hound at these 
 critical moments : but such a pontiff as * Nimrod ' makes 
 himself out to be ought to have known all this, and to 
 have known that unless the Fox has gone, Hounds who fling 
 outside the covert will invariably turn back to the cry, and 
 that to holloa at them is an offence. Yet ' Nimrod ' makes 
 the boy crack his whip and rate at Rasselas as if he was 
 running a hare. But this is not all. After nineteen quick 
 minutes the Hounds have overrun the scent, having been 
 pressed too hard by the horses. The Squire * tells off * his 
 field quite correctly, saying they had themselves to thank 
 for the delay, and then proceeds to blow his horn * * in order ' 
 to bring them back to the point at which the scent had 
 failed. * Nimrod ' had never, as far as we know, hunted 
 Hounds himself ; but any one who has hunted Hounds will 
 tell you that when they have been running hard and sud- 
 denly throw up is the very moment when absolute silence 
 is the only thing that can retrieve the situation. But to blow 
 the horn and get their heads up ! ' Nimrod ' says that Mr. 
 Osbaldeston's Hounds came back at one blast. If they did, 
 they cannot have had much courage. 
 
 When a highly-bred pack of Foxhounds have been run- 
 ning full cry for nineteen minutes and come to a check, 
 the first thing they do is to quarter the ground and fling 
 themselves this way and that, all with heads down, and 
 some with hackles up, to recover the scent. There is nothing 
 more beautiful and wonderful than this in the whole of 
 
 1 Our italics. 
 
 123 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Fox-hunting. Any mere human being in a red coat who 
 tries to correct animal instinct at sublime moments like 
 these, by making a noise on a copper instrument, is at 
 once a Philistine and a fool a Philistine to try his hand 
 on what nature is doing for him so much more artistically 
 than he can do it for himself ; a fool because no good pack 
 of Foxhounds would take the slightest notice of him if it 
 were anything like a scenting day. Major Whyte Melville in 
 * Riding Recollections ' is in the same kind of bad hurry with 
 Sir Richard Sutton's Hounds. They had been running 
 for thirty minutes when up went their heads. Sir Richard 
 is made to shout at Ben Morgan to * turn them/ Ben 
 Morgan rides a half-beaten horse at a double flight of posts 
 and rails with a ditch in the middle and one on each side, 
 with the result that may be imagined. But to show how 
 unnecessary was all this expenditure of tissue, Tranby spoke 
 to his Fox before Morgan had time to pick up the pieces ! 
 
 Mr. Osbaldeston's second-horse man must have been 
 a wonderful man. This fine run was a ten-mile point 
 accomplished in two minutes over the hour. It takes some 
 swallowing ; but the thing could only be done at some- 
 thing like top speed all the way. Yet Mr. Osbaldeston 
 contrived to change horses at the right moment, and 
 to appear on Clasher when Ashton was getting blown. 
 How did the second-horse man get there ? Not by riding 
 to points, for according to time and distance the line from 
 Ashby Pasture to Woodwell Head must have been nearly 
 straight. He can only have done the deed by riding fence 
 124 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 for fence after his master. This was the fashion for the 
 second-horse man of a heavy-weight when the second-horse 
 system was first introduced. But when the master was 
 himself a light-weight there was nothing to be gained by 
 it. But we must not be captious in attempting to review 
 1 Nimrod's ' essay. It is admitted to be one of the best, 
 if not the very best, of descriptions of a run from the 
 riding point of view, just as Beckford's chapter is the best 
 description extant of a run from the point of view of 
 the Hound man. 
 
 His famous chapter on * The Road ' is the only extract 
 in this book which has no direct reference to Fox-hunting. 
 But it is so vitally interesting in letting us see the conditions 
 under which our ancestors travelled from place to place, 
 that it is here inserted ; moreover, at this time of day 
 anything that recalls the charm of driving behind quick- 
 stepping horses is surely worth preserving. This charm 
 had warmed even the rugged heart of Dr. Johnson. On 
 driving away from a visit to Lord Scarsdale at Kedleston, 
 the old man he was then sixty-eight felt a rush of gaiety, 
 and exclaimed to Boswell : * If I had no duties, and no 
 reference to futurity, I would spend my life in driving 
 briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman ; but she 
 should be one who could understand me, and would add 
 something to the conversation.' No one who is not grossly 
 unsusceptible would after reading this take a lady out in 
 a motor-car without wishing that some fairy could change 
 it into a phaeton drawn by two well-bred horses. But 
 
 125 
 
this chapter is not reprinted with the sole object of recalling 
 the ancient charm of ' The Road.' It is of peculiar interest 
 to-day because, since the automobile was invented, the 
 old turnpikes have in a sense come into their own again, 
 and carry on their surface in motor-cars the descendants 
 of those who used the same routes in their travelling 
 carriages, post-chaises, and road coaches. The talk of 
 the traveller to-day in the lounges of provincial hotels is 
 curiously like what it must have been a hundred years 
 ago. The state of the roads, the relative merits of the 
 wayside inns, the condition of the carriages, the best routes 
 by which to avoid the traffic : these are the topics now 
 common alike to us and to our ancestors, having been in 
 abeyance during the years when the railroad was the sole 
 method of long-distance transport. In view of its history 
 the revival of the road is full of interest. Not the least 
 startling thing is the comparatively small difference between 
 the continuous average speed of the motor-car and that of 
 the fast road coach. One would hardly believe that the 
 motor-car only performs a long journey twice as fast as 
 the old mails. Yet it is so. A motor-car, making allowance 
 for delay by the traffic and other hindrances, cannot sus- 
 tain an average pace over a long journey say from London 
 to Edinburgh of more than twenty miles an hour. The 
 distance is four hundred miles, and this was covered by 
 the old Edinburgh Mail at the rate of eleven miles an hour, 
 stoppages included. These stoppages allowed for changing 
 horses, as well as one hour for meals, of which twenty 
 126 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 minutes were usually allocated to breakfast and forty minutes 
 to luncheon. The operation of changing horses was accom- 
 plished in less than a minute. Wonderful work ! No 
 chain, buckle, trace, or rein was ever handled twice. One 
 of the most memorable feats on the Road took place during 
 the coaching revival, some forty years after the railroads 
 were started. Over twelve miles an hour was the pace 
 sustained when Jim Selby drove from London to Brighton 
 and back, covering the whole distance of a hundred miles 
 in seven hours and fifty minutes. This achievement in 
 the annals of the Road finds its counterpart in the annals 
 of the Chase in the match between Mr. Smith-Barry's Blue- 
 cap and Wanton on one side, and on the other a couple of 
 Hounds belonging to Mr. Meynell, over the Beacon Course 
 at Newmarket, a distance of four and a half miles, which 
 Bluecap covered at a rate of over twenty-four miles an hour. 
 Wanton, sired by Bluecap, came in second ; Mr. Meynell's 
 Hounds were nowhere. These two events are the out- 
 standing records of speed in the history of The Chase and 
 The Road. 
 
 The road coaches had just about reached perfection 
 when they were supplanted by the railroads, at a time 
 when the service of the best of them was as perfect as 
 human skill could make it. The coachmen, the guards, 
 and the ostlers all provided highly-skilled labour, and took 
 a pride in their work. The coaches and the tackle were 
 the best that the world has ever produced It is true that 
 the horses did not cost much money, but no amount of 
 
 127 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 money could have produced more than an average of eleven 
 miles an hour, and it is certain that the proprietors knew 
 their business. * Nimrod ' says that the average life of a horse 
 in a fast road coach was four years, exactly the same period 
 that was reckoned to be the average life of the London 
 omnibus horse. 
 
 Every line of * Nimrod 's ' paper on * The Road * is excellent 
 reading. With eloquence based on knowledge he treats of 
 an art which is not only fascinating in itself, but particularly 
 agreeable to the genius of the English people. No other 
 nation has ever been able to couple horses together, harness 
 them to a carriage, and drive them when harnessed with 
 the same ease, neatness, and precision as was displayed by 
 our own artists in the twenties and the thirties. The exercise 
 of their art was interrupted by the steam-engine, but it 
 was revived for amateurs under the auspices of the old 
 survivors of the Road. Yet it is strange that, in a country 
 which has produced the best coachmen the world has ever 
 seen, the vast majority of amateurs never really knew how to 
 drive, though they were continually driving, and more often 
 than not got to the end of the journey without an accident. 
 Before the invention of motor-cars, when every one who 
 could afford it kept his or her own carriage and drove his 
 or her own horses, how many people knew enough to sit 
 straight on the box seat and to hold the whip and reins 
 properly ? No one can drive in good style by the light of 
 nature. He must have been taught the technique by a 
 real coachman. The difference between those who have 
 128 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 been taught to drive properly and those who have not is 
 easily detected by the initiated. Here are two tests : When 
 you are meeting any one who is driving one or more horses, 
 look at his hands ; if he knows how to drive, you will only 
 see their backs. The other test is to mark what he does 
 with his whip when he puts it down as his carriage is in 
 motion. If he puts the butt end on the footboard and 
 leans the other on the back of the seat, he is a coachman ; 
 if he sticks it into the socket when he has no further use 
 for it, he is a tailor. The man who rests it on the footboard 
 has probably learnt to do so from driving a coach, when to 
 put the whip into the socket is to invite disaster from the 
 trees. The whip should never be put in the socket except 
 when the coach or carriage is standing still. But it is of no 
 avail to go into all this now, though we may now and again 
 read through * Nimrod's ' chapter and try to wonder what 
 it was like to leave Shrewsbury on the top of a coach at 
 six o'clock in the morning and not get to London till nine 
 o'clock at night. 
 
 THE CHACE 
 
 ' Listening how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 
 From the side of some hoar hill 
 Thro' the high wood echoing shrill.' MILTON. 
 
 In various old writers * The Mayster of the Game* for 
 instance we find lively pictures of the ancient English 
 chace, which in many respects, no doubt, was of a more 
 I 129 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 noble and manly nature than that of the present day. The 
 wolf, the bear, the boar, were among the favourite beasts 
 of * venery ' ; and none can doubt that the habit of pursuing 
 such animals, independently of giving vigour to the frame 
 and strength to the constitution, must have nourished that 
 martial ardour and fearless intrepidity, which, when exerted 
 in the field of battle, generally won the day for our gallant 
 ancestors. The hart, the stag, the hind, the roebuck, and 
 the hare are likewise constantly mentioned, as is also the 
 wild or martin cat, now nearly extinct ; but the fox does 
 not appear to have been included in the list of the Anglo- 
 Norman sportsman. The first public notice of this now 
 much-esteemed animal occurs in the reign of Richard n., 
 which unfortunate monarch gives permission, by charter, 
 to the abbot of Peterborough to hunt the fox. In Twice 's 
 * Treatise on the Craft of Hunting ' Reynard is thus classed : 
 
 ' And for to sette young hunterys in the way 
 To venery, I cast me fyrst to go : 
 Of which four bestes be, that is to say, 
 The hare, the herte, the wulf, and the wild boor. 
 But there ben other bestes five of the chase ; 
 The buck the first, the seconde is the do ; 
 The fox the third, which hath ever hard grace ; 
 The forthe the martyn, and the last the roe.' 
 
 It is indeed quite apparent that, until at most a hundred 
 and fifty years ago, the fox was considered an inferior 
 animalfof the chace the stag, buck, and even hare ranking 
 before him. Previously to this period, he was generally 
 taken in nets or hays, set on the outside of his earth : when 
 130 
 

 LISTENING now THK HOUNUS AND HORN. 
 
'Nimrod ' 
 
 he was 1 hunted, it was among rocks and crags, or woods 
 inaccessible to horsemen ; such a scene, in short, or very 
 nearly so, as we have, drawn to the life, in Dandie Dinmont's 
 primitive chasse in * Guy Mannering* If the reader will turn 
 to the author of Hudibras's essay, entitled * Of the Bumpkin, 
 or Country Squire,' he will find a great deal about the hare, 
 but not one word of the fox. What a revolution had occurred 
 before Squire Western sat for his picture ! About half- 
 way between these pieces appeared Somervile's poem of 
 * The Chase, y in which fox-hunting is treated of with less 
 of detail, and much less of enthusiasm, than either stag- 
 hunting or hare-hunting \ 
 
 It is difficult to determine when the first regularly ap- 
 pointed pack of foxhounds appeared among us. Dan 
 Chaucer gives us the thing in embryo : 
 
 ' Aha, the fox ! and after him they ran ; 
 And eke with staves many another man. 
 Ran Coll our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerlond, 
 And Malkin with her distaff in her bond, 
 Ran cow and calf, and eke the veray hogges, 
 So fered were for berking of the dogges, 
 And shouting of the men and women eke, 
 They ronnen so, hem thought her hertes brake/ 
 
 At the next stage, no doubt, neighbouring farmers kept 
 one or two hounds each, and, on stated days, met for the 
 purpose of destroying a fox that had been doing damage in 
 their poultry-yards. By-and-by a few couple of strong 
 hounds seem to have been kept by small country esquires, 
 1 The words in italics are in italics in the original. 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 or yeomen, who could afford the expense, and they joined 
 packs. Such were called trencher hounds implying that 
 they ran loose about the house, and were not confined in 
 kennel. Of their breed it would be difficult to speak at 
 this distance of time ; but it is conjectured that they re- 
 sembled the large broken-haired harriers now to be met 
 with in the mountainous parts of Wales, which, on good 
 scenting days, are nearly a match for anything by their 
 perseverance and nose. Slow and gradual must have been 
 the transition to the present elaborate system ; but let us 
 wave the minutiae of sporting antiquarianship. 1 
 
 In no one instance has the modern varied from the 
 ancient system of hunting more than in the hour of meeting 
 in the morning. With our forefathers, when the roost cock 
 sounded his clarion, they sounded their horn ; throwing 
 off the pack so soon as they could distinguish a stile from a 
 gate, or, in other words, so soon as they could see to ride 
 to the hounds. Then it was that the hare was hunted to 
 her form by the trail, and the fox to his kennel by the drag. 
 
 1 In a letter, dated February 1833, from the late Lord Arundel to the 
 author of these papers, is the following interesting passage to sportsmen : 
 ' A pack of foxhounds were kept by my ancestor, Lord Arundel, between the 
 years 1690 and 1700 ; and I have memoranda to prove that they occasion- 
 ally hunted from Wardover Castle, in Wiltshire, and at Brimmer, in Hants, 
 now Sir Edward Halse's, but then the occasional residence of Lord Arundel. 
 These hounds were kept by my family until about the year 1745, when the 
 sixth Lord Arundel died, when they were kept by his nephew, the Earl of 
 Castle-Haven, until the death of the last Earl of that name, about the year 
 1782. The pack were then sold to the celebrated Hugo Meynell, Esq., of 
 Quorndon Hall, Leicestershire ; and hence it is possible they may have, in 
 part, contributed to the establishment of that gentleman's fox-hunting 
 fame.' 
 
 132 
 
'Nimrod ' 
 
 Slow as this system would now be deemed, it was a grand 
 treat to the real sportsman. What, in the language of the 
 chace, is called * the tender-nosed hound ' had an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying himself to the inexpressible delight of 
 his master ; and to the field that is, to the sportsmen who 
 joined in the diversion the pleasures of the day were en- 
 hanced by the moments of anticipation produced by the 
 drag. As the scent grew warmer, the certainty of finding 
 was confirmed ; the music of the pack increased ; and, 
 the game being up, away went the hounds ' in a crash.' 
 Both trail and drag are at present but little thought of ; 
 hounds merely draw over ground most likely to hold the 
 game they are in quest of, and thus, in a great measure, 
 rely upon chance for coming across it ; for if a challenge 
 be heard, it can only be inferred that a fox has been on 
 foot in the night the scent being seldom sufficient to 
 enable the hound to carry it up to his kennel. Advantages, 
 however, as far as sport is concerned, attend the present 
 hour of meeting in the field. Independently of the misery 
 of riding many miles in the dark, which sportsmen of the 
 early part of the last century were obliged to do, the game, 
 when it is now aroused, is in a better state to encounter the 
 great speed of modern hounds, having had time to digest 
 the food which it has partaken of in the night, previously 
 to its being stirred. But it is only since the great increase 
 of hares and foxes that the aid of the trail and drag could 
 be dispensed with, without the frequent recurrence of blank 
 days, which now seldom happen. 
 
 133 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Compared with the luxurious ease with which the 
 modern sportsman is conveyed to the field either lolling 
 in his chaise - and - four or galloping along at the Jrate of 
 twenty miles an hour on a hundred-guinea hack the situa- 
 tion of his predecessor was all but distressing. In propor- 
 tion to the distance he had to ride by starlight were his hours 
 of rest broken in upon ; and, exclusive of the time which 
 that operation might consume, another serious one was to 
 be provided for this was, the filling his hair with powder 
 and pomatum until it could hold no more, and forming it 
 into a well-turned knot, or club, as it was called, by his 
 valet, which cost commonly a good hour's work. The 
 protecting mud-boot, the cantering hack, the second horse 
 in the field, were luxuries unknown to him ; and his well- 
 soiled buckskins and brown-topped boots would have cut 
 an indifferent figure in the presence of a modern connoisseur 
 by a Leicestershire cover-side. Notwithstanding all this, 
 however, we are inclined strongly to suspect that, out of a 
 given number of gentlemen taking the field with hounds, 
 the proportion of really scientific sportsmen may have 
 been in favour of the olden times. 
 
 In the horse called the hunter a still greater change 
 has taken place. The half-bred horse of the early part 
 of the last century was, when highly broken to his work, 
 a delightful animal to ride ; in many respects more accom- 
 plished, as a hunter, than the generality of those of the 
 present day. When in his best form, he was a truly- 
 shaped and powerful animal, possessing prodigious strength, 
 
 134 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 with a fine commanding frame, considerable length of 
 neck, a slight curve in his crest, which was always high 
 and firm, and the head beautifully put on. Possessing 
 these advantages, in addition to the very great pains taken 
 with his mouth in the bitting, and an excellent education 
 in the school or at the bar, he was what is termed a 
 complete snaffle-bridle horse, and a standing as well as a 
 flying leaper. Held well in hand his rider standing up in 
 the stirrups, holding him fast by the head, making the best 
 of, and being able, from the comparatively slow rate at 
 which hounds then travelled, to pick or choose his ground 
 such a horse would continue a chace of some hours* 
 duration at the pace he was called upon to go, taking his 
 fences well and safely to the last ; and he would frequently 
 command the then large sum of one hundred guineas. But 
 all these accomplishments would never have enabled a 
 horse of this description to carry the modern sportsman, 
 who rides well up to hounds, on a good scenting day, over 
 one of our best hunting countries. His strength would 
 be exhausted before he had gone ten minutes, by the in- 
 creased pace at which he would now be called upon to 
 travel, but to which his breeding would be quite unequal ; 
 and his true symmetry, his perfect fencing, his fine mouth, 
 and all his other points, would prove of very little avail. If 
 ridden close to the hounds, he would be powerless and 
 dangerous before he had gone across half a dozen Leicester- 
 shire enclosures. 
 
 The increased pace of hounds, and that of the horses 
 
 135 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 that follow them, have an intimate connection with each 
 other, if not with the march of intellect. Were not the 
 hounds of our day to go so fast as they do, they would not 
 be able to keep clear of the crowd of riders who are now 
 mounted on horses nearly equal to the racing pace. On the 
 other hand, as the speed of hounds has so much increased, 
 unless their followers ride speedy, and, for the most part, 
 thorough-bred horses, they cannot see out a run of any 
 continuance if the scent lies well. True it is that, at the 
 present time, every Leicestershire hunter is not thorough- 
 bred ; but what is termed the cock-tail, or half-bred horse 
 of this day, is a very different animal from that of a hundred 
 years back. In those days a cross between the thorough- 
 bred, or perhaps not quite thorough-bred^ horse and the 
 common draught-mare was considered good enough to 
 produce hunters equal to the speed of the hounds then used. 
 There was not such an abundance of what may be termed 
 .the intermediate variety of the horse in the country-* pretty 
 well-bred on each side the head ' which has of late years 
 been in demand for the fast coaches of England, in which 
 low-bred horses have no chance to live. Mares of this 
 variety, put to thorough-bred stallions, and their produce 
 crossed with pure blood, create the sort of animal that comes 
 now under the denomination of the half-bred English 
 hunter, or cock-tail. These are also the horses which 
 contend for our several valuable stakes, made for horses 
 not thorough-bred, though, when brought to the post, they 
 are sometimes so much like race-horses in their appearance 
 136 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 and their pace, that it would be difficult to detect the blot 
 in their pedigree. A prejudice long existed against thorough- 
 bred horses for the field, particularly such as had once been 
 trained to the course ; and in some quarters it still lingers. 
 It is argued by their opponents that the thinness of their 
 skins makes them afraid of rough blackthorn fences, and 
 that they lose their speed in soft, or what, in sporting 
 language, is termed deep ground ; also, that having been 
 accustomed from their infancy to the jockey's hand, they 
 lean upon their bits, as when in a race, and are therefore 
 unpleasant to ride. Such of them as have been long in 
 training may undoubtedly be subject to these objections, 
 and never become good and pleasant hunters ; but when 
 purchased young, and possessing strength and bone, they 
 must have many counterbalancing advantages over the 
 inferior-bred horse. So far from not making good leapers, 
 the firmness of bone and muscle peculiar to this variety of 
 the breed is prodigiously in favour of that desirable quali- 
 fication. Indeed, it has been truly said of them, that they 
 can often leap large fences when lower-bred horses cannot 
 leap smaller ones the result of their superior wind when 
 put to a quick pace. 
 
 Whoever wishes to see two distinct species of the horse 
 in the most perfect state, should go to Newmarket and 
 Melton Mowbray to the former for the race-horse, to the 
 latter for the hunter. In no place upon the earth is con- 
 dition attended to with so much care, or managed with such 
 skill, as in this renowned metropolis of the fox-hunting 
 
 137 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 world. Indeed, we conceive it would be useless to expect 
 horses to live with hounds in such a country as Leicestershire, 
 unless they were in condition to enable them to contend 
 for a plate. 
 
 Melton Mowbray generally contains from two to three 
 hundred hunters in the hands of the most experienced 
 grooms England can produce the average number being 
 ten to each sportsman residing there, although some of those 
 who ride heavy, and rejoice in long purses, have from 
 fourteen to twenty for their own use ; the stud of the Earl 
 of Plymouth for many years exceeded the last-mentioned 
 number. It may seem strange, that one man should, under 
 any circumstances, need so large a number of horses solely 
 for his personal use in the field ; and it must be admitted 
 that few countries do require it. In Leicestershire, how- 
 ever, the universal practice is for each sportsman to have 
 at least two hunters in the field on the same day a practice 
 found to be economical, as it is from exhaustion, the effect 
 of long-continued severe work, that the health of horses is 
 most injured. And when it is also borne in mind that 
 hounds are to be reached from Melton, Leicester, etc., 
 every day in the week that one horse out of six in every 
 man's stud is, upon an average, lame, or otherwise unfit for 
 work and that a horse should always have five days' rest 
 after a moderate, and at least seven or eight after a severe, 
 run with hounds it will not seem surprising that ten or 
 twelve hunters should be deemed an indispensable stud for 
 a regular Leicestershire sportsman. 
 
 138 
 
'Nimrod ' 
 
 The stables and other conveniences for hunters in the 
 town and neighbourhood are upon a very superior scale, 
 and the greater part of the studs remain there all the year 
 round ; though, from the comparatively small quantity of 
 arable land in the county of Leicester, and the very great 
 demand for forage, oats and hay are always considerably 
 dearer here than at any other place in England. The sum- 
 total of expenses attending a stud of twelve hunters at 
 Melton, including every outgoing, is, as nearly as can be 
 estimated, one thousand pounds per annum. In all stables, 
 the average outlay for the purchase of horses is great, 
 at least two hundred guineas each hunter ; and, in some, 
 the annual amount of wear and tear of horse-flesh is 
 considerable. 
 
 At no distant date within at most thirty years Melton 
 Mowbray was an insignificant-looking little town. It is 
 prettily situated in a rich vale, through which the river 
 Stoure passes, but had nothing an artist would have called 
 a feature about it, except its beautiful church. But of late 
 it has put on a very different appearance owing to the 
 numbers of comfortable houses which have been erected 
 for the accommodation of its sporting visitors, who now 
 spend not less, on an average, than fifty thousand pounds 
 per annum on the spot. It stands on one of the great 
 north roads, eighteen miles from Nottingham, and fifteen 
 from Leicester ; which latter place is also become a favourite 
 resort of sportsmen, as it is well situated for the best part 
 of the Quorn, and Lord Lonsdale's countries, and many 
 
 139 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 of the favourite covers of the Atherstone (lately better known 
 as Lord Anson's) country, can be reached from it. 
 
 The following description of the Old Club at Melton 
 Mowbray, so called in contradistinction to the New Club, 
 some time since broken up, is given in one of * Nimrod's ' 
 letters in the * Old Sporting Magazine,' about ten years back : 
 
 ' The grand feature at Melton Mowbray is the Old Club, which 
 has been established about thirty-eight years, and owes its birth to 
 the following circumstances : Those distinguished sportsmen, the 
 late Lord Forester and Lord Delamere (then Messrs. Forester and 
 Cholmondeley), had been living for some years at Loughborough 
 for the purpose of hunting with Mr. Meynell, and removed thence 
 into Melton, where they took a house, and were joined by the late 
 Mr. Smythe Owen, of Condover Hall, Shropshire. As this house, 
 now known as the Old Club House, only contains four best bed- 
 rooms, its members are restricted to that number. But the follow- 
 ing sportsmen have, at different periods, belonged to the club : 
 The Hon. George Germaine ; Lords Alvanley and Brudenel ; the 
 Hon. Joshua Vanneck, now Lord Huntingfield ; the Hon. Berkeley 
 Craven ; the late Sir Robert Leighton ; the late Mr. Meyler ; 
 Messrs. Brommell, Vansittart, Thomas Assheton Smith, Lindow, 
 Langston, Maxse, Maher, Moore, Sir James Musgrave, and the 
 present Lord Forester the four last-named gentlemen forming 
 the present club. There is something highly respectable in every- 
 thing connected with the Melton Old Club. Not only is some of 
 the best society in England to be met with in their circle, but the 
 members have been remarkable for living together on terms of 
 the strictest harmony and friendship ; and a sort of veneration 
 has been paid by them to the recollection of the former members, 
 as the following anecdotes will prove : The same plate is now in 
 use which was purchased when the club was established (for there 
 are none of the certamina divitiarum no ostentatious displays at 
 the table of the Old Club, though everything is as good, of its kind, 
 
 140 
 
as a first-rate cook can produce, and the wines are of the best quality), 
 and even trifles are regarded with a scrupulous observance. A small 
 print of the late Samuel ChhTney, on " Baronet," l was placed against 
 the wall by the Hon. George Germaine, so distinguished as a most 
 excellent sportsman, as well as a rider over a country or a race- 
 course in the latter accomplishment perhaps scarcely excelled by 
 any gentleman jockey ; and although, since it was first affixed, 
 the room has undergone more than one papering and repairing, yet 
 the same print, in the same frame, and on the same nail, still hangs 
 in the same place. 
 
 " The rivets were not found that joined us first, 
 That do not reach us yet ; we were so mixed, 
 We were one mass, we could not give or take 
 But from the same, for he was I I he." 
 
 There have lately sprung up two junior clubs at Melton. 
 The one called the New Club, occupying the house formerly 
 the residence of Lord Alvanley, opposite that excellent inn 
 called the George Hotel, is composed of the following 
 eminent sportsmen : Mr. Errington, the master of the 
 hounds ; Count Matuchevitch, Mr. Massey Stanley, and 
 Mr. Lyne Stevens. The other, at the house of the late 
 Sir Harry Goodricke, is known as * Lord Rokeby's Club/ 
 and consists of Lords Rokeby and Eglinton, Sir Frederick 
 Johnson, and Mr. Little Gilmour. The uninitiated reader 
 would, perhaps, be surprised by an enumeration of the 
 persons of rank, wealth, and fashion, who, during months 
 of every year, resign the comforts and elegancies of their 
 family mansions for a small house in some town or village 
 of Leicestershire to the eye of any one but a sportsman, 
 
 1 Baronet was a celebrated racer, belonging to George the Fourth when 
 Prince of Wales. 
 
 141 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 nearly the ugliest county in England. Amongst these de- 
 votees to fox-hunting are the following : The Earl of 
 Wilton and his countess, in the town of Melton, at the house 
 formerly occupied by the Earl of Darlington, to which he 
 had greatly added, having purchased it : it is, perhaps, 
 the most complete and splendid hunting-box at this time 
 in England. At Little Poulton the Earl of Darlington and 
 family ; at Leicester, Sir John Key and his lady ; at Sowerby, 
 Mr. and Mrs. John Villiers ; at Quorndon, Mr. Farnham ; 
 and at the Hall, late Mr. Meynell's, Mr. Angerstein ; at 
 RatclifFe, Captain Oliver and his lady ; at Oakham, Mr. 
 Curwin ; at Lowesby, the Marquis of Waterford ; at 
 Barleythorpe, Mr. Bevan ; at North Stoke, Mr. Turner ; 
 at the Lodge, near to Melton, the residence of the late 
 Earl of Plymouth, are domiciled, in the season, Sir David 
 and Lady Anne Baird ; and nearer the town, the following 
 well-known sportsmen : Mr. John Ewart, with his family, 
 in the house formerly Lord Kinnaird's ; Count Bathyany, 
 per se ; and in various hotels and lodgings are to be found, 
 Lords Archibald Seymour, Macdonald, and Howth ; 
 Messrs. White, Spiers, Wharton, Rochford, Harvey Aston, 
 Doyne, William Coke, John Campbell (of Saddel), Charles 
 Lambe, etc. 
 
 Nor can any foreigner visiting this country, and a sports- 
 man in his own, fail to be greatly surprised at the magnifi- 
 cence of our hunting establishments, whose sole object is 
 the fox. The kennels and stables at Quorndon Hall, cele- 
 brated as the residence of * the great Mr. Meynell,' and 
 142 
 
'Nimrod 5 
 
 subsequently, until within the last few years, of every pro- 
 prietor of the Quorndon or Quorn hounds, are especially 
 worthy his attention. The former are perhaps the most 
 extensive at the present day in England ; among the latter 
 is one holding twenty-eight horses, so arranged, that when 
 a spectator stands in the centre of it, his eye commands 
 each individual animal ; and being furnished with seats, 
 and lighted by powerful lamps, forms a high treat to the 
 eye of a sportsman on a winter's evening ; in addition to 
 this, there are several loose boxes and an exercise ride, as 
 it is called, under cover, for bad weather. The usual amount 
 of the Quorn establishment has been forty efficient hunters, 
 and from sixty to one hundred couple of hounds. Mr. 
 Osbaldeston, however, during his occupation of the country, 
 had a still larger kennel and no wonder, for it was his 
 custom to turn out every day in the week, weather per- 
 mitting ; and, after Christmas, as the days increased in 
 length, he had often two packs out on the same day a 
 circumstance before unheard of. This gentleman, however, 
 is insatiable in his passion for the chace ; and when we 
 think what fatigue he must have been inured to whilst 
 hunting his own hounds six days a week, in such a county 
 as Leicestershire, for a succession of seasons, we read with 
 less surprise his late Herculean feat of riding fifty four-mile 
 heats over Newmarket Heath, in the short space of eight 
 hours, and in the face of most tempestuous weather ! 
 
 Four packs of foxhounds divide this far-famed county 
 of Leicester : namely, Mr. Forester's, late the Duke of 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Rutland's ; the Earl of Lonsdale's ; the Atherstone, late 
 the Earl of Lichfield's, afterwards Sir John Gerard's, but 
 now Mr. Applewaite's ; and what were so long called the 
 Quorn, now Mr. Errington's, but lately Sir Harry Good- 
 ricke's, who built a kennel for them at Thrussington, half- 
 way between Melton and Leicester, which situation is 
 more in the centre of the country than Quorn, where they 
 had previously been kept for the period of Mr. Meynell's 
 hunting. The county of Leicester, however, does not of 
 itself find room for all these packs : parts of Rutlandshire, 
 Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, and Warwickshire, are also 
 included in their beat. 
 
 Our readers are doubtless aware that such portion of 
 a country as is hunted by any one pack of hounds is tech- 
 nically called their country ; and of all the countries in the 
 world, the Quorn certainly bears the bell. This superiority 
 arises from the peculiar nature of the soil, which, being for 
 the most part good, is highly favourable to scent ; the 
 immense proportion of grazing land in comparison with 
 that which is ploughed ; and the great size of the enclosures, 
 many of which run to from sixty to one hundred acres each. 
 The rarity of large woods in this part of Leicestershire is 
 also a great recommendation to it as a hunting country ; 
 while it abounds in furze-brakes, or gorse-covers, as they 
 are termed, for the rent of which a considerable annual sum 
 (nearly one thousand pounds) is paid to the owners. Inde- 
 pendently of these, what are termed artificial covers are made 
 with stakes, set at a certain height from the ground for the 
 144 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 grass to grow over them ; but they are very inferior to the 
 others, being difficult for hounds to draw. The subscription 
 to the Quorn hounds has varied from two thousand to 
 four thousand pounds per annum ; l but Sir Harry Good- 
 ricke bore the whole expense of them himself. 
 
 One of the most striking features in the aspect of the 
 chosen regions of English fox-hunting is the formidable 
 ox-fence, rendered necessary by the difficulty of keeping 
 fatting cattle within their pastures, during the season of the 
 oestrus, or gad-fly. It consists of first, a wide ditch, then 
 a sturdy blackthorn hedge, and at least two yards beyond 
 that a strong rail, about four feet high ; to clear all these 
 obstacles, from whichever side they may be approached, 
 is evidently a great exertion for a horse. What is termed 
 the bullfinch-fence (still more common in these districts) 
 is a quickset hedge of perhaps fifty years' growth, with a 
 ditch on one side or the other, and so high and strong that 
 horses cannot clear it. The sportsman, however, charging 
 this at nearly full speed, succeeds in getting to the other 
 side, when the bushes close after him and his horse, and 
 there is no more appearance of their transit than if a 
 bird had hopped through. Horses, unaccustomed to these 
 fences, seldom face them well at first ; perhaps nothing 
 short of the emulation which animates their riders, and the 
 courage created in the noble animals themselves by the 
 presence of the hounds, would induce them to face such 
 
 1 Sir Bellingham Graham alone received the last-named sum. That now 
 given to Mr. Errington is about two thousand five hundred pounds. 
 
 K H5 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 things at all. Timber-fences, such as rails, stiles, and gates, 
 but particularly rails, are oftener leaped in Leicestershire 
 than in any other country, by reason of the great height 
 which the quickset fences attain a height which, in some 
 places, nothing but a bird can surmount ; brooks also 
 abound, amongst the widest of which are the Whissendine ; 
 the Smite, or Belvoir ; one under Stanton Wood ; another 
 under Norton by Galby ; and a fifth near Woodwell Head. 
 
 At the conclusion of the last century, Mr. Meynell was 
 master of these Quorn hounds, since which time they 
 have been in the hands of the following conspicuous sports- 
 men : Earl Sefton, the late Lord Foley, Mr. Thomas 
 Assheton Smith, Sir Bellingham Graham, Mr. Osbaldeston, 
 Lord Southampton, the late Sir Harry Goodricke, Sir 
 Francis Holyoake Goodricke, and Mr. Errington, the second 
 son of Sir Thomas Stanley, Bart., of Cheshire, who now 
 has them. 
 
 The town of Melton furnishes an interesting scene on 
 each hunting morning. At rather an early hour are to be 
 seen groups of hunters, the finest in the world, setting out 
 in different directions to meet different packs of hounds. 
 Each sportsman sends forward two. On one is mounted 
 a very light but extremely well-dressed lad, who returns 
 home on his master's cover hack, or in the dickey of his 
 carriage, if he has happened to be carried to cover in the 
 more luxurious fashion. On the other hunter is a per- 
 sonage of a very different description. This is what is 
 called the ' second-horse man ' ; he rides the second horse, 
 146 
 

 ,. O. rff A/* t//i - 
 
 THE SECOND HORSK." 
 

 ^Nimrod ' 
 
 which is to carry his master with the hounds after his having 
 had one, or part of one, chace on the first. This descrip- 
 tion of servant is by no means easy to procure ; and he 
 generally exhibits in his countenance and demeanour some- 
 thing like a modest assurance that he possesses qualities of 
 importance. In short, he must have some brains in his 
 head ; be a good horseman, with a light hand ; be able 
 to ride very well to hounds ; and, above all, he must have 
 a good eye to, and a thorough knowledge of, a country, to 
 enable him to give his master a chance of changing his 
 horse in a run, and not merely when it is over. Lord 
 Sefton brought this second-horse system into fashion at the 
 time he hunted Leicestershire, when Jack Raven, a light- 
 weight, and son of his huntsman, the celebrated John Raven, 
 huntsman to the still more celebrated Mr. Meynell, used 
 to ride one of his thousand-guinea hunters in his wake 
 if we may so express ourselves in the field, to which he 
 changed his seat at the first convenient opportunity. The 
 system, however, has been improved upon since then. 
 The second-horse man now rides to points, instead of 
 following the hounds, and thus often meets his master at 
 a most favourable moment, when his good steed is sinking, 
 with one that has not been out of a, trot. There is much 
 humanity as well as comfort in this arrangement ; for at 
 the pace hounds now go over grass countries, horses become 
 somewhat distressed under heavy-weights in a short time 
 after the chace begins, when the scent lies well, and they 
 are manfully ridden up to the pack. 
 
 H7 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 About an hour and a half after the servants are gone 
 forward with the hunters, a change of scene is to be ob- 
 served at Melton. Carriages and four appear at some 
 doors, at others very clever, and, most commonly, thorough- 
 bred hacks, led gently in hand, ready for their owners to 
 mount. The by-roads of this country being bad for wheels, 
 the hack is often the better conveyance of the two always, 
 indeed, unless the fixture be at a place on, or not far from, 
 a turnpike road ; and twelve or fourteen miles are generally 
 performed by him within the hour. 
 
 The style of your Meltonian fox-hunter has long dis- 
 tinguished him above his brethren of what he calls the pro- 
 vincial chace. When turned out of the hands of his valet, 
 he presents the very beau-ideal of his caste. The exact 
 Stultz-like fit of his coat, his superlatively well-cleaned 
 leather breeches and boots, and the generally apparent high 
 breeding of the man, can seldom be matched elsewhere ; 
 and the most cautious sceptic on such points would satisfy 
 himself of this fact at one single inspection. 
 
 Before Leicestershire acquired its present ascendant rank 
 in the scale of sport, it was hunted by what were called the 
 Noel hounds, which afterwards became the property of the 
 Lonsdale family ; but, in those early days, this county 
 wore, to the eye of a sportsman, a very different appear- 
 ance from that which it now presents. A great portion of 
 the land was unenclosed ; neither was there a tenth part 
 of the furze-covers with which it now abounds. The foxes, 
 on the other hand, were wilder then than they are at present, 
 148 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 and runs of longer duration than those of later times were, 
 on an average, the result. Game was not so plentiful as 
 it now is ; consequently foxes had further to travel for 
 their usual provender, which trained them for runs of 
 extraordinary length ; and they were wilder, from the wilder 
 nature of the country in which they were bred. It was, 
 however, reserved to Mr. Meynell to render famous the 
 county of Leicester as a hunting country. He was, doubt- 
 less, the most successful sportsman of his own time, nor 
 has he been surpassed by any who have trodden in his 
 steps ; although it may be admitted he has had his equals 
 in some departments of * the craft.' It is a great mistake 
 to fancy that a fool will ever make a first-rate figure even 
 in fox-hunting ; and, in truth, this father of the modern 
 chace was anything but a fool. He was a man of strong 
 and vigorous mind, joined with much perseverance, as well 
 as ardour in his favourite pursuit, and brought faculties to 
 bear upon sport, as a science, which would have distinguished 
 themselves in any walk of life to which he might have 
 applied them. As a breeder of hounds he displayed a 
 perfect judgment : the first qualities he looked for were 
 fine noses and stout running ; a combination of strength 
 with beauty, and steadiness with high mettle. His idea of 
 perfection of shape was summed up in * short backs, open 
 bosoms, straight legs, and compact feet.' Although he did 
 not hunt his hounds himself, yet he was one of the boldest, 
 as well as most judicious horsemen of his time ; but this 
 was only a minor qualification. His knowledge of hunt- 
 
 149 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 ing was supreme, and several of his maxims are in force 
 to the present hour. He was a great advocate for not 
 hurrying hounds in their work ; and having, perhaps, un- 
 paralleled influence over his field, he was enabled to prevent 
 his brother sportsmen from pressing on the hounds when 
 in difficulties himself being the first to keep aloof : in 
 chace, no man rode harder. 
 
 It was in his day that the hard riding, or, we should 
 rather say, quick riding, to hounds, which has ever since 
 been practised, was first brought into vogue. The late Mr. 
 Childe, of Kinlet Hall, Shropshire a sportsman of the 
 highest order, and a great personal friend of Mr. Meynell 
 is said to have first set the example, and it was quickly 
 followed by the leading characters of the Quorn hunt. 1 
 This system has not only continued, but has gained ground ; 
 and the art of riding a chace may be said to have arrived at 
 a state of perfection quite unknown at any other period of 
 time. That a drawback from sport, and occasional loss of 
 foxes, are often the results of this dashing method of riding 
 to hounds, every sportsman must acknowledge ; as an old 
 
 1 Among the foremost of these were the present Earl of Jersey, then Lord 
 Villiers ; the late Lord Forester, then Mr. Cecil Forester ; Lord Delamere, 
 then Mr. Cholmondeley ; the Honourable George Germaine ; Earl Sefton ; 
 Lord Huntingfield, then the Honourable Joshua Vanneck ; the late Lords 
 Charles Somerset, Maynard, and Craven ; Lord Lyndoch, then Colonel 
 Graham ; the late Lords Foley and Wenlock, then Sir Robert Lawley ; 
 Honourables Robert Grosvenor, Berkeley Craven, and Martin Hawke ; Sir 
 John Shelley, Sir Henry Peyton, and the late Sir Stephen Glynn ; General 
 Tarleton ; Messrs. Loraine Smith, Childe, Charles Meynell, Harvey Aston, 
 Lowth, Musters, Lambton, Bennet, Hawkes, Lockley, Thomas Assheton 
 Smith, Lindow, Jacob Wardell, cum multis aliis. 
 
^Nimrod " 
 
 writer on hunting has observed, ' The emulation of leading, 
 in dogs and their masters, has been the ruin of many a good 
 cry.' One circumstance, however, has greatly tended to 
 perfect the system of riding well up, and this is the im- 
 proved condition of hunters. 1 Of Mr. Meynell's time, two 
 celebrated chaces are recorded in print : one of an hour 
 and twenty minutes without a check ; and the other, two 
 hours and fifty minutes without a cast. Only two horses 
 carried their riders throughout the first run, and only one 
 went to the end of the second ; both foxes were killed, and 
 every hound was present at the death of each. We may 
 venture to say, had the two runs we have alluded to taken 
 place within the last few years, this superiority in the con- 
 dition of the hounds over the horses would by no means 
 have been maintained. 
 
 We wish we could gratify such of our readers as are 
 sportsmen with the date and origin of our best packs of 
 foxhounds, as well as the names and character of their 
 owners ; but our limits will not allow us to go into much 
 detail. Perhaps the oldest foxhound blood in England at 
 this time is to be found in the kennel of the Earl of Lons- 
 dale, at Cottesmore. The Noels, whom this family suc- 
 ceeded, were of ancient standing in the chace ; and the 
 
 1 The advantages of the new system of preparing the hunter for the field 
 have been so clearly demonstrated by the author of these papers, in his Letters 
 on the Condition of Hunters, Riding to Hounds, etc., that the old one, of turning 
 him to grass in the summer, and destroying that condition which it had taken 
 months to procure, is nearly, if not totally, exploded in the studs of all the 
 hard riders of the present day. 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 venerable peer himself has now superintended the pack for 
 nearly fifty years, with a short interregnum of three or 
 four years, when Sir Gilbert Heathcote had them. 
 
 Lord Yarborough's kennel can likewise boast of very 
 old blood, that pack having descended, without interrup- 
 tion, from father to son for upwards of one hundred and 
 fifty years. 
 
 The hounds, late Mr. Warde's, sold to Mr. Horlock a 
 few years since for two thousand guineas, claim a high 
 descent, having much of the blood of Lord Thanet's and 
 Mr. Elwes's packs, which were in the possession of the 
 Abingdon family at Rycot, for at least three generations, 
 and hunted Oxfordshire and Berkshire. 
 
 Mr. Warde was a master of foxhounds during, as we 
 believe, the yet unequalled period of fifty-seven years in 
 succession. During this time he sold his pack to Lord 
 Spencer ; but reserved three couple of bitches, from which 
 he raised another pack, and thus never lost sight of his old 
 blood. 
 
 The late Earl Fitzwilliam comes very near Mr. Warde 
 as an old master of foxhounds. Soon after Mr. Warde 
 purchased his first pack of the Honourable Captain Bertie, 
 this peer bought the one called the Crewe and Foley, which 
 had been very long established in Oxfordshire and Warwick- 
 shire ; and he kept them to his death nearly fifty years, 
 and they are now in the kennel of the present Earl. 
 
 The Belvoir hounds are also a very old-established pack, 
 but had an interval during the minority of the present 
 152 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 Duke of Rutland, when in the hands, first, of Sir Carnaby 
 Haggerstone, and afterwards of Mr. Percival, brother of 
 the late Lord Egmont. 
 
 The Duke of Beaufort's are another justly celebrated 
 pack, now in possession of the third generation ; they date 
 from the time of Lord Fitzwilliam's taking the Crewe and 
 Foley hounds, which made an opening in that part of 
 Oxfordshire which the Duke now hunts. 
 
 Foxhounds have been kept at Raby Castle, Durham, 
 by the present Duke of Cleveland and his uncle, the late 
 Duke, for more than a century ; and His Grace officiated 
 as huntsman to his pack for nearly forty seasons, still follow- 
 ing them to the field. 
 
 The Earl of Scarborough's late pack, now Mr. Fol- 
 jambe's, hunting the Collingworth country, claims also 
 an early date ; and among the other old masters of fox- 
 hounds now alive, the names of Sir Richard Puleston, the 
 late Lord Middleton, the Earl of Harewood, Mr. Villebois, 
 Mr. Ralph Lambton, Mr. Musters, and the Duke of Grafton, 
 stand next on the list. The late Sir Thomas Mostyn 
 was in the uninterrupted possession of foxhounds for up- 
 wards of forty years ; the late Mr. Chute, of Hampshire, 
 kept them at least thirty years ; and that super- excellent 
 sportsman, Mr. Musters, has already seen out a similar 
 period. 
 
 With the exception of those and a few others, the packs 
 of English foxhounds have changed masters so often within 
 the last fifty years, that it is almost impossible to trace them, 
 
 153 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 either in blood or possession. However, the most valu- 
 able kennels of the present day are those of the Dukes 
 of Rutland, Beaufort, and Cleveland, Lord Fitzwilliam, 
 Messrs. Ralph Lambton and Osbaldeston (now Mr. Harvey 
 Combe's). Mr. Warde has been remarkable for the great 
 bone, size, and power of the hounds he has bred. With 
 the exception of the Duke of Cleveland's and Mr. Ville- 
 bois's large packs (so called in contradistinction to packs 
 consisting of their smaller hounds, which these eminent 
 sportsmen bring into the field on the alternate days), no 
 hounds of the present day equal his in this respect. His 
 logic on the subject is incontrovertible. ' You may at 
 pleasure/ says this distinguished sportsman, ' diminish 
 the size and power of the animal you wish to breed ; but 
 it is difficult to increase, or even preserve them, adhering 
 to the same breed.' Many thought that Mr. Warde's 
 hounds looked to some disadvantage, owing to their gener- 
 ally carrying a good deal of flesh, which, however, he con- 
 sidered as did also the celebrated Tom Rose, the Duke 
 of Graf ton's late huntsman, and father of the present 
 absolutely essential to those which, like his, hunted strong 
 woodland countries. To the eye of a sportsman, it is 
 certain they always afforded a high treat, as the power 
 and fine symmetry of the foxhound were apparent at first 
 sight ; and almost every kennel in the south of England, 
 and several in the north, are now proud to acknowledge 
 their obligations to the blood of John Warde the Father 
 of the Field. 
 
 154 
 
'Nimrod ' 
 
 The following sketch of honest Old Tom is copied 
 from a late number of the Northampton Herald^ with a few 
 additional particulars by the friend who has kindly for- 
 warded it to us, and who had long known him, and was able 
 to appreciate his character. It is but an imperfect sketch, 
 he observes, and hardly does Old Tom justice : 
 
 ' Poor Tom has at length gone to the place where all things are 
 forgotten. For many years have I known him well, and safely can 
 I aver that a more honest and worthy man never sat on a saddle, 
 or ever cheered a hound. He had been from his infancy in the 
 family of the Duke of Graf ton. It is related of him, that Joe Smith, 
 who had the care of the old Duke's hounds, whilst hunting one day 
 at Staen, near Brackley, heard a boy hallooing crows, and was so 
 pleased with his voice, that he took him into the stable. Be that 
 as it may, he hunted the Grafton pack for nearly half a century. 
 As it is much easier to pick a hole than mend one, so many, who 
 were unacquainted with the nature of the country, used ofttimes 
 to be not very scrupulous in their remarks as to his management. 
 No one knew what hounds ought to be better than Tom ; but as 
 he frequently used to say, " a man must breed his pack to suit his 
 country." His hounds were supposed to be wild, and to have too 
 much fly in them ; or, according to his phrase, " a leetle in a hurry." 
 They certainly were so in a degree ; but, in the ungovernable wood- 
 lands he had to hunt, how many foxes would he have caught had 
 he not lifted them and thrown them in at head, with a bad fox ? 
 One fox would have lasted him a season. This system, doubtless, 
 would make them wild in the open, but in a woodland country 
 what other system is to be pursued ? Knowing that they had a 
 good deal of fling in them, Tom could not bear the sight of a red 
 coat. The Pytchley wild-boys, who were ever for a scurry in 
 the morning, used to indulge Tom with their company whenever 
 they met in the open, and not being accustomed (when at home) 
 to give them " much room," used to drive them over it most un- 
 
 155 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 mercifully, and generally soon lost their first fox for them. As 
 soon, however, as Tom's company had left him, or he had left them, 
 by slipping down-wind with a few farmers and a field he could 
 control, no hounds would sooner settle to their scent, or make more 
 of it. If the scent would let them, none could twist him up sooner. 
 Tom had one failing (and who has not ?), which was, that he was 
 too strongly prejudiced in favour of his own sort, and thereby lost 
 the advantage which is derived from judiciously crossing, and which 
 has so mainly contributed to the improvement of hounds in the 
 present day. He had generally many lame hounds, which arose, 
 not from any fault of his, but from the dampness of the kennel, in 
 which there arose upright springs ; which (whatever may be the 
 case now) were not cured in his time. Though not an elegant, 
 he was a capital horseman, and no one got better to his hounds. 
 He did not like either a difficult or a raw horse, and he was not what 
 is called a bruising rider; but he well knew the pace his horse 
 was going, and always kept something in him. He did not like 
 cramming him at large fences ; but, like his inimitable pupil, 
 Charles King, would always let any aspiring rider break the 
 binders for him, and would rather get his horse's hind-legs into 
 the middle of a fence and make him creep through it, than 
 let him jump. 
 
 ' He had a sharp eye for a gap, or the weakest place in a fence, 
 and could bore a hole through a black, dark double hedge better 
 than most men. In the latter part of his life, he had a propensity 
 highly disagreeable to a horseman's eye : he used to poke his horse 
 on the head till he frightened him out of his senses, held him too 
 hard, and frequently made him jump short, either before or behind. 
 The consequence was, he often spoilt his beauty in a scramble, 
 or lay on his back, as the penalty of his cowardice. However, he 
 got well to his hounds without upsetting his horse ; and when he 
 was with them he knew well when to stir them, and when to let 
 them alone. 
 
 * Some five-and-thirty years ago no pack was better appointed. 
 The horses came chiefly from the racing stud, and all the men were 
 
 156 
 
^Nimrod '' 
 
 well mounted. Dick Forster 1 and Ned Allen, then both in high 
 feather, were of the first order of the profession (Jackett, too, was a 
 famous assistant, and a fine rider), quick, active, and light, and 
 always ready to play into one another's hands. As many a flower 
 blows unseen, so had these hounds many a fine day's sport that was 
 hardly ever heard of. With no one out but " Old Beau " with his low- 
 crowned hat, black top-boots, one steel spur ; his groom, Luke, 
 in his twilled fustian frock, on the second horse ; and a few old 
 potterers like myself I have seen many a run, the recollection 
 of which warms the expiring embers of my old age. Tom had a 
 fine voice, which he, however, never used unnecessarily ; and he 
 scarcely ever blew his horn, except to get them out of a cover when 
 the fox was away. As long as fox-hunting is followed by English- 
 men, so long will the name of Old Tom Rose be cherished with the 
 fondest recollections.' 
 
 Sir Richard Puleston is celebrated as a judicious breeder 
 of hounds, and his blood has likewise been highly valued 
 in several of our best kennels, amongst which is the Duke 
 of Cleveland's, to whom Sir Richard sold a very large draft 
 some years since, and also that of the Fife. The late Mr. 
 Corbet, a very considerable breeder of hounds, always 
 bowed to his superior judgment in this department of the 
 science. The most celebrated breeders, however, of this 
 day, are the Dukes of Rutland and Beaufort, and Mr. Ralph 
 Lambton ; and Mr. Osbaldeston's blood, although himself 
 no longer the owner of hounds, is de facto in the highest 
 repute in the hunting world. A few years back, he had 
 nearly forty couple of hounds at work at one time, by one 
 sire his Furrier. 
 
 The following testimony to the character of the late 
 
 1 Now huntsman to Mr. Villebois, in Hampshire. 
 
 157 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 Duke of Beaufort and his foxhounds, appeared in a late 
 number of the * New Sporting Magazine' from the pen of 
 * Nimrod ' :- 
 
 ' Yet it is as a master of foxhounds, that it is within my province 
 to speak of the late Duke of Beaufort ; and, from the many years' 
 experience I had of His Grace in the field, I feel myself in some 
 measure competent to the task. I need scarcely say I was always 
 an admirer of his hounds, although I could not like his country. 
 The gradual improvement I saw in the former, in defiance of all 
 the disadvantages of the latter, convinced me that there was a system 
 at work highly worthy of my consideration a directing hand some- 
 where which must eventually lead to perfection. But whence this 
 directing hand I was for a long time unable to discover. I doubted 
 it being that of the Duke, not from a mistrust of his capacity, but 
 because I had reason to believe the numerous avocations of his 
 station prevented his attending to the minutiae of a kennel ; although 
 I did not consider His Grace a sportsman of the very first class, in 
 which his hounds certainly stood. I doubted it being that of Philip 
 Payne, his huntsman, for, to appearance, a duller bit of clay was 
 never moulded by Nature. But we should not judge from appear- 
 ances, and I lived to confess my error. There was about Philip a 
 steady observance of circumstances , which, increasing with the ex- 
 perience of their results, was more useful to him, as a breeder of 
 foxhounds, than the learning and talent of a Person. His observa- 
 tion alone taught him that in seeking to produce excellence in 
 animals, we have the best prospect of success in the election of those 
 to breed from which have individually exhibited the peculiar qualities 
 we require from them. Having availed ourselves of those in a 
 kennel, a combination of strength and symmetry which we call 
 beauty produces the perfect hound ; at least as nearly so as the 
 somewhat imperfect law of nature will allow of.' 
 
 Persons, who are not sportsmen, may be at a loss to 
 estimate the annual expenses of a pack of foxhounds, hunting 
 
 158 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 our first-rate countries ; and, perhaps, equally so to account 
 for such large sums being expended in such pursuits. 1 
 
 Hay and oats, and, consequently, oatmeal, being very 
 much cheaper now than they were during the war-prices, 
 of course these expenses are diminished : but, -even at 
 present, we understand that, in the best establishments, 
 very little is left out of four thousand pounds at the end of 
 the year, when all contingent charges are liquidated ; and 
 we have reason to know that several greatly outstrip even 
 this sum, perhaps to the extent of one-half in addition. The 
 late Sir Harry Goodricke had eighty couple of hounds in 
 his kennel and forty-four hunters in his stables ; and we 
 
 1 The following are the items of expenses laid down by Colonel Cooke in 
 his ' Observations on Fox-Hunting? published a few years since. The calcula- 
 tion supposed a four-times-a-week country ; but it is generally below the 
 mark : 
 
 Fourteen horses ...... 700 
 
 Hounds' food for fifty couple .... 275 
 
 Firing ........ 50 
 
 Taxes 120 
 
 Two whippers-in and feeder . . . .210 
 
 Earth-stopping ...... 80 
 
 Saddlery . . . . . . . 100 
 
 Farriery, shoeing, and medicine . . . 100 
 Young hounds purchased, and expenses at walks 100 
 Casualties ....... 200 
 
 Huntsman's wages and his horses . . . 300 
 
 2235 
 
 Of course, countries vary much in expense from local circumstances such 
 as the necessity for change of kennels, hounds sleeping out, etc., etc. In 
 those which are called hollow countries, consequently abounding in earths, 
 the expense of earth-stopping is heavy ; and Northamptonshire is of this 
 class. In others, a great part of the foxes are what is termed stub-bred (bred 
 above ground), which circumstance reduces the amount of this item. 
 
 159 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 believe that his predecessors, Lord Southampton, Mr. 
 Osbaldeston, and Sir Bellingham Graham, even exceeded 
 this measure of establishment. 
 
 The price of hounds is, perhaps, not generally known. 
 Thirty years ago Sir Richard Puleston sold his to the Duke 
 of Bedford for seven hundred, and fifteen years since, Mr. 
 Corbet's were sold to Lord Middleton for twelve hundred 
 guineas. A well-known good pack will, in these times, 
 command a thousand guineas those of Lord Tavistock 
 (the Oakley) to Sir Harry Goodricke ; Mr. Nicholl's to the 
 Earl of Kintore ; and Sir Richard Sutton's to Mr. Thomas 
 Assheton Smith, have been sold for that sum within the 
 last few years ; and those of Mr. Warde, as we have already 
 said, for double that sum. But a very few years back, 
 indeed, Mr. Osbaldeston sold ten couple of hounds for the 
 first-named sum to the late Lord Middleton ; and we have 
 reason to believe that he had hounds in his kennel for which 
 he would not have taken two hundred guineas a-piece. 
 Knowing all this, one can make every allowance for the 
 angry feeling and fears of their owners when they see the 
 chance of their being ridden over and destroyed in chace. 
 Good hounds are not easily replaced ; and it is on this account 
 that in the hard- riding countries, and where the covers are 
 small, seldom more than sixteen or seventeen couple form 
 a pack. 
 
 The recent retirement of the Duke of Rutland from the 
 field has been felt to leave a vacuum in the hunting world. 
 Those hounds are now in the possession of a very popular 
 1 60 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 young nobleman, Lord Forester, and His Grace subscribes 
 one thousand two hundred pounds per annum towards 
 their support ; but the Duke himself no longer hunts, 
 neither is there the annual assemblage of sportsmen that 
 was wont to be within the walls of Belvoir Castle. These 
 are circumstances which have caused much regret ; for His 
 Grace retires with the good name of all the fox-hunting 
 population. He * did the thing ' with princely magnificence 
 both indoors and out, and if materials had been sought 
 for to furnish a faithful representation of the style and 
 grandeur of the genuine English nobleman, giving a fair 
 part of his attention to the arrangements of the chace, we 
 have reason to believe they would have all been met with 
 at Belvoir. 
 
 Although most foreigners express vast surprise that we 
 should go to such expense in hunting the fox, unattended 
 by the parade of the continental chasse, yet several of them 
 have of late been induced to make their appearance in 
 Leicestershire ; and some few have shown that had they 
 been born Englishmen, and rightly initiated in the art, they 
 must have been conspicuous characters in the field. The 
 performances of Count Sandore, an Hungarian nobleman, 
 who resided one year at Melton Mowbray, on a visit to 
 Lord Alvanley, have already met the public eye ; and his 
 daring horsemanship, and consequent mishaps, formed the 
 subject of an amusing tale. From a ludicrous description 
 given of them by himself, a series of pictures were painted 
 by Mr. Ferneley, of Melton Mowbray, representing him in 
 L 161 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 as extraordinary and perilous situations as the imagination 
 of man could have conceived. Fiction, however, was not 
 resorted to, every scene being a real one ; and the Count 
 the delight of the Meltonians carried them to his own 
 country, on his return, together with some English mares 
 to produce hunters, having had a good taste of the breed. 
 He was mounted by Mr. Tilbury, a celebrated horse-dealer 
 in London, who found him a stud of eight horses for the 
 season, for the moderate sum of one thousand pounds, in- 
 cluding every contingent expense, even to the turnpike 
 gates. Count Bathyany is a resident at Melton ; Counts 
 Hahn and Bassewitz, from Germany, spent part of one season 
 there ; and Count Matuchevitch, the Russian Minister, is 
 residing there now. His Excellency has ten hunters of his 
 own, rides hard, and is much esteemed by the Meltonians, 
 and all sportsmen in the neighbourhood. 1 During the visit 
 of Don Miguel to the Duke of Wellington at Strathfieldsay, 
 a few years back, he went out with the Vine hounds (late 
 Mr. Chute's), to which His Grace is a subscriber. He rode 
 
 1 Several French sportsmen have lately visited Leicestershire ; the best 
 performed of them, perhaps, is M. Normandie. M. de Vaublan and M. 
 d'Hinnisdale have both had a taste of Melton ; and, in 1834, the last-named 
 gentleman spent the winter at Leamington, in Warwickshire. This was 
 the year in which M. Vaublan was in Leicestershire, where, although very 
 indifferently mounted by Tilbury, and experiencing many falls, he was almost 
 always to be seen at the finish of a good run. At all events, he went as long 
 as his horse could go, and was considered a very good horseman. M. de 
 Normandie has hunted much, both in Leicestershire, Warwickshire, and 
 Dorsetshire, being at this time domiciled at Catestock, in the latter county, 
 the headquarters of Mr. Farquharson's hunt, with three thorough-bred young 
 ones in his stud namely, Ciudad, Rouncival, and Rodrigo which, no doubt, 
 will soon become perfect in his hands, for no man need have better. 
 
 162 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 a celebrated hunter of the late King's, and gallantly did he 
 put him along. It too often happens, however, on such 
 occasions, when sport is most anxiously desired for the 
 amusement of some distinguished individual, that the game 
 runs short, or the scent lies faintly. Such was a good 
 deal the case in this instance, although there was running 
 enough to show that Miguel would have stopped at 
 nothing that might have come in his way to oppose his 
 being with the hounds. Of his qualities as a sportsman 
 there was little opportunity of judging, but he certainly 
 showed himself to be a horseman of a superior caste : 
 insomuch that those who observed him were little 
 astonished with the accounts of his personal activity 
 in the first weeks after his return to Portugal : he, at 
 that crisis, is said to have ridden six hundred miles in 
 six successive days, a feat which those who have travelled 
 on Portuguese roads will appreciate. So much for, we 
 fear, one of the last persons to whom anybody would 
 think of applying Wordsworth's eulogium on * the Shepherd 
 Lord ' : 
 
 ' In him the savage virtue of the chace, 
 Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts, were dead.' 
 
 It is a hackneyed enough remark, that both ancient and 
 modern writers make sad work of it when they attempt a 
 description of heaven. To describe a run with foxhounds 
 is not a much easier task ; but to make the attempt with 
 any other county than Leicestershire in our eye, would be 
 giving a chance away. Let us then suppose ourselves to 
 
 163 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 have been at Ashby Pasture, in the Quorn country, with 
 Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds, in the year 1826, when that 
 pack was at the height of its well-merited celebrity. Let 
 us also indulge ourselves with a fine morning in the first 
 week of February, and at least two hundred well-mounted 
 men by the cover's side. Time being called say a quarter 
 past eleven, nearly our great-grandfather's dinner-hour 
 the hounds approach the furze-brake, or the gorse, as it is 
 called in that region. ' Hark in, hark I ' with a slight cheer, 
 and perhaps one wave of his cap, says Mr. Osbaldeston, 
 who long hunted his own pack, and in an instant he has 
 not a hound at his horse's heels. In a very short time the 
 gorse appears shaken in various parts of the cover ap- 
 parently from an unknown cause, not a single hound being 
 for some minutes visible. Presently one or two appear, 
 leaping over some old furze which they cannot push through, 
 and exhibit to the field their glossy skins and spotted sides. 
 * Oh ! you beauties ! ' exclaims some old Meltonian, rap- 
 turously fond of the sport. Two minutes more elapse ; 
 another hound slips out of cover, and takes a short turn 
 outside with his nose to the ground and his stern lashing 
 his side thinking, no doubt, he might touch on a drag, 
 should Reynard have been abroad in the night. Hounds 
 have no business to think , thinks the second whipper-in, 
 who observes him ; but one crack of his whip, with 
 1 Rasselas, Rasselas, where are you going, Rasselas ? Get 
 to cover, Rasselas ! ' and Rasselas immediately disappears. 
 Five minutes more pass away. ' No fox here,' says one. 
 164 
 
' Don't be in a hurry/ cried Mr. Craddock ; l l they are 
 drawing it beautifully, and there is rare lying in it.* These 
 words are scarcely uttered, when the cover shakes more 
 than ever. Every stem appears alive, and it reminds us of 
 a corn-field waving in the wind. In two minutes the sterns 
 of some more hounds are seen * flourishing ' ' above the 
 gorse. * Have at him there* holloas the Squire 3 the gorse 
 still more alive, and hounds leaping over each other's backs. 
 1 Have at him there again, my good hounds ; a fox for a 
 hundred ! ' reiterates the Squire ; putting his finger in his 
 ear, and uttering a scream which, not being set to music, 
 we cannot give here. Jack Stevens (the first whipper-in) 
 looks at his watch. At this moment ' John White,' ' Val 
 Maher,' * Frank Holyoake ' (who will pardon us for giving 
 them their noms-de-chasse)? and two or three more of the 
 fast ones, are seen creeping gently on towards a point at 
 which they think it probable he may break. ' Hold hard, 
 there,' says a sportsman ; but he might as well speak to the 
 wind. ' Stand still, gentlemen ! pray stand still,' exclaims 
 
 1 This gentleman resided within the limits of the Quorn hunt, and kindly 
 superintended the management of the covers. He has lately paid the debt 
 of nature. 
 
 2 Technical, for the motion of a hound's stern or tail, when he first feels 
 a scent, but is not sufficiently confident to own, or acknowledge it. 
 
 3 When Mr. Osbaldeston had the Quorn hounds, three of the four packs 
 which hunted in the same county with his own were the property of noble- 
 men ; so, for the sake of distinction, his friends conferred on him the familiar 
 title of ' the Squire.' 
 
 4 John White, Esq., of Park Hall, Derbyshire ; Valentine Maher, Esq., 
 a member of the Old Club ; and Francis Lyttleton Holyoake, Esq., of Studley 
 Castle, Worcestershire, but now Sir Francis Holyoake Goodricke, having 
 succeeded to the title and estates of the late Sir Harry Goodricke. 
 
 165 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 the huntsman ; he might as well say so to the sun. During 
 the time we have been speaking of, all the field have been 
 awake gloves put on cigars thrown away the bridle- 
 reins gathered well up into the hand, and hats pushed down 
 upon the brow. 
 
 At this interesting period a Snob, 1 just arrived from a 
 very rural country, and unknown to any one, but determined 
 to witness the start, gets into a conspicuous situation. 
 ' Come away, sir ! ' holloas the master (little suspecting that 
 the Snob may be nothing less than one of the Quarterly 
 Reviewers 2 ) ; * what mischief are you doing there ? Do you 
 think you can catch the fox ? ' A breathless silence ensues. 
 At length a whimper is heard in the cover like the voice 
 of a dog in a dream : it is Flourisher, 3 and the Squire cheers 
 him to the echo. In an instant a hound challenges and 
 another and another. Tis enough. * Tallyho ! ' cries a 
 countryman in a tree. * He 's gone/ exclaims Lord 
 Alvanley : and, clapping his spurs to his horse, in an instant 
 is in the front rank. 
 
 As all good sportsmen would say, 'Ware hounds ! ' 
 cries Sir Harry Goodricke. ' Give them time, 5 exclaims 
 Mr. John Moore. * That 's right/ says Mr. Osbaldeston, 
 * spoil your own sport as usual/ * Go along' roars out 
 
 1 We know nothing of the derivation of the word ' Snob,' unless it be in 
 contradistinction to Nob ; it is certainly not a classical one, but either that or 
 Tiger is too often applied to a total stranger who ventures to show himself in 
 the ' swell countries ' as they are called. 
 
 2 This essay originally appeared in the ' Quarterly Review.' 
 
 3 A noted finder, now in Mr. Osbaldeston 's pack. 
 
 1 66 
 
'Nimrod 5 
 
 Mr. Holyoake, c there are three couple of hounds on the 
 scent.' ' That 's your sort/ says Billy Coke, 1 coming up 
 at the rate of thirty miles an hour on Advance, with a label 
 pinned on his back, * he kicks ' ; * the rest are all coming, 
 and there 's a rare scent to-day, I 'm sure/ Bonaparte's 
 Old Guard, in its best days, would not have stopped such 
 men as these, so long as life remained in them. 
 
 Only those who have witnessed it can know in what an 
 extraordinary manner hounds that are left behind in a 
 cover make their way through a crowd, and get up to the 
 leading ones of the pack, which have been fortunate in 
 getting away with their fox. It is true they possess the 
 speed of a race-horse ; still, nothing short of their high 
 mettle could induce them to thread their way through a 
 body of horsemen going the best pace, with the prospect 
 of being ridden over and maimed at every stride they take. 
 But, as Beckford observes, ' 'Tis the dash of the foxhound 
 which distinguishes him.' A turn, however, in their favour, 
 or a momentary loss of scent in the few hounds that have 
 shot ahead an occurrence to be looked for on such occa- 
 sions joins head and tail together, and the scent being 
 good, every hound settles to his fox ; the pace gradually 
 improves ; vires acquirit eundo ; a terrible burst is the 
 result ! 
 
 At the end of nineteen minutes the hounds come to a 
 fault, and for a moment the fox has a chance in fact, they 
 
 1 Nephew to Mr. Coke of Holkham ; his famous horse Advance was 
 dangerous in a crowd, and hence the necessity of a label. 
 
 167 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 have been pressed upon by the horses, and have rather 
 overrun the scent. ' What a pity ! ' says one. ' What a 
 shame ! ' cries another ; alluding, perhaps, to a young one, 
 who would and could have gone faster. ' You may thank 
 yourselves for this/ exclaims Osbaldeston, well up at the 
 time, Ashton 1 looking fresh ; but only fourteen men of the 
 two hundred are to be counted ; all the rest coming. At 
 one blast of the horn, the hounds are back to the point at 
 which the scent has failed, Jack Stevens being in his place 
 to turn them. ' Yo doit ! Pastime,' says the Squire, as 
 she feathers her stern down the hedge-row, looking more 
 beautiful than ever. She speaks ! * Worth a thousand, by 
 Jupiter ! ' cries John White, looking over his left shoulder, 
 as he sends both spurs into Buxton, delighted to see only 
 four more of the field are up. Our Snob, however, is 
 amongst them. He has * gone a good one/ and his counte- 
 nance is expressive of delight, as he urges his horse to his 
 speed to get again into a front place. 
 
 The pencil of a painter is now wanting ; and unless the 
 painter should be a sportsman, even his pencil would be 
 worth little. What a country is before him ! what a 
 panorama does it represent ! Not a field of less than forty 
 some a hundred acres, and no more signs of the plough 
 than in the wilds of Siberia. See the hounds in a body 
 that might be covered by a damask table-cloth every stern 
 down, and every head up, for there is no need of stooping, 
 
 1 Mr. Osbaldeston sold Ashton to Lord Plymouth for four hundred guineas, 
 after having ridden him six seasons. 
 
 1 68 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 the scent lying breast-high. But the crash ! the music ! 
 how to describe these ? Reader, there is no crash now, and 
 not much music. It is the tinker that makes great noise 
 over a little work ; but at the pace these hounds are going 
 there is no time for babbling. Perchance one hound in 
 five may throw his tongue as he goes, to inform his com- 
 rades, as it were, that the villain is on before them, and 
 most musically do the light notes of Vocal and Venus fall 
 on the ear of those who may be within reach to catch them. 
 But who is so fortunate in this second burst, nearly as terrible 
 as the first ? Our fancy supplies us again, and we think 
 we could name them all. If we look to the left, nearly 
 abreast of the pack, we see six men going gallantly, and 
 quite as straight as the hounds themselves are going, and on 
 the right are four more, riding equally well, though the 
 former have rather the best of it, owing to having had the 
 inside of the hounds at the last two turns, which must be 
 placed to the chapter of accidents. A short way in the rear, 
 by no means too much so to enjoy this brilliant run, are the 
 rest of the dlite of the field, who had come up at the first 
 check ; and a few who, thanks to the goodness of their 
 steeds, and their determination to be with the hounds, 
 appear as if dropped from the clouds. Some, however, begin 
 to show symptoms of distress. Two horses are seen loose 
 in the distance a report is flying about that one of the 
 field is badly hurt, and something is heard of a collar- 
 bone being broken, others say it is a leg ; but the pace is 
 too good to inquire. A cracking of rails is now heard, and 
 
 169 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 one gentleman's horse is to be seen resting, nearly balanced, 
 across one of them, his rider being on his back in the ditch, 
 which is on the landing side. ' Who is he ? ' says Lord 
 Brudenel to Jack Stevens. c Can't tell, my lord ; but I 
 thought it was a queerish place when I came o'er it before 
 him.' It is evidently a case of peril, but the pace is too good 
 to afford help. 
 
 Up to this time ' Snob ' has gone quite in the first flight ; 
 the * Dons ' begin to eye him, and, when an opportunity 
 offers, the question is asked * Who is that fellow on the 
 little bay horse ? ' * Don't know him,' says Mr. Little 
 Gilmour (a fourteen-stone Scotchman, by-the-by), ganging 
 gallantly to his hounds. * He can ride,' exclaims Lord 
 Rancliffe. * A tip-top provincial, depend upon it,' added 
 Lord Plymouth, going quite at his ease on a thorough-bred 
 nag, three stone above his weight, and in perfect racing 
 trim. Animal nature, however, will cry ' enough,' how 
 good soever she may be, if unreasonable man press her 
 beyond the point. The line of scent lies right athwart a 
 large grass ground (as a field is termed in Leicestershire), 
 somewhat on the ascent ; abounding in ant-hills, or hillocks, 
 peculiar to old grazing land, and thrown up by the plough 
 some hundred years since, into rather high ridges, with 
 deep, holding furrows between each. The fence at the 
 top is impracticable Meltonice, * a stoper ' ; nothing for it 
 but a gate, leading into a broad green lane, high and strong, 
 with deep slippery ground on each side of it. ' Now for 
 the timber-jumper,' cries Osbaldeston, pleased to find 
 170 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 himself upon Ashton. ' For Heaven's sake, take care of 
 my hounds, in case they may throw up in the lane.' Snob 
 is here in the best company, and that moment perhaps the 
 happiest of his life ; but, not satisfied with his situation, 
 wishing to out-Herod Herod, and to have a fine story to tell 
 when he gets home, he pushes to his speed on ground on 
 which all regular Leicestershire men are careful, and the 
 death-warrant of the little bay horse is signed. It is true 
 he gets first to the gate, and has no idea of opening it ; sees 
 it contains five new and strong bars, that will neither bend 
 nor break ; has a great idea of a fall, but no idea of refusing, 
 presses his hat firmly on his head, and gets his whip-hand 
 at liberty to give the good little nag a refresher ; but all at 
 once he perceives it will not do. When attempting to 
 collect him for the effort, he finds his mouth dead and his 
 neck stiff ; fancies he hears something like a wheezing in 
 his throat ; and discovering quite unexpectedly that the 
 gate would open, wisely avoids a fall, which was booked 
 had he attempted to leap it. He pulls up, then, at the 
 gate ; and as he places the hook of his whip under the 
 latch, John White goes over it close to the hinge-post, and 
 Captain Ross, upon Clinker, follows him. The Reviewer 
 then walks through. 
 
 The scene now shifts. On the other side of the lane is 
 a fence of this description : it is a newly plashed hedge, 
 abounding in strong growers, as they are called, and a 
 yawning ditch on the other side ; but as is peculiar to 
 Leicestershire and Northamptonshire, a considerable por- 
 
 171 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 tion of the blackthorn, left uncut, leans outwards from 
 the hedge, somewhat about breast-high. This large fence 
 is taken by all now with the hounds some to the right and 
 some to the left of the direct line ; but the little bay horse 
 would have no more of it. Snob puts him twice at it, and 
 manfully too, but the wind is out of him, and he has no 
 power to rise. Several scrambles, but only one fall, occur 
 at this * rasper/ all having nearly enough of the killing pace ; 
 and a mile and a half further, the second horses are fallen 
 in with, just in the nick of time. A short check from the 
 stain of sheep makes everything comfortable, and the 
 Squire having hit off his fox like a workman, thirteen 
 men, out of two hundred, are fresh mounted and with the 
 hounds, which settle to the scent again at a truly killing pace. 
 * Hold hard y Holyoake ! ' exclaims Mr. Osbaldeston (now 
 mounted on dasher), knowing what double-quick time he 
 would be marching to, with fresh pipes to play upon and 
 the crowd well shaken off ; * pray don't press 'em too hard, 
 and we shall be sure to kill our fox. 1 Have at him there, 
 Abigail and Fickle, good bitches ! see what a head they are 
 carrying ! I '11 bet a thousand they kill him.' The country 
 appears better and better. * He 's taking a capital line,' 
 exclaims Sir Harry Goodricke, as he points out to Sir James 
 Musgrave two young Furrier hounds, who are particularly 
 distinguishing themselves at the moment. ' Worth a dozen 
 Reform Bills,' shouts Sir Francis Burdett, sitting erect upon 
 
 1 One peculiar excellence in Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds was their steadi- 
 ness under pressure by the crowd. 
 
 172 
 
"THE LITTLE BAY HORSE WOULD HAVE NO MORE OF IT. 
 
^Nimrod ! 
 
 Sampson, 1 and putting his head straight at a yawner. ' We 
 shall have the Whissendine brook/ cries Mr. Maher, who 
 knows every field in the country, * for he is making straight 
 for Teigh.' * And a bumper, too, after last night's rain,' 
 holloas Captain Berkeley, determined to get first to four 
 stiff rails in a corner. * So much the better/ says Lord 
 Alvanley, * I like a bumper at all times.' * A fig for the 
 Whissendine/ cries Lord Gardner ; * I am on the best 
 water-jumper in my stable/ 
 
 , The prophecy turns up. Having skirted Ranksborough 
 Gorse, the villain has nowhere to stop short of Woodwell 
 Head cover, which he is pointing for ; and in ten minutes, 
 or less, the brook appears in view. It is even with its banks, 
 and as 
 
 ' Smooth glides the water where the brook is deep/ 
 
 its deepness was pretty certain to be fathomed. 
 
 ' Yooi y OVER he goes \ ' holloas the Squire, as he perceives 
 Joker and Jewell plunging into the stream, and Red-rose 
 shaking herself on the opposite bank. Seven men, out of 
 thirteen, take it in their stride ; three stop short, their 
 horses refusing the first time, but come well over the second ; 
 and three find themselves in the middle of it. The gallant 
 * Frank Forester ' is among the latter ; and having been 
 requested that morning to wear a friend's new red coat, 
 to take off the gloss and glare of the shop, he accomplishes 
 the task to perfection in the bluish-black mud of the Whis- 
 
 1 A favourite hunter of the baronet's which he once honoured by coming 
 all the way from London to Melton to ride one day with hounds. 
 
 173 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 sendine, only then subsiding after a three days' flood. 1 * Who 
 is that under his horse in the brook ? ' inquires that good 
 sportsman and fine rider, Mr. Green, of Rolleston, whose 
 noted old mare had just skimmed over the water like a 
 swallow on a summer's evening. ' It 's Middleton Biddulph/ 
 says one. ' Pardon me/ cries Mr. Middleton Biddulph ; 
 
 * Middleton Biddulph is here, and here he means to be ! ' 
 
 * Only Dick Christian/ 2 answers Lord Forester, 'and it's 
 nothing new to him.' * But he '11 be drowned/ exclaims Lord 
 Kinnaird. * I shouldn't wonder/ observes Mr. William 
 Coke. But the pace is too good to inquire. 
 
 The fox does his best to escape : he threads hedge-rows, 
 tries the out-buildings of a farm-house, and once turns so 
 short as nearly to run his foil, but the perfection of the 
 thing the hounds turn shorter than he does, as much as 
 to say die you shall. The pace has been awful for the last 
 twenty minutes. Three horses are blown to a standstill, 
 and few are going at their ease. * Out upon this great car- 
 case of mine ! no horse that was ever foaled can live under 
 it at this pace, and over this country/ says one of the best 
 welter-weights, as he stands over his four-hundred-guinea 
 chestnut, then rising from the ground after giving him a 
 heavy fall, his tail nearly erect in the air, his nostrils violently 
 distended, and his eye almost fixed. 3 
 
 1 A true story. 
 
 2 A celebrated rough-rider at Melton Mowbray, who greatly distinguished 
 himself in the late grand steeplechase from Rolleston. He is paid fifteen 
 shillings per day for riding gentlemen's young horses with hounds. 
 
 3 The writer here alluded to that celebrated sportsman, as well as horse- 
 
 174 
 
'Nimrod ' 
 
 * Not hurt, I hope,' exclaims Mr. Maxse, to somebody 
 whom he gets a glimpse of through the openings of a tall 
 quickset-hedge which is between them, coming neck and 
 crop into the adjoining field, from the top bar of a high, 
 hog-backed stile. His eye might have been spared the 
 unpleasing sight, had not his ear been attracted to a sort of 
 procumbit-humibos sound of a horse falling to the ground on 
 his back, the bone of his left hip indenting the greensward 
 within two inches of his rider's thigh. It is young Peyton, 1 
 who, having missed his second horse at the check, had been 
 going nearly half the way in distress ; but from nerve and 
 pluck, perhaps peculiar to Englishmen in the hunting-field, 
 but very peculiar to himself, got within three fields of the 
 end of this brilliant run. The fall was all but a certainty ; 
 for it was the third stiff-timbered fence that had unfor- 
 tunately opposed him, after his horse's wind had been 
 pumped out by the pace ; but he was too good to refuse 
 them, and his horse knew better than to do so. 
 
 The JEneid of Virgil ends with a death, and a chace is 
 not complete without it. The fox dies within half a mile 
 of Woodwell Head cover, evidently his point from the first, 
 the pack pulling him down in the middle of a large grass 
 field, every hound but one at his brush. Jack Stevens with 
 
 man, Mr. Thomas Edge of Nottinghamshire, who some years back refused, 
 from the late Lord Middleton, the enormous sum of two thousand two hundred 
 pounds for two of his horses, and on another occasion fifty pounds for the 
 loan of one of them during the first run of the day from a certain cover, whether 
 short or long. 
 
 1 The only son of Sir Henry Peyton, Bart., one of the best and hardest 
 riders of the present day. 
 
 175 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 him in his hands would be a subject worthy of Edwin 
 Landseer himself : a blackthorn, which has laid hold of his 
 cheek, has besmeared his upper garments with blood, and 
 one side of his head and cap are cased in mud, by a fall he 
 has had in a lane, his horse having alighted in the ruts from 
 a high flight of rails ; but he has ridden the same horse 
 throughout the run, and has handled him so well he could 
 have gone two miles further, if the chace had been continued 
 so long. Osbaldeston's ' Who-hoop ' might have been heard 
 at Cottesmore, had the wind set in that direction, and 
 every man present is ecstatic with delight. ' Quite the 
 cream of the thing, I suppose/ says Lord Gardner, a very 
 promising young one, at this time fresh in Leicestershire. 
 ' The cream of everything in the shape of fox-hunting/ 
 observes that excellent sportsman Sir James Musgrave, 
 looking at that moment at his watch. * Just ten miles, as 
 the crow flies, in one hour and two minutes, with but two 
 trifling checks, over the finest country in the world. What 
 superb hounds are these ! ' added the baronet, as he turned 
 his horse's head to the wind. ' You are right/ says Colonel 
 Lowther, ' they are perfect. I wish my father had seen 
 them do their work to-day/ Some of the field now come up, 
 who could not live in the first flight ; but, as there is no 
 jealousy here, they congratulate each other on the fine day's 
 sport, and each man turns his head towards home. 
 
 A large party dine this evening at the Old Club, where, 
 of course, this fine run is discussed, and the following 
 accurate description of it is given by one of the oldest 
 176 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 members, a true friend to fox-hunting, and to all mankind 
 as well l : * We found him,' said he, * at Ashby Pasture, and got 
 away with him, up wind, at a slapping pace over Burrow 
 Hill, leaving Thorpe Trussels to the right, when a trifling 
 check occurred. He then pointed for Ranksborough Gorse, 
 which some feared and others hoped he might hang in a 
 little, but he was too good to go near it. Leaving that on 
 his right also, he crossed the brook to Whissendine, going 
 within half a mile of the village, and then he had nothing 
 for it but to fly. That magnificent country in the direction 
 of Teigh was open to him, and he showed that he had the 
 courage to face it. Leaving Teigh on the right, Woodwell 
 Head was his point, and in two more fields he would have 
 reached it. Thus we found him in the Quorn country ; 
 ran him over the finest part of Lord Lonsdale's, and killed 
 him on the borders of the Belvoir. Sir Bellingham Graham's 
 hounds once gave us just such another tickler, from the same 
 place, and in the same time, when the field were nearly as 
 much beaten as they were to-day.' 
 
 But we have left Snob in the lane, who, after casting a 
 longing eye towards his more fortunate companions, who 
 were still keeping well in with the hounds, throws the rein 
 over the neck of the good little bay horse, and, walking by 
 his side, that he may recover his wind, inquires his way to 
 Melton. Having no one to converse with, he thus solilo- 
 quises as he goes : ' What a dolt have I been, to spend five 
 hundred a year on my stable, in any country than this ! But 
 
 1 The writer here alluded to Mr. John Moore. 
 M 177 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 stop a little ; how is it that 7, weighing but eleven stone four 
 pounds with my saddle, and upon my best horse, an acknow- 
 ledged good one in my own country, could neither go so 
 fast nor so long as that heavy fellow Maxse ; that still heavier 
 Lord Alvanley ; and that monster Tom Edge, who, they tell 
 me, weighs eighteen stone, at least, in the scales ? ' At this 
 moment a bridle-gate opens in the land, and a gentleman in 
 scarlet appears, with his countenance pale and wan, and 
 expressive of severe pain. It is he who had been dug out 
 of the ditch in which Jack Stevens had left him, his horse 
 having fallen upon him, after being suspended on the rail, 
 and broken three of his ribs. Feeling extremely unwell, 
 he is glad to meet with Snob, who is going his road to 
 Melton and who offers him all the assistance in his power. 
 Snob also repeats to him his soliloquy, at least the sum and 
 substance of it, on which the gentleman recovering a little 
 from his faintness by the help of a glass of brandy and 
 water at the village thus makes his comment : * I think, 
 sir, you are a stranger to this part of the world.' ' Certainly/ 
 replied Snob, ' it is my first appearance in Leicestershire/ 
 * I observed you in the run,' continued the wounded sports- 
 man ; * and very well you went up to the time I fell, but 
 particularly so to the first check. You then rode to a leader, 
 and made an excellent choice ; but after that period, I saw 
 you not only attempting a line of your own, but taking 
 liberties with your horse, and anticipated the fate you have 
 met with. If you remain with us long, you will be sure to 
 find out that riding to hounds in Leicestershire is different 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 from what it is in most other countries in England, and 
 requires a little apprenticeship. There is much choice 
 of ground ; and if this choice be not judiciously made, 
 and coupled with a cautious observance of pace, a 
 horse is beaten in a very short time. If you doubt my 
 creed, look to the events of this memorable day.' Snob 
 thanks him for his hints, and notes them in his book of 
 memory. 
 
 The fame of Snob and his little bay horse reaches Melton 
 before he walks in himself. * That provincial fellow did not 
 go amiss to-day, ' says one. ' Who was that rural-looking man 
 on a neatish bay horse all but his tail who was so well with 
 us at the first check ? ' asks another, who himself could not 
 get to the end, although he went ' a good one/ three parts 
 of the way. There is no one present to answer these ques- 
 tions ; but the next day, and the next, Snob is in the field 
 again, and again in a good place. Further inquiries are 
 made, and satisfactory information obtained. On the fourth 
 day, a nod from one, a * how do you do ? ' from another, 
 1 a fine morning ' from a third are tokens good-humouredly 
 bestowed upon him by some of the leading men ; and on 
 the fifth day, after a capital half-hour, in which he has again 
 distinguished himself, a noble bon-vivant * thus addresses 
 him ' Perhaps, sir, you would like to dine with me to-day ; 
 I shall be happy to see you at seven.' 
 
 ' Covers,' he writes next day to some friend in his remote 
 ^western province, ' were laid for eight, the favourite number 
 1 The writer here alluded to Lord Alvanley. 
 
 179 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 of our late king ; and, perhaps His Majesty never sat down 
 to a better-dressed dinner in his life. To my surprise, the 
 subject of fox-hunting was named but once during the even- 
 ing, and that was when an order was given that a servant 
 might be sent to inquire after a gentleman who had had a 
 severe fall that morning over some timber ; and to ask, by 
 the way, if Dick Christian came alive out of a ditch, in which 
 he had been left, with a clever young thorough-bred one on 
 the top of him.' The writer proceeds to describe an evening 
 in which wit and music were more thought of than wine 
 and presenting in all respects a perfect contrast to the old 
 notions of a fox-hunting society : but we have already 
 trespassed on delicate ground. 
 
 It is this union of the elegant repose of life with the 
 energetic sports of the field that constitutes the charm of 
 Melton Mowbray ; and who can wonder that young gentle- 
 men, united by profession, should be induced to devote a 
 season or two to such a course of existence ? We must not, 
 however, leave the subject without expressing our regret 
 that resorting, year after year, to this metropolis of the chace, 
 should seem at all likely to become a fashion with persons 
 whose hereditary possessions lie far from its allurements. 
 It is all very well to go through the training of the acknow- 
 ledged school of ' the craft/ but the country gentleman who 
 understands his duties, and in what the real permanent 
 pleasure of life exists, will never settle down into a regular 
 Meltonian. He will feel that his first concern is with his 
 own proper district, and seek the recreations of the chace,. 
 
 1 80 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 if his taste for them outlives the first heyday of youth, 
 among the scenes, however comparatively rude, in which 
 his natural place has been appointed. 
 
 THE ROAD 
 
 ' Sunt quos curriculo,' etc. HORACE. 
 
 Even at the present wonder-working period, few greater 
 improvements have been made in any of the useful arts, 
 than in those applied to the system of travelling by land. 
 Projectors and projects have multiplied with our years ; and 
 the fairy-petted princes of the * Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
 ments ' were scarcely transported from place to place with 
 more facility or despatch, than Englishmen are at the present 
 moment. From Liverpool to Manchester, thirty-six miles, 
 in an hour and a half ! surely Daedalus is come amongst 
 us again ; but we will, for the present, confine our observa- 
 tions to the road ; to coaches, coach-horses, coachmen, and 
 coach-masters. We are not thinking of the travelling 
 chariot and four though, to be sure, the report given us of 
 Lord Londonderry's speaking in the House of Peers one 
 night, and being at his own house in Durham the next 
 (two hundred and fifty miles off), is astonishing, and was 
 a performance that no other country under the sun could 
 accomplish ; yet bribes to postilions and extra relays of 
 horses might have been called in aid here. We shall, there- 
 
 181 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 fore, confine ourselves, at present, to the usual course of 
 public conveyances ; and a sentence in the private letter 
 of a personal friend of our own has suggested the subject 
 to us. 'I was out hunting/ he writes, ' last season, on a 
 Monday, near Brighton, and dined with my father in Merrion 
 Square, Dublin, at six o'clock on the following Wednesday 
 distance four hundred miles ! ' It was done thus : he went 
 from Brighton in an afternoon coach that set him down in 
 London in time for the Holy head mail ; and this mail, with 
 the help of the steamer to cross the Channel, delivered him 
 in Dublin at the time mentioned. But expedition alone is 
 not our boast. Coach travelling is no longer a disgusting 
 and tedious labour, but has long since been converted into 
 comparative ease, and really approaches to something like 
 luxury ; otherwise it could never have had any chance to 
 engage the smallest part of the attention of that genuine 
 * Epicuri de grege porcus ' the late happily-named Dr. 
 Kitchener. 1 It is difficult to determine the exact period at 
 which a stage-coach first appeared upon the road ; but it 
 seems to be pretty well ascertained, that in 1662, there were 
 but six, and one of the wise men of those days John Cross- 
 well, of the Charter House tried his best to write them 
 down. It was supposed he had the countenance of the 
 country gentlemen, who were afraid, if their wives could 
 get easily and cheaply conveyed to London, they might not 
 settle so well afterwards to their domestic duties at the Hall 
 
 1 Dr. Johnson boasted of having travelled from London to Salisbury in 
 one day, by the common stage, ' hung, high, and rough ' ! 
 
 182 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 or Grange. We will, however, only go back ninety-four 
 years. In 1742, the Oxford stage-coach left London at 
 seven o'clock in the morning, and reached Uxbridge at 
 mid-day. It arrived at High-Wycombe at five in the evening, 
 where it rested for the night ; and proceeded at the same 
 rate for the seat of learning on the morrow. Here, then, 
 were ten hours consumed each day in travelling twenty- 
 seven miles, and nearly two days in performing what is now 
 done with the greatest ease under six hours. To go from 
 London to York two hundred miles used to take six 
 days ; it now occupies twenty hours ! l From London to 
 Exeter, eighty years ago, the proprietors of coaches promised 
 
 * a safe and expeditious journey in a fortnight.' Private 
 carriages now accomplish the journey one hundred and 
 seventy-five miles in twenty hours ; and the mail (the 
 Devonport) in seventeen, passing through Wincaunton, a 
 new route, within the last month. The Manchester Tele- 
 graph, from the Bull and Mouth, performs her journey, 
 with the utmost regularity, in eighteen hours ! 
 
 May we be permitted, since we have mentioned the 
 'Arabian Nights' to make a little demand on our readers' 
 fancy, and suppose it possible that a worthy old gentleman of 
 this said year 1742 had fallen comfortably asleep, a la 
 Dodswell, and never awoke till Monday last in Piccadilly ? 
 
 * What coach, your honour ? ' says a ruffianly-looking fellow, 
 much like what he might have been had he lived a hundred 
 
 1 According to Creech's ' Fugitive Pieces,' there was only one coach from 
 Edinburgh to London, which was from twelve to sixteen days on the road. 
 
 183 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 years back. * I wish to go home to Exeter,' replies the old 
 gentleman, mildly. ' Just in time, your honour, here she 
 comes them there grey horses ; where 's your luggage ? ' 
 
 * Don't be in a hurry/ observes the stranger : ' that J s a 
 gentleman's carriage ! ' ' It ain't ! I tell you,' says the cad ; 
 
 * it 's the Comet, and you must be as quick as lightning.' 
 Nolens volens, the remonstrating old gentleman is shoved 
 into the Comet by a cad at each elbow, having been three 
 times assured his luggage is in the hind boot, and twice 
 three times denied having ocular demonstration of the fact. 
 
 However, he is now seated ; and ' What gentleman is 
 going to drive us ? ' is his first question to his fellow-pas- 
 sengers. ' He is no gentleman, sir,' says a person who sits 
 opposite to him, and who happens to be a proprietor of the 
 coach. ' He has been on the Comet ever since she started, 
 and is a very steady young man.' ' Pardon my ignorance,' 
 replies the regenerated ; ' from the cleanliness of his person, 
 the neatness of his apparel, and the language he made use 
 of, I mistook him for some enthusiastic bachelor of arts, 
 wishing to become a charioteer after the manner of the 
 illustrious ancients.' ' You must have been long in foreign 
 parts, sir,' observes the proprietor. In five minutes, or less, 
 after this parley commenced the wheels went round, and in 
 another five the coach arrived at Hyde Park gate ; but long 
 before it got there, the worthy gentleman of 1742 (set down 
 by his fellow-travellers for either a little cracked, or an 
 emigrant from the backwoods of America), exclaimed, 
 ' What ! off the stones already ? ' * You have never been on 
 184 
 
^Nimrod : 
 
 the stones/ observes his neighbour on his right ; ' no 
 stones in London now, sir/ * Bless me ! ' quoth our friend, 
 ' here 's a noble house ! to whom does it belong ? But 
 why those broken windows, those iron blinds, and strong 
 barricade ? ' * It is the Duke of Wellington's/ says the 
 coach -proprietor, ' the greatest captain since the days of 
 Scipio. An ungrateful people made an attack upon his life, 
 on the anniversary of the day upon which he won the most 
 important battle ever fought in Europe.' Here a passenger 
 in black threw out something about Alcibiades, which, how- 
 ever, the rattle made it impossible to understand. * But 
 we are going at a great rate ! ' exclaims again the stranger. 
 ' Oh no, sir/ says the proprietor, ' we never go fast over 
 this stage ! We have time allowed in consequence of being 
 subject to interruptions, and we make it up over the lower 
 ground.' Five and thirty minutes, however, bring them to 
 the noted town of Brentford. ' Hah ! ' says the old man, 
 becoming young again ; * what ! no improvement in this 
 filthy place ? Is old Brentford still here ? a national dis- 
 grace ! Pray, sir, who is your county member now ? ' * His 
 name is Hume, sir/ was the reply. ' The modern Hercules/ 
 added the gentleman on the right ; * the real cleanser of 
 the Augean stable.' ' A gentleman of large property in the 
 county, / presume,' said the man of the last century. * Not 
 an acre/ replied the communicative proprietor : * a Scotch- 
 
 1 Nearly on the site occupied by Apsley House stood, in 1742, the suburban 
 inn, the Hercules' Pillars, where Squire Western put up on his arrival in town 
 in quest of his daughter ; and from whence, by the by, he sent back his 
 chaplain several stages to fetch his forgotten tobacco-box ! 
 
 185 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 man from the town of Montrose.' * Ay, ay ; nothing like 
 the high road to London for those Scotchmen. A great city 
 merchant, no doubt, worth a plum or two.' ' No such 
 thing, sir/ quoth the other ; ' the gentleman was a doctor, 
 and made his fortune in the Indies/ ' No quack, I warrant 
 you.' The proprietor was silent ; but the clergyman in the 
 corner again muttered something which was again lost, 
 owing to the coach coming at the instant, at the rate of 
 ten miles in the hour, upon the vile pavement of Brentford. 
 In five minutes under the hour the Comet arrives at 
 Hounslow, to the great delight of our friend, who by this 
 time waxed hungry, not having broken his fast before start- 
 ing. ' Just fifty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds,' 
 says he, * from the time we left London ! wonderful travel- 
 ling, gentlemen, to be sure, but much too fast to be safe. 
 However, thank Heaven, we are arrived at a good-looking 
 
 house ; and now, waiter ! I hope you have got breakf ' 
 
 Before the first syllable, however, of the word could be pro- 
 nounced, the worthy old gentleman's head struck the back 
 of the coach by a jerk, which he could not account for (the 
 fact was, three of the four fresh horses were bolters), and 
 the waiter, the inn, and indeed Hounslow itself (' terraeque 
 urbesque recedunt '), disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Never did such a succession of doors, windows, and window- 
 shutters pass so quickly in his review before and he hoped 
 they might never do so again. Recovering, however, a little 
 from his surprise ' My dear sir,' said he, * you told me we 
 were to change horses at Hounslow ? Surely they are not 
 186 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 so inhuman as to drive these poor animals another stage 
 at this unmerciful rate ? ' * Change horses, sir ! ' says the 
 proprietor ; ' why, we changed them whilst you were putting 
 on your spectacles, and looking at your watch. Only one 
 minute allowed for it at Hounslow, and it is often done in 
 fifty seconds by those nimble-fingered horse-keepers.' ' You 
 astonish me ! but really I do not like to go so fast.' * Oh, 
 sir ! we always spring them over these six miles. It is what 
 we call the hospital ground' This alarming phrase is pre- 
 sently interpreted : it intimates that horses whose * backs 
 are getting down instead of up in their work ' some * that 
 won't hold an ounce down hill, or draw an ounce up ' 
 others ' that kick over the pole one day, and over the bars 
 the next ' in short, all the reprobates, styled in the road 
 slang bo-kickers, are sent to work these six miles, because 
 here they have nothing to do but to gallop not a pebble 
 as big as a nutmeg on the road ; and so even, that it would 
 not disturb the equilibrium of a spirit-level. 
 
 The coach, however, goes faster and faster over the 
 hospital ground , as the bo-kickers feel their legs, and the 
 collars get warm to their shoulders ; and having ten out- 
 sides, the luggage of the said ten, and a few extra packages 
 besides on the roof, she rolls rather more than is pleasant, 
 although the centre of gravity is pretty well kept down by 
 four not slender insides, two well-laden boots, and three 
 huge trunks in the slide. The gentleman of the last century, 
 however, becomes alarmed is sure the horses are running 
 away with the coach declares he perceives by the shadow 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 that there is nobody on the box, and can see the reins 
 dangling about the horses' heels. He attempts to look out 
 of the window, but his fellow-traveller dissuades him from 
 doing so : * You may get a shot in your eye from the wheel. 
 Keep your head in the coach ; it 's all right, depend on 't. 
 We always spring 'em over this stage.' Persuasion is use- 
 less ; for the horses increase their speed, and the worthy 
 old gentleman looks out. But what does he see ? Death 
 and destruction before his eyes ! No ; to his surprise he 
 finds the coachman firm at his post, and in the act of taking 
 a pinch of snuff from the gentleman who sits beside him 
 on the bench , his horses going at the rate of a mile in three 
 minutes at the time. * But suppose anything should break, 
 or a linchpin should give way and let a wheel loose ? ' is the 
 next appeal to the communicative, but not very consoling 
 proprietor. * Nothing can break, sir/ is the reply : * all of 
 the very best stuff ; axletrees of the best K.Q. iron, faggotted 
 edgeways, well bedded in the timbers ; and as to linch- 
 pins, we have not one about the coach. We use the best 
 patent boxes that are manufactured. In short, sir, you are 
 as safe in it as if you were in your bed.' ' Bless me,' ex- 
 claims the old man, * what improvements ! And the roads ! ' 
 ' They are perfection, sir,' says the proprietor : ' no horse 
 walks a yard in this coach between London and Exeter all 
 trotting-ground now.' c A little galloping ground, I fear,' 
 whispers the senior to himself ! * But who has effected all 
 this improvement in your paving ? ' * An American of the 
 name of JYTAdam,' was the reply * but coachmen call him 
 1 88 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 the Colossus of Roads. Great things have likewise been 
 done in cutting through hills and altering the course of 
 roads : and it is no uncommon thing nowadays to 
 see four horses trotting away merrily down hill on that 
 very ground where they formerly were seen walking up 
 hill.' l 
 
 ' And pray, my good sir, what sort of horses may you 
 have over the next stage ? ' * Oh, sir, no more bo-kickers. 
 It is hilly and severe ground, and requires cattle strong 
 and staid. You '11 see four as fine horses put to the coach 
 at Staines as you ever saw in a nobleman's carriage in your 
 life.' ' Then we shall have no more galloping no more 
 springing them, as you term it ? ' * Not quite so fast over 
 the next ground,' replied the proprietor ; ' but he will make 
 good play over some part of it : for example, when he gets 
 three parts down a hill, he lets them loose, and cheats them 
 out of half the one they have to ascend from the bottom of 
 it. In short, they are half-way up it before a horse touches 
 his collar ; and we must take every advantage with such a 
 fast coach as this, and one that loads so well, or we should 
 never keep our time. We are now to a minute ; in fact, 
 the country people no longer look at the sun when they 
 want to set their clocks they look only to the Comet. But, 
 depend upon it, you are quite safe ; we have nothing but 
 
 1 Most roads through hilly countries were originally struck out by drivers 
 of pack-horses, who, to avoid bogs, chose the upper ground. Consequently 
 it often happened that point B was lower than point A ; yet to go from A to B 
 the traveller ascended a hill to secure sound footing, and then descended to 
 his point. 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 first-rate artists on this coach/ * Artist ! artist ! ' grumbles 
 the old gentleman ; ' we had no such term as that.' 
 
 * I should like to see this artist change horses at the 
 next stage/ resumes our ancient ; ' for at the last it had the 
 appearance of magic " Presto, Jack, and begone ! " 'By 
 all means ; you will be much gratified. It is done with a 
 quickness and ease almost incredible to any one who has 
 only read or heard of it ; not a buckle nor a rein is touched 
 twice, and still all is made secure ; but use becomes second 
 nature with us. Even in my younger days it was always half 
 an hour's work sometimes more. There was " Now, 
 ladies and gentlemen, what would you like to take ? There 's 
 plenty of time, while the horses are changing, for tea, coffee, 
 or supper ; and the coachman will wait for you won't you, 
 Mr. Smith ? ' Then Mr. Smith himself was in no hurry ; 
 he had a lamb about his coach for one butcher in the town, 
 and perhaps half a calf for another ; a barrel of oysters 
 for the lawyer, and a basket of game for the parson, all 
 on his own account. In short, the best wheel of the 
 coach was his, and he could not be otherwise than 
 accommodating . ' 
 
 The coach arrived at Staines, and the ancient gentleman 
 puts his intentions into effect though he was near being 
 again too late ; for by the time he could extract his hat from 
 the netting that suspended it over his head, the leaders had 
 been taken from their bars, and were walking up the yard 
 towards their stables. On perceiving a fine thorough-bred 
 horse led towards the coach with a twitch fastened tightly 
 190 
 
^Nitnrod 5 
 
 to his nose, he exclaims, * Holloa, Mr. Horse-keeper ! You 
 are going to put an unruly horse in the coach.' ' What ! 
 this here oss ? ' growls the man ; ' the quietest hanimal alive, 
 sir ! ' as he shoves him to the near side of the pole. At this 
 moment, however, the coachman is heard to say in some- 
 what of an undertone, ' Mind what you are about, Bob ; 
 don't let him touch the roller-bolt.' In thirty seconds more, 
 they are off ' the staid and steady team,' so styled by the 
 proprietor, in the coach. ' Let 'em go, and take care of 
 yourselves,' says the artist, so soon as he is firmly seated 
 upon his box ; and this is the way in which they start. The 
 near leader rears right on end, and if the rein had not been 
 yielded to him at the instant, he would have fallen backwards 
 on the head of the pole. The moment the twitch was taken 
 from the nose of the thorough-bred near- wheeler, he drew 
 himself back to the extent of his pole-chain his forelegs 
 stretched out before him and then like a lion loosened from 
 his toil, made a snatch at the coach that would have broken 
 two pairs of traces of 1742. A steady and good- whipped 
 horse, however, his partner, started the coach himself, with 
 a gentle touch of the thong, and away they went off together. 
 But the thorough-bred one was very far from being comfort- 
 able ; it was in vain that the coachman tried to soothe him 
 with his voice, or stroked him with the crop of his whip. 
 He drew three parts of the coach, and cantered for the first 
 mile ; and when he did settle down to his trot, his snorting 
 could be heard by the passengers, being as much as to say, 
 ' I was not born to be a slave.' In fact, as the proprietor 
 
 191 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 now observed, ' he had been a fair plate horse in his time, 
 but his temper was always queer.' 
 
 After the first shock was over, the Conservative of the 
 eighteenth century felt comfortable. The pace was con- 
 siderably slower than it had been over the last stage, but he 
 was unconscious of the reason for its being diminished. It 
 was to accommodate the queer temper of the race-horse, who, 
 if he had not been humoured at starting, would never have 
 settled down to his trot, but have ruffled all the rest of the 
 team. He was also surprised, if not pleased, at the quick 
 rate at which they were ascending hills which, in his time, 
 he should have been asked by the coachman to have walked 
 up : but his pleasure was short-lived ; the third hill they 
 descended produced a return of his agony. This was what 
 is termed on the road a long fall of ground, and the coach 
 rather pressed upon the horses. The temper of the race- 
 horse became exhausted ; breaking into a canter, he was of 
 little use as a wheeler, and there was then nothing for it but 
 a gallop. The leaders only wanted the signal ; and the 
 point of the thong being thrown lightly over their backs, 
 they were off like an arrow out of a bow ; but the rocking 
 of the coach was awful, and more particularly so to the 
 passengers on the roof. Nevertheless, she was not in 
 danger ; the master-hand of the artist kept her in a direct line, 
 and meeting the opposing ground, she steadied, and all was 
 right. The newly-awakened gentleman, however, begins 
 to grumble again. ' Pray, my good sir,' says he anxiously, 
 * do use your authority over your coachman, and insist upon 
 192 
 
LET 'KM 1:0, THEN," QUOTH THK ARTIST, "AND TAKE CAKE or YOURSELVES. 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 his putting the drag-chain on the wheel when descending 
 the next hill.' ' I have no such authority/ replies the pro- 
 prietor ; ' it is true we are now drawn by my horses, but I 
 cannot interfere with the driving of them.' * But is he not 
 your servant ? ' ' He is, sir, but I contract to work the 
 coach so many miles in so many hours, and he engages to 
 drive it, and each is subject to a fine if the time be not kept 
 on the road. On so fast a coach as this, every advantage 
 must be taken ; and if we were to drag down such hills as 
 these, we should never reach Exeter to-day/ 
 
 Our friend, however, will have no more of it. He quits 
 the coach at Bagshot, congratulating himself on the safety 
 of his limbs. Yet he takes one more peep at the change, 
 which is done with the same despatch as before : three greys 
 and a piebald replacing three chestnuts and a bay the 
 harness beautifully clean, and the ornaments bright as the 
 sun. Not a word is spoken by the passengers, who merely 
 look their admiration : but the laconic address of the coach- 
 man is not lost on the by-standers. ' Put the bay mare near 
 wheel this evening, and the stallion up to the cheek,' said he 
 to his horse-keeper, as he placed his right foot on the roller- 
 bolt i.e. the last step but one to the box. * How is Paddy's 
 leg ? ' * It 's all right, sir/ replied the horse-keeper. * Let 
 'em go, then/ quoth the artist, ' and take care of yourselves.' 
 
 The worthy old gentleman is now shown into a room, 
 
 and, after warming his hands at the fire, rings the bell for 
 
 the waiter. A well - dressed person appears, whom he of 
 
 course takes for the landlord. * Pray, sir/ says he, * have 
 
 N 193 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 you any slow coach down this road to-day ? ' * Why, yes, 
 sir/ replies John ; * we shall have the Regulator down in an 
 hour.' * Just right/ said our friend ; * it will enable me to 
 break my fast, which I have not done to-day.' * Oh, sir/ 
 observes John, * these here fast drags be the ruin of us. 
 'Tis all hurry scurry, and no gentleman has time to have 
 nothing on the road. What will you take, sir ? Mutton- 
 chops, veal-cutlets, beef-steaks, or a fowl (to kill) ? ' 
 
 At the appointed time the Regulator appears at the door. 
 It is a strong, well-built drag, painted what is called chocolate 
 colour, bedaubed all over with gilt letters a bull's head on 
 the doors, a Saracen's head on the hind boot, and drawn by 
 four strapping horses ; but it wants the neatness of the 
 other. The passengers may be, by a shade or two, of a 
 lower order than those who had gone forward by the Comet ; 
 nor, perhaps, is the coachman quite so refined as the one 
 we have just taken leave of. He has not the neat white hat, 
 the clean doeskin gloves, the well-cut trousers, the dapper 
 frock ; but still his appearance is respectable, and perhaps, 
 in the eyes of many, more in character with his calling. 
 Neither has he the agility of the artist on the Comet, for he 
 is nearly double his size ; but he is a strong, powerful man, 
 and might be called a pattern-card of the heavy coachmen 
 of the present day in other words, of a man who drives a 
 coach which carries sixteen passengers instead of fourteen, 
 and is rated at eight miles in the hour instead of ten. ' What 
 room in the Regulator ? ' says our friend to the waiter, as 
 he comes to announce its arrival. * Full inside, sir, and in 
 194 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 front ; but you '11 have the gammon-board all to yourself, 
 and your luggage is in the hind boot.' ' Gammon-board ! 
 Pray, what J s that ? Do you not mean the basket ? J ' Oh 
 no, sir,' says John, smiling ' no such a thing on the road 
 now. It is the hind-dickey, as some call it, where you '11 
 be as comfortable as possible, and can sit with your back 
 or your face to the coach, or both, if you like.' * Ah, ah,' 
 continues the old gentleman ; * something new again, I 
 presume.' However, the mystery is cleared up ; the ladder 
 is reared to the hind- wheel, and the gentleman seated on 
 the gammon-board. 
 
 Before ascending to his place, our friend has cast his 
 eye on the team that is about to convey him to Hartford 
 Bridge, the next stage on the great western road, and he 
 perceives it to be of a different stamp from that which he 
 had seen taken from the coach at Bagshot. It consisted of 
 four moderate-sized horses, full of power, and still fuller of 
 condition, but with a fair sprinkling of blood ; in short, the 
 eye of a judge would have discovered something about them 
 not very unlike galloping. ' All right ! ' cried the guard, 
 taking his key-bugle in his hand ; and they proceeded up 
 the village at a steady pace, to the tune of * Scots wha hae 
 wi' Wallace bled,' and continued at that pace for the first 
 five miles. ' / am landed,' thinks our friend to himself. 
 Unluckily, however, for the humane and cautious old gentle- 
 man, even the Regulator was about to show tricks. Although 
 what is now called a slow coach, she is timed at eight miles 
 in the hour through a great extent of country, and must, 
 
 195 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 of course, make play where she can, being strongly opposed 
 by hills lower down the country, trifling as these hills are, 
 no doubt, to what they once were. The Regulator, more- 
 over, loads well, not only with passengers, but with luggage ; 
 and the last five miles of this stage, called the Hartford 
 Bridge Flat, have the reputation of being the best five miles 
 for a coach to be found at this time in England. The ground 
 is firm, the surface undulating, and therefore favourable to 
 draught ; always dry, not a shrub being near it ; nor is 
 there a stone upon it much larger than a marble. These 
 advantages, then, are not lost to the Regulator, or made use 
 of without sore discomposure to the solitary tenant of her 
 gammon-board . 
 
 Any one that has looked into books will very readily 
 account for the lateral motion, or rocking, as it is termed, of 
 a coach, being greatest at the greatest distance from the 
 horses (as the tail of a paper kite is in motion whilst the 
 body remains at rest) ; and more especially when laden as 
 this coach was the greater part of the weight being forward. 
 The situation of our friend, then, was once more deplorable. 
 The Regulator takes but twenty-three minutes for these 
 celebrated five miles, which cannot be done without ' spring- 
 ing the cattle ' * now and then ; and it was in one of the 
 very best of their gallops that day, that they were met by 
 the coachman of the Comet, who was returning with his up 
 coach. When coming out of rival yards, coachmen never 
 fail to cast an eye to the loading of their opponents on the 
 1 The term on the road is ' springing them ' the word cattle understood. 
 196 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 road, and now that of the natty artist of the Comet experi- 
 enced a high treat. He had a full view of his quondam 
 passenger, and thus described his situation. He was seated 
 with his back to the horses his arms extended to each 
 extremity of the guard-irons his teeth set grim as death 
 his eyes cast down towards the ground, thinking the less he 
 saw of his danger the better. There was what is called a 
 top-heavy load perhaps a ton of luggage on the roof, and, 
 it may be, not quite in obedience to the act of parliament 
 standard. There were also two horses at wheel whose 
 strides were of rather unequal length, and this operated 
 powerfully on the coach. In short, the lurches of the 
 Regulator were awful at the moment of the Comet meeting 
 her. A tyro in mechanics would have exclaimed, ' The 
 centre of gravity must be lost ; the centrifugal force will 
 have the better of it over she must go ! ' 
 
 The centre of gravity having been preserved, the coach 
 arrived safe at Hartford Bridge ; but the old gentleman has 
 again had enough of it. 'I will walk into Devonshire,' said 
 he, as he descended from his perilous exaltation. * What 
 did that rascally waiter mean by telling me this was a slow 
 coach ? and, moreover, look at the luggage on the roof ! ' 
 1 Only regulation height, sir/ says the coachman ; * we 
 aren't allowed to have it an inch higher ; sorry we can't 
 please you, sir, but we will try and make room for you in 
 front.' ' Fronti nulla fides,' mutters the worthy to himself 
 as he walks tremblingly into the house adding, * I shall not 
 give this fellow a shilling ; he is dangerous* 
 
 197 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 The Regulator being off, the waiter is again applied to. 
 4 What do you charge per mile posting ? ' * One and six- 
 pence, sir.' * Bless me ! just double ! Let me see two 
 hundred miles, at two shillings per mile, postboys, turnpikes, 
 etc., twenty pounds. This will never do. Have you no 
 coach that does not carry luggage on the top ? * * Oh yes, 
 sir/ replies the waiter, ' we shall have one to-night that is 
 not allowed to carry a band-box on the roof.' ' That 's the 
 coach for me ; pray what do you call it ? ' ' The Quick- 
 silver mail, sir : one of the best out of London Jack White 
 and Tom Brown, picked coachmen, 1 over this ground Jack 
 White down to-night.' ' Guarded and lighted ? ' ' Both, 
 sir ; blunderbuss and pistols in the sword-case ; a lamp 
 each side the coach, and one under the footboard see to 
 pick up a pin the darkest night of the year.' ' Very fast ? ' 
 * Oh no, sir ; just keeps time and that 's all. 1 l That 's the 
 coach for me, then,' repeats our hero ; ' and I am sure I 
 shall feel at my ease in it. I suppose it is what used to be 
 called the Old Mercury.' 
 
 Unfortunately, the Devonport (commonly called the 
 Quicksilver) mail is half a mile in the hour faster than most 
 in England, and is, indeed, one of the miracles of the road. 
 Let us, then, picture to ourselves our anti-reformer snugly 
 seated in this mail, on a pitch-dark night in November. It 
 is true she has no luggage on the roof, nor much to incommode 
 her elsewhere ; but she is a mile in the hour faster than the 
 
 1 These men were both on the Quicksilver mail, and both first-rate coach- 
 men. 
 
 198 
 
^Nimrod 3 
 
 Comet, at least three miles quicker than the Regulator ; 
 and she performs more than half her journey by lamplight. It 
 is needless to say, then, our senior soon finds out his mistake ; 
 but there is no remedy at hand, for it is the dead of the night, 
 and all the inns are shut up. He must proceed, or be left 
 behind in a stable. The climax of his misfortunes then 
 approaches. Nature being exhausted, sleep comes to his 
 aid, and he awakes on a stage which is called the fastest on 
 the journey it is four miles of ground, and twelve minutes 
 is the time ! The old gentleman starts from his seat, having 
 dreamed the horses were running away with the coach, and 
 so, no doubt, they might be. He is, however, determined 
 to convince himself of the fact, though the passengers 
 assure him * all 's right.' * Don't put your head out of the 
 window,' says one of them, * you will lose your hat to a 
 certainty ' ; but advice is seldom listened to by a terrified 
 man, and next moment a stentorian voice is heard, crying, 
 * Stop, coachman, stop I have lost my hat and wig ! ' The 
 coachman hears him not and in another second the broad 
 wheels of a road waggon have for ever demolished the lost 
 head-gear. But here we must leave our adventurous Gilpin 
 of 1742. We have taken a great liberty with him, it is true, 
 but we are not without our precedent. One of the best 
 chapters in Livy contains the history of * an event which 
 never took place.' In the full charm of his imagination, the 
 historian brings Alexander into Italy, where he never was in 
 his life, and displays him in his brightest colours. We 
 father our sins, then, upon the Patavinian. 
 
 199 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 But we will now adhere to sober prose, and the changes 
 of our own time. Thirty years ago, the Holyhead mail left 
 London via Oxford, at eight o'clock at night, and arrived 
 in Shrewsbury between ten and eleven the following night, 
 being twenty-seven hours to one hundred and sixty-two 
 miles. The distance is now done, without the least difficulty, 
 in sixteen hours and a quarter ; and the Holyhead mail is 
 actually at Bangor Ferry, eighty-three miles further, in the 
 same time it used to take in reaching the post-office at 
 Shrewsbury. We fancy we now see it, as it was when we 
 travelled on it in our schoolboy time, over the Wolver- 
 hampton and Shiffnal stage in those days loose uncovered 
 sand in part with Charles Peters or Old Ebden quitting 
 his seat as guard, and coming to the assistance of the coach- 
 man, who had flogged his horses till he could flog them no 
 longer. We think we see them crawling up the hill in 
 Shrewsbury town whip, whip, whip ; and an hour behind 
 their time ' by Shrewsbury clock ' ; the betting not ten to one 
 that she had not been overturned on the road ! It is now a 
 treat to see her approach the town, if not before, never after, 
 her minute ; and she forms a splendid day-coach through 
 Wales and England, on her up -journey in the summer ; 
 namely, from Holyhead to Daventry. A young man of the 
 name of Taylor, a spirited proprietor, horses her through 
 Shrewsbury, from Hay-gate to Nescliff, in a manner that 
 deserves to be spoken of. The stages are ten and 
 eight, and for these he has a team of bays, a team of 
 greys, and two teams of chestnuts, that can show with 
 200 
 
THK STAGE COACH. 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 England. 1 Let us look to another coach out of this 
 town at the period we have been? speaking of * the 
 Shrewsbury and Chester Highflyer ! ' This coach started 
 from Shrewsbury at eight o'clock in the morning, and 
 arrived at Chester about the same time in the evening 
 distance, forty miles. This was always a good hard 
 road for wheels, and rather favourable for draught ; and 
 how then could all these hours be accounted for ? Why, 
 if a ' commercial gentleman ' had a little business at Elles- 
 mere, there was plenty of time for that. If a * real gentle- 
 man ' wanted to pay a morning visit on the road, there could 
 be no objection to that. In the pork-pie season, half an hour 
 was generally consumed in consuming one of them ; for 
 Mr. Williams, the coachman, was a wonderful favourite with 
 the farmers' wives and daughters all along the road. The 
 coach dined at Wrexham ; for coaches lived well in those 
 days they now live upon air ; and Wrexham church was 
 to be seen a fine specimen of the florid Gothic, and one 
 of the wonders of Wales ! Then Wrexham was also famous 
 for ale no public breweries in those days in Wales and, 
 above all, the inn belonged to Sir Watkin. 2 About two 
 hours were allowed for dinner ; but * Billy Williams ' one 
 of the best-tempered fellows on earth, as honest as Aristides, 
 and, until lately, upon the same ground was never particular 
 to half an hour or so. * The coach is ready, gentlemen,' he 
 
 1 It is a well-known fact that this mail has not varied five minutes in or 
 out of Shrewsbury during the last eighteen months. 
 
 2 Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, Bart. 
 
 2O I 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 would say ; * but don't let me disturb you, if you wish for 
 another bottle/ A coach now runs over this ground a trifle 
 under jour hours \ 
 
 The Brighton road may be said to be covered with coaches, 
 no less than twenty-five running upon it in the summer. 
 The fastest is the Vivid, from the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch 
 Street, which performs the journey in five hours and a quarter. 
 That called the Age, when driven and horsed by the late 
 Mr. Stevenson, was an object of such admiration at Brighton 
 that a crowd was every day collected to see it start. Mr. 
 Stevenson was a graduate of Cambridge ; but his passion 
 for the bench got the better of all other ambitions, and he 
 became a coachman by profession ; and it is only justice 
 to his memory to admit that, though cut off in the flower 
 of his youth, he had arrived at perfection in his art. His 
 education and early habits had not, however, been lost upon 
 him ; his demeanour was always that of a gentleman ; and 
 it may be fairly said of him, that he introduced the pheno- 
 menon of refinement into a stage-coach. At a certain change 
 of horses on the road, a silver sandwich-box was handed to 
 his passengers by his servant, accompanied by the offer of 
 a glass of sherry to such as were so inclined. Well-born 
 coachmen prevail on this road. A gentleman connected with 
 the first families in Wales, and whose father long represented 
 his native county in Parliament, horsed and drove one side 
 of the ground with Mr. Stevenson ; and Mr. Charles Jones, 
 brother to Sir Thomas Tyrwhit Jones, had a coach on it 
 called the Pearl, which he both horsed and drove himself ; 
 202 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 the Bognor coach, horsed by the Messrs. Walkers of Mitchel 
 Grove, and driven in the first style by Mr. John Walker, must 
 also be fresh in the recollection of many of our readers ; 
 and Sir Vincent Cotton, one of our oldest baronets, now 
 drives the Age, having purchased it of Mr. Willan, who 
 drove it, and who now drives the Magnet on the same road. 
 But to return to fast work : the Edinburgh mail runs the 
 distance, four hundred miles, in a little over forty hours, and 
 we may set our watches by it at any point of her journey. 
 Stoppages included, this approaches eleven miles in the 
 hour, and much the greater part of it by lamplight. The 
 Exeter day- coach, the Herald, from the Saracen's 'Head, 
 Snow Hill, runs over her ground, a hundred and seventy- 
 three miles, in twenty hours admirable performance, con- 
 sidering the natural unevenness of the country through 
 which she has to pass. The Devonport mail does her work 
 in first-rate style, two hundred and twenty-seven miles, in 
 twenty-two hours. In short, from London to Cheltenham, 
 Gloucester, Worcester, Birmingham, Norwich, or any other 
 place, whose distance does not much exceed one hundred miles, 
 is now little more than a pleasant morning drive. We say 
 pleasant ; for this extraordinary speed is not attained, generally 
 speaking, by putting animals to anything like cruel exertion. 
 A fast coach has, or ought to have, very nearly a horse 
 to every mile of ground it runs reckoning one way, or 
 * one side of the ground.' * Proprietors of coaches have at 
 
 1 For example, from London to Shrewsbury is a hundred and fifty-eight 
 miles, and the number of horses kept for the Wonder coach is a hundred 
 
 203 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 length found out though they were a long time before 
 they did discover it that the hay- and corn-market is not 
 so expensive as the horse-market. They have, therefore, 
 one horse in four always at rest ; or, in other words, each 
 horse lies still on the fourth day, thus having the advantage 
 of man. For example, if ever we turn coach-proprietors, 
 or * get into harness,' as the proper term is which, as we 
 have become fox-hunters, is by no means impossible we 
 shall keep ten horses for every ten miles' stage we engage 
 to cover. In this case, eight horses only will be at work, 
 four up and four down. If the stage be less than eight 
 miles, nine horses may do the work. But no horse in a 
 fast coach can continue to run every day, the excitement of 
 high keep and profuse sweating producing disease. In prac- 
 tice, perhaps, no animal toiling for man, solely for his profit, 
 leads so easy and so comfortable a life as the English coach- 
 horse. He is sumptuously fed, kindly treated ; and if he 
 
 and fifty. Perhaps for the length of ground it travels over, this is the most 
 punctual coach at all its stages on the journey at this time in England. It 
 leaves Shrewsbury at a quarter before six, A.M., and arrives at the Bull and Mouth, 
 London, at a quarter past nine, P.M., and as this was the first coach that attempted 
 to become a day-coach over so great an extent of ground, we are induced to 
 notice one particular team on it, said to be the most superb of their kind, 
 and for the purpose for which they are used, at this time in Great Britain. 
 They are chestnuts, the property of Mr. Evans, of Wolverhampton ; and 
 their ground is from that town to Wednesbury, a distance of six miles. The 
 coachmen of the Wonder also deserve notice for their uniformly good conduct 
 and skill. Their names are Wood (who drives out of London), Lyley Wilcox, 
 and Hayward. 
 
 There is likewise a very fast and well-conducted coach which passes through 
 Shrewsbury, viz., the Hirondelle, from Cheltenham to Liverpool, a hundred 
 and thirty-three miles, in twelve hours and a half ! Both these coaches load 
 uncommonly well. 
 
 204 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 do suffer a little in his work, he has twenty-three hours in 
 the twenty-four of luxurious ease. He is now almost a 
 stranger to the lash, nor do we ever see him with a 
 broken skin ; but we often see him kick up his heels 
 when taken from his coach, after having performed his 
 stage of ten miles in five minutes under the hour. So 
 much for condition. 
 
 No horse lives so high as a coach-horse. In the language 
 of the stable, his stomach is the measure of his corn ; he 
 is fed ad libitum. The effect of this is visible in two ways : 
 first, it is surprising to see how soon horses gather flesh in 
 this severe work ; for there is none, as far as muscular 
 exertion goes, more severe whilst it lasts : and, secondly, 
 proprietors find that good flesh is no obstacle to their speed, 
 but, on the contrary, operates to their advantage. Horses 
 draw by their weight, and not by the force of their muscles, 
 which merely assist the application of that weight : the 
 heavier a horse is, then, the more powerful is he in his 
 harness ; in short, it is the weight of the animal which pro- 
 duces the draught, and the play and force of his muscles 
 serve to continue it. Light horses, therefore, how good 
 soever their action, ought not to be put to draw a heavy 
 load, as muscular force cannot act against it for any great 
 length of time. 
 
 The average price of horses for fast coaches may be 
 about twenty-five pounds. Fancy teams, and those work- 
 ing out of London, may be rated higher, say thirty pounds, 
 but taking a hundred miles of ground, well horsed ', the former 
 
 205 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 is about the mark. 1 The average period of each horse's 
 service does not exceed four years in a fast coach ; perhaps 
 scarcely so much, although still equal to more moderate 
 work. In a slow one we may allow seven ; but in both 
 cases we are alluding to horses put to work at five or six 
 years old. 2 Considerable judgment is necessary to the 
 selection of horses for fast work in harness ; for if they 
 have not action which will command the pace they are timed 
 at, they soon destroy themselves. For a wheel-horse, he 
 should have sound fore-legs, or he cannot be depended upon 
 down hill. Good hind-legs and well-spread gaskins are also 
 essential points in a coach-horse ; the weight or force 
 applied proceeding from the fulcrum formed by the hinder 
 feet. The price we have named as the average one for such 
 animals may appear a very low one ; but we must remember 
 that to be a hunter or a good roadster, a horse must have 
 length of shoulder, length of frame, peculiarly placed hinder- 
 legs, and a well-bitted mouth : whereas, without any of 
 these qualities he may make an excellent coach-horse ; and 
 hence the value of the coach-market to our breeders. 
 Blemished horses also find their way into coaches, as do 
 those whose tempers are bad ; neither is a blind horse, with 
 good courage, altogether objectionable, now the roads are 
 so level. 3 The following description of a road coach-horse, 
 
 1 Of course we speak of prime cost, for coach-horses increase in value as 
 they acquire condition, and are found to be equal to their work. 
 
 2 There are at this time leaders on the Dover road, which have run together 
 over the same stage upwards of twelve years ! 
 
 3 Thirty years back blind horses were numerous in stage-coaches ; in 
 
 206 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 for fast work, was given by the author of these papers at 
 the request of an eminent London coach-proprietor : * First 
 requisite, action ; second, sound legs and feet, with power 
 and breeding equal to the nature and length of the ground 
 he will work upon. Third, good wind, as the power of 
 respiration is called, without which the first and second 
 qualifications will not avail, in very fast work, for any length 
 of time. A clear- winded coach-horse will always keep his 
 condition, consequently his health, because he does not feel 
 distress on a reasonable length of ground. The hunter and 
 the racer are good or bad, chiefly in proportion to their 
 powers of respiration ; and such is the case with the road 
 coach-horse. The most proper food, then, for a coach- 
 horse in fast work is that which affords him sufficient nourish- 
 ment, without having an injurious effect on his wind ; in 
 other words, that which does not impair his respiratory 
 organs by pressing on them.' 
 
 It may probably surprise many of our readers to be 
 informed of the extent to which individual persons in England 
 embark their capital in what is termed the coaching-line. 
 Mr. Chaplin, who is the occupier of the five following 
 ' yards,' as they are termed, in London namely, those of 
 the Spread Eagle and Cross Keys, Gracechurch Street ; 
 the Swan with Two Necks, Lad Lane ; the White Horse, 
 Fetter Lane ; and the Angel, behind St. Clement's has no 
 
 fact, it would now and then happen that the whole team were in darkness. 
 ' Well over that, sir,' said one of the old school of coachmen to a passenger 
 that sate beside him on the box, having just passed a dangerous bridge on a 
 foggy night ; * only one eye among us ! ' That ' one ' was his own ! 
 
 207 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 less than thirteen hundred horses at work, in various coaches, 
 on various roads ; and Messrs. Home and Sherman, the 
 two next largest coach-proprietors in London, have about 
 seven hundred each. Those who have not witnessed it 
 might, perhaps, be still more astonished at the regularity 
 and ease with which these prodigious, apparently over- 
 whelming, establishments are conducted, by the means of 
 foremen and subordinates well trained to their business. 1 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to the uninitiated to learn 
 how a coach is worked. We will, then, assume that A, B, C, 
 and D enter into a contract to horse a coach eighty miles, 
 each proprietor having twenty miles ; in which case he is 
 said to cover both sides of the ground, or to and fro. At the 
 expiration of twenty-eight days, the lunar month, a settle- 
 ment takes place ; and if the gross earnings of the coach 
 should be five pounds per mile, there will be four hundred 
 pounds to divide between the four proprietors, after the 
 following charges have been deducted ; viz., tolls, duty to 
 government, mileage (or hire of the coach, to the coach- 
 maker), two coachmen's wages, porters' wages, rent or 
 charge of booking-offices at each end, and washing the 
 coaches. These charges may amount to one hundred 
 pounds, which leaves three hundred pounds to keep eighty 
 horses and to pay the horse-keepers, for a period of twenty- 
 eight days, which gives, within a fraction, a pound a week 
 for each horse. Thus it appears that a fast coach, properly 
 
 1 Mr. Chaplin is likewise proprietor of two London hotels, residing in 
 that called ' Osborne's ' in the Adelphi. 
 
 208 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 appointed, cannot pay unless its gross receipts amount to 
 five pounds per double mile ; and that, even then the 
 horser's profits depend on the luck he has with his stock. 
 
 In the present age, the art of mechanism is eminently 
 reduced to the practical purposes of life, and the modern 
 form of the stage-coach seems to have arrived at perfection. 
 It combines prodigious strength with almost incredible 
 lightness, not weighing more than about eighteen hundred- 
 weight ; and, being kept so much nearer the ground than 
 formerly, is of course considerably safer. Accidents, no 
 doubt, occur, and a great many more than meet the public 
 eye ; but how should this be otherwise, when we take into 
 account the immense number of coaches on the several 
 different roads, a great portion of which travel through the 
 night, and have all the varieties of our climate to contend 
 with ? No one will assert that the proprietors guard against 
 accidents to the utmost of their power ; but the great com- 
 petition they have to encounter is a strong stimulant to their 
 exertions on this score. Indeed, in some respects, the in- 
 crease of pace has become the traveller's security. 1 Coaches 
 and harness must be of the best quality, horses must be fresh 
 and sound, and coachmen of science and respectability can 
 alone be employed. In fact, to the increased pace of their 
 coaches is the improvement in these men's moral character 
 to be attributed. They have not time now for drinking ; 
 
 1 To give one instance The Worcester mail was one of the slowest on 
 the road, and the oftenest overturned. She is now fast, and reckoned one of 
 the safest in England. 
 
 o 209 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 and they come in collision with a class of persons superior 
 to those who formerly were stage-coach passengers, by 
 whose example it has been impossible for them not to profit 
 in all respects. A coachman drunk on his box is now a rarity. 
 A coachman quite sober was, even within our memory, still 
 more so. But let us press this question a little further : do 
 the proprietors guard against accidents to the very extent of 
 their ability ? We fear not : too many of them, to touch 
 only one point, allow their coachmen to omit the use of the 
 hand or end-buckle to their reins, which to our own know- 
 ledge has lately been productive of several accidents. This is 
 new, and it is a mere piece of affectation, and should be put 
 a stop to ; for surely if a coachman fancies he has not time 
 to * pin his ribbons ' before mounting the box, he can do so 
 after having proceeded a short distance on his stage ; and he 
 cannot say he has not time to unbuckle them before he comes 
 to the end of it. It is evident, that with reins unbuckled 
 at the ends, should either of them drop out of his hand, all 
 command over his team is gone. Moreover, in the hands 
 of the best coachman, a wheel-horse will now and then 
 drop, and should he not fortunately in this case be dragged on 
 the ground so as to stop the coach, up he jumps, and, ex- 
 pecting the whip, rushes forward with his head loose, his 
 reins having been drawn through the coachman's hand. 
 Had it been buckled at the end, such an occurrence could 
 not have happened ; and if, after our warning, damages are 
 sought for on this score, coach-proprietors may depend on 
 it they must be prepared to smart. It is also now become 
 210 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 fashionable to have no bearing reins to the harness, which, 
 with horses having good mouths, may be, perhaps, dispensed 
 with ; but the absence of the pad and crupper cannot be 
 unattended with danger. 1 
 
 That, in fact, nineteen accidents in twenty are the effects 
 of want of proper precaution, cannot be denied. Coachmen, 
 it is true, are not theoretical philosophers ; but experience 
 teaches them, that if they drive fast round corners, the 
 centre of gravity must be more or less disturbed by thus 
 diverging from the right line ; and if lost, over she goes : yet 
 a great number of the overturns that occur happen exactly 
 in this way. Why then are not coachmen strictly enjoined 
 by their employers to avoid so gross an error ? But it is in 
 the act of descending hills that the majority of catastrophes 
 take place ; and the coachman needs not book-learning to 
 enlighten him as to the wherefore. Let him only throw up 
 a stone, and watch its descent. If it falls sixteen feet in the 
 first second, it will fall three times that distance in the next, 
 and so on. Thus it is with his coach ; the continued impulse 
 it acquires in descending a hill presses upon the wheel- 
 horses, until at last it exceeds their powers of resistance. 
 
 1 A false notion has lately got abroad, that horses are less apt to fall down 
 with their heads quite at liberty, as those on the Continent are generally driven. 
 Physically speaking, this must be false ; forasmuch as the weight being in this 
 case thrown more forward, the centre of gravity is more difficult to be recovered 
 when disturbed. A short time since, the author saw ten horses out of eleven, 
 in two Boulogne and Paris diligences, with broken knees, and called a respect- 
 able inhabitant of the first-named town to witness the fact. French diligence- 
 horses, however, fall from want of wind, as well as from want of assistance 
 to keep them on their legs. 
 
 211 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Infshort, they have a new force to contend with at every 
 step they take. But this is not all. Instead of checking the 
 active force of his coach before she begins to move down- 
 ward, he too often adds that to the fresh impulse she acquires 
 on her descent. Every coachman, who has a regard for the 
 safety of his own neck, should check the velocity of his coach 
 at the top of every hill ; which, in the language of the road, is 
 termed * taking a hill in time/ He may, in that case, if his 
 harness be sound, drive his coach down most hills now found 
 on our roads with ease ; and, when a certain way down 
 them, may increase his pace, with perfect safety, to meet the 
 opposing ground at the bottom. With heavily-laden coaches 
 we prefer this to the drag-chain on one wheel only, by which 
 hundreds of them have been pulled over on slippery roads ; 
 and which is a great check to speed, too, as the momentum 
 cannot be taken advantage of, in continuing the motion of 
 the coach when she brings the horses to their collars again. 
 All persons who have travelled on the Continent have 
 observed an appendage to the public carriages by which both 
 hinder- wheels can be ' dragged/ as the term is, or their 
 rapid rotation checked, by the conducteur, or guard, without 
 his descending from his seat ; and which is vulgarly called 
 * le mechanique.' It is much to be regretted that a similar 
 instrument is not in general use with our stage and mail- 
 coaches, as it would be the means of preventing numerous 
 accidents that occur by coaches overpowering horses when 
 descending long hills, but such as are not considered suffi- 
 ciently steep to require the drag-chain ; or, in case of horses 
 212 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 attempting to get the better of their driver. A gentleman of 
 the name of Tongue, residing in Staffordshire, has obtained 
 a patent for a machine, to answer this end, known as 
 ' Tongue's patent drag,' and it is now used on several coaches 
 out of London, as well as on various cross-roads. It is more 
 simple in its construction than that we see on the Continent, 
 and its additional weight not exceeding twenty pounds 
 is not worthy of regard when balanced against its security 
 to passengers, and the benefit wheel-horses derive from 
 being eased of the pressure of the load, which is considerable, 
 even on a moderate descent. 
 
 The question often arises, is there danger in galloping 
 horses in a coach on perfectly level ground ? Under certain 
 circumstances there is. For instance, if there happen to be 
 two horses at wheel which take unequal strides in their 
 gallop, their action will be felt by the coach they being so 
 near to her and lateral motion will be produced, by which 
 her equilibrium may be destroyed. When a coach once 
 begins to swing, a little thing will upset her even passing 
 over a small stone as the faster she goes on level ground, 
 the more weight is thrown upon her fore- wheels, and, of 
 course, increased on a descent. Neither is a good road a 
 security to her ; on the contrary, the harder the surface of 
 it the more danger, there being nothing to hold the wheels 
 to the ground. If, however, it were possible to make the 
 stride and draught of four horses quite equal, their increased 
 speed would have but little effect on a coach upon tolerably 
 level ground ; which is proved by her being quite steady 
 
 213 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 in ascending a hill at ever so quick a rate, when every 
 horse is at work. This shows the necessity of putting 
 horses well together , and driving them with a steady hand. 
 
 The worst of accidents and one which, with the present 
 structure of coaches, can never be entirely provided against 
 arises from broken axletrees, from which cause, since these 
 articles first appeared, several lives have been lost, and 
 more limbs fractured. There is certainly something start- 
 ling in the reflection, that whenever we travel by a coach 
 we are liable to this occurrence, which must happen if the 
 weight above be too great for the sustaining power below ; 
 and for this reason the mails are safer than stage-coaches, 
 as not loading so heavily. Everything that can be done to 
 prevent the snapping of the axletree has now been adopted, 
 we think, by our coach-builders. In case it does break, 
 what is called the idle wheel, in addition to the active wheel, 
 is the only security against an upset ; but as this some- 
 what adds to the weight of a coach, the adoption of 
 it has been abandoned. Accidents, then, are always to 
 be apprehended by travellers from this cause ;, the loss of 
 wheels is another ; and until an act of parliament enforces 
 the use of the patent box, or the screw-nut, so as to trust 
 no longer to the common linchpin, it will remain a third. 1 
 
 1 The only linchpin that can be relied on is the wooden one, which, to- 
 gether with the screw-nut, is used in the French diligences. It is made of 
 heart of oak ; and being once driven through the eye of the arm, cannot be 
 drawn out again, without cutting off the bottom of it, as it swells to a size 
 which prevents its returning the way it went in. There is no dependence on 
 iron linchpins. 
 
 The model of a carriage has lately been exhibited, built on a plan by which 
 
 214 
 
^Nimrod 5 
 
 On the whole, however, travelling by public conveyances 
 was never so secure as it is at the present time. Nothing 
 can be more favourable to it than the build of the modern 
 coaches. The boots, being let down between the springs, 
 keep the load, consequently the centre of gravity, low ; the 
 wheels of many of them are secured by patent boxes ; and 
 in every part of them the best materials are used. The cost 
 of coaches of this description is from a hundred and thirty 
 pounds to a hundred and fifty pounds ; but they are gener- 
 ally hired from the maker, at from two pence half-penny to 
 three pence per mile. 
 
 The common height of the stage-coach wheels of the 
 present day is as follows : the fore-wheels, three feet four 
 inches, the hinder, four feet eight inches. As the former 
 turn round so much oftener than the latter, and also bear 
 more weight, they require to have their fellies fresh wrung 
 about every five weeks ; whereas the latter will stand good 
 for two months or more. The strength of a wheel depends 
 greatly on the attention paid to the arrangement and framing 
 of the spokes. In common wheels, they are framed regularly 
 and equally all round the thickest part of the nave, the 
 tenons of the spokes being so bevelled as to stand about 
 three inches out of perpendicular, by which is produced 
 the dishing wheel. This dishing, or concave, wheel is not 
 essential on our present rutless roads, and perpendicular 
 wheels are preferable on level ground. The best wheels 
 
 the centre of gravity is preserved under any ordinary circumstances to which 
 our coaches are exposed on the road. 
 
 215 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 we know of are those under our mail-coaches. The spokes 
 are framed somewhat differently into the nave, which is made 
 rather larger than is usual for common coach- wheels, and 
 every other spoke is framed perpendicular to the nave. Hence, 
 the mortises to receive them in it are not made in a parallel 
 line around it, but stand as it were in two different parallels 
 one without the other ; by which means greater solidity is 
 given to the nave, and an immense addition of strength to 
 the wheel. What is called the patent hoop, always used in 
 stage-coaches having the iron tire drawn into one com- 
 plete ring, is not put on these wheels ; but the common 
 strokes, as they are called, forged and hammered to the 
 sweep of the rings, and in lengths equal to those of the 
 fellies, are put on red hot, and well secured by rivetted nails. 
 The mail fore-wheel is somewhat higher than that of the 
 stage-coach, which is an advantage. Low fore-wheels place 
 the axle so much below the level of the wheel-horses' breasts, 
 that they have not only the carriage to draw, but also part 
 of its weight to bear. This weight distresses their hams, 
 stifles, and hocks, and accounts for coach-horses being so 
 soon unfit for the saddle. It is evident that attention to 
 these points is necessary in putting horses to a coach ; and 
 when the fore- wheels are low, the wheel-horses should have 
 as much length of trace as can be given them, for the line 
 of traction should be as nearly even with the draught of the 
 horse as we can make it. 1 
 
 1 Thus it is with a farmer's waggon. When the shaft-horse is standing 
 at rest allowing two degrees of an angle for that position the point of the 
 
 2l6 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 It requires, also, some art to load a coach properly. A 
 waggoner on country roads always puts the greater weight 
 over his hinder wheels, being the highest ; and he is right, 
 for he has obstacles to meet, and the power necessary to 
 overcome them diminishes with the increased diameter of 
 the wheel. On our turnpike roads, however, where there 
 is now no obstacle, the load on a coach should be condensed 
 as much as possible, and the heaviest packages placed in 
 the fore boot. Indeed, all the heavier packages should be 
 put into the boots, and the lighter ones only on the roof. A 
 well-loaded coach is sure to follow well, and is always pleasant 
 to ride in ; and as a weak child totters less when it has a 
 weight on its head, coach-springs break less frequently with 
 a moderately heavy and well-adjusted load than with a 
 light one. 
 
 Allowance is made for the retarding power of friction in 
 all kinds of machinery, and of course it is not overlooked in 
 carriages. The coachman sees its effect every time he puts 
 the drag-chain on his wheel, which merely decreases the 
 velocity of his coach, by increasing the quantity of friction. 
 Common-sense must likewise instruct him, that when two 
 
 shaft is nearly even with the top of the fore-wheel ; but when the horse exerts 
 his strength to move a load, he brings his breast so much nearer the ground, 
 that the line of draught is almost horizontal, and in a line with its centre. The 
 trace of a coach-horse, when he stands at rest, is also oblique to the horizon, and 
 must be so with low fore-wheels ; but it approaches the horizontal when he 
 is at work, and the nearer it approaches to it the better. Horses draw by 
 their weight, and not by the force of their muscles ; the hinder feet, then, 
 being the fulcrum of the lever by which their weight acts against a load, when 
 they pull hard it depresses their chests thus increasing the lever of its weight, 
 and diminishing the lever by which the load resists its efforts. 
 
 217 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 bodies are rubbing against each other in opposite directions 
 as the arm of an axletree and the iron-box of a wheel 
 the smoother these bodies can be made, the less, of course, is 
 the friction. As economy in the expense of power is one of 
 the chief objects of a mechanic, it is not to be wondered at 
 that great pains have been taken in the construction of the 
 axles and boxes of carriages. To Mr. Collinge are we 
 chiefly indebted for his patent cylindrical axletree and box, 
 which have stood the test of many years, and given universal 
 satisfaction for the silent and steady motion they impart 
 to the wheel for their great strength and durability and 
 for carrying oil several thousand miles without the necessity 
 of replenishing it. They are turned upon a lathe, case- 
 hardened, and rendered as smooth on the surface as it is 
 possible, in the existing state of the art, to render them. 
 But as the expense of these boxes is too great for stage- 
 coaches, patents have been taken out for others of a less 
 costly nature, which answer extremely well, and have long 
 since been in use on all the coaches that run from the Bull 
 and Mouth, and many others besides. No stage-coach can 
 be safe without the patent boxes, as they are termed, but there 
 is a prejudice amongst proprietors against them. They 
 certainly add to the cost, and also to the weight, of the 
 coach ; and by preventing the wheels from escaping any 
 obstacle that may present itself the consequence of their 
 being air-tight they wear out rather sooner than when 
 used with the common axle. Their general adoption, how- 
 ever, would be a great safeguard to the public, as well as of 
 218 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 considerable assistance to trade. In the mail-coaches, the 
 boxes are of a different construction, and owe their safety 
 to four bolts, which pass completely through the nave of 
 the wheel, having a square shoulder on the back of the nave, 
 with screws and nuts on its front. We have no hesitation 
 in saying, this is the best wheel ever put under a coach ; and, 
 of course, Mr. Vidler, the late contractor for the mails, had a 
 patent for it. The mails could never do their work with 
 the common axle and box. 1 
 
 Cicero laments the want of post-offices, and well he 
 might. Nothing can excel that department in our country, 
 as it has long been administered by the late Sir Francis 
 Freeling ; although we feared in this, as in more important 
 matters, we were about to lose sight of the good old rule of 
 * letting well alone.' It was said to have been the intention 
 of Government to substitute light carriages with two horses, 
 for the present mail-coaches drawn by four ; but we had 
 
 1 An improvement on all the patents yet brought forth was some time 
 since attempted by two spirited coach-makers in London, but we have not 
 heard of its success. Its object is to diminish draught in two distinct ways 
 first, by reducing the bearing parts, and thereby lessening friction ; and, 
 secondly, by diminishing the ' dead hug,' as it is termed, which is always an 
 attendant on the cylindrical arm and box. It substitutes a square instead 
 of a cylindrical box, in which the cylindrical axle or arm works. This is made 
 to fit on each of the four sides as true and as air-tight as if it were a complete 
 circle ; and if the four different bearings are but one-eighth of an inch each, 
 it is apparent that there is but half an inch of surface for the arm to oppose or 
 work against in each axle ; and so on in proportion to' the size of the bearing. 
 Nor is this all : those parts or angles not touched by the arm as may be seen 
 when the box is revolving serve as reservoirs for oil, affording a constant 
 supply. The nose of the arm is protected by a circular end, ground on to 
 form the nicest fit, and prevent the possibility of the smallest particle of gravel 
 finding its way into the box. 
 
 219 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 many suspicions as to the result of such a change. It is true, 
 the persons that horse the mails cry out lustily against the 
 Government for not remunerating them better for the in- 
 creased speed at which they are now required to travel the 
 maximum price being tenpence a mile. Indeed, several 
 proprietors have, in consequence of their losses, taken their 
 horses off some of the mails ; and others would refuse fresh 
 contracts, unless more liberal terms were offered them. 
 The Chester has already disappeared. These complaints 
 have, no doubt, been troublesome and, in some cases, 
 perhaps, not quite reasonable ; but we will state our 
 reasons for thinking the present system cannot be improved 
 upon. 
 
 First, the build of the mails is admirable for endurance. 
 Why do we oftener hear of axletrees and other parts giving 
 way with stage-coaches, and scarcely ever in the mails ? 
 Simply because the sustaining powers of the latter are more 
 than equal to the weight, and they cannot lose their wheels. 
 Moreover, they are excellently adapted for quick travelling ; 
 the centre of gravity being low and now still lower in those 
 furnished by the new contractor, the term of Mr. Vidler's 
 contract having expired ; and they are light in comparison 
 with stage-coaches that run as fast as they do ; indeed, 
 amongst coachmen, they are slightingly termed ' paper 
 carts/ in reference to comparative weight, and their great 
 speed on the road. When the mail-coach of the present day 
 starts from London for Edinburgh, a man may safely bet a 
 hundred to one that she arrives to her time ; but let a light 
 220 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 two-horse vehicle set out on the same errand, and the betting 
 would strangely alter. 
 
 It is quite a mistaken notion, that a carriage is less liable 
 to accidents for being light. On the contrary, she is more 
 liable to them than one that is well laden in proportion to 
 her sustaining powers. In the latter case, she runs steadily 
 along, and is but little disturbed by any obstacle or jerk she 
 may meet on the road ; in the former she is constantly on 
 ' the jump/ as coachmen call it, and her iron parts very 
 liable to snap. Our present mail-coach work reflects the 
 highest credit on the state of our roads, and everything con- 
 nected with them. It will be borne in mind that, with one 
 or two exceptions, they all begin their journey at night, and 
 those which perform very long distances have two nights to 
 one day ; yet, see the wonderful regularity with which they 
 arrive, and the few bad accidents they meet with ! But, 
 indeed, all our night- travelling in England is deserving of 
 high praise for the expedition and regularity with which it 
 is conducted ; and, we have reason to believe, fewer acci- 
 dents happen to night-coaches than to such as run by day. 
 This, however, may be accounted for. Barring fogs, it 
 matters not how dark a night is, as our lamps supply the light 
 of the sun ; and, taking the average of nights, have a prefer- 
 ence over the moon. Coachmen now always sober are 
 then more careful, and less given to larking , and the road is 
 generally clear of any carriages but those which travel with 
 lights. Horses also run more steadily by night, and cer- 
 tainly with more ease ; it is a very common case to hear a 
 
 221 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 coachman say, such a horse is ' a good night horse, but an 
 indifferent one by day.' Some cannot bear a hot sun on 
 their backs ; and those whose wind is not so good as it 
 should be, run with much greater ease by night. 
 
 It is, indeed, gratifying to contemplate the change that 
 has lately taken place in the whole system of the road ; and 
 it is a most humane one. The old-fashioned coachman to 
 a heavy coach and they were all heavy down to very recent 
 times bore some analogy with the prize-fighter, for he 
 stood highest who could hit hardest. He was generally a 
 man of large frame, made larger by indulgence, and of great 
 bodily power which was useful to him. To the button- 
 hole of his coat were appended several whipcord points, 
 which he was sure to have occasion for on the road, for his 
 horses were whipped till whipping was as necessary to them 
 as their harness. In fair play to him, however, he was not 
 solely answerable for this : the spirit of his cattle was broken 
 by the task they were called to perform for in those days 
 twenty-mile stages were in fashion ; and what was the 
 consequence ? Why, the four-horse whip and the Notting- 
 ham whipcord were of no avail over the latter part of the 
 ground, and something like a cat-o '-nine-tails was produced 
 out of the boot, which was jocularly called * the apprentice ' ; 
 and a shrewd apprentice it was to the art of torturing, which 
 was inflicted on the wheelers without stint or measure, but 
 without which the coach might have been often left on the 
 road. One circumstance alone saved these horses from 
 destruction ; this was the frequency of alehouses on the 
 222 
 
^Nimrod ' 
 
 road, not one of which could then be passed without 
 a call. 
 
 Still our old-fashioned coachman was a scientific man in 
 his calling more so, perhaps, than by far the greater part 
 of his brethren of the present day, in as much as his energies 
 and skill were more frequently put to the test. He had 
 heavy loads, bad roads, and weary horses to deal with, 
 neither was any part of his harness to be depended on, upon 
 a pinch. Then the box he sat upon was worse than Pan- 
 dora's, with all the evils it contained, for even hope appeared 
 to have deserted it. It rested on the bed of the axletree, 
 and shook the frame to atoms ; but when prayers were put 
 up to have it altered, the proprietors said, ' No ; the rascal 
 will always be asleep if we place his box on the springs/ 
 If, among all these difficulties, then, he by degrees became 
 a drunkard, who can wonder at his becoming so ? But he 
 was a coachman. He could fetch the last ounce out of a 
 wheel-horse by the use of his double thong, or his apprentice^ 
 and the point of his lash told terribly upon his leaders. He 
 likewise applied it scientifically ; it was directed under the 
 bar to the flank, and after the third hit he brought it up to 
 his hand by the draw, so that it never got entangled in the 
 pole-chains, or in any part of the harness. He could untie 
 a knot with his teeth and tie another with his tongue, as 
 well as he could with his hands ; and if his thong broke off 
 in the middle, he could splice it with dexterity, and even 
 with neatness, as his coach was proceeding on its journey. 
 In short, he could do what coachmen of the present day 
 
 223 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 cannot do, because they have not been called upon to do 
 it ; and he likewise could do what they never try to do 
 namely, he could drive when he was drunk nearly as well 
 as when he was sober. He was very frequently a faithful 
 servant to his employers ; considered trustworthy by bankers 
 and others in the country through which he passed ; 
 and as humane to his horses, perhaps, as the adverse circum- 
 stances he was placed in by his masters would admit. 
 
 It has been suggested to road surveyors, that, if they 
 would leave a narrow slip of loose gravel on the near side 
 of severe hills, or those of only moderate declivity where 
 the fall is a long one, and the road hard, it would save in- 
 numerable accidents in the course of the year, as the moment 
 a coachman found his coach was getting the better of the 
 horses or should any part of his tackle give way he could 
 run her into the gravel, and her velocity would be almost 
 instantly checked. If placed on the near or left-hand side 
 of the road, it would not inconvenience carriages ascending 
 the hills ; and the attention of a labourer, about every third 
 day, to keep the gravel in its place, would obviate every 
 difficulty. Likewise, it is desirable that roads should be 
 raised a little to meet a coach, as it were, in the turns, 
 especially such as are at the bottom of a hill. For example, 
 if the turn is to the right, the left side of the road should be 
 the higher, so as to give support to a coach in preserving 
 her centre of gravity. Be it remembered, that if the body 
 of a coach could be made to lock with the carriage, she would 
 go round a corner at full speed without danger ; but as 
 224 
 
that cannot be done, too much precaution cannot be used 
 when turning her from her line. Only a few years back, 
 the Kingston and Worcester mail was upset in going round 
 a turn, where the road was in an opposite form to the one 
 we have just pointed out, when, according to evidence pro- 
 duced, she was going at the rate of only six miles in the 
 hour. The effects of this accident were dreadful. In one 
 respect, however, roads are more safe than they were, being 
 no longer rounded in the middle, which caused the over- 
 throw of many coaches in the act of crossing them, and the 
 ruin of many coach-horses, by straining them in the fetlock- 
 joint. 
 
 The hills on our great roads are now so cut through, 
 that coaches ascend nearly all of them in the trot. Indeed, 
 coachmen have found out that their horses are gainers here, 
 as in the trot every horse does his share ; whereas very few 
 teams are all at work together when walking. Four weak 
 horses, well put together, will draw a very heavy load up a 
 hill of considerable acclivity, if the surface be hard, and 
 they are kept to a trot. As a mechanical agent, the worst 
 method in which the strength of a horse can be applied is 
 carrying a weight up hill ; and the best, that of drawing it. 
 We should, however, give him every advantage ; and, with 
 a loaded coach, ' keeping her alive/ as coachmen translate 
 the vis vivida of the mechanic, is of vast importance in the 
 draught of her. 
 
 We have now only one more hint to offer as to stage- 
 coaches. Proprietors should never, if they can avoid it, 
 p 225 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 suffer two coachmen to drive the same horses ; either each 
 man should drive his own ground double, or he should go 
 the journey throughout and return the next day. It cannot 
 be expected that horses can do well in the hands of two 
 coachmen, even allowing them equal merits ; and for these 
 plain reasons : they not only feel the effect of change of 
 hands, which ruffles them, but they know not what to be 
 at in their work ; one man makes his play, as it is called, 
 over one part of the ground, the other over another part. 
 The system also destroys the pride a coachman takes in 
 seeing his stock look well ; and, if anything goes wrong, a 
 wrangle is sure to be the consequence. As it is ascertained 
 that no horse can run at the top of his speed more than seven 
 or eight miles without injury, it is much better that a coach- 
 man should work his ground double this is, with the same 
 team down and up if the hour suits, than that another man 
 should touch them. 1 
 
 Some persons object to two sweats a day, but it is non- 
 sense ; how does the race-horse run his heats ? and how 
 many sweats does a roadster or a hunter get on the same 
 day ? In very fast work, it is better for cattle to run five 
 miles in and out, with an hour or two of rest between being 
 taken from one coach and put to the other, than nine miles 
 straight on end. 
 
 A wonderful change has taken place in the English 
 
 1 So material, indeed, is this point considered by one of our best judges of 
 road coach-work, that he denies the possibility of any coach keeping its exact 
 time over a long distance of ground, unless each man drives his own horses, 
 with short stages for each team. 
 
 226 
 
'NimrocP 
 
 coach-horse, as well as the sort of horses put into other 
 kinds of harness ; but this has been progressive. Fifty 
 years ago, the idea of putting a thorough-bred horse into 
 harness would have been considered preposterous. In the 
 carriages of our noblemen and gentlemen, the long- tailed 
 black, or Cleveland bay each one remove from the cart- 
 horse was the prevailing sort, and six miles an hour the 
 extent of his pace ; and he cost from thirty pounds to fifty 
 pounds. A few years back, a nobleman gave seven hundred 
 guineas for a horse to draw his cabriolet : two hundred 
 guineas is now an every-day price for a horse of this de- 
 scription, and a hundred and fifty for a gentleman's coach- 
 horse ! Indeed, a pair of handsome coach-horses, fit for 
 London, and well broken and bitted, cannot be purchased 
 under two hundred guineas ; and even job -masters often 
 give much more for them to let out to their customers. In 
 harness, also, we think we have arrived at perfection, to 
 which the invention of the patent shining leather has mainly 
 contributed. A handsome horse, well harnessed, is a noble 
 sight ; and is it not extraordinary that in no country but 
 England is the art of putting horses into harness gener- 
 ally understood ? Independently of the workmanship of 
 the harness -maker, if our road -horses were put to their 
 coaches in the loose awkward fashion of the Continent, we 
 could never travel at the rate we do. It is the command 
 given over the coach-horse that alone enables us to do it. 
 
 We may as well say a word or two as to private vehicles 
 ere we close. As a facsimile of the gentleman's family- 
 
 227 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 coach of fifty years back is now become difficult to produce, 
 we will describe it. It had a most comfortable and roomy 
 body, quite fit to contain six portly persons, and suspended 
 by long leather braces, affixed to nearly upright springs. 
 To enable the body to hang low, the perch of a bent form, 
 called the compass perch, was used ; and the carriage was 
 of great length and strength. In fact, it was, coachman and 
 all, in strict accordance with the animals that drew it, and 
 came under the denomination of * slow and easy.' The 
 fashionable open carriage of this day was a still more un- 
 sightly object the high, single-bodied phaeton, all upon 
 the fore- wheels, and looking as if the hinder ones had nothing 
 to do but to follow. This was the favourite carriage of the 
 late King, when Prince of Wales, and was commonly driven, 
 by such as could afford it, with four horses in hand. Indeed, 
 it may almost be said to have given birth to our gentleman- 
 coachmanship, as well as to the well-known doggerel 
 epigram : 
 
 1 What can Tommy Onslow do ? 
 He can drive a phaeton and two. 
 Can Tommy Onslow do no more ? 
 Yes he can drive a phaeton and four ! ' 
 
 The phaeton was succeeded by the no less classically 
 yclept curricle a carriage, when properly appointed, and 
 followed by two well-dressed and well-mounted grooms, of 
 singular elegance certainly. It had a long run in the fashion- 
 able world ; but being, like the phaeton, only calculated 
 to carry two persons, and requiring never less than three 
 228 
 
TiTST 
 
 
 HE CAN DRIVE A PHAETON AND T\\ O " 
 
horses, taxation and economy put an end to it. Then came 
 the reign of the gig. The curate 's wife, a gouty attorney, 
 or a rich old farmer, fifty years ago, might be seen boxed up 
 in a whiskey, which, being hung on hind- and fore-braces, 
 with a head to protect its inmates from weather, made a 
 convenient family conveyance, and with a steady dobbin 
 to draw it a safe one. Economy induced a leader of ton 
 to cast favouring eyes on this snug whiskey ; and thence the 
 airy gig, which, with a hundred-guinea horse in it, has been 
 the best friend to doctors and undertakers they have ever 
 yet found. The race has multiplied, and many names and 
 varieties have been adopted in succession. The quiet move- 
 ment of their wheels, the nice equilibrium in which they 
 are placed on the axle, the evenness of their motion by 
 reason of their being detached from their shafts, and the ease 
 with which they follow the horse, make gigs delightful 
 carriages to ride in, and we could wish they w r ere not so 
 dangerous. The stanhope, so named after the Honourable 
 Fitzroy Stanhope, who planned it, succeeded the tilbury, 
 so called from the well-known coach-maker ; and the cost, 
 without harness, of either may be about seventy pounds. 
 Now, ' every dog has his day,' and so have our prevailing 
 fashions. The buggy, stanhope, dennet, and tilbury, have 
 all, during some seasons past, been supplanted by the cab- 
 riolet for town work, for which we must allow it is far more 
 suitable though much too heavy for the road. In London, 
 this has been seen at the opera, at the theatres, at the club- 
 houses, and at dinner-parties, with a neat little urchin on 
 
 229 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 the foot-board, performing all the offices of the chariot 
 with not a third of its expenses. The English cabriolet, 
 however, is rather on the decline in the fashionable world, 
 and the light and airy tilbury is making its appearance 
 again. 
 
 For country work nearly all these open vehicles have 
 given place to the double-bodied phaeton and the britscka, 
 both of which are much used in travelling post. The former 
 is likewise in vogue with citizens and others who have 
 families, and is now made so light as to be drawn by one 
 horse with four persons in it with ease, for a limited number 
 of miles. Descending still lower in the scale, and only one 
 remove from the donkey-cart, is what is called the pony- 
 chaise, out of which more people have been killed than we 
 should like to enumerate here. These vehicles, by far the 
 most dangerous carriages of the whole family they belong to, 
 are so light that an animal even of little power can do what 
 he pleases with them ; they are also obliged to be made so 
 short in the carriage, that the least thing upsets them, while 
 the persons in them are not out of reach of heels. Should 
 the animal be alarmed and endeavour to run away, the low- 
 ness and lightness of the vehicle nearly destroy all power of 
 resistance ; indeed, if he have much power, a carriage of this 
 description may be compared to a canister tied to a dog's 
 tail. 1 
 
 1 Accidents by these carriages frequently arise from apparently an un- 
 known cause ; it is by no means generally known that horses frequently begin 
 kicking or plunging in consequence of some part of their harness pinching 
 them, but which their drivers are quite unconscious of at the time. Thus 
 
 230 
 
^Nimrod" 
 
 The taste for the whip has undoubtedly declined ; and 
 at one time, perhaps, it occupied more attention among the 
 higher classes of society than we ever wish to see it do again. 
 Yet, taken in moderation, we can perceive no reason to 
 condemn this branch of sport more than others. If so great 
 a personage as Sophocles could think it fitting to display 
 his science in public, in the trifling game of ball, why may 
 not an English gentleman exercise his skill on a coach-box ? 
 If the Athenians, the most polished nation of all antiquity, 
 deemed it an honour to be considered skilful charioteers, 
 why should Englishmen consider it a disgrace ? To be 
 serious our amateur or gentlemen-coachmen have done 
 much good : the road would never have been what it now 
 is, but for the encouragement they gave, by their notice and 
 support, to all persons connected with it. Would the Holy- 
 head road have been what it is, had there been no such 
 persons as the Hon. Thomas Kenyon, Sir Henry Parnell, 
 and Mr. Maddox ? Would the Oxford coachmen have set 
 so good an example as they have done to their brethren of 
 * the bench/ had there been no such men on their road as 
 Sir Henry Peyton, Lord Clonmell, the late Sir Thomas 
 Mostyn, that Nestor of coachmen, Mr. Annesley, and the 
 
 a coach-horse is frequently set kicking by merely a twist in his trace. Many 
 accidents, however, arise from using horses not properly broken to harness, 
 as well as from the inexperience of drivers. We have all heard of the young 
 Oxonian, who prevailed on his uncle to accompany him in his gig to Oxford. 
 In passing through Kensington, the old gentleman observed he had paid his 
 nephew a great compliment, for that was only the fifth time he had ever been 
 in a gig in his life. The nephew replied that his horse beat him hollow, for 
 he had never been in one at all before that day ! 
 
 231 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 late Mr. Harrison of Shelswell ? 1 Would not the unhappy 
 coachmen of five-and-twenty years back have gone on, 
 wearing out their breeches with the bumping of the old 
 coach-box, and their stomachs with brandy, had not Mr. 
 Ward of Squerries, after many a weary endeavour, persuaded 
 the proprietors to place their boxes upon springs the plan 
 for accomplishing which was suggested by Mr. Roberts, 
 
 1 ' Mr. Charles Holmes and theBlenheim Coach. " Nimrod," in his Northern 
 Tour last month, got upon his favourite subject, the road ; and we were glad 
 to see it, because we think occasional notices of the different coachmen, and 
 the turns-out from the various establishments, are calculated to afford an 
 additional stimulus to all persons of the same class, and also to promote the 
 public service in the coaching department. We have much pleasure, therefore, 
 in recording a very handsome and flattering compliment that has been recently 
 paid to Mr. Charles Holmes, the driver and part proprietor of the Blenheim 
 coach (from Woodstock to London), to celebrate the completion of his twentieth 
 year on that well-appointed coach, a period that has elapsed without a single 
 accident to his coach, his passengers, or himself, and during which time, with 
 the exception of a very short absence from indisposition, he has driven his 
 sixty-five miles every day, making somewhere about twenty-three thousand 
 miles a year. The numerous patrons of the coach entered into a subscription 
 to present him with a piece of plate ; and accordingly a beautiful cup, bearing 
 the shape of an antique vase, and cover, ornamented with rich handles, com- 
 posed of scrolls and foliage, the cover surmounted by a beautifully modelled 
 horse, with a coach and four horses on one side, and a suitable inscription on 
 the other, was presented to Mr. Holmes by that staunch patron of the road, 
 Sir Henry Peyton, Bart., in August last, at a dinner at the Thatched House 
 Tavern, St. James's Street, to which between forty and fifty gentlemen sat 
 down. The cup was manufactured by Messrs. Green and Ward, and the 
 list of subscribers amounted to upwards of two hundred and fifty, including 
 amongst others the Duke of Wellington, and indeed all persons of rank, 
 business, or pleasure, whose vocations call them in the direction that the coach 
 travels. We see by * Bell's Life in London? a paper that has uniformly devoted 
 itself to the patronage of this useful class of men, that a handsome salver is 
 yet to be presented to this fortunate and deserving coachman, at Oxford. 
 We feel assured that this flattering distinction will have its due influence in 
 all parts of the country, and we wish Mr. Holmes many years of health and 
 prosperity to enjoy the reward of his long and meritorious services.' (Ex- 
 tract from the ' New Sporting Magazine ' for November 1835, p. 68.) 
 
 232 
 
'Nimrod' 
 
 nephew to the then proprietor of the White Horse, Fetter 
 Lane, London, but now of the Royal Hotel, Calais ? What 
 would the Devonshire road have been, but for the late Sir 
 Charles Bamfylde, Sir John Rogers, Colonel Prouse, Sir 
 Lawrence Palk, and others ? Have the advice and the 
 practice of such experienced men as Mr. Charles Buxton, 
 Mr. Henry Villebois, Mr. Okeover, Sir Bellingham Graham, 
 Mr. John Walker, Lord Sefton, Sir Felix Agar, 1 Mr. Ackers, 
 Mr. Maxse, Hon. Fitzroy Stanhope, Colonel Spicer, Colonel 
 Sibthorpe, cum multis aliis, been thrown away upon persons 
 who have looked up to them as protectors ? Certainly not : 
 neither would the improvement in carriages stage-coaches 
 more especially have arrived at its present height, but for 
 the attention and suggestions of such persons as we have 
 been speaking of. 
 
 Gentlemen-coaching, however, has, as we said, received 
 a check ; and in more ways than one. ' Tampering with the 
 currency/ and low prices, have taken off the leaders ; and 
 the bars and four-horse whips are hung up for the present 
 very few four-in-hands being visible. 2 The * B.D.C./ or 
 Benson Driving Club, which still holds its rendezvous at 
 the ' Black Dog/ Bedfont, is the only survivor of those 
 
 1 Perhaps one of the finest specimens of good coachmanship was per- 
 formed by Sir Felix Agar. He made a bet, which he won, that he would 
 drive his own four-horses-in-hand up Grosvenor Place, down the passage, 
 into Tattersalls' Yard, around the pillar, which stands in the centre of it, 
 and back again into Grosvenor Place, without either of his horses going in a 
 slower pace than a trot. 
 
 2 Only ten years back, there were from thirty to forty four-in-hand equi- 
 pages to be seen constantly about town : one is stared at now ! 
 
 233 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 numerous driving associations whose processions used, 
 some twenty years ago, to be among the most im- 
 posing, as well as peculiar, spectacles in and about the 
 metropolis. 
 
 The fashion, however, was not one of venerable standing 
 among us gentlemen-coachmen not having been known in 
 England for more than about half a century. We believe 
 we ourselves remember the Anglo-Ericthonius the late Hon. 
 Charles Finch, brother to the late Earl of Aylesford, who 
 used to drive his own coach-and-four, disguised in a livery 
 great coat. Soon after his debut, however, the celebrated 
 ' Tommy Onslow/ Sir John Lade, and others, mounted the 
 box in their own character. Sir John was esteemed a re- 
 nowned judge of coach-horses and carriages, and a good 
 coachman of the old school ; but everything connected with 
 the coach-box has undergone such a change in the last 
 twenty-five years, that the Nestors of the art are no longer 
 to be quoted. Mr. Warde, the father of the field, may now, 
 we believe, be called the father of the road also ; and if the 
 old heavy Gloucester ' six insides, and sixteen out, with 
 two tons of luggage/ were to reappear on the road, no 
 man's advice would be better than his. 
 
 Count Pecchio, whose little volume on England lately 
 appeared, has a luculent chapter on the astonishing con- 
 venience of our public conveyances, and the finished elegance 
 of our private ones. We hardly, indeed, know which of 
 the two things is more likely to strike the imagination of a 
 foreigner, no matter from what part of the world he may 
 234 
 
come. Any one who has been accustomed to admire the 
 muster of vehicles at the Tuileries, must indeed open his 
 eyes wide the first time he is in St. James's Street on the day 
 of a levee or drawing-room. Hyde Park, however, on any 
 fine afternoon, in the height of the London season, will be 
 more than enough to confound him. He will there see 
 what no other country under the heavens can show him, 
 and what is more, we may venture to add, what no other 
 country ever will show him. Let him only sit on the rail 
 near our Great Captain's statue, with his watch in his hand, 
 and in the space of two hours he will see a thousand well- 
 appointed equipages pass before him to the Mall, in all the 
 pomp of aristocratic pride, and in which the very horses 
 themselves appear to partake. Everything he sees is 
 peculiar : the silent roll and easy motion of the London- 
 built carriage the style of the coachmen ; it is hard to 
 determine which shine brightest, the lace on their clothes, 
 their own round faces, or their flaxen wigs ; the pipe-clayed 
 reins pipe-clayed lest they should soil the clean white gloves ; 
 the gigantic young fellows, in huge cocked-hats bedaubed 
 with lace, in laced silk stockings, new kid gloves, and with 
 gold-headed canes, who tower above * Mr. Coachman's ' 
 head ; not forgetting the spotted coach-dog, which has just 
 been washed for the occasion. The vis-d-vis y containing 
 nobody but a single fair dame, with all its set-out, has cost 
 at least a thousand pounds ; and the stream of equipages 
 of all calibres barouches, chariots, cabriolets, etc., almost 
 all got up, as Mr. Robin's advertisements say, * regardless of 
 
 235 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 expense/ ]l flows on unbroken, until it is half-past seven, 
 and people at last must begin to think of what they still call 
 dinner. Old Seneca tells us such a blaze of splendour was 
 once to be seen on the Appian Way. It might be so : it is 
 now to be seen nowhere but in London. 
 
 1 Already, however, like all other trades, coach-making is on the wane. 
 Two years back, the town-coach could not be had under four hundred guineas. 
 Three hundred is the price now. The travelling-chariot, with everything 
 complete, could not be purchased under three hundred and eighty guineas ; 
 three hundred will now suffice. The town-cabriolet with patent boxes to 
 the wheels, commenced at a hundred and fifty guineas, a hundred and twenty 
 is now the figure ; and so with all the rest of the tribe. 
 
 236 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BAG FOX 
 
 THE Noble Earl of an ancient name was* a Cabinet 
 * 
 Minister who flourished less than a hundred years 
 
 ago, and was wont every now and then to leave his 
 portfolio in London and refresh his mind and body with a 
 gallop after his own pack of Hounds over the Vale of Ayles- 
 bury. As he could only hunt occasionally he left nothing 
 to chance, and therefore found it convenient not to limit 
 himself to one kind of game, so he kept a pack of Hounds 
 who would hunt anything ; and further than that, in order 
 to make a certainty of a find he would always have a bag 
 fox ready to his hand. Legend has it that one or more 
 foxes we cannot give a fox kept in captivity the compli- 
 ment of a capital F, which we accord to the wild Fox were 
 imprisoned in a pit somewhere near Tring, and duly kept 
 in condition by being exercised by the man with the big 
 birch broom. An affair with one of these foxes is duly 
 described in humorous verse by an unknown author, who, 
 from the tragedy of drawing for a hare for two hours without 
 success, passes to the comedy of turning down the fox and 
 the excitement of his narrow escape ; works up to the anti- 
 climax of digging him out alive, and tells of his safe conduct 
 
 237 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 to Tring together with the Earl and his Hounds and the whole 
 retinue. 
 
 Now all this is extremely funny, and a hunt after a bag 
 fox may be forgiven if it is simply regarded as a stimulant to 
 the liver of a Cabinet Minister. But no one would dignify 
 such a pursuit with the name of Sport. To hunt any 
 animal whom you have had in your hand is not Sport. It 
 is an amusement, a pastime. Huntsmen will tell you that 
 to hunt even a wild Fox who has been bolted from an earth 
 or drain either at the beginning or at any other period of 
 a run gives them no thrill. It may give a lot of pleasure to 
 the ladies and gentlemen, but it is not Fox-hunting. If, 
 indeed, you mark a Fox to ground, and he escapes you when 
 you are trying to kill him, then the instinct of pursuit is 
 unbroken, and you hunt him with as great zest after he has 
 bolted as you did before. One morning there was a very 
 hard frost, and the master was induced to put his Hounds 
 into a wood to try to find and to kill an old Fox who was said 
 to have taken more chickens in one village than probably 
 existed in the whole of the county. The bitch pack was out. 
 They found at once and, after a fine cry twice or thrice 
 round the wood, marked him to ground in a drain one field 
 from the covert. * Now we will eat him and then go home,' 
 said the master, to the huge delight of the foot people who 
 had all seen the Fox, and of course could swear to him among 
 a thousand as being the terror of the hen-roosts. But the 
 sanguine master had reckoned without his Fox. The animal 
 had too much sense to stop in the drain, and took the only 
 238 
 
KEPT IN CONDITION BY BEING EXERCISED BY THE MAN WITH THE Bid BIRCH BROOM. 
 
The "Bag Fox 
 
 alternative risk and jumped out apparently into the very 
 mouths of the pack. The horn was at the lips of the master 
 ready to sound the death-call, when the old Fox, keeping his 
 head in crucial moments as only a Fox and a rat know how 
 to keep it, dived under one Hound, jumped over the back of 
 a second, saved himself by showing his fine old teeth to 
 a third, and was away before you could say knife. Back 
 through the wood he flew, and set his head for the open. 
 He was not seen again for eight long miles, when the bitches 
 ran into him in the middle of a large grass field. Now in 
 this run the satisfaction of the kill was not one bit diminished 
 by his having been in the drain. He was given no law. 
 His enemies were not trying to nurse him, but were trying 
 all the time to kill him. The animus of the pursuit was 
 sustained from the very moment he was found. If the 
 Hounds had been withdrawn from the drain, and the Fox 
 bolted and given a chance, there would still have been a 
 run, but it would not have been the real thing. Still less 
 would the illusion have succeeded if a bag had been used. 
 The use of the bag in any shape or form destroys all the 
 romance and spirit of Fox-hunting, and the verse we here 
 present is introduced because it satirises and ridicules a 
 practice which is wholly out of tune with the Sport of our 
 Ancestors. 
 
 Yet the curious thing is that the bag was once used quite 
 seriously in the west country by two masters of Foxhounds 
 whose names stand very high in the lists of sportsmen. 
 Sir Walter Carew and the Rev. John Russell both hunted 
 
 239 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 bag foxes, and in the Devonshire of 1826 the practice grew 
 up of saving the Fox alive in front of the Hounds though 
 how this desperate deed was done is not recorded and 
 keeping him on a long chain in a yard, to be there exercised 
 by a groom with a driving whip until he was wanted for the 
 next day's hunting. We always thought that the old Devon- 
 shire men like Sir Walter Carew and Parson Russell were 
 sportsmen of the most conservative and orthodox type. 
 How their consciences yielded to treatment to the extent 
 of allowing them to hunt foxes from a bag is difficult to 
 imagine. As an amusement for officers in India, who liter- 
 ally cannot get a gallop in any other way, or as part of the 
 amenities of a French health resort within reach of the 
 Pyrenees, the thing is intelligible. If it becomes the fashion 
 in England, the curtain will have been rung down upon the 
 Sport of our Ancestors. 
 
 THE NOBLE EARL OF AN ANCIENT NAME 
 
 A noble Earl of an ancient name 
 Hunted the Fox, but preferred him tame, 
 Though his sire was as bold a sportsman free 
 As ever rode over a grass * countree.' 
 His sire would mount on his high-bred horse 
 And view the wild Fox from the hillside gorse, 
 But his son would come down by a second-class train, 
 Worry a bagman, and: go home again ! 
 240 
 
The "Bag Fox 
 
 'Tis half-past twelve by the railway clocks, 
 
 And the Earl has just called for his horse and his Fox ; 
 
 After the Earl there rides the Earl's groom 
 
 And then comes a man with a big birch broom, 1 
 
 Clad in the Earl's discarded breeches, 
 
 To tickle him up when he comes to the ditches. 
 
 The Earl's admirers are ranged in Brown's yard ; 
 They all wear top-boots and mean to ride hard ; 
 Whether bold dog Fox, or timid hare, 
 Their game to-day, they none of them care ; 
 So 'twas well that the Earl had brought his Fox 
 Safely wrapped up in a little deal box. 
 
 For two hours or more they drew for a hare, 
 But all in vain, all was blank despair ; 
 Then said the Earl to the elder Brown, 
 ' Open the box, and turn him down ! ' 
 
 So they turned him down in the Aylesbury Vale, 
 
 In front of a fence called a post and rail, 
 
 To suit the views of a certain ' gent,' 
 
 Who * rather liked timber,' and thought he * went.' 
 
 Over the rails the first to fly 
 
 Was the ' gent ' of course, but the Fox was shy, 
 
 And would have declined, but the Earl and his groom 
 
 And the Huntsman and Whips, and the man with the broom, 
 
 And the Browns, Sam and John, and two boys from a cart, 
 
 Would not hear of his shirking, but drove him along ! 
 
 1 Tradition says that the Earl kept his bag foxes in a pit, where they were 
 exercised by a man with a broom. 
 
 Q 241 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 A pleasant line the captive took, 
 Shirking the doubles and avoiding the brook, 
 For as you may imagine, he went by rule, 
 Only taking the leaps that he learnt at school. 
 
 Three hounds of Baron Rothschild's breed, 
 
 Matchless in courage, strength, and speed, 
 
 Fast on his flying footsteps came, 
 
 And all but won the desperate game : 
 
 But just as the Earl was about to sound 
 
 The dread Who-whoop ! he went to ground ! ! 
 
 So they dug him out, and the Earl and his groom 
 
 And the Huntsman and Whips, and the man with the broom, 
 
 And the Fox and the Hounds are at Tring again, 
 
 And the Earl 's gone to town by the five o'clock train. 
 
 242 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 ANTHONY TROLLOPE 
 
 AMONG the authors who are presented in this volume, 
 AA Anthony Trollope is the only one who has had the 
 distinction of being mentioned by Mr. Gosse in his 
 well-known book on English Literature. Mr. Gosse, writing 
 in 1903, in his preface to the fourth volume of his work, 
 says that * the age through which we have just passed is 
 still too close to us to enable us to decide with any confi- 
 dence which, among the many names which were prominent 
 in the second rank of its literature, will continue to interest 
 posterity.' He foreshadows some alterations and extensions 
 in future editions of this volume. One is sorry but not 
 altogether surprised that Whyte Melville is left out, but one 
 wonders whether some day Mr. Gosse will recognise the 
 author of 'Handley Cross' who as the years go by seems to 
 stand out more clearly than many of his contemporaries. 
 
 Anthony Trollope was born in 1815 and died in 1882. 
 The Trollope family between them produced >a number of 
 books, both his mother and his brother being industrious 
 writers. But it is with Anthony that we are concerned, not 
 only because he both loved and understood Fox-hunting, 
 but because he has faithfully, almost meticulously, preserved 
 for us the social life of our ancestors in the mid- Victorian 
 
 243 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 era. He never invented any great plots, or dealt in any- 
 thing sensational, unless it were the mild sensation of the 
 forgery in Orley Farm ; rather than a creator he was an 
 accurate limner of the manners and customs of the day as 
 interpreted by stodgy, commonplace sort of people. He 
 was himself a post-office official whose duties caused him 
 to travel a great deal in the provinces, and there he must 
 have acquired much material for his intimate and amusing 
 accounts of the people who lived in the country, and above 
 all in the country towns. He seems to have been guided by 
 an unerring instinct where his experience might have been 
 at fault. He knew his way about the intricacies of courtesy 
 titles a great deal better than some writers who deal in high 
 rank. Indeed, it was said of him by Jehu Junior in the 
 * Vanity Fair ' of the day that he was never known to commit 
 a solecism. 
 
 But in addition to his half-cynical, half-good-natured 
 pictures of crinoline England, he excelled in his understand- 
 ing of two things. The one was the difference between a 
 Tory and a Whig, the other was Fox-hunting. The difference 
 in political temperaments appears all through * The Warden * 
 and its sequel, 'Bar Chester Tower sj the two novels which first 
 began to make him famous. They were published in 1855 
 and 1857 respectively. In the opinion of many of his 
 readers they are the best that he wrote, 'Barchester Towers ' 
 probably being his masterpiece. 
 
 The dominant figure in both books is really Archdeacon 
 Grantly, the high-and-dry Tory Churchman who was pre- 
 244 
 
pared to go to any lengths to preserve the Constitution in 
 Church and State, and especially the emoluments and pro- 
 perty of the Establishment. * He did not believe in the 
 Gospel with more assurance than he did in the sacred justice 
 of all Ecclesiastical revenues.' In ' The Warden ' his antagonist 
 is John Bold the Reformer, who was rash enough to insti- 
 tute an inquiry into the income of Hiram's hospital, and in 
 * Bar Chester Towers ' he wins a pitched battle against Mrs. 
 Proudie, the Whig wife of the Whig Bishop, and her occa- 
 sional ally, the odious Low Church Radical in the person 
 of the Rev. Obadiah Slope, the Bishop's Chaplain. Mrs. 
 Proudie was prepared to make use of Mr. Slope provided 
 he kept his place, and was docile and obedient. But as soon 
 as he ' got his head out ' and actually had the presumption 
 to apply for the Deanery of Barchester, the Whig lady turned 
 upon him. * Mrs. Proudie considered herself in politics a 
 pure Whig. All her family belonged to the Whig Party. 
 Now, among all ranks of Englishmen and Englishwomen . . . 
 no one is so hostile to lowly-born pretenders to high station 
 as the pure Whig.' ' Dean of Barchester,' shrieked the 
 Bishopess. * I suppose he '11 be looking for a bishopric some 
 of these days a man that hardly knows who his own father 
 was ; a man whom I found without bread to his mouth, 
 or a coat to his back I Dean of Barchester indeed ! I '11 
 dean him.' 
 
 All this is not quite relevant to the Sport of our Ancestors, 
 but no student of Trollope can think of him without recall- 
 ing the character - drawing in 'Barchester Towers, 9 which 
 
 245 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 enables us to see some of our ancestors, if not their sport, 
 as this humorous and acute observer himself saw them. 
 But we will pass on to 'The American Senator,' published 
 twenty years later. 
 
 The American Senator was one Mr. Elias Gotobed, the 
 Senator for Mickewa. He had * very advanced opinions of 
 his own respecting government, liberty, and public institu- 
 tions in general/ Such was the man whom John Morton, 
 the Squire of Bragton, known as * the Paragon/ had for his 
 guest when the Ufford and Rufford Hounds met close to 
 Bragton on the site of the Old Kennels. John Morton was 
 no Fox-hunter, but had just returned from his post as Secre- 
 tary of Legation at Washington, bringing with him the 
 American Senator, whom he proposed to entertain by taking 
 him out hunting on wheels. Trollope had spent some time 
 in America, so he thoroughly understood the point of view 
 of such a one as Mr. Gotobed. He also thoroughly under- 
 stood all the technique and psychology of the hunting-field. 
 Therefore the extracts from his book that we have chosen 
 bear the hall-mark of authority, and are written with a 
 certainty of touch that is the particular property of those 
 who know their subject. He was himself devoted to Fox- 
 hunting, and his custom was to rise very early, write no more 
 and no less than a certain prescribed number of words of the 
 book on which he was then engaged, meet a pack of Fox- 
 hounds within reach of London, return to his literary work, 
 and before going to bed, write the exact number of words 
 he had allotted to himself for his evening task. It sounds 
 246 
 
Jtnthony Trollope 
 
 rather mechanical. Other authors may, however, have done 
 something of the sort and not have disclosed their method. 
 Trollope gave it away in his autobiography, and according 
 to Mr. Gosse, suffered somewhat in popularity as a conse- 
 quence of his honesty. But however unromantic his method, 
 he never makes a mistake in writing about Fox-hunting. 
 He brings in sundry days' sport in more than one of his 
 books, and wrote eight hunting sketches for * The Pall Mall 
 Gazette? which were printed in a volume by themselves in 
 1865. All the sketches are well informed. There is nothing 
 much in them about Hounds, except some very sound pieces 
 of advice in his paper on * How to ride to Hounds.' He 
 advises the would-be rider to Hounds not to ride to points, 
 but to keep his eye on the leading Hound, and turn when 
 he turns. Never to ride behind the Hounds, but alongside 
 them is another golden rule insisted on by Trollope. Any 
 one, he says, can ride among the Hounds on a bad scenting 
 day. At such times he advises his pupil to retire some- 
 what from the crowd, and * give place to those eager men 
 who are breaking the huntsman's heart.' This is the bitter 
 cry of the true sportsman, and shows more feeling than do 
 many of his novels. 
 
 And what could be better than his final paragraph ? He 
 was evidently writing of something that he loved better than 
 Cathedral Closes and overpaid Wardens. Here it is : 
 
 * Not behind hounds, but alongside of them, if only you can 
 achieve such position, it should be your honour and glory to 
 place yourself ; and you should go so far wide of them as in no 
 
 247 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 way to impede them or disturb them, or even to remind them of 
 your presence. If thus you live with them, turning as they turn, 
 but never turning among them, keeping your distance, but losing 
 no yard, and can do this for seven miles over a grass country in 
 forty-five minutes, then you can ride to hounds better than nine- 
 teen men out of every twenty that you have seen at the meet, and 
 will have enjoyed the keenest pleasure that hunting, or perhaps, I 
 may say, that any other amusement, can give you/ 
 
 These chapters from ' The American Senator ' are chosen 
 because they set forth in a few touches, but with unerring 
 precision, almost every point of view from which Fox- 
 hunting can be regarded. There is Lord Rufford, who really 
 ought to have been the M.F.H. himself, but who was pro- 
 bably too idle and easy-going to face the responsibility : a 
 backwoodsman with much more money than brains, who 
 would have been as likely to have wandered into the House 
 of Commons by mistake as to have found his way into the 
 House of Lords, should he have turned to Westminster 
 Palace for a new sensation, as the sated gourmet turned to 
 boiled mutton and sago pudding. Devoted to hunting and 
 shooting, but not prepared to do any spade work for either, 
 he allows Captain Glomax, the carpet-bagger, to come down 
 to his own country of Rufford, and take the place that should 
 be his. Captain Glomax was not to the manner born, but 
 compelled by sheer love of Foxhounds to be their master, 
 and to spend his money on keeping and breeding them. 
 Fox-hunting has always produced, and will continue to 
 produce, men like Captain Glomax, ready and anxious 
 to face all the wear and tear of mastership in return for 
 248 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 the charm that they find in the service of the ruling 
 passion. 
 
 Anthony Trollope hunted in Essex among other countries. 
 If he had lived long enough to see James Bailey hunting 
 Hounds we should undoubtedly have said that Bailey was 
 the prototype of Tony Tuppett. Here you have a faithful 
 portrait, not a caricature, of the long -service provincial 
 huntsman, not so lean or so brilliant as a Tom Firr, but one 
 who hammers away at his Foxes, is not above saving a fall 
 by ' going round by Shuffler's Bottom,' and is an institution 
 popular with every one. Then we have a gallery containing 
 types of the men who are the backbone of Fox-hunting and 
 of much else besides, many of them having a hereditary 
 interest in the welfare of their country and the Sport of their 
 Ancestors. Mr. Runciman, the landlord of * The Bush ' at 
 Dillsborough ; Ned Botsey, the local brewer ; Harry Stub- 
 bings, who let out hunters and rode steeplechases ; and 
 last but not least, * Larry ' Twentyman, the gallant yeoman, 
 who had inherited from his forefathers three hundred acres 
 of land, and hunted in a red coat. It is to be expected that 
 the new yeoman class now created by the tenants who have 
 purchased their holdings will furnish many Twentymans 
 in the future. They are the best of friends to Fox-hunting, 
 and are a class more essentially English than any other that 
 the British Isles can produce. So long as they flourish, 
 Fox-hunting is safe. Closely linked to them are the pro- 
 fessional men in the country towns. It will be bad policy 
 if the high tariff that Hunt Committees are now charging is 
 
 249 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 enforced so rigidly as to prevent these men from enjoying 
 an occasional day's hunting. Trollope knew them all in- 
 timately. In an earlier chapter he exhibits their salutary 
 prejudices with a true sense of comedy. The man Goarly 
 owned some land on the edge of Dillsborough Wood, the 
 property of Lord Rufford, and actually proposed to institute 
 a suit against that nobleman for damage done to crops by 
 his lordship's pheasants. Moreover, he had the effrontery 
 to propose himself as a client to Mr. Masters, the attorney, 
 whose daughter Larry Twentyman wanted to marry. ' The 
 man is an utter blackguard,' said Larry. * Last year he 
 threatened to shoot the foxes in Dillsborough Wood.' * No ! ' 
 said Kate Masters, quite horrified. As a result of this con- 
 versation, together with much pressure from a convivial 
 conclave of the Dillsborough Club in the back parlour 
 of * The Bush,' Mr. Masters had thought it wise to abandon 
 the case of Goarly. 
 
 We have met Goarlys here and there. Their bark is 
 worse than their bite. They are irritating in small ways. 
 For instance, there is no surer way of irritating Fox-hunters 
 than by appearing with a gun when the Hounds are out. 
 How Goarly drew them all by doing this, and how he en- 
 listed the wrong-headed sympathy of the American Senator, 
 is good to read. 
 
 But perhaps the most amusing passages are those which 
 
 tell how poor John Morton, by no means an expert, was 
 
 worried all day by having to find answers to the half-hostile, 
 
 half -plausible drift of the American Senator's questions 
 
 250 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 about Fox-hunting. Of all things in this world, Fox-hunting 
 is. the most difficult thing to explain to those who know 
 nothing about it. Mr. Gotobed had set himself the im- 
 possible task of coming over to England to find out all about 
 the British Constitution, and British country life. Civili- 
 sation has not given birth to anything more stuffed with 
 anomalies than are these two institutions. Many people 
 here might be concerned with either or both of them 
 for a life- time without rightly understanding them. The 
 American Senator tried to understand them in a few weeks, 
 and took a very heavy fall. In view of our closer contact 
 with certain aspects of American thought and feeling, the 
 book is well worth reading to-day. But apart from inter- 
 national politics, it should certainly be read by all those 
 who wish to study the influences that are at work upon the 
 Sport of our Ancestors. 
 
 THE OLD KENNELS 
 
 On the Saturday morning the hounds met at the * Old 
 Kennels/ as the meet was always called, and here was an 
 excellent opportunity of showing to Mr. Gotobed one of 
 the great institutions of the country. It was close to the 
 house, and therefore could be reached without any trouble, 
 and as it was held on Morton's own ground, he could do 
 more towards making his visitor understand the thing than 
 might have been possible elsewhere. When the hounds 
 
 251 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 moved, the carriage would be ready to take them about the 
 roads, and show them as much as could be seen on wheels. 
 
 Punctually at eleven John Morton and his American 
 guest were on the bridge, and Tony Tuppett was already 
 occupying his wonted place, seated on a strong grey mare 
 that had done a great deal of work, but would live as Tony 
 used to say to do a great deal more. Round him the 
 hounds were clustered twenty-three couples in all some 
 seated on their haunches, some standing obediently still, 
 while a few moved about restlessly, subject to the voices, 
 and on one or two occasions to a gentle administration of 
 thong from the attendant whips. Four or five horsemen 
 were clustering round, most of them farmers, and were talk- 
 ing to Tony. Our friend, Mr. Twentyman, was the only 
 man in a red coat who had yet arrived, and with him, on 
 her brown pony, was Kate Masters, who was listening with 
 all her ears to every word that Tony said. 
 
 ' That, I guess, is the Captain you spoke of/ said the 
 Senator, pointing to Tony Tuppett. 
 
 * Oh no ; that 's the huntsman. Those three men in 
 caps are the servants who do the work.' 
 
 ' The dogs can't be brought out without servants to mind 
 them ! They 're what you call gamekeepers.' Morton was 
 explaining that the men were not gamekeepers when Captain 
 Glomax himself arrived, driving a tandem. There was no 
 road up to the spot, but on hunt mornings or at any rate 
 when the meet was at the Old Kennels the park gates were 
 open so that the vehicles could come up on the green sward. 
 252 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 1 That 's Captain Glomax, I suppose/ said Morton. * I 
 don't know him, but from the way he 's talking to the hunts- 
 man you may be sure of it.' 
 
 * He is the great man, is he ? All these dogs belong to 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' Either to him or the hunt.' 
 
 * And he pays for those servants ? ' 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 * He is a very rich man, I suppose.' Then Mr. Morton 
 endeavoured to explain the position of Captain Glomax. 
 He was not rich. He was no one in particular except that 
 he was Captain Glomax ; and his one attribute was a know- 
 ledge of hunting. He didn't keep the ' dogs ' out of his 
 own pocket. He received 2000 a year from the gentlemen 
 of the county, and he himself paid anything which the 
 hounds and horses might cost over that. * He 's a sort of 
 upper servant, then ? ' asked the Senator. 
 
 ' Not at all. He 's the greatest man in the county on 
 hunting days.' 
 
 * Does he live out of it ? ' 
 
 * I should think not.' 
 
 * It 's a deal of trouble, isn't it ? ' 
 
 * Full work for an active man's time, I should say.' A 
 great many more questions were asked and answered, at the 
 end of which the Senator declared that he did not quite 
 understand it, but as far as he saw he did not think much of 
 Captain Glomax. 
 
 * If he could make a living out of it I should respect 
 
 253 
 
The Sport of Our Jl nee s tors 
 
 him,' said the Senator ; * though it 's like knife-grinding or 
 handling arsenic an unwholesome sort of profession.' 
 
 * I think they look very nice,' said Morton, as one or two 
 well-turned-out young men rode up to the place. 
 
 * They seem to me to have thought more about their 
 breeches than anything else,' said the Senator. * But if 
 they 're going to hunt, why don't they hunt ? Have they 
 got a fox with them ? ' Then there was a further ex- 
 planation. 
 
 At this moment there was a murmur as of a great coming 
 arrival, and then an open carriage with four post-horses was 
 brought at a quick trot into the open space. There were 
 four men dressed for hunting inside, and two others on the 
 box. They were all smoking, and all talking. It was easy 
 to see that they did not consider themselves the least among 
 those who were gathered together on this occasion. The 
 carriage was immediately surrounded by grooms and horses, 
 and the ceremony of disencumbering themselves of great- 
 coats and aprons, of putting on spurs and fastening hat- 
 strings was commenced. Then there were whispered com- 
 munications from the grooms, and long faces under some of 
 the hats. This horse hadn't been fit since last Monday's 
 run, and that man's hack wasn't as it should be. A mut- 
 tered curse might have been heard from one gentleman as 
 he was told, on jumping from the box, that Harry Stubbings 
 hadn't sent him any second horse to ride. * I didn't hear 
 nothing about it till yesterday, Captain,' said Harry Stub- 
 bings, * and every foot I had fit to come out was bespoke.' 
 254 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 The groom, however, who heard this was quite aware that 
 Mr. Stubbings did not wish to give unlimited credit to the 
 captain, and he knew also that the second horse was to have 
 carried his master the whole day, as the animal which was 
 brought to the meet had been ridden hard on the previous 
 Wednesday. At all this the Senator looked with curious 
 eyes, thinking that he had never in his life seen brought 
 together a set of more useless human beings. 
 
 * That is Lord Rufford,' said Morton, pointing to a stout, 
 ruddy-faced, handsome man of about thirty, who was the 
 owner of the carriage. 
 
 * Oh, a lord. Do the lords hunt generally ? ' 
 
 * That 's as they like it.' 
 
 * Senators with us wouldn't have time for that/ said the 
 Senator. 
 
 * But you are paid to do your work.' 
 
 * Everybody from whom work is expected should be 
 paid. Then the work will be done, or those who pay will 
 know the reason why.' 
 
 c I must speak to Lord Rufford,' said Morton. * If 
 you '11 come with me, I '11 introduce you.' The Senator 
 followed willingly enough, and the introduction was made 
 while his lordship was still standing by his horse. The two 
 men had known each other in London, and it was natural 
 that Morton, as owner of the ground, should come out and 
 speak to the only man who knew him. It soon was spread 
 about that the gentleman talking to Lord RufTord was John 
 Morton, and many who lived in the county came up to shake 
 
 255 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 hands with him. To some of these the Senator was intro- 
 duced, and the conversation for a few minutes seemed to 
 interrupt the business on hand. * I am sorry you should be 
 on foot, Mr. Gotobed,' said the lord. 
 
 * And I am sorry that I cannot mount him/ said Mr. 
 Morton. 
 
 * We can soon get over that difficulty if he will allow me 
 to offer him a horse/ 
 
 The Senator looked as though he would almost like it, 
 but he didn't quite like it. * Perhaps your horse might 
 kick me off, my lord.' 
 
 * I can't answer for that ; but he isn't given to kicking, 
 and there he is, if you '11 get on him.' But the Senator felt 
 that the exhibition would suit neither his age nor position, 
 and refused. 
 
 * We 'd better be moving,' said Captain Glomax. ' I 
 suppose, Lord Rufford, we might as well trot over to Dills- 
 borough Wood at once. I saw Bean as I came along, and 
 he seemed to wish we should draw the wood first.' Then 
 there was a little whispering between his lordship and the 
 master and Tony Tuppett. His lordship thought that as 
 Mr. Morton was there the hounds might as well be run 
 through the Bragton spinnies. Tony made a wry face and 
 shook his head. He knew that though the Old Kennels 
 might be a very good place for meeting there was no chance 
 of finding a fox at Bragton. And Captain Glomax, who, 
 being an itinerary master, had no respect whatever for a 
 country gentleman who didn't preserve, also made a long 
 
 256 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 face and shook his head. But Lord Ruff or d, who knew the 
 wisdom of reconciling a newcomer in the county to fox- 
 hunting, prevailed, and the hounds and men were taken 
 round a part of Bragton Park. 
 
 * What 'd t' old squire Ve said if he 'd Ve known there 
 hadn't been a fox at Bragton for more nor ten year ? ' This 
 remark was made by Tuppett to Mr. Runciman, who was 
 riding by him. Mr. Runciman replied that there was a 
 great difference in people. You may say that, Mr. Runci- 
 man. It 's all changes. His lordship's father couldn't bear 
 the sight of a hound nor a horse and saddle. Well ; I 
 suppose I needn't gammon any furder. We '11 just trot 
 across to the wood at once.' 
 
 [ They haven't begun yet as far as I can see,' said Mr. 
 Gotobed, standing up in the carriage. 
 
 c They haven't found as yet,' replied Morton. 
 
 ' They must go on till they find a fox ? They never 
 bring him with them ? ' Then there was an explanation 
 as to bagged foxes, Morton not being very conversant with 
 the subject he had to explain. * And if they shouldn't find 
 one all day ? ' 
 
 ' Then it '11 be a blank.' 
 
 ' And these hundred gentlemen will go home quite 
 satisfied with themselves ? ' 
 
 ' No ; they '11 go home quite dissatisfied.' 
 
 * And have paid their money and given their time for 
 nothing ? Do you know, it doesn't seem to me the most 
 heart-stirring thing in the world. Don't they ride faster 
 
 R 257 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 than that ? ' At this moment Tony with the hounds at his 
 heels was trotting across the park at a huntsman's usual pace 
 from covert to covert. The Senator was certainly un- 
 gracious. Nothing that he saw produced from him a single 
 word expressive of satisfaction. 
 
 Less than a mile brought them to the gate and road 
 leading up to Chowton Farm. They passed close by Larry 
 Twentyman's door, and not a few, though it was not yet 
 more than half-past eleven, stopped to have a glass of Larry's 
 beer. When the hounds were in the neighbourhood Larry's 
 beer was always ready. But Tony and his attendants 
 trotted by with eyes averted, as though no thought of beer 
 was in their minds. Nothing had been done, and a hunts- 
 man is not entitled to beer till he has found a fox. Captain 
 Glomax followed with Lord RufTord and a host of others. 
 There was plenty of way here for carriages, and half a dozen 
 vehicles passed through Larry's farmyard. Immediately 
 behind the house was a meadow, and at the bottom of the 
 meadow a stubble field, next to which was the ditch and 
 bank which formed the bounds of Dillsborough Wood. 
 Just at this side of the gate leading to the stubble field there 
 was already a concourse of people when Tony arrived near 
 it with the hounds, and immediately there was a holloaing 
 and loud screeching of directions, which was soon under- 
 stood to mean that the hounds were at once to be taken 
 away ! The Captain rode on rapidly, and then sharply gave 
 his orders. Tony was to take the hounds back to Mr. 
 Twentyman's farmyard as fast as he could, and shut them 
 258 
 
Jlnthony Trollope 
 
 up in a barn. The whips were put into violent commotion. 
 Tony was eagerly at work. Not a hound was to be allowed 
 near the gate. And then, as the crowd of horsemen and 
 carriages came on, the word ' poison ' was passed among them 
 from mouth to mouth ! 
 
 ' What does all this mean ? ' said the Senator. 
 
 ' I don't at all know. I 'm afraid there 's something 
 wrong/ replied Morton. 
 
 ' I heard that man say " poison." They have taken the 
 dogs back again.' Then the Senator and Morton got out 
 of the carriage, and made their way into the crowd. The 
 riders who had grooms on second horses were soon on foot, 
 and a circle was made, inside which there was some object 
 of intense interest. In the meantime the hounds had been 
 secured in one of Mr. Twentyman's barns. 
 
 What was that object of interest shall be told in the next 
 chapter. 
 
 GOARLY'S REVENGE 
 
 The Senator and Morton followed close on the steps of 
 Lord Rufford and Captain Glomax, and were thus able to 
 make their way into the centre of the crowd. There, on a 
 clean sward of grass, laid out as carefully as though he were 
 a royal child prepared for burial, was a dead fox. ' It 's 
 p'ison, my lord ; it 's p'ison to a moral/ said Bean, who 
 as keeper of the wood was bound to vindicate himself, and 
 
 259 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 his master, and the wood. ' Feel of him, how stiff he is.' 
 A good many did feel, but Lord Ruff or d stood still and 
 looked at the poor victim in silence. * It 's easy knowing 
 how he come by it,' said Bean. 
 
 The men around gazed into each other's faces with a 
 sad, tragic air, as though the occasion were one which at 
 the first blush was too melancholy for many words. There 
 was whispering here and there, and one young farmer's son 
 gave a deep sigh, like a steam-engine beginning to work, and 
 rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. ' There ain't 
 nothin' too bad nothin',' said another, leaving his audience 
 to imagine whether he were alluding to the wretchedness 
 of the world in general, or to the punishment which was 
 due to the perpetrator of this nefarious act. The dreadful 
 word ' vulpicide ' was heard from various lips with an oath 
 or two before it. * It makes me sick of my own land, to 
 think it should be done so near,' said Larry Twentyman, 
 who had just come up. Mr. Runciman declared that they 
 must set their wits to work not only to find the criminal but 
 to prove the crime against him, and offered to subscribe a 
 couple of sovereigns on the spot to a common fund to be 
 raised for the purpose. ' I don't know what is to be done 
 with a country like this,' said Captain Glomax, who, as an 
 itinerant, was not averse to cast a slur upon the land of his 
 present sojourn. 
 
 * I don't remember anything like it on my property 
 before,' said the lord, standing up for his own estate and the 
 county at large. 
 260 
 
IT'S r'isoN, MY LORD.'' 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 ' Nor in the hunt/ said young Hampton. ' Of course 
 such a thing may happen anywhere. They had foxes 
 poisoned in the Pytchley last year.' 
 
 * It shows a d bad feeling somewhere,' said the 
 
 master. 
 
 ' We know very well where the feeling is,' said Bean, 
 who had by this time taken up the fox, determined not to 
 allow it to pass into any hands less careful than his 
 own. 
 
 ' It 's that scoundrel Goarly ! ' said one of the Botseys. 
 Then there was an indignant murmur heard, first of all 
 from two or three and then running among the whole crowd. 
 Everybody knew as well as though he had seen it that Goarly 
 had baited meat with strychnine and put it down in the 
 wood. * Might have p'isoned half the pack ! ' said Tony 
 Tuppett, who had come up on foot from the barn where 
 the hounds were still imprisoned, and had caught hold in 
 an affectionate manner of a fore-pad of the fox which Bean 
 had clutched by the two hind-legs. Poor Tony Tuppett 
 almost shed tears as he looked at the dead animal, and 
 thought what might have been the fate of the pack. ' It 's 
 him, my lord,' he said, ' as we run through Littleton Gorse 
 Monday after Christmas last, and up to Impington Park 
 where he got away from us in a hollow tree. He 's four 
 year old,' added Tony, looking at the animal's mouth, * and 
 there war n't a finer dog fox in the county.' 
 
 ' Do they know all the foxes ? ' asked the Senator. In 
 answer to this, Morton only shook his head, not feeling quite 
 
 261 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 sure himself how far a huntsman's acquaintance in that line 
 might go, and being also too much impressed by the occasion 
 for speculative conversation. 
 
 * It 's that scoundrel Goarly ' had been repeated again 
 and again ; and then on a sudden Goarly himself was seen 
 standing on the further hedge of Larry's field with a gun 
 in his hand. He was not at this time above two hundred 
 yards from them, and was declared by one of the young 
 farmers to be grinning with delight. The next field was 
 Goarly 's, but the hedge and ditch belonged to Twentyman. 
 Larry rushed forward as though determined to thrash the 
 man, and two or three followed him. But Lord Rufford 
 galloped on and stopped them. ' Don't get into a row with 
 a fellow like that/ he said to Twentyman. 
 
 ' He 's on my land, my lord,' said Larry impatiently. 
 
 ' I 'm on my own now, and let me see who '11 dare to 
 touch me,' said Goarly jumping down. 
 
 1 You Ve put poison down in that wood,' said Larry. 
 
 ' No, I didn't ; but I knows who did. It ain't I as 
 am afeard for my young turkeys.' Now it was well known 
 that old Mrs. Twentyman, Larry's mother, was fond of 
 young turkeys, and that her poultry-yard had suffered. 
 Larry, in his determination to be a gentleman, had always 
 laughed at his mother's losses. But now to be accused in 
 this way was terrible to his feelings ! He made a rush as 
 though to jump over the hedge, but Lord Rufford again 
 intercepted him. ' I didn't think, Mr. Twentyman, that 
 you 'd care for what such a fellow as that might say.' By 
 262 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 this time Lord Ruff or d was off his horse, and had taken hold 
 of Larry. 
 
 * I '11 tell you all what it is/ screamed Goarly, standing 
 just at the end of his own field ' if a hound comes out of 
 the wood on to my land, I '11 shoot him. I don't know 
 nothing about p'isoning, though I dare say Mr. Twenty man 
 does. But if a hound comes on my land, I '11 shoot him 
 open, before you all.' There was, however, no danger of 
 such a threat being executed on this day, as, of course, 
 no hound would be allowed to go into Dillsborough 
 Wood. 
 
 Twentyman was reluctantly brought back into the meadow 
 where the horses were standing, and then a consultation 
 was held as to what they should do next. There were some 
 who thought that the hounds should be taken home for the 
 day. It was as though some special friend of the U.R.U. 
 had died that morning, and that the spirits of the sports- 
 men were too dejected for their sport. Others, with prudent 
 foresight, suggested that the hounds might run back from 
 some distant covert to Dillsborough, and that there should 
 be no hunting till the wood had been thoroughly searched. 
 But the strangers, especially those who had hired horses, 
 would not hear of this ; and after considerable delay it was 
 arranged that the hounds should be trotted off as quickly 
 as possible to Impington Gorse, which was on the other 
 side of Impington Park, and fully five miles distant. And 
 so they started, leaving the dead fox in the hands of Bean 
 the gamekeeper. 
 
 263 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 1 Is this the sort of thing that occurs every day ? ' asked 
 the Senator as he got back into the carriage. 
 
 * I should fancy not/ answered Morton. ' Somebody 
 has poisoned a fox, and I don't think that is very often done 
 about here.' 
 
 * Why did he poison him ? ' 
 
 ' To save his fowls, I suppose.' 
 
 1 Why shouldn't he poison him if the fox takes his fowls ? 
 Fowls are better than foxes.' 
 
 ' Not in this country,' said Morton. 
 
 ' Then I 'm very glad I don't live here,' said Mr. Gotobed. 
 ' These friends of yours are dressed very nicely and look 
 very well but a fox is a nasty animal. It was that man 
 standing up on the bank wasn't it ? ' continued the Senator, 
 who was determined to understand it all to the very bottom, 
 in reference to certain lectures which he intended to give 
 on his return to the States and perhaps also in the Old 
 Country before he left it. 
 
 ' They suspect him.' 
 
 ' That man with the gun ! One man against two hun- 
 dred ! Now I respect that man ; I do with all my heart.' 
 
 1 You 'd better not say so here, Mr. Gotobed.' 
 
 * I know how full of prejudice you all 'air but I do 
 respect him. If I comprehend the matter rightly, he was 
 on his own land when we saw him.' 
 
 ! Yes ; that was his own field.' 
 
 ' And they meant to ride across it whether he liked it 
 or no ? ' 
 264 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 ' Everybody rides across everybody's land out hunting.' 
 
 * Would they ride across your park, Mr. Morton, if you 
 didn't let them ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly they would and break down all my gates if 
 I had them locked, and pull down my park palings to let 
 the hounds through.' 
 
 ' And you would get no compensation ? ' 
 
 ' Practically I could get none. And certainly I should 
 not try. The greatest enemy to hunting in the whole 
 county would not be foolish enough to make the attempt.' 
 
 ' Why so ? ' 
 
 * He would get no satisfaction, and everybody would 
 hate him.' 
 
 ' Then I respect that man the more. What is that man's 
 name ? ' Morton hadn't heard the name, or had forgotten 
 it. * I shall find that man out, and have some conversation 
 with him, Mr. Morton. I respect that man, Mr. Morton. 
 He 's one against two hundred, and he insists upon his 
 rights. These men standing round and wiping their eyes, 
 and stifled with grief because a fox had been poisoned, as 
 though some great patriot had died among them in the 
 service of his country, formed one of the most remarkable 
 phenomena, sir, that ever I beheld in any country. When 
 I get among my own people in Mickewa and tell them that, 
 they won't believe me, sir.' 
 
 In the meantime the cavalcade was hurrying away to 
 Impington Gorse, and John Morton, feeling that he had not 
 had an opportunity as yet of showing his American friend 
 
 265 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 the best side of hunting, went with them. The five miles 
 were five long miles, and as the pace was not above seven 
 miles an hour, nearly an hour was occupied. There was 
 therefore plenty of opportunity for the Senator to inquire 
 whether the gentlemen around him were as yet enjoying 
 their sport. There was an air of triumph about him as to 
 the misfortunes of the day, joined to a battery of continued 
 raillery, which made it almost impossible for Morton to 
 keep his temper. He asked whether it was not at any rate 
 better than trotting a pair of horses backwards and forwards 
 over the same mile of road for half the day, as is the custom 
 in the States. But the Senator, though he did not quite 
 approve of trotting matches, argued that there was infinitely 
 more of skill and ingenuity in the American pastime. 
 * Everybody is so gloomy/ said the Senator, lighting his 
 third cigar. * I Ve been watching that young man in pink 
 boots for the last half hour, and he hasn't spoken a word 
 to any one/ 
 
 * Perhaps he 's a stranger,' said Morton. 
 
 * And that 's the way you treat him ! ' 
 
 It was past two when the hounds were put into the gorse, 
 and certainly no one was in a very good humour. A trot 
 of five miles is disagreeable, and two o'clock in November 
 is late for finding a first fox, and then poisoning is a vice 
 which may grow into a habit ! There was a general feeling 
 that Goarly ought to be extinguished, but an idea that it 
 might be difficult to extinguish him. The whips, never- 
 theless, cantered on to the corner of the covert, and Tony 
 266 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 put in his hounds with a cheery voice. The Senator re- 
 marked that the gorse was a very little place for as they 
 were on the side of an opposite hill they could see it all. 
 Lord Rufford, who was standing by the carriage, explained 
 to him that it was a favourite resort of foxes, and difficult 
 to draw as being very close. * Perhaps they Ve poisoned 
 him too,' said the Senator. It was evident from his voice 
 that had such been the case he would not have been among 
 the mourners. ' The blackguards are not thick enough in 
 our country for that,' said Lord Rufford, meaning to be 
 sarcastic. 
 
 Then a whimper was heard from a hound at first very 
 low, and then growing into a fuller sound. * There he is/ 
 said young Hampton. ' For heaven's sake get those fellows 
 away from that side, Glomax.' This was uttered with so 
 much vehemence that the Senator looked up in surprise. 
 Then the Captain galloped round the side of the covert, and 
 making use of some strong language, stopped the ardour of 
 certain gentlemen who were in a hurry to get away on what 
 they considered good terms. Lord Rufford, Hampton, 
 Larry Twentyman, and others sat stock still on their horses, 
 watching the gorse. Fred Botsey urged himself a little 
 forward down the hill, and was creeping on when Captain 
 
 Glomax asked him whether he would be so obliging 
 
 kind as to remain where he was for half a minute. Fred 
 took the observations in good part and stopped his horse. 
 * Does he do all that cursing and swearing for the 2000 ? ' 
 asked the Senator. 
 
 267 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 The fox traversed the gorse back from side to side and 
 from corner to corner again and again. There were two 
 sides certainly at which he might break, but though he came 
 out more than once he could not be got to go away. 
 
 * They '11 kill him now before he breaks/ said the elder 
 Botsey. 
 
 ' Brute ! ' exclaimed his brother. 
 
 ' They 're hot on him now,' said Hampton. At this time 
 the whole side of the hill was ringing with the music of the 
 hounds. 
 
 1 He was out then, but Dick turned him,' said Larry. 
 Dick was one of the whips. 
 
 ' Will you be so kind, Mr. Morton,' asked the Senator, 
 ' as to tell me whether they 're hunting yet ? They Ve been 
 at it for three hours and a half, and I should like to know 
 when they begin to amuse themselves.' 
 
 Just as he had spoken there came from Dick a cry that 
 he was away. Tony, who had been down at the side of the 
 gorse, at once jumped into it, knowing the passage through. 
 Lord Ruff or d, who for the last five or six minutes had sat 
 perfectly still on his horse, started down the hill as though 
 he had been thrown from a catapult. There was a little 
 hand-gate through which it was expedient to pass, and in a 
 minute a score of men were jostling for the way, among 
 whom were the two Botsey s, our friend Runciman, and 
 Larry Twentyman, with Kate Masters on the pony close 
 beside him. Young Hampton jumped a very nasty fence by 
 the side of the wicket, and Lord Rufford followed him. A 
 268 
 
Jfnthony Trollope 
 
 score of elderly men, with some young men among them 
 too, turned back into a lane behind them, having watched 
 long enough to see that they were to take the lane to the left, 
 and not the lane to the right. After all there was time 
 enough, for when the men had got through the hand-gate 
 the hounds were hardly free of the covert, and Tony, riding 
 up the side of the hill opposite, was still blowing his horn. 
 But they were off at last, and the bulk of the field got away 
 on good terms with the hounds. * Now they are hunting/ 
 said Mr. Morton to the Senator. 
 
 ' They all seemed to be very angry with each other at 
 that narrow gate.' 
 
 ' They were in a hurry, I suppose/ 
 
 ' Two of them jumped over the hedge. Why didn't they 
 all jump ? How long will it be now before they catch him ? ' 
 
 ' Very probably they may not catch him at all.' 
 
 * Not catch him after all that ! Then the man was 
 certainly right to poison that other fox in the wood. How 
 long will they go on ? ' 
 
 ' Half an hour perhaps.' 
 
 ' And you call that hunting ! Is it worth the while of 
 all those men to expend all that energy for such a result ? 
 Upon the whole, Mr. Morton, I should say that it is one of 
 the most incomprehensible things that I have ever seen in 
 the course of a rather long and varied life. Shooting I can 
 understand, for you have your birds. Fishing I can under- 
 stand, as you have your fish. Here you get a fox to begin 
 with, and are all broken-hearted. Then you come across 
 
 269 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 
 
 another, after riding about all day, and the chances are you 
 can't catch him ! ' 
 
 * I suppose,' said Mr. Morton angrily, ' the habits of one 
 country are incomprehensible to the people of another. 
 When I see Americans loafing about in the bar-room of an 
 hotel, I am lost in amazement.' 
 
 * There is not a man you see who couldn't give a reason 
 for his being there. He has an object in view though 
 perhaps no better than to rob his neighbour. But here 
 there seems to be no possible motive.' 
 
 FROM IMPINGTON GORSE 
 
 The fox ran straight from the covert through his well- 
 known haunts to Impington Park, and as the hounds were 
 astray there for two or three minutes there was a general 
 idea that he too had got up into a tree which would have 
 amused the Senator very much had the Senator been there. 
 But neither had the country nor the pace been adapted to 
 wheels, and the Senator and the Paragon were now returning 
 along the road towards Bragton. The fox had tried his old 
 earths at Impington High Wood, and had then skulked back 
 along the outside of the covert. Had not one of the whips 
 seen him he would have been troubled no further on that 
 day a fact which, if it could have been explained to the 
 Senator in all its bearings, would greatly have added to his 
 delight. But Dick viewed him ; and with many holloas 
 270 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 and much blowing of horns, and prayers from Captain 
 Glomax that gentlemen would only be so good as to hold 
 their tongues, and a full-tongued volley of abuse from half 
 the field against an unfortunate gentleman who rode after 
 the escaping fox before a hound was out of the covert, they 
 settled again to their business. It was pretty to see the 
 quiet ease and apparent nonchalance, and almost affected 
 absence of bustle of those who knew their work among 
 whom were especially to be named young Hampton, and the 
 elder Botsey, and Lord Rufford, and, above all, a dark- 
 visaged, long- whiskered, sombre, military man, who had 
 been in the carriage with Lord Rufford, and who had hardly 
 spoken a word to any one the whole day. This was the 
 celebrated Major Caneback, known to all the world as one 
 of the dullest men and best riders across country that Eng- 
 land had ever produced. But he was not so dull but that he 
 knew how to make use of his accomplishment, so as always 
 to be able to get a mount on a friend's horses. If a man 
 wanted to make a horse, or to try a horse, or to sell a horse, 
 or to buy a horse, he delighted to put Major Caneback up. 
 The Major was sympathetic and made his friend's horses, 
 and tried them, and sold them. Then he would take his 
 two bottles of wine of course from his friend's cellar and 
 when asked about the day's sport would be oracular in two 
 words, ' Rather slow,' * Quick spurt,' ' Goodish thing,' 
 ' Regularly mulled,' and such like. Nevertheless it was a 
 great thing to have Major Caneback with you. To the list 
 of those who rode well and quietly must in justice be added 
 
 271 
 
The Sport of Our ^Ancestors , 
 
 our friend Larry Twentyman, who was in truth a good 
 horseman. And he had three things to do which it was 
 difficult enough to combine. He had a young horse which 
 he would have liked to sell ; he had to coach Kate Masters 
 on his pony ; and he desired to ride like Major Caneback. 
 
 From Impington Park they went in a straight line to 
 Littleton Gorse, skirting certain small woods which the fox 
 disdained to enter. Here the pace was very good, and the 
 country was all grass. It was the very cream of the U.R.U. ; 
 and could the Senator have read the feelings of the dozen 
 leading men in the run, he would have owned that they 
 were for the time satisfied with their amusement. Could 
 he have read Kate Masters' feelings he would have had to 
 own that she was in an earthly Paradise. When the pony 
 paused at the big brook, brought its four legs steadily down 
 on the brink as though he were going to bathe, then with a 
 bend of his back leapt to the other side, dropping his hind- 
 legs and instantly recovering them, and when she saw that 
 Larry had waited just a moment for her, watching to see 
 what might be her fate, she was in heaven. * Wasn't it a big 
 one, Larry ? ' she asked in her triumph ; ' he did go in 
 behind ! ' ' Those cats of things always do it somehow/ 
 Larry replied, darting forward again, and keeping the Major 
 well in his eye. The brook had stopped one or two, and 
 tidings came up that Ned Botsey had broken his horse's 
 back. The knowledge of the brook had sent some round 
 by the road steady riding men such as Mr. Runciman 
 and Doctor Napper. Captain Glomax had got into it, and 
 272 
 

 LARKY AND KATK MASTERS. 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 came up afterwards wet through, with temper by no means 
 improved. But the glory of the day had been the way in 
 which Lord Rufford's young bay mare, who had never seen 
 a brook before, had flown over it with the Major on her 
 back, taking it, as Larry afterwards described, * just in her 
 stride, without condescending to look at it. I was just 
 behind the Major, and saw her do it.' Larry understood 
 that a man should never talk of his own place in a run, but 
 he didn't quite understand that neither should he talk of 
 having been close to another man who was supposed to 
 have had the best of it. Lord Rufford, who didn't talk 
 much of these things, quite understood that he had received 
 full value for his billet and mount in the improved character 
 of his mare. 
 
 Then there was a little difficulty at the boundary fence of 
 Impington Hall Farm. The Major, who didn't know the 
 ground, tried it at an impracticable place, and brought his 
 mare down. But she fell at the right side, and he was quick 
 enough in getting away from her, not to fall under in the 
 ditch. Tony Tuppett, who knew every foot of that double 
 ditch and bank, and every foot in the hedge above, kept well 
 to the left and crept through a spot where one ditch ran 
 into the other, intersecting the fence. Tony, like a know- 
 ing huntsman as he was, rode always for the finish and not 
 for immediate glory. Both Lord Rufford and Hampton, 
 who in spite of their affected nonchalance were in truth 
 rather riding against one another, took it all in a fly, choosing 
 a lighter spot than that which the Major had encountered. 
 s 273 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 Larry had longed to follow them, or rather to take it 
 alongside of them, but was mindful at last of Kate, and 
 hurried down the ditch to the spot Tony had chosen, and 
 which was now crowded by horsemen. * He would have 
 done it as well as the best of them/ said Kate, panting for 
 breath. 
 
 * We 're all right/ said Larry. * Follow me. Don't let 
 them hustle you out. Now, Mat, can't you make way for a 
 lady half a minute ? ' Mat growled, quite understanding 
 the use which was being made of Kate Masters ; but he did 
 give way and was rewarded with a gracious smile. f You are 
 going uncommon well, Miss Kate/ said Mat, * and I won't 
 stop you.' * I am so much obliged to you, Mr. Ruggles/ 
 said Kate, not scrupling for a moment to take the advantage 
 offered her. The fox had turned a little to the left, which 
 was in Larry's favour, and the Major was now close to him, 
 covered on one side with mud, but still looking as though 
 the mud were all right. There are some men who can 
 crush their hats, have their boots and breeches full of water, 
 and be covered with dirt from their faces downwards, and 
 yet look as though nothing were amiss, while, with others, 
 the marks of a fall are always provocative either of pity or 
 ridicule. ' I hope you 're not hurt, Major Caneback/ said 
 Larry, glad of the occasion to speak to so distinguished an 
 individual. The Major grunted as he rode on, finding no 
 necessity here even for his customary two words. Little 
 accidents, such as that, were the price he paid for his day's 
 entertainment. 
 274 
 
Anthony Trollope 
 
 As they got within view of Littleton Gorse, Hampton, 
 Lord Rufford, and Tony had the best of it, though two or 
 three farmers were very close to them. At this moment 
 Tony's mind was much disturbed, and he looked round 
 more than once for Captain Glomax. Captain Glomax had 
 got into the brook, and had then ridden down to the high 
 road which ran here near to them, and which, as he knew, 
 ran within one field of the gorse. He had lost his place and 
 had got a ducking, and was a little out of humour with things 
 in general. It had not been his purpose to go to Impington 
 on this day, and he was still, in his mind, saying evil things 
 of the U.R.U. respecting that poisoned fox. Perhaps he 
 was thinking, as itinerant masters often must think, that it 
 was very hard to have to bear so many unpleasant things for 
 a poor 2000 a year, and meditating, as he had done for the 
 last two seasons, a threat that unless the money were in- 
 creased, he wouldn't hunt the country more than three times 
 a week. As Tony got near to the gorse, and also near to the 
 road, he managed with infinite skill to get the hounds off 
 the scent, and to make a fictitious cast to the left as though 
 he thought the fox had traversed that way. Tony knew 
 well enough that the fox was at that moment in Littleton 
 Gorse ; but he knew also that the gorse was only six acres, 
 that such a fox as he had before him wouldn't stay there 
 two minutes after the first hound was in it, and that Dills- 
 borough Wood which to his imagination was full of poison 
 would then be only a mile and a half before him. Tony, 
 whose fault was a tendency to mystery as is the fault of 
 
 275 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 most huntsmen having accomplished his object in stopping 
 the hounds, pretended to cast about with great diligence. 
 He crossed the road, and was down one side of a field and 
 along another, looking anxiously for the Captain. ' The 
 fox has gone on to the gorse,' said the elder Botsey ; ' what 
 a stupid old pig he is ' meaning that Tony Tuppett was 
 the pig. 
 
 ' He was seen going on/ said Larry, who had come 
 across a man mending a drain. 
 
 1 It would be his run, of course,' said Hampton, who was 
 generally up to Tony's wiles, but who was now as much in 
 the dark as others. Then four or five rode up to the hunts- 
 man, and told him that the fox had been seen heading for 
 the gorse. Tony said not a word, but bit his lips and 
 scratched his head and bethought himself what fools men 
 might be even though they did ride well to hounds. One 
 word of explanation would have settled it all, but he 
 would not speak that word till he whispered it to Captain 
 Glomax. 
 
 In the meantime there was a crowd in the road waiting 
 to see the result of Tony's manoeuvres. And then, as is 
 usual on such occasions, a little mild repartee went about 
 what sportsmen themselves would have called * chaff.' Ned 
 Botsey came up, not having broken his horse's back, as had 
 been rumoured, but having had to drag the brute out of the 
 brook with the help of two countrymen, and the Major was 
 asked about his fall till he was forced to open his mouth. 
 4 Double ditch ; mare fell ; matter of course.' And then 
 276 
 
Jfnthony Trollope 
 
 he got himself out of the crowd, disgusted with the littleness 
 of mankind. Lord Rufford had been riding a very big 
 chestnut horse, and had watched the anxious struggles of 
 Kate Masters to hold her place. Kate, though fifteen, and 
 quite up to that age in intelligence and impudence, was 
 small and looked almost a child. f That 's a nice pony of 
 yours, my dear/ said the lord. Kate, who didn't quite 
 like being called * my dear,' but who knew that a lord has 
 privileges, said that it was a very good pony. c Suppose we 
 change,' said his lordship. * Could you ride my horse ? ' 
 * He 's very big,' said Kate. ' You J d look like a torn-tit 
 on a haystack,' said his lordship. * And if you got on 
 my pony, you 'd look like a haystack on a torn- tit,' said 
 Kate. Then it was felt that Kate Masters had had the 
 best of that little encounter. ' Yes ; I got one there,' 
 said Lord Rufford, while his friends were laughing at 
 him. 
 
 At length Captain Glomax was seen in the road and 
 Tony was with him at once, whispering in his ear that the 
 hounds if allowed to go on would certainly run into Dills- 
 borough Wood. * D the hounds,' muttered the Captain ; 
 
 but he knew too well what he was about to face so terrible 
 a danger. * They 're going home,' he said as soon as he had 
 joined Lord Rufford and the crowd. 
 
 * Going home ! ' exclaimed a pink-coated young rider of 
 a hired horse which had been going well with him ; and as 
 he said so he looked at his watch. 
 
 ' Unless you particularly wish me to take the hounds to 
 
 277 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 some covert some twenty miles off/ answered the sarcastic 
 master. 
 
 1 The fox certainly went on to Littleton/ said the elder 
 Botsey. 
 
 * My dear fellow,' said the Captain, * I can tell you where 
 the fox went quite as well as you can tell me. Do allow a 
 man to know what he 's about sometimes.' 
 
 * It isn't generally the custom here to take the hounds 
 off a running fox,' continued Botsey, who subscribed 50, 
 and did not like being snubbed. 
 
 * And it isn't generally the custom to have fox-coverts 
 poisoned,' said the Captain, assuming to himself the credit 
 due to Tony's sagacity. ' If you wish to be master of these 
 hounds I haven't the slightest objection, but while I 'm re- 
 sponsible you must allow me to do my work according to 
 my own judgment.' Then the thing was understood, and 
 Captain Glomax was allowed to carry off the hounds and 
 his ill-humour without another word. 
 
 But just at this moment, while the hounds and the master, 
 and Lord Rufford and his friends, were turning back in 
 their own direction, John Morton came up with his carriage 
 and the Senator. 
 
 ' All over for to-day,' said Lord Rufford. 
 
 * Did you catch the animal ? ' 
 
 ' No, Mr. Gotobed ; we couldn't catch him. To tell 
 the truth we didn't try ; but we had a nice little skurry for 
 four or five miles.' 
 
 1 Some of you look very wet.' Captain Glomax and Ned 
 278 
 
^Anthony Trollope 
 
 Botsey were standing near the carriage ; but the Captain, as 
 soon as he heard this, broke into a trot and followed the 
 hounds. 
 
 * Some of us are very wet,' said Ned. ' That 's part of 
 the fun.' 
 
 * Oh ; that 's part of the fun. You found one fox dead 
 and you didn't kill another because you didn't try. Well ; 
 Mr. Morton, I don't think I shall take to fox-hunting even 
 though they should introduce it to Mickewa. What 's 
 become of the rest of the men ? ' 
 
 4 Most of them are in the brook,' said Ned Botsey as he 
 rode on towards Dillsborough. 
 
 Mr. Runciman was also there and trotted on homewards 
 with Botsey, Larry, and Kate Masters. ' I think I 've won 
 my bet,' said the hotel-keeper. 
 
 ' I don't see that at all. We didn't find in Dillsborough 
 Wood.' 
 
 ' I say we did find in Dillsborough Wood. We found a 
 fox, though unfortunately the poor brute was dead.' 
 
 ' The bet 's off, I should say. What do you say, Larry ? ' 
 
 Then Runciman argued his case at great length and with 
 much ability. It had been intended that the bet should be 
 governed by the fact whether Dillsborough Wood did or did 
 not contain a fox on that morning. He himself had backed 
 the wood, and Botsey had been strong in his opinion against 
 the wood. Which of them had been practically right ? 
 Had not the presence of the poisoned fox shown that he was 
 right ? ' I think you ought to pay,' said Larry. 
 
 279 
 
The Sport of Our Ancestors 
 
 ' All right/ said Botsey riding on, and telling himself 
 that that was what came from making a bet with a mail who 
 was not a gentleman. 
 
 * He 's as unhappy about that hat/ said Runciman, * as 
 though beer had gone down a penny a gallon.' 
 
 Edinburgh : Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE LTD. 
 
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