TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 
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 Webster Family Library of Veterinary Medicine 
 Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at 
 Tufts University 
 
 Onn Wacihnrn DnoH 
 
TIlis edition is limited to 500 copies for sale in Great 
 Britain. 
 
THE ANALYSIS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
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THE ANALYSIS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 BEING 
 
 A SERIES OF SKETCHES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS THAT COMPOSE ONE 
 
 THE WHOLE FORMINC. A SLIGHT 
 
 SOUVENIR OF THE SEASON 
 
 1845-6 
 
 BY 
 
 R. S. SURTEES 
 
 AUTHOK OF " HANDLEY CROSS" 
 
 With 13 Coloured Plates and 43 Illustrations in the Text 
 
 BY 
 
 H. ALKEN 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd. 
 
 DRYDEN HOUSE, 43 GERRARD STREET, SOHO, \V. 
 
 1903 
 
IS 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVIN'GTON, LTD., 
 
 ST, JOHN'S HOUSE, CLF.RKENWEI.L, E.C. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The following papers appeared in " Bell's Life in London,'" 
 Sporting paper, during last season, and, independentl\- of 
 their reference to foxhunting generally, form a slight 
 Souvenir of that extremely favourable winter — the best 
 hunting one in the author's recollection ; as such, he re- 
 spectfully dedicates them to his brother sportsmen. 
 
 191, Regent Street, London, 
 October, 1846. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. The Mastp:r.— Month, October i 
 
 II. Adjourned Debate, — The Master at Cottonwool's . 13 
 
 III. The Master— (Continued) 20 
 
 IV. The Master— (Concluded) 26 
 
 V. The HuNTSiMAN 37 
 
 VI. The HuNTS^L\N— (Continued) 50 
 
 VII. The Whipper-in 62 
 
 VIII. The Whipper-in— (Concluded) 76 
 
 IX. The Earth-Stopper 94 
 
 X. The Groom iio 
 
 XI. The Groom — (Continueh) 123 
 
 XII. The Groom — (Concluded) 136 
 
 XIII. Peter Pigskin . . . • ' . 147 
 
 XIV. The Farmer 160 
 
 XV. Elijah Bullwaist, the Blacksmith . . . .176 
 
 XVI. The Squire 193 
 
 X\"II. Lord Evergreen : with some Thoughts on Tuft 
 
 Huntin(; 210 
 
 XVIII. Captain Shabbyhounde, the Steeple-chaser . . 227 
 
 XIX. Captain Shabeyhounde^(Concluded) .... 250 
 
 X.\. Lady Foxhunters.— Sir Rasper Smashgate and Miss 
 
 Cottonwool . . . 272 
 
 X.\l. Colonel Codshead ; or, The Close of the Season . 291 
 
LIST OF PLATES 
 
 The Meet—" With Bright Faces and Merry 
 
 Hearis" Frontispiece 
 
 Tanoramic Series of Incidents in the Hunting 
 
 Field Title pai^e 
 
 Facsimile of the original drawing by Henry Alken. 
 
 Going to Cover To face 29 
 
 Extra illustration from HENRY Alken's original. 
 
 Breaking Cover „ 53 
 
 Extra illustration from HENRY Alken'S original. 
 
 The Check—" What the Devil do you here— don't 
 
 YOU KNOW the great EARTH AT DAVENTRY IS 
 
 open ? and be d d to you !".... „ 69 
 
 Water in the Way „ 87 
 
 Extra illustration Facsimile of the original drawing 
 by Henry Alken in water-colours (published for 
 the first time). 
 
 COiMING WELL ON ,,132 
 
 Extra illustration Facsimile of the original drawing by 
 Henry Alken in water-colours (fublishcd for the 
 Jirst time). 
 
 Getting Away — "Let's take the Lead!" ... „ 149 
 
 Full Cry— "Let's keep the Lead!" .... „ 157 
 
 Negoti.\ting a Stone Wali ,,187 
 
 Extra illustration from Henry Alken'S original. 
 
 The Leap — "That will shut out many and make 
 
 the thing select!" „ 215 
 
 "Who — Hoo — o-o-p ! " — "A chosen few alone the 
 
 death survey!" >. -53 
 
 Another Kill — "The select few !" . . . . „ 283 
 
 Extra illustration from HENRY ALKEN'S original. 
 
NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Remarkable as has been the increase in vahie of those 
 good old sporting books which the coloured illustrations 
 of that ideal delineator of British sport, Henr}* Aiken, 
 have made so highly popular, it may be referred to as 
 noteworthy that a comparatively modern publication, 
 " The Analysis of the Hunting Field," which made its first 
 appearance nearly sixty years ago, has proportionately out- 
 distanced competition, as regards the prices commanded by 
 fair copies at the present epoch. The original edition has now 
 reached an advanced monetarj' estimation which must agree- 
 ably astonish those collectors who have the good fortune to 
 find a copy in their sporting libraries ; in a word, the 
 " Analysis " has risen to prices which, like the earlier issued 
 " British Field Sports," "The British Preserve," " The Sport- 
 ing Repository" (1822), " The Life of a Sportsman," " Jorrocks's 
 Jaunts and Jollities," " The Life of John Mytton," and other 
 similarh' costly and much sought after publications, are in- 
 teresting to plutocratic collectors, and, in consequence, almost 
 the exclusive privilege of the rich amateur, and, in their "first 
 states," nowadays practically unattainable by the book-lover of 
 limited purse. 
 
 " The Analysis of the Hunting Field," unlike " The Life of a 
 Sportsman," did not owe its enhanced estimation to the wealth 
 of its illustrations; in fact the much priced "first issue" onlj- 
 contained seven coloured plates. But in the famous hand- 
 coloured engravings, Henrj- Aiken had contri\-ed to excel his 
 
xiv NOTE ON THE ILLT STRATIONS 
 
 accustomed triumphs, above ail in tiie truly wonderful and 
 elaborate frontispiece, which is the most important feature of 
 the work. For the rest it relied for its further appreciation 
 upon the profusion of Aiken's characteristically spirited sketches, 
 engraved upon wood, and interspersed throughout the attractive 
 letterpress. 
 
 The original designs, most elaborately finished in water 
 colours, found their way to the collection of a great Aiken 
 enthusiast, the late Robert Lumley, Esq., and, on that indefatig- 
 able amateur's decease, were dispersed at Christie's with the 
 rest of his extensive collection, including the original water- 
 colour drawings executed for the illustration of " The Life of 
 Jack Mytton." The circumstances wherein the twenty draw- 
 ings were reproduced in facsimile of the original designs for 
 the first time, have been already detailed in the descriptive 
 note which the present writer contributed to the de luxe 
 edition of that remarkable example of sporting biography. 
 These reproductions have secured a high measure of popular 
 appreciation consistent with their \ast artistic merits. 
 
 The truly unique original design in water colours for the 
 frontispiece to " The Analysis of the Hunting Field " was later 
 secured, and nosv forms the leading embellishment of the 
 present edition, successfully reproduced in fac-siinile of the 
 original, together with two elaborate, highly-finished original 
 water-colour drawings of unusually fine quality similarly 
 executed by the artist at the same time. These had been 
 secured at Mr. Lumley's sale together with a series of four 
 characteristic Aiken drawings, also reproduced in fac-similc in 
 the present volume ; thus more fully and adequately illustrating 
 the "Analysis" with thirteen of Henry Aiken's inimitable 
 originals, reproduced throughout in colours \n fac-similc of the 
 aquarelles. It was felt that the " Analysis," w ith all its earlier 
 attractions thus artistically supplemented, would be further 
 esteemed by Aiken collectors, and thus form a worthier 
 
NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS xv 
 
 addition to the sporting amateur's library of choice, rare 
 and eminently attractive works. 
 
 In conclusion, it may be pointed out as a circumstance 
 worthy of notice that though Aiken's woodcuts to a certain 
 extent illustrate the text of " The Analysis of the Hunting 
 Field," the coloured plates, with one exception, have nothing 
 in particular to do with it. They form, it is true, an admirable 
 panorama of the Hunting Field in Aiken's best style, but as 
 illustrations of the text, the plates reproduced in the companion 
 volume in this series, namely, " Nimrod's Hunting Tours," 
 would serve even better. In fact, nearly all the personages 
 whose portraits are there reproduced and many of the actual 
 engravings are referred to by Surtees in the present work. 
 The two volumes may therefore be taken as complementary 
 the one to the other, and should be taken together b}' students 
 of the history of Fox Hunting in England. 
 

 ANALYSIS OF THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MASTER. MONTH, OCTOBER 
 
 ITH a very slight touch of 
 summer,* here we are again 
 close upon hunting — nay, 
 in some parts it has com- 
 menced already. In London 
 the "sear and yellow leaf" 
 reminds us of the old " red 
 rag." What can compensate 
 ^■-S^fc^^iiB^ -^--«^4i23- vrt;u.«i^ for the beauties of departing 
 
 summer, but the glories of 
 the chase ? Confound it, we believe we'd almost compound 
 
 * The summer of 1845 was singularly wet and unseasonable ; for further 
 particulars, see Preface. 
 
2 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 for the absence of summer altogether, if we could but enlarge 
 the operations of the pack. Well, however, " Here we are 
 again ! " as Mr. Merryman exclaims, as he bounds into the 
 circle. "Here we are again!" Another month, and the 
 season will be in its pride. Let us indulge the pleasures of 
 anticipation by giving our mind's-eye a canter round the 
 
 hunting field. 
 
 First comes the Master— punctual as Masters should be. 
 His clever grey hack has scarce turned a hair, though he has 
 come no end of distance within the hour, while the rider as he 
 enters the field drops the reins, and, raising his hat, wipes the 
 slight perspiration from his brow with a stout bandana, show- 
 ing the thinning hair of his crown, and the slightly shot grey of 
 forty, or five-and-forty years. But look what health is on his 
 brow. Fine clear complexion, light bright eye, full lip, white 
 teeth, steady unshaken hand of early hours, strong exercise, 
 and sobriety. We have seen many older men at thirty. 
 
 Our Master looks the sportsman all over : neat, we may 
 almost say smart ; but not the smartness that is afraid of dirt. 
 No dandified satin or French polish flimsy finery is here ; all is 
 stout, warm, and weather-defying. The good heavy hat (caps 
 for gentlemen we abhor) would resist a deluge, or one of 1845 
 summer's rains, the round-cut single-breasted red coat, con- 
 fined by one button, across the step-collared toilanette striped 
 waistcoat, is made of strong double-milled cloth; the roomy 
 breeches are of broadish striped cord, not exactly white, but 
 what will scour to white ; and the well put on boots are made 
 ot that comfortable-looking leather that tells to the eye how 
 soft they sit to the wearer's foot. But mark ; they are not 
 jacks-h^.ng your jacks, say we ! ditto your Napoleons ; ditto 
 your cab-head leather fisherman's, with mouths gaping like 
 young rooks, and which seem capable of carrying half the 
 wearer's wardrobe, along with his legs. Give us the good old 
 top— the top that neither degenerates into affectation by its 
 
THE MASTER 3 
 
 shallowness nor its depth ; the top that looks as if it cares not 
 for bullfinch or briar, and whose soles are of sufficient strength 
 to command the respect of the kickable portion of the com- 
 munity. For any one, save parhaps our late respected friend 
 the living skeleton, there is no costume equal to boots and 
 breeches — boots and breeches well made, and well put on, 
 indispensable accompaniments for the well-looking of both. 
 We could write a chapter on boots, but as we purpose passing 
 the field in review, we will glance at their various characters 
 as the wearers come before us. Spurs, too, are an eloquent 
 subject for dissertation. If any one would collect the hats, 
 gloves, whips, boots, and spurs of a field, placing each set by 
 themselves, we would undertake to appropriate them to the 
 station in life of the respective parties. These, too, however, 
 for the present, we shall " pass," as the auctioneers say, simply 
 observing that our Master's gloves are doe-skin, his whip a 
 lapped whalebone one, with a hammer head, his persuaders of 
 the Jersey pattern, with silver studs and buckles. The well 
 polished strap-ends come well over the buckles, and the boots 
 altogether wear a sort of air that says no common mud shall 
 stick to us. 
 
 A Master of Hounds is one of the most difficult characters 
 in life to fill ; hence it is not surprising that there are but two 
 sorts — the best fellows under the sun — and the nastiest brutes 
 going. Fortunately for society, the " nastiest brutes " going 
 are so select and so self-convicting a set as not to require 
 much description from us ; they are generally waffling, 
 fretting, fussing, fuming, vapouring bodies, who soon make 
 way for one of the " best fellows under the sun." Now the 
 best fellows under the sun, like the "best horse going," are a 
 numerous breed, but, as applied to masters of hounds, they 
 must, to a certain extent, have the same qualities, though they 
 may have very different ways of showing them. First and 
 foremost they must be keen. About this there must be "no 
 
4 THE HUNTING FIEl.I) 
 
 mistake," as the Duke of Wellington would saj'. It would be 
 not a bit more absurd for a man to punish himself bj' keeping 
 a yacht, who hates sailing and the sight of the sea, than it is 
 for a man to keep a pack of foxhounds who has no ardent 
 predilection for the chase. A qualified liking will not do for 
 a " best fellow under the sun." He must be heart and soul in 
 the sport — a real out-and-outer. Keenness covers a multitude 
 of sins. 
 
 In addition to the sine qua non of keenness, he should 
 possess a host of other qualities. He should have the bold- 
 ness of a lion, the cunning of a fox, the shrewdness of an 
 exciseman, the calculation of a general, the decision of a 
 judge, the purse of Squire Plutus, the regularity of a railway, 
 the punctuality of a time-piece, the liberality of a sailor, the 
 patience of Job, the tact of an M.P., the wiliness of a diplo- 
 matist, the politeness of a lord, the strength of an Hercules, 
 the thirst of a Bacchus, the appetite of a Dando, the digestion 
 of an ostrich, the coolness of a crocodile, the fire-enduring 
 powers of a salamander or of Mons. Chabot, the Fire King, 
 with a slight touch of the eloquence of Cicero, and temper as 
 even as the lines in a copj'-book. Lor bless us, what a 
 combination of qualities ! John Austin, the peripatetic show- 
 man's happy united family in the body of a foxhunter ! 
 
 Money ! money ! money ! like Mr. Wilberforce's reiterated 
 cry of Sugar ! sugar ! sugar ! is, however, perhaps, the most 
 important thing after keenness and temper. Cit}' people, 
 perhaps, would put money first, but that shows they know 
 nothing about foxhunting. A real keen-un will generally get 
 a countr\-, even though he has a soldier's thigh, before John 
 Plutus, who has only his money pots to recommend him.. 
 Money, however, there must be, either from the Master or the 
 field ; happ)', therefore, is the country possessing a Master in 
 the enjoyment of the qualifications we have dotted down, and 
 who is willing and able to pay his " own shot ; '" dearly should 
 
THE MASTER 5 
 
 they prize him, for were they to lose him we really don't know 
 where to recommend them another. 
 
 Having sent for our maid of all work to try the foregoing 
 upon her, we observed that she neither smiled nor even relaxed 
 a muscle of her rather pretty countenance, till we repeated the 
 word " sugar," and, when we had concluded, she observed, 
 with her usual candid diffidence, that she did not understand 
 what all these qualities had to do with the " red coats," as she 
 calls them, conceiving, we rather suspect, that foxhunters are a 
 sort of off-shoots of soldiers. 
 
 As we may have other readers in a similar predicament to 
 Susannah, we will be our own " Boswell," and treat them to a 
 running commentary on the obscure portions of our text. This 
 we may do in a rambling sort of way, without reference to the 
 order in which they now stand. 
 
 A Member of Parliament is generally supposed to have a 
 ticklish up-hill sort of game to play, but it is nothing compared 
 to that of a Master of Foxhounds. The Member has merely to 
 bamboozle people once in six or seven years out of something 
 that really is hardl}' worth giving or receiving, and to change 
 his coat at short notice, but the Master of the Hounds 
 has to keep his soft solder pot boiling all the year round 
 healing real or imaginary wounds, trying to make farmers 
 believe something very much like " black being white," 
 coaxing them into a credence that it benefits wheat and 
 sown grass to ride over them, that foxes never touch lambs, 
 and abhor poultry, that it benefits hedges for horses to 
 dance hornpipes upon them, with many other similar and 
 singularly curious articles of belief. 
 
 So much for the M.f . quality. 
 
 Time ! which assuredly has begun to go quicker since 
 railways were introduced, has even carried the gastronomic 
 feats of " Dando " into the oblivion of all forgetfulness ; yet 
 let it not be said — Dando, though dead, yet lives in the 
 
6 THE IITNTIXG FIELD 
 
 recollection of oj-ster-shop keepers and licensed wittlers — 
 Dando,* who could eat a peck of oysters, and pick his teeth 
 with a shoulder of mutton bone for luncheon — Dando, the 
 nimble, plausible, dexterous Dando, who, with all the luggage 
 aboard, could outstrip the most heron-gutted chop-house 
 waiter, or the swiftest and best winded of the great " unboiled " 
 — Dando can never die ! Die he may, in the common every 
 day dolly-mop world, but die he never can in the recollection 
 of those whom he honoured with his large, though somewhat 
 expensive patronage. 
 
 And how do we connect the feats of Dando with the 
 necessary qualifications for a Master of Foxhounds ? Wh}-, 
 thus — Dando was a great " feeder," and so should a Master. 
 Next to drawing a gentleman's covers in a morning, drawing 
 the ladies' covers in an evening is of the last importance. 
 
 And here let us request our friend the printer to have the 
 kindness to print the word "cover" as we have written it. 
 We are aware that modern fashion has tacked a " t " to the 
 end, but Peter Beckford, who is quite authority enough for us, 
 wrote it as we have done. Moreover, in this instance, adding 
 a "t " would spoil the point of the sentence. 
 
 Hark, back to dinner, and Dando ! 
 
 Hunting and hospitality are almost synonymous, and the 
 man who hunts a country must calculate on a good deal of 
 knife-and-fork work. Dining out much is hard work — dreadful 
 where a man is "cock" guest every time. Still a Master must 
 undergo it, or the ladies won't reckon him "a nice man." If 
 the dress uniform of the hunt is scarlet, or \-ellow, or orange 
 
 * Dando, we may state for the benefit of the juvenile, was a wandering 
 sort of cormorant, much addicted to oysters, but whose means being in no 
 way proportionate to his appetite, he used to be under the necessity of 
 "bolting" after having "bolted "as many oysters as he could hold. He 
 used to afford "fine runs" to the police, and we believe it was in contem- 
 plation at one time to engage him for the purpose of being hunted by the 
 Queen's stag hounds. 
 
THE MASTER 7 
 
 vermilion, sky-blue, pea-green, or any other outlandish colour, 
 " the Master " must wear it, or Mrs. Cottonwool will think 
 herself slighted. Then, with an ostrich-feathered red and 
 gold-spangled turban nodding over a well-oiled front, with 
 cork-screw ringlets at the sides, Mrs. Cottonwool, after having 
 waited past all patience for the much-wished-for, but non- 
 arriving guest, is at length led from the furniture-uncovered 
 drawing-room by our " model of a sportsman," in all the 
 ladylike trepidation of unaccustomed party-making. All the 
 Bore'ems and Snore'ems, Tom Browns, and Jack Smiths of 
 the hunt, figged out like their chief, follow in long-drawn file, 
 whipped in to, by Cottonwool, similarly attired. 
 
 The Miss Cottonwools will be scattered down the table just 
 as market gardeners scatter their flowers — first a rose, then a 
 lily, then another rose, then another lily — first a foxhunter, 
 then a lump of Cottonwool, then another foxhunter, then 
 another lump of Cottonwool, apparently " quite promiscuous," 
 as the servants say, but in reality with a good deal of hen 
 Cottonwool " management." Our Cottonwools, however, are 
 not lumpy ; on the contrary, fine, full-grown, full-limbed, ripe, 
 luscious-looking, fair-haired girls, radiant with all the accom- 
 plishments of ogling, worsted-working, dancing, and flirting. 
 But we are leaving our Master, soup-ladle in hand, pinned 
 on the right of ringlets, who sits telegraphing her daughterr 
 into their places, the order of march having been somewhat 
 disconcerted by the stupidity of Sam Bore'em not knowing 
 that Robertina has been setting her cap at him for many 
 months, and who has consequently endangered Juliana's being 
 stuck between papa and old Mr. Pigskin, the family stop-gap, 
 by taking out Henrietta instead of his intended, or rather, the 
 lady who intends him. At length they all get settled into 
 their places, with no other derangement than two of the 
 guests getting rush-bottomed chairs which were meant for the 
 daughters, and a room which would accommodate eight com- 
 
8 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 fortably, or ten on a pinch, is now made to hold eighteen. Of 
 course the curtains are all drawn, the shutters are shut, and 
 there is a rousing fire. Oh, Hookey Walker ! Hookey Walker ! 
 to what little purpose you wrote the " Original." 
 
 From eighteen take " one," says the Master in his own 
 mind, and seventeen remain. Seventeen glasses of wine at 
 dinner ! Awful ! Awful at any time, but doubly so when 
 supplied by a bumper-filling clown, who will shut out the sky- 
 light, or give the objector the balance over his hand or up his 
 sleeve. Pigskin is the only man our Master dare compound 
 with by clubbing with another : but then comes the question 
 who is to be the other ? and also the consideration whether it 
 is not better to go the " entire animal," and drink with the 
 whole — Robertina, Juliana, Henrietta, and all. 
 
 Drinking, however, is only half his work. That is a duty he 
 owes his host. He must eat out of compliment to the lady. 
 Some ladies, too, are so unconscionable. The more a man 
 eats the more they require him to eat. " Oh, j-ou must let me 
 send you some of this. Oh, you must take a little of that. 
 Oh, you must try some of t'other. You reall}- eat nothing. 
 Dinner eater ! I never saw such a dinner eater ! Dinner's 
 wasted on you, however." 
 
 Kind hostess, let us say a word on behalf of our poor Master. 
 Give what you give freely and heartily, but give your guests 
 credit for knowing their stomachs better than you do. 
 
 What with good dinners, middling dinners, and bad dinners 
 • — what with good wine, middling wine, and bad wine — what 
 with the room always at fever heat, have we not made out our 
 case that a Master requires the propensities of Bacchus, with 
 the appetite of a Dando, the digestion of an ostrich, and the 
 fire-defying properties of a salamander, or of Monsieur Chabot, 
 the Fire King ? We think we have, even to the satisfaction of 
 Susannah aforesaid. 
 
 Dining out is almost indispensable for a Master of Fo.xhounds, 
 
THE MASTER 9 
 
 for the English never fancy a friendship fairly cemented until it 
 has been riveted on the altar of the mahogany. It is convenient 
 too, in some cases, such as hunting a distant part of the 
 country ; besides, it makes an agreeable change, especially when 
 a party is not composed entirely of the same people as have 
 been " hob-a-nobbing " it at "the club" for weeks together. 
 This is one of the mistakes non-hunting people make. They 
 fancy that none but foxhunters will do to meet foxhunters. 
 Our friend Cottonwoors three fair, blooming, buxom daughters 
 make an agreeable variety ; but if " Wool " had not had them, 
 he would have filled their places with three other " red or 
 orange-vermilion coats," if, indeed, he had the "Master" at 
 all, which is more than problematical, seeing he never had his 
 predecessor, and always abused the hounds and all belonging to 
 them, until his daughters were invited to the hunt ball, and he 
 saw Henrietta in the grasp of Sir Rasper Smashgate, a hard- 
 riding baronet, going the rounds of a waltz with all the liveli- 
 ness of a waggon-wheel. "Wool" then began to mumble to 
 himself something about "more ti?i/iAe/}' things," " iine estate," 
 and Mrs. Wool and he jumped to a conclusion that \\'ool ought 
 to be a " sleeping partner " in the hunt, and have the Master to 
 Fleecy Hall. The thing suited Wool's purpose, and it suits 
 our Masters ; at least it would have done if they had not nearly 
 roasted him alive. And here let us have a word " ir la Walker " 
 to Wool and all the sleeping partner tribe. Nay, some 
 managing partners even may be benefited by our truisms, if 
 they would but remember them. Have a good fire in each 
 guest's bedroom when they arrive. People out of gigs, off 
 coaches, out of railway trains are apt to be chilly and cold. 
 There let them warm themselves — but remember, oh remember, 
 that a lot of people put into one room, with lamps, candles, 
 wittles, and waiters, will very soon cook up a devil of an 
 atmosphere. Shutting the shutters, drawing the blinds, closing 
 the curtains, is all very right and meritorious when you are 
 
10 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 alone ; but with such a kettle offish as we have got at " Wool's " 
 you should take every precaution to have the room cool at 
 starting, and to try to keep it so. A little wood fire looks 
 lively, and soon dies out ; but if it has the impudence to live, a 
 pan of wet sand soon knocks the \'ital spark out of it. 
 
 But we have it not in our hearts to keep our poor Master in 
 this atmosphere any longer. Let us suppose the agony of 
 dinner past. Let us suppose that all has gone on smoothly and 
 well — no soup dribbled down any one's back, no poisonous lamp 
 expired, no tipsy cake alighted on any one's head, no squashed 
 blanc-mange, no pyramid of jelly toppling to its fall — nothing 
 gone wrong, except the white jug of hot water at the side-board 
 end upset on the third plunging of the forks and spoons, making 
 a map of Italy on the un-Turkey-carpeted part of the floor. 
 The Miss Wools have each plied a merry tongue, though, 
 between ourselves, it is not exactly the way to a foxhunter's 
 heart to interrupt him during his dinner ; but of that more 
 anon. Mrs. Wool has given the silent, significant hint — a hint 
 more potent than the strongest lunged sergeant ever bellowed 
 on parade — gloves, flowers, bags, handkerchiefs, fans, have been 
 gathered together, or brought up from their respective collieries 
 below, and our Master gladly rushes to open the door to let the 
 well-bustled party pass. 
 
 Each man stands, and puffs and blows like a stranded 
 grampus. 
 
 It is now Wool's turn to take our Master through his hands. 
 One would think that Wool was Monsieur Chabot in disguise, 
 for the first thing he says as he clutches his glass and decanter, 
 preparatory to moving his quarters to the top of the table is, 
 " W^ould you like a few more coals, Mr. Rattlecover ? " We 
 need not add that Mr. Rattlecover declines, observing that, 
 with Mr. Cottonwool's permission, he will change his seat away 
 from the fire, when, like many wise men who know everything 
 
THE MASTER 11 
 
 after they are told, old Wool observes that he docs think the 
 room rather warm. This brilliant discovery being^ universally 
 coniirmed, they forthwith proceed to the other extreme, and 
 opening all the doors and windows, just give old ^olus the full 
 swing of the apartment. 
 
 Something like a liveable atmosphere is at length procured, 
 and the business of the evening is begun by the " sleeping 
 partner" asking some absurd questions about hunting. 
 
 Cottonwool does this from the same mistaken notion that 
 would have induced him to ask none but foxhunters to meet 
 a Master of Foxhounds, viz. an idea that foxhunters can onlj' 
 talk about foxhunting. Mistaken man ! Nine-tenths of them 
 would rather talk about anything else. Annoying, however, as 
 it is to hear a man talking nonsense for our accommodation, 
 calling a pack of hounds a set of dogs, a hound's stern a bushy 
 tail, giving tongue, barking, and so on, a Master must not break 
 out and bid him " hold his tongue for a d — d fool," as a sailor 
 would. No, he must humour him — " sugar his milk," as a 
 huntsman would say ; for the best hounds in the world, with 
 the " best fellow under the sun " at the head of them, are useless 
 without foxes, and fox or no fox is in the caprice of such 
 creatures as Cottonwool. Some Cottonwools are apt to " keep 
 the word of promise to the ear and break it to the hope," giving 
 their keepers orders perhaps not to shoot foxes, but at the same 
 time not to let a vixen lie up on the estate. There are many 
 ways of preserving foxes — at all events of salving a not trouble- 
 somely fastidious conscience. If our " best fellow under the 
 sun " suspects anything like foul play, he will lead old Wool 
 unto the ice, get him to talk big about hunting, the pleasures 
 of the morning, the delights of a find, the certainty of sport, 
 the abundance of foxes — our Master slyly exclaiming to old Pig- 
 skin or anyone furthest off, so that every one must hear, " Ah, 
 Mr. Pigskin, I wish all people were like our worthy host 
 
12 
 
 THE HUNTINC; FIELD 
 
 Mr. Cottonwool ! There would be no lack of foxes — no fear of 
 sport then." He may then observe, almost to " Wool " himself, 
 " I'm sure all here will bear me out in saying that I always 
 hold our excellent friend Mr. Cottonwool upas a perfect specimen 
 of what an English gentleman ought to be."' Now, that is 
 good, wholesome, unadulterated flattery — all Wool's own too, 
 and the odds are that thinking he has not committed himself, 
 he will retract the qualifying order about the vixens, and show 
 himself at the next cattle-show as a perfect specimen of what an 
 English gentleman ought to be. More people are flattered into 
 virtue than bullied out of vice. 
 
 Toast drinking is almost exploded, but if ever it is tolerated 
 it will surely be allowed to wash down such a pat of butter as 
 Cottonwool has received. The way to accomplish this, of 
 course is, for Wool to propose the Master's health — long life to 
 him — with such other novelties as a podgey old gentleman, un- 
 accustomed to public speaking, can accomplish ; and the 
 Master (who we premised must have a touch of Cicero), may 
 just turn the remains of the dripping-pan of flatter}' over WooFs 
 head and shoulders any way he likes. A glutton in flattery 
 looks more to quantity than quality. 
 
 With that performance we will let the chapter's curtain 
 drop. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ADJOURNED DEBATE. — THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 
 
 OR bre\it3''s sake, we will con- 
 dense the proceedings of the 
 evening into the potted- 
 game sort of style some in- 
 genious gentleman about the 
 House of Commons adopt 
 towards the windy proceed- 
 ings therein, for the accom- 
 modation of political club 
 lobbies. 
 
 We don't print ours in 
 
 columns, because it is not convenient. We hope the omission 
 
 will not be considered a breach of privilege. 
 
 Eight o'clock. — Cottonwool returns thanks for the honour 
 they have done him in drinking his health, &c. ; drinks all 
 theirs ; port and claret ordered. — Observations. Party quite 
 sober. Pigskin asleep. 
 
 Half-past Eight. — Host gives " Success to foxhunting." 
 Bumper toast. Pigskin accused of taking a back hand ; Pig 
 replies ! division ; 13 to i. Pigskin voting ; ordered, " song or 
 salt and water ; " song preferred ; " We won't go home till 
 
14 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 morning ; " more port — two bottles this time. — Observations. 
 Party merry ; Pigskin half-cocked ; Sam Bore'em nodding ; 
 host speaking thick. 
 
 Nine o'clock. — "Chair! chair!" Host proposes " Master's 
 health" again, assuring him that Fleecy Hall covers shall never 
 be drawn blank ; amendment by Pigskin, "That the toast be 
 drunk with three times three ; carried «««.cti«. / drunk; moved 
 by Tom Lax, and "one cheer more" given; port and claret 
 — 2 and I. — Observations. Party noisy; room hot; gentle- 
 men's waistcoats loose. 
 
 Quarter-past Nine. — Alaster returns thanks again ; pro- 
 poses a bumper toast ; no heel-taps ; " The Ladies ! " three 
 times three, and one, &c. — Observations. \'ery merry; Pigskin 
 three parts drunk ; Master half-cocked ; Sam Bore'em asleep. 
 
 Let us now suppose it half-past nine, and that Mrs. Cotton- 
 wool and daughters, having got themselves cooled, have lit 
 their "Brecknell and Turners'," shaken out their feathers, and 
 taken positions best calculated for capturing their respective 
 prey as they enter the drawing-room. And here we may pay 
 the "deferred " annuity of information we promised our fair 
 friends, as they left the dining-room. It is this : — A man is 
 much easier come over when half-mellow than when half-fed. 
 We observed, with sorrow, not altogether unmingled with anger, 
 that you pestered your next door neighbours with your 
 pleasantries when they had their mouths full. Nay, we caught 
 Robertina interrupting hers in the middle of a glass of cham- 
 pagne ! All this is very wrong. Our Master will tell you that 
 he never speaks to his hounds so long as they will hunt. So 
 j-ou, on your parts, should never speak to a foxhunter so long 
 as he will feed. It is all very well for you ladies who dine at 
 luncheon time to trifle with the golden moments of dinner, but 
 it is serious work with a half-famished sportsman, especially 
 with the pace nervous servants of all work go on these occasions. 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL S 15 
 
 Besiege your men at tea. That is j'our time. You may offer 
 them a cup of coffee, but you can't ask them to take wine. Of 
 course you have a piano in the room. Music is a great 
 assistance in love-making. Its noise keeps whispers where they 
 should be, and though you are all very jealous of the time lost 
 in playing, yet if you have a fine arm and tolerable execution, 
 we don't know but you may be doing more business with your 
 fingers than you would with your tongue and eyes. At all 
 events, sisters can arrange to relieve each other, on the " now 
 thou, now me, now both together," principle. " Music," some 
 amiable gentleman writes, " has charms to soothe the savage 
 breast." God forbid that it should not have the same influence 
 upon sportsmen ! And here we may observe that, though fox- 
 hunters may not be men of many words, what they do say is 
 generally to the purpose. " Isn't this," as Beckford would say, 
 " far better than the eternal babbling of unsteady puppies ? 
 Puppies who merely babble to lead the ladies astray, to 
 
 ' Love again, and be again undone."' 
 
 There's Henrietta's friend Smashgate, for instance — we beg 
 pardon. Sir Rasper Smashgate — we will stake our literary 
 reputation that a squeeze, a good squeeze from the Smashgate 
 hand at bed-time, would mean more than an hour and a half's 
 blather from young Fribbleton Brown, about roses and lilies, 
 and love in a cottage, hearts, darts, Cupids, and the whole mint 
 of matrimonial small coin. 
 
 We would almost excuse Henrietta if she presented herself 
 to mamma as " Lady Smashgate," on reaching the landing. 
 "What, has he ojfered to you ? " old Turban would exclaim. 
 " No, mar, but he squeezed my hand as he gave me the 
 candle." " Silly girl," Mrs. Cottonwool would reply, in a pet 
 — not knowing the nature of the animal — " many squeezes go 
 to an offer." Were we a girl, however, matrimonially inclined 
 — which they all are, unless bespoke — we would rather have a 
 
in THE FH \T1XG FIELD 
 
 squeeze of the hand from Smashgate than a black and white 
 offer from Fribbleton Brown. Spite of what old mother 
 Cottonwool says, we will lay "copious odds" — as old 
 Crockey used to saj', that she would give old Caudle 
 Cottonwool a hint that things were " going on right," and 
 take all the credit to herself too. Cruel Smashgate, however, 
 has not come. 
 
 While nibbing our pen, we have been casting about to see if 
 we could recollect any instance, among our numerous ac- 
 quaintance, of a bad foxhunter husband, and we are happy to 
 say we have drawn the cover blank. We have, to be sure, 
 fallen in with fellows in red coats, who have been anything 
 but what thej' ought, but we can conscientiously say that we 
 have never known any man worthy the name of a sportsman, 
 who was not a good fellow. Indeed, were we a young lad}-, 
 we would pick a foxhunter for preference. Their coats may 
 not be quite so glittering as the laced jacket of a soldier, nor 
 may they be quite such good hands at dancing the polka, but, 
 for the real steady comfort and enjoyment of life they beat 
 them by chalks. Besides, war's alarms are trying, soldiers 
 are very apt to shut up shop when they get married ; and, 
 if they don't, why even a child tires of looking at the same 
 dressed doll. 
 
 A pleasant poet, whose name we forget — indeed we are not 
 quite sure that we ever had the pleasure of his personal 
 acquaintance — wrote something about something, and 
 
 — " Unclouded ray, 
 
 Making to-morrow pleasant as to-day." 
 
 The compliment, we believe, was turned for the ladies, but 
 we are going to " diwide it,"' as the dentist said, when he 
 threw the bucket of dirty water over the blind fiddlers. 
 
 We should say, that a foxhunter and his wife can not onl}' 
 make to-morrow cheerful as to-day, but they can make winter 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 17 
 
 as pleasant as summer — that is to say, if they go the right 
 way to work. 
 
 Even in sweethearting a foxhunter is worth a dozen such 
 fellows as Fribbleton Brown — fellows who hang about a 
 drawing-room all the morning, fumbling in women's work- 
 bags, stealing their thimbles, and stopping their worsted work. 
 Women like to have men " in tow," no doubt, but they don't 
 like to have fellows lying " at them " all day, like terriers 
 at fox-earths. The foxhunter goes out to " fresh fields and 
 pastures new," hears all the news, the fun, the nonsense, the 
 gossip of the world. His mind's enlarged, his spirits raised, 
 his body refreshed, and he comes back full of life and ani- 
 mation. If he has had a good run, and been carried to his 
 liking, his harvest-moon heart loves all the world. He'll do 
 anything short of accepting a bill of exchange. Our esteemed 
 friend, the author of the " Pleasures of Hope," albeit no 
 sportsman, or at least not a master of hounds, shadowed out 
 the feelings of a sportsman, and of a sportsman's lady-love, 
 when he sung 
 
 " Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed. 
 The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead ? 
 No ; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy ! 
 And falls and tumbles fan the fire of joy I " 
 
 We are not quite sure that " falls and tumbles" are the words 
 he used ; perhaps not. They savour of tautology, but again 
 that looks more like a non-sportsman, as Campbell was. Be 
 that as it may, they suit our purpose. There is no doubt, 
 however, that the roughings, and scramblings, and wettings 
 and rollings, and muddings of the morning, all tend to make a 
 man enjoy the comforts of home and the pleasure of female 
 societ}' in the evening : — 
 
 " Domus et placens uxor." 
 
 " Thy home, and in the cup of life, 
 That honey-drop, thy pleasing wife," 
 
18 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 as those few Latin words have been skilfully rendered by some 
 talented linguist, with the skill of our friend, Bob Chalkup, 
 the milkman, who can make a quart of milk out of a pint, but 
 to make the foregoing fine jingle of words run right for the 
 foxhunter, the " placcns uxor'' should always have breakfast 
 ready in good time, and plenty of lambs' wool and fleecy 
 hosiery before the fire, against her swain comes home. Con- 
 found it, there are very few of those sort of " uxors'' now-a- 
 days. Old Mrs. Pigskin is the only one we know of, but she 
 belongs to a generation far removed in the distance. Site 
 can't work pheasants in floss silk ! Some old sour grapers 
 object to foxhunters, because they sometimes take a nap after 
 dinner. Suppose they do, what then ? They most likely have 
 said their say, and surely it's far better for a man to go to 
 sleep than to talk nonsense, or say the same thing over and 
 over again. Take our advice, fair ladies. If it should ever be 
 your luck to have to choose between a foxhunter and a fiddler 
 — which latter comprises all people who are not foxhunters — 
 choose the foxhunter. Not one of your pretty fellows, who 
 come home clean and unspecked by luncheon time, but a 
 regular sport-loving cock, who would rather lose his dinner 
 than the end of a run. Don't mind what spiteful old maids 
 say about their habits and propensities. If you wait till you 
 get a man whom all the world will praise, you'll remain single 
 to the end of the chapter. 
 
 The young lady of forty's reply, that a bad husband was a 
 deal better than none, was a very sensible observation, though 
 totally inapplicable to foxhunters. 
 
 But we are writing a chapter for chaperones rather than 
 an essay on a " Master of Hounds." Farewell fair Miss 
 Cottonwools ; ere spring returns, may we read your names in 
 the list of — you know what. 
 
 Good morning, Mrs. Cottonwool, and thanks for your 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTO^^WOOL'S 19 
 
 hospitality. Good morning, Mr. Cottonwool, and thanks to 
 you also. 
 
 Perhaps, however, having got so wide of the mark, we had 
 better let the curtain down again, and resume " The Master" 
 with a fresh chapter. 
 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE MASTER — CONTINUED 
 
 "^^^Ss^t' ■ ^^^^^£^ 
 
 HE great Masters of antiquity, 
 if we may so call them — 
 Meynell, Beckford, Corbet, 
 Lee Anthone, John ^^^a^de, 
 Ralph Lambton, and so on — 
 ha\e been described as para- 
 gons of politeness as well as 
 models of keenness. We 
 doubt not they were, but we 
 have as good gentlemen now- 
 a-da3-s, though the Grandison 
 style is somewhat relaxed. The fact is, a man won't do for a 
 Master of Hounds unless he is a gentleman. Wealth, birth, 
 keenness, all combined, won't do unless he has that inde- 
 scribable quality which may be best defined as a sincere desire 
 to please, with a nervous dread of saying or doing anything 
 that ma\' hurt the feelings of another. Some men may go 
 blundering and bullying on to be sure, by mere dint of purse, 
 but it is a weary up-hill game, generally wearing them out at 
 last, as it has worn out their followers. 
 
 We cannot help thinking that one of the mistakes of the 
 day is that of making too much of a business of hunting. 
 Hence we have nervous, irritable Masters, who are a nuisance 
 to themselves and to ever}- one they come thwart of. If a 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 21 
 
 shooter was to make himself as unhappy about a bad day's 
 sport as some foxhunters do, what a booby we should think 
 him. " Better luck next time," is a fine consoling axiom, 
 cheering alike to the foxhunter, the gunner, and the fisherman. 
 Foxhunting is but a species of game, and whether a fox is 
 killed, or a fox is lost, or a fox is mobbed, or a fox is earthed, 
 makes no difference in the balance at the banker's — that 
 converging point to which so many anxious earthly hopes 
 turn. 
 
 Gentlemen, when they begin to do a thing, are very apt to 
 do too much. They think if they take the Mastership of 
 hounds that they must slave and toil like servants. Then we 
 have a lot of babblement about " science," " condition," 
 "generative economy," " ^-Ethiop's mineral," and we don't 
 know what. Can science make a scent ? " Kennel manage- 
 ment," and all that sort of thing, is very necessary ; but 
 experience proves that a man may be a first-rate sportsman 
 without troubling himself about minutiae. Mr. Musters, if we 
 mistake not, was no great kennelman, and we should like to 
 have a look at any one with the boldness to deny his prowess 
 in the field. The best gentleman huntsman of the present day 
 never feeds his hounds. We have even known paid huntsmen 
 who never saw theirs except in the hunting field. 
 
 The well-bred hound — the well-bred sporting dog of any 
 sort — will always leave the man who feeds it for the man who 
 shows it sport. 
 
 All economists, political ones and all, agree in the inex- 
 pediency of keeping a dog and barking one's-self ; neither is 
 it of any use a Master keeping servants and doing their work. 
 The more trouble a man takes the more anxious he gets, and 
 the more he expects ; hence a great deal of that nervous 
 irritability in the hunting field which is almost its only bane. 
 Take it easy! Take it easy! "Better luck next time," 
 say we. 
 
22 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 To suppose that a man can be Master of a pack of hounds, 
 and not feel differently when things go on smoothly and well 
 to what he does when the}- all go crooked and wrong, is either 
 to suppose that he is ignorant of what he professes to direct, 
 or has feelings and passions different from other people. It is 
 the mode of conducting himself under the circumstances, the 
 language made use of, the manner, time, and style of the 
 reproof that constitutes the difference between the "best fellow 
 under the sun," and the " nastiest brute going." 
 
 The old Masters, if history is to be credited, indulged in 
 the inuendo, or suaviter in viodo st3-le of rebuke rather than in 
 the "d — n your eyes " /ortiter in re one. Thus Mr. Meynell, 
 in reply to a persecuting over-rider, who would argue that 
 he was right, would bow and smilingly say, " You may be 
 perfectly right, sir, and I quite wrong, but there is gross 
 ignorance on one side or the other." Even this sort of rebuke 
 he did not care to repeat, generally the telling the man a 
 second time that he was incorrigible, and it was no use 
 admonishing him. Notwithstanding all his politeness, how- 
 ever, we are told that Mr. Meynell's indignation in the field 
 was sometimes excessive, frequently expressed by looks, some- 
 times by deputies, but still, when by words, he never de- 
 generated into rudeness. Mr. Corbet was a somewhat similar 
 character. A gentleman killed him a hound one daj'. He 
 saw who did it, but, instead of attacking the delinquent point 
 blank, he trotted past him, saying, "They've killed me a 
 favourite hound, sir ; you don't Jiappen to know who did it, 
 do you?" On another occasion he just dropped into the 
 delinquent's ear, en passant, " Killed the best hound in the 
 pack, that's alii" He caught a gentleman hunting the hounds 
 one day, "• Thank you, sir," exclaimed Mr. Corbet coming on 
 him unawares ; " thank you, sir," repeated he, "but m\- hounds 
 will do that quite as well zcithout you.'' 
 
 How different to the language of a certain duke under similar 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 23 
 
 circumstances! " IV/io the lull are you, sir?'' exclaimed his 
 grace, coming on an unfortunate wight, hat in hand, capping 
 the hounds. 
 
 "And who the hell arej'ou .'" replied the stranger, a captain 
 in the sea service. 
 
 " They comr/io/ily call me the Duke of ," rejoined his 
 
 grace, adding, " Now, sir, there are the hounds, hunt them, 
 and be d — d to you." 
 
 Talking of sailors, reminds us of an amusing account given 
 by Nimrod of a certain nautical M.P. and ex-master of fox- 
 hounds' mode of addressing a constituent in the field. " Come 
 here, you ten-pound radical rascal and open this gate." Here 
 is another. A few years back an action was brought by a 
 sailor against a captain of a merchant-man, for ill-usage, when 
 it appearing to be but the second time of " asking," the judge 
 was curious to know Jack's reasons for sailing again with so 
 inhuman a captain. 
 
 " Why, please your honour," said Jack, hitching up his 
 trousers, " I war'nt for sailin' with him again, but I couldn't 
 help it ; (lie captain has such winning ways with htm." 
 
 "Winning ways," observed his lordship, "what do j-ou 
 mean by winning ways ? " " Wh}-, please my Lord," resumed 
 Jack, " the captain comes alongside me, on the quay, slaps me 
 on the back and says, ' What ! Jack, you ill-looking, blear- 
 eyed, squinting scoundrel, arn't you going to sail along with 
 me ? ' " Jack couldn't resist so touching an appeal. 
 
 Beckford gives an amusing account of a Master, whose 
 blowings up combined the " suaviter in niodo" with the 
 " fortitcr in re." 
 
 " An acquaintance of mine," writes he, " a good sportsman, 
 but a very warm one, when he sees the company pressing too 
 close upon his hounds, begins with crying out, as loud as he 
 cvin," Hold hijrd\" If any one should persist after that, he begins 
 moderately at first, and says, "/ beg, sir, you, ivill stop your 
 
24 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 horse : Pray, sir, stop ; God bless you, sir, stop ; God d — )i 
 your blood, sir, stop your horse ! " 
 
 Mr. Vyner, in his very able work, " Notitia Venatica," gives 
 the following amusing account of Mr. Nichol, better known as 
 Sam Nichol, in the blowing-up line. 
 
 When Mr. Nichol first took the New Forest, he was des- 
 perately annoyed by some of the attendants on his hounds, 
 and after vainly begging and beseeching several of the hard- 
 riders, who were wantonly pressing on the pack, to desist, he 
 at length launched out in no measured terms, to the utter 
 astonishment of one unfortunate wight, who claimed the pri- 
 vilege of exhibiting himself, on the plea of being a committee 
 man. "The committee be d — d," replied Nichol, "you are 
 not worth d — ing singly, so I'll d — n you all in a lump."' 
 
 Mr. Smith in his " Diary of a Huntsman," recommends the 
 indirect or at them, rather than the to them style of rating, 
 such as " Hold hard ; pray black horse hold hard ! " 
 
 The renowned Mr. Jorrocks was doubtless a disciple of Mr. 
 Smith's, for he carried the advice out to the letter, and a little 
 beyond — ex : gra :'' Old ard, yon air dresser, on the chesnut 
 OSS ! " " Hair dresser, sir ! I am an officer in the gist Regi- 
 ment." " Then jou hossifer in the 91st Regiment, wot looks 
 like an air dresser, old ard," rejoined Mr. Jorrocks, trotting on. 
 
 But enough of bullying, scolding, and riot act reading, — un- 
 gracious work at best, and only to be excused under the plea of 
 the infirmities of poor human nature. When the boiler of poor 
 human nature's indignation is insufficient to hold all her steam, 
 let us beseech the owner to get rid of his superfluous stock all 
 at once. Let the Master, in fact, say his say and be done, but 
 don't let him incur the censure the nigger passed on his Master, 
 who having flogged him well, began to preach after. — 
 " Floggey, floggey, or preachey, preachey, massa ; but no both 
 floggey and preachey." Blow up and be done, but don't blow 
 up, and keep " knagging " all the rest of the day. 
 
THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 25 
 
 Remember, if the fault is a flagrant one the field will go 
 with the Master. Their sport is at stake as well as his, but 
 coarse language always disgusts, and the edge of severity is 
 blunted by repetition. 
 
 " Old ard, you air dresser on the chesnut oss !" 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MASTER — CONCLUDED 
 
 
 N dealing with this scribblement, 
 we have treated our " Master " 
 more as a Master than as one 
 of those "rare birds," a Master 
 and huntsman combined. 
 True it is, that in our specifi- 
 cation of requirements we 
 lumped the offices, but that 
 was done to show what a 
 '' monster of perfection " a 
 gentleman-huntsman ought to 
 Dis-Siamese the characters, and we have enough in that 
 of "Master" for all ordinary capacities. Doubtless, in our 
 long life, we have seen many eminent men in duplicate — Dar- 
 lington, Ducie, Foljambe, Lambton, Musters, Graham, Gifford, 
 Sutton, Osbaldeston, Elcho, Nichol, Kintore, Newman, 
 Templer, Tatchel, and, though last not least, those mighty fox 
 foes, who have shed renown on the somewhat common name of 
 Smith ; but placing the question on its own comprehensive 
 stern, we are very much of the opinion of Beckford, who says, 
 that it is an undertaking which, in a general way, had better 
 be " let alone." 
 
 " It is your opinion, I find," writes Mr. Beckford, and we 
 
 be 
 
THE MASTER 27 
 
 trust all the foregoing great sportsmen will excuse the freedom 
 with which we have written their names, " It is your opinion, 
 I find,"' writes Mr. Beckford, " that a gentleman might make 
 the best huntsman ; I have no doubt that he would, if he chose 
 the trouble of it.'" 
 
 It is just the "trouble " that chokes people off half the pro- 
 jects and enterprises of life. If it wasn't the trouble, and per- 
 haps a Icctlc the fear of Mr. Hardwick, we would give that 
 confounded organ-grinder, who has just struck up under our 
 window, for the third time this morning, an uncommon good 
 quilting, but as it is, we will just sit still and let him grind 
 himself out. 
 
 Thank God, he's gone at last, though he has sorely put us 
 out. Let us see what was it we were writing about. Oh, we 
 have it — gentlemen-huntsmen and paid-huntsmen. Well, our 
 next sketch shall be that of a paid " Huntsman," a jolly black- 
 capped, red-faced, purple-lapped huntsman ; meanwhile we 
 will glance at the other duties of a " Master," lest the non- 
 hunting portion of the community may suppose " blowing 
 out" and " blowing, up " are the only qualifications requisite 
 for one. 
 
 For the benefit of embryo gentlemen-huntsmen, we may, 
 however, quote what Colonel Cook wrote on the subject in his 
 " Observations on Foxhunting "" — an able work written by a 
 practical sportsman, and published some twenty years ago — 
 " Gentlemen," says he, " should recollect, let their situation in 
 life be ever so exalted, if thej- condescend to hunt their own 
 hounds, that when in the field they are huntsvien ; a huntsman 
 is a public character, and as such is liable to have remarks and 
 criticisms made by the field (who it is always to be remem- 
 bered are hut lookers on, and as such are apt to flatter themselves 
 they knozu as much of the game as the actual player) and to be 
 spoken to b\- farmers and others on the occurrences which 
 
28 THE HUNTIX(i FIELD 
 
 commonly liappen in tlie day's hunting'; if thinj^s j^o on well, 
 and the sport is good, the Master of the pack is no doubt the 
 person most pleased, feeling conscious that his exertions con- 
 tribute much to the amusement of the day ; and there is cer- 
 tainly no pleasure more gratifying to ourselves than that of 
 pleasing others. On the contrary, if everything should go on 
 untowardly, which will frequently happen on a bad scenting 
 day, he ought to be mindful that the field likewise participates 
 in his disappointment." 
 
 Now for the other qualifications we dotted down in our first 
 paper : — 
 
 The generalship of a Master consists in making the most of 
 a country, and the greatest use of his friends. We don"t mean 
 to say he is to borrow money or horses of them, but he should 
 urge each individual to put his shoulder stoutly to the wheel to 
 promote the general interest in his particular locality. Thomp- 
 son's woodman can make up a gap in a cover without trouble 
 or expense ; but if the Master has to send a man half-a-dozen 
 or a dozen miles to do it, why there's a day work. Wise 
 Masters, however, will have nothing to do with covers. They 
 will leave them to the management of those whom Mr. Nichol 
 d — d in the aggregate. 
 
 Diplomacy, a genteel term for " humbugging," is an essential 
 requisite for a Master of Foxhounds. A Master, like yEsop's 
 hare, has generally " many friends," some of whom will advise 
 him diametrically the reverse on the same point. Is it not 
 diplomacy to make each believe you intend doing as he advises, 
 and yet have your own way after all ? The necessity for a 
 Master combining the liberality of a sailor with his other 
 qualifications, is sufficiently illustrated in the following obser- 
 vation of Lord Petre, then Master of a first-rate establishment, 
 to Mr. Delme Ratcliffe, when about to take the Hertfordshire 
 hounds : — " Remember, however," added his lordship, after 
 going through a recapitulation of the hundreds — " Remember, 
 
THE MASTER • ^'<' 
 
 however, that, after all this, you will never have 
 of your pocket, and must alwa3-s have a guinea in a. 
 . Decision is an indispensable requisite both for " Ma^ior " 
 and huntsman. It should be quick as thought ; and » 
 once taken, adhered to, unless very cogent reasons appi.ar to 
 the contrary. On this point, perhaps, we cannot do t^ 
 than quote Colonel Cook. " To hunt a country, and to •■ 
 the most of it, so as to give general satisfaction, requires si ii 
 consideration. Supposing you have a thorough knowledge of 
 it, use your own judgment, and never be led bj' others, fui 
 will find they have most commonly so\ne selfish motives, mu'. 
 will often mislead you. It is a common case," says he, " ^" 
 Master of hounds to be requested to draw such and sii 
 covert,* merely because it may happen to accommodate 
 of the gentlemen out, b)' lyin^ on their way home ; now . 
 acquiescence in this should ca ise no inconvenience or 
 
 alteration in the . ts made for the day, it v. 
 
 very well to rl' to oblige any pariicnl.:- 
 
 set of mt- n < .. t should nevertheless b: 
 
 all the held, that as people are in the habr, 
 distances /// ei<ery direction, to the point w ' 
 in the morning, by thus acceding t *' 
 
 are likely to inconvenience luam -. ' , 
 
 occasioning yourself, servants, hi .:d horsi 
 
 draw ha from home instead oi to'wan/s it) to remain put late in 
 a wet Decembf r night, without oven the moon or stars to guide 
 you. S n V ill mislead you to avoid having their 
 
 coverts . . ' f 'ring a tame pheasant may fly away to his 
 
 neighbours': . After all, it is best to be firm, and never e 
 
 change the plan of drawing which you have fixed upon and 5 
 
 considered to be the most probable one for sport. S x 
 
 " .-\ country ought to be regularly hunted, the good and the ^ 
 
 * This cbap puts in a " t." — Printers Devil. 
 
 <J 
 
 I 
 
 s 
 
o 
 
 te 
 
 a 
 o 
 
THE MASTER 29 
 
 however, that, after all this, you will never have your hand out 
 of your pocket, and must always have a guinea in it." 
 
 Decision is an indispensable requisite both for "Master" 
 and huntsman. It should be quick as thought ; and when 
 once taken, adhered to, unless very cogent reasons appear to 
 the contrary. On this point, perhaps, we cannot do better 
 than quote Colonel Cook. " To hunt a countrj', and to make 
 the most of it, so as to give general satisfaction, requires some 
 consideration. Supposing you have a thorough knowledge of 
 it, use your own judgment, and never be led by others, for you 
 will find they have most commonly some selfish motives, and 
 will often mislead you. It is a common case," says he, " for a 
 Master of hounds to be requested to draw such and such a 
 covert,* mereh' because it may happen to accommodate some 
 of the gentlemen out, by lying 07i their way liomc ; now if an 
 acquiescence in this should cause no inconvenience or material 
 alteration in the arrangements made for the day, it may be all 
 very well to do what you can to oblige any particular person or 
 set of men out ; but it should nevertheless be remembered by 
 all the field, that as people are in the habit of coming great 
 distances in every direction, to the point where the hounds meet 
 in the morning, by thus acceding to the wishes of a yi'zc you 
 are likely to inconvenience many ; besides the probability of 
 occasioning yourself, servants, hounds, and horses (should the 
 draw he from home instead oi tozvards it) to remain out late in 
 a wet December night, without even the moon or stars to guide 
 you. Some men will mislead you to avoid having their 
 coverts disturbed, fearing a tame pheasant may fly away to his 
 neighbours' preserves. After all, it is best to be firm, and never 
 change the plan of drawing which you have fixed upon and 
 considered to be the most probable one for sport. 
 
 " A country ought to be regularly hunted, the good and the 
 
 * This chap puts in a " t." — Printer's Devil. 
 
30 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 /'rtrt' alternately, to give general satisfaction, and in the long run 
 you will have a better chance of sport. If you are continually 
 disturbing your best country you may have blank days, and the 
 foxes Vk'ill be very shy ; where there are many earths they will 
 lay at ground. There can be no doubt but it must be more 
 agreeable to hunt a good country always, if you have extent 
 enough for an open season. Provided you cannot hunt the 
 inferior one, so as to give satisfaction, it is more liberal to give 
 it up altogether to some neighbouring pack, or even to some 
 one from a distance, who might be glad to hunt it regularly. 
 The keeping a country, or requiring owners of covers to pre- 
 serve, without hunting it, is too much to expect, and gives 
 people an opportunity of alluding to the story of the dog in 
 the manger." 
 
 Mr. Pryse Pryse, an old Master, summed up the relative 
 duties of himself and field very abl\-, in the following words, 
 at a dinner given hmi by the Goggerdan Hunt, some years 
 since: — "As a Master of Hounds," said he, "I have many 
 things to expect. I have a right to expect a strict preservation 
 of foxes from every one. I have a right to expect old foxes, 
 and also a strict preservation of cubs ; for, without young 
 foxes, the stock cannot be kept up, and blank days will be the 
 result." [Mr. Pryse Pryse would seem to have been hitting at 
 some of the Cottonwool tribe.] 
 
 "On the other hand," continues he, " you have a right to 
 expect from me the most polite attention in the field, and out 
 of the field, to expect a correct announcement of all the meets ; 
 in fact you have a right to expect me to hunt the country, not 
 for my own convenience, but to the satisfaction and amuse- 
 ment of others " 
 
 Some people, we may observe, are very difficult to please, 
 and very unreasonable in their expectations about hunting, 
 especially on the point of hounds going out without due notice. 
 Nothing can be more absurd, for any one who has watched 
 
THE MASTER 31 
 
 the weather and localities, must be aware that, during the 
 ticklish part of the season, hounds can often hunt in one part 
 of a country and not in another, and that "hunt" or "no 
 hunt " is sometimes the work of one capricious hour. When 
 the electric telegraph is established throughout the country, 
 out-lying gentlemen will have a better chance of being com- 
 municated with, but even then we question whether any of the 
 grumblers will come or not. As things stand, parties nearest 
 the kennel have the best chance, and properly so. Some 
 people are as difficult to please about their hunting as the 
 soldier was about his flogging. 
 
 Mr. Beckford appears to have been clear both of subscribers, 
 clubs, committees, and all the modern paraphernalia of the 
 chase, most likely paying everything himself, and accommoda- 
 ting such sportsmen as chose to come to him on his own 
 terms. At all events his book is silent on the management of 
 a country, as it is called, though he makes a distinction be- 
 tween managing a pack of hounds and hunting them. On the 
 former point he says : " Some art may be necessary to make 
 the most of the country that you hunt. I would advise you 
 not to draw the covers near your house while you can find 
 elsewhere ; it will make them certain places to find in when 
 you go out late, or may otherwise be in want of them. For the 
 same reason, I would advise you not to hunt those covers late 
 in the season. They should not be much disturbed after 
 Christmas. Foxes will then resort to them, will breed there, 
 and you can preserve them with little trouble." 
 
 We have heard various opinions as to the best man to hunt 
 a country, some advocating native Masters, others contending 
 that strangers are the best. It is a point on which much may 
 be said on both sides, though the great question hinges on the 
 style of man himself. Perhaps it may not be an unfair pro- 
 position to lay down, that a popular resident gentleman is 
 most likely to be agreeable to the farmers, while a sportsman 
 
32 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 of established reputation and station may unite the whole fox- 
 hunting force, and prevent the petty jealousies that sometimes 
 arise when a Master is drawn from the " body of the county," 
 as they say of a jury. Farmers will put up with a great deal 
 from a man they know. It is "stranger damage" they object 
 to — townsmen's particularly, not one in ten knowing what 
 they are riding over. " A lord," we may add, is a trump card 
 an}- where. 
 
 If we thought a Mastership and the duties of huntsman 
 too much for one man, what shall we say to the triplicate 
 character of a Master supported by subscription and hunting 
 the hounds ? We think we may say that a successful one is 
 little short of a miracle, an eighth wonder of the world, at all 
 events. We all know the ease and readiness with which people 
 find fault. Hunting critics, like Lord Byron's reviewing ones, 
 "are ready made;" and some think it necessary to censure, 
 just as others think it right to halloo, according to the amount 
 of their subscriptions. Nay, we have heard of men censuring 
 to escape subscribing, just as skinflint travellers used to pick 
 holes with guards and coachmen, to escape paying them. 
 The "hallooing and hunting tariff" was thus laid down by 
 Nimrod some years ago, and as no mention has been made of 
 it in an}' of Sir Robert Peel's new ones, we suppose it remains 
 the same, viz.. the man who subscribes twenty-five pounds 
 a-year ma\' halloo once, fifty twice ; but, if he give a hundred, 
 he may halloo all day long. 
 
 Hunt subscriptions are as difficult to realize as the assets 
 of a bankrupt tommy shopkeeper. Unless there is a huge 
 nest egg to start with, it is weary up-hill work trying to keep 
 a pack of hounds by what the hospital people call "voluntary 
 contributions." Voluntary contributions, forsooth ! We read 
 ill the " Old Sporting Magazine," that, at a fashionable Spa, a 
 poor laundress had been mulct of her few shillings towards the 
 keep of what brought the white breeches to her tub. This is 
 
THE MASTER 33 
 
 not as it should be. Much as we desire to uphold hunting, yet 
 we must advocate its support on proper gentlemanly principles. 
 Better knock-off a day a-week than resort to such means. If 
 such expedients are had recourse to, at idle, money-spending 
 watering-places, what can we expect from the hard money- 
 getting penury of the country ? 
 
 Some people may suppose that a Mastership of Hounds 
 is fulfilled with the mere home and field management, but 
 such is very far from being the case. A Master of Hounds 
 exercises no small influence on the manners, we might almost 
 say the morals of a countrjr, as well by his own example as 
 by the style of people his management brings about him. 
 Mankind are prone to imitation — young men, especially ; and 
 a Master of Hounds is of all others the most likely for them to 
 look up to. 
 
 " He who excels in what we prize. 
 Appears a hero in our eyes." 
 
 If the Master is what may be termed a show fox-hunter — 
 a dandified petit iiiaitre — he will have every chance of making 
 the field the same, for many will be glad to add what we may 
 call the " impotence of dress " to the general attractions of 
 the red coat. If the Master is a coarse, swearing, overbearing 
 fellow, his companions will be the same ; for there is no truer 
 saying, than that " birds of a feather flock together," and none 
 but blackguards will put up with one ; but if our Master is 
 what a Master ought to be — a high-minded, liberal, gentlemanly 
 man, affable with his equals, courteous to all, keen without 
 pedantry, neat without puppyism — he will not only raise the 
 character of fo.x-hunting generally, but will exercise a most 
 wholesome influence on the minds and manners of the rising 
 generation within his own peculiar sphere. And this leads us 
 to observe, that there is not, perhaps, in the whole range of 
 the duties of a Master, an act admitting of such graceful 
 compliments as the judicious presentation of the brush. It is 
 
 D 
 
34 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 in trifles such as this that tact and gentlemanly feeling are 
 shown. If a lady, Henrietta Cottonwool, for instance, is out. 
 looking after Smashgate, the flattering troph}-, of course, will 
 be hers. If not, the claims of the rising generation may be 
 considered. The younger the recipient the greater the charm. 
 " M}' first brush " is a recollection that will survive the more 
 important features of life. A stranger may be complimented. 
 "That brush was given me by the 'best fellow under the 
 sun,' after a good hour and twenty minutes, finding at Waterloo 
 Gorse, in the Harborough country, and running right up into 
 the heart of Leicestershire," is a fine speech for a Devonshire 
 sportsman to make to his provincial friends, as they sit sipping 
 their port and toasting their toes over the fire, on whose 
 ancient mantel-piece the proud trophy is stuck. The pads, 
 too, may be turned to account in the way of minor compli- 
 ments. Some men keep pad-deries. 
 
 Hunt dinners are nasty things, but upon the whole, perhaps, 
 they are advisable. If men ever have their purses in their 
 pockets — a problem that we almost doubt with regard to 
 some of the community — it will most likely be at "a hand 
 in the pocket " dinner, as hunt ones invariably are, and an 
 " insinivating"" secretary may cajole reluctant sovereigns from 
 those whom no penny postage efforts would move. Wonderful 
 world this ! Men talk of their thousands, from whom it is 
 easier to extract an eye-tooth than a sovereign. 
 
 In speaking of a " hunt dinner," we mean one of those 
 general hawls, that are meant to include '' all the world and 
 his wife," every one friendly to fo.xhunting, and not the 
 ordinary mess of sportsmen at their own wine depot. The latter 
 are generally very pleasant meetings, especially when divested 
 of form, speechifying, health-drinking, and so on. Toasts 
 should never be resorted to so long as men can talk. They 
 are sure to bring conversation to a check. But to business. 
 We have had our Master in Cottonwool's domestic circle, we 
 
THE MASTER 35 
 
 must now transport him to a worse scene — a hunt dinner at a 
 country inn — " time being called," as Nimrod says in the 
 Quarterly — "say a quarter to six — nearly our great-grand- 
 father's supper-hour," sundry boors in boots, and sundry boots 
 in shoes, are seen wending their ways in charge of sundry 
 buckets of soup, roasts and boils, sirloins, saddles, rounds, 
 geese, sucking pig, a haunch of venison, game, tarts, celery, 
 &c. By the time the odd quarter of an hour has elapsed they 
 have got them set square on the table, and all having cooled 
 alike, " the Master," who sometimes plays the double part of 
 " host " and " cock guest," leads the way from the travellers' 
 room, where the company have been deposited in the enjoy- 
 ment of damp great coats and stale smoke, followed by all the 
 " train band bold," who forthwith commence a desperate 
 onslaught on the wittles. 
 
 But our humane disposition shrinks from describing the 
 horrors of the evening — the hot wine and cold soup — the 
 fatless venison and the gravy-congealed mutton. Taking old 
 Cottonwool's for the alternative, we may truly say " the last 
 state of this Master is worse than the first." Wool's had the 
 redeeming quality of women — here it is all men. Instead of 
 first a foxhunter, then a lump of Cottonwool, &c., it is fox- 
 hunter and " preterea nihil." The only variety is here and 
 there a stranger, or man in morning's black coat dotted in 
 among the orange vermilion ones of the hunt. A wretched 
 old hack song, sung by a man with a spavin'd voice and a 
 desperate running at the nose, is all we have in lieu of the 
 vigorous but not unpleasant playing of the Miss Cottonwools. 
 But we are getting in advance of the evening ; for though we 
 spared the dinner we must have the speech. " Brief let it be," 
 as old Hamlet — not the jeweller — but the ghost of that name 
 said. Yarn spinning is only for harehunters. The best speech 
 we ever read, was one of the late Lord Kintore's, delivered on 
 the presentation of a piece of plate. A "Ciceronian Master" 
 
36 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 will easily adapt it to a " health," returning one for himself. 
 " Gentleman," said his lordship, " I hardly know how to thank 
 you for this totally uncalled for, and most unmerited mark of 
 your friendship towards me. If, during the dull winter months, 
 the foxhounds have shown you any sport, it has been owing 
 to your individual exertions in having preserved the foxes, in 
 having cut rides, &c., in your covers, with, I trust and hope I 
 may add, the goodwill of the tenantry to boot, that has enabled 
 me to show you sport. To you both I return my hearty 
 thanks. But to you, gentlemen, here present, in particular, I 
 cannot sufficiently express how much I appreciate this kind- 
 ness, and can now only beg you to accept the humble but 
 grateful thanks of an individual whose soul from his cradle has 
 been rivetted to the chase, and who will ever hold fast, until 
 the earth receives him, this distinguished token of your good- 
 will. Gentlemen, I have the honour to drink your good 
 healths, sincerely wishing from my heart, that unanimity, good- 
 fellowship, and foxhunting, may long flourish, in this northern, 
 but most hospitable ' land of cakes.' " 
 
 That's a true sportsman's speech ! Woe with the day that 
 took so good a Master from among us ! 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HUNTSMAN 
 " A huntsman's fame rises and falls with the sport he shows." 
 
 F we take the whole range 
 of servitude, we shall not 
 find any more deserving of 
 encouragement than hunts- 
 men and kennel servants 
 generally. There are none 
 more respectable in their con- 
 duct, none more energetic in 
 their calling, none more 
 faithful to their employers, 
 and none more obliging to 
 the world at large. 
 A huntsman occupies a somewhat middle station in society, 
 veering between equality and servitude. To a certain extent 
 a huntsman must be the companion and confidant of the 
 " Master," a feeling that generally extends itself to the hunting 
 field. Indeed, it is impossible not to feel a more than ordinary 
 interest for men imbued with the same passion, transported by 
 the same pleasures, and daily hazarding life and limb in the 
 furtherance of our enjoyments. Doubly strong it is when the 
 object is connected with our earliest recollections and associa- 
 tions. Beckford, that great sporting luminary, without whose 
 
38 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 book we " little goes " would get badly on, thus " endeavours," 
 as he says, to describe what a good Huntsman ought to be. 
 "He should," says he, "be young, strong, active, bold, and 
 enterprising ; fond of the diversion, and indefatigable in the 
 pursuit of it ; he should be sensible and good-tempered ; he 
 ought also to be sober ; he should be exact, civil, and cleanly ; 
 he should be a good horseman and a good groom ; his voice 
 should be strong and clear ; and he should have an eye so 
 quick as to perceive which of the hounds carries the scent, 
 when all are running ; and should have so excellent an ear as 
 always to distinguish the foremost hounds when he does not 
 see them ; he should be quiet, patient, and without conceit. 
 Such are the excellencies which constitute a good huntsman ; 
 he should not, however, be too fond of displaying them, till 
 necessity calls them forth. He should let his hounds alone, 
 whilst they can hunt, and he should have genius to assist them 
 wlicn they cainwt." 
 
 We think Mr. Beckford has left but little unsaid in his 
 catalogue of qualifications, though many of them hinge on the 
 first one, that of " youth." Doubtless, perpetual evergreenism 
 is a most desirable thing, and in engaging a Huntsman, 
 perhaps a Master of Hounds would hesitate ere he took one in 
 the decline of life ; but, still, something should be allowed for 
 experience, and a Master should bear in mind the many 
 remarkable men we have seen, some of whom combatted not 
 only with age but with weight. 
 
 Who can forget jolly old Roffey, that Surrey trump, or 
 Stephen Goodall, in Oxfordshire, men who were loads for 
 dray horses ; or, in point of years, old Ben Jennings, in 
 Dorsetshire, with his silvery locks ; or Will Neverd, Mr. 
 Warde's old Huntsman, who took a fresh place at seventy; 
 or old Tom Rose, the late Duke of Grafton's Huntsman, who 
 hunted the hounds till near eighty ; or Wmter, with Mr. 
 Lambton ; or Dick Forster, Mr. Villebois's old Huntsman, 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 39 
 
 reckoned the best woodland one of the day ; or Oldacre, with 
 the Berkeley ; or Lambert, with Lord Lonsdale ; or old Tom 
 Leedham, with Mr. Meynell, or Mr. Meynell Ingram, as he is 
 now called ; and doubtless many others, whose names do not 
 occur at this moment to our recollection ? 
 
 Some of the best men of recent times are on the wrong side 
 of fifty — Goosey, Sebright, Shirley, Williamson, Walker, 
 Burton, and, if we mistake not. Will Long. Davis, too, the 
 Queen's huntsman, is advancing, and Tom Hill must be 
 getting on, both in beef and age, but no one can do the trick 
 like Tom on the Surrey hills. He ought to be called Lord 
 Hill. 
 
 Mr. Smith, late Master of the Pytchley and Craven Hunts, 
 thus sums up his list of requisites for a Huntsman in his 
 " Diary of a Huntsman." " To be perfect," says he, " a Hunts- 
 man should possess the following qualifications : — Health, 
 memory, decision, temper and patience, voice and sight, 
 courage and spirits, perseverance, activity ; and with these 
 he will soon make a bad pack a good one. If quick, he will 
 make a slow pack quick ; if slow, he will make a quick pack 
 slow." 
 
 The following capital ad\ice cannot perhaps be more season- 
 ably introduced than at the present moment : — 
 
 "But first, to become a good one he must have a fair chance," 
 says Mr. Smith, " and should not be interfered with by any one 
 after he leaves the place of meeting ; previous to which, on all 
 occasions, it would be best if the Master of hounds was to 
 arrange with him which covers should be drawn first, &c. It 
 rarely happens that two men think exactly alike, and unless he 
 is capable of judging for himself after the above arrangement 
 (which had much better be done over night) the Master is to 
 blame in keeping him ; but if he is capable, the Master is to 
 blame by interfering ; for, consequently, the man will be ever 
 thinking — what does Master think ? and will not gain that 
 
40 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 independence of thought and action so necessary to be a match 
 for a fox on most occasions ; for instance, at a check there are 
 many apparently trifling ideas and thoughts in a Huntsman's 
 head, which he cannot explain to his Master, if asked why he 
 does this or that ; but, instead of answering, drops his bridle 
 hand and listens to his Master, although he has made observa- 
 tions of trifles which are often all he has for his guidance, and 
 frequently are sufficient to recover his fox ; but probably no 
 other person noticed them — such as this : The pack is running 
 best pace ; he sees one hound turn his head, and fling to the 
 right or left a pace or two. Shortly after there is a check (say 
 500 yards) ; when he has "made the usual casts he recollects the 
 hound turning his head, and then goes back so far, and hits off 
 the scent ; but he could or could not tell any one wh}- he was 
 going back. It is such like trifling observations that Huntsmen 
 profit b}', though unnoticed by others." 
 
 It is the want of decision that makes committees such 
 deplorable things. There is so much hesitation, so much 
 stopping, so much debating, so much chopping and changing, 
 that the indecision of the Masters communicates itself to the 
 field. We never see a lot of committee-men clubbing heads 
 with the Huntsman without being tempted to ask for the 
 "ballot-box."' Give us a good absolute monarchy! None of 
 your three or four Kings of Brentford, all smelling at the same 
 nosegay ! Gentlemen who navigate the Thames cannot fail 
 to have observed a notice " not to speak to the man at the 
 wheel," and in addition to the excellent hint Mr. Smith gives 
 to " Masters," it would be very desirable to inculcate some such 
 precept as the steamboat one upon the field at large. A Hunts- 
 man, at all events, after he leaves the meet, has something else 
 to do than receive and exchange the compliments of the morn- 
 ing, talk of the weather, the state of the countrj-, or the filth of 
 the roads. He should be running over the day's work in his 
 mind's eye, thinking what he did when he was last at the cover 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 41 
 
 he is now going to draw, considering what is the difference in 
 the day, and a hundred other things, " too numerous to insert 
 in a handbill," as the auctioneers say. Young gentlemen in 
 jackets, and, indeed, middle-aged ones in new scarlet coats, 
 must not, therefore, take it amiss if Huntsmen become strangely 
 monos3'lIabic after leaving the meet, nor must they set them 
 down as grumpy and ill-natured if they don't laugh at their 
 wit. 
 
 With the reader's permission we will take another slice of 
 Smith — rather fatter, too, than the last. " That a Huntsman 
 should be a good rider," says he, " is proved by everj' check the 
 hounds come to when he is away ; for even when he is present 
 he will have enough to do to prevent over-riding ; but unless he 
 can ride at head, and see the very spot on which the}' throw up, 
 he will be puzzled to know who of those up to apply to, and 
 must often use his own judgment ; in short, the greatest use he 
 can be of, when on a good scent, is to prevent men doing 
 mischief; therefore he must have nerve to ride well up, and 
 equal to any man in the kingdom ; for, unless he can be forward 
 enough to look men in the face and request them to hold hard, 
 he may ride behind and call after them till he is hoarse, and 
 they will not turn their heads, probably believing that jealousy 
 alone is the cause, and they go the faster for it ; but, if he is in 
 his place, none but a madman will do mischief if requested to 
 pull up : even the hard riders from the universities (that is, if 
 they can stop their horses) will do so." 
 
 Some Huntsmen are far greater fidgets about their hounds 
 than others, both on the road and in the field. It is doubtless 
 advisable always to keep hounds clear of horses ; but as there 
 is generally some gentleman who will "talk to the man at the 
 whe2l," and as no one likes to be last, even on the road, the 
 consequence is the field will crowd to the head. Some Hunts- 
 men have their hounds all huddled round their horses' heels, 
 others will give them as much line as a regiment of guards, but 
 
42 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 perhaps the best course is to keep them together in a crowd, 
 and give them room when alone. 
 
 We are not, however, going to set up to teach Huntsmen 
 their busmess, fearing we might get the rebuke Naylor, the 
 York and Ainsty Huntsman, administered to Nimrod, when he 
 said "he had forgotten more than Nimrod ever knew''; but 
 there are a few observations of Mr. Smith, himself a gentleman 
 huntsman of no small celebrity, that may be administered like a 
 cordial ball without ruffling the coat. Here is one. " There is 
 nothing more disheartening to a field of sportsmen than for a 
 Huntsman, or Master of Hounds, to trifle with them hy prctend- 
 ing to draw for a fox, when it is evident they do not intend to 
 let the hounds find one if they can help it, by taking them 
 through the parts of a cover quickly where there is no laying, 
 although there is good on the other side, which they avoid, and 
 it would be a certain find if they would let the hounds draw it ; 
 or probably missing other sure places, and drawing unlikely 
 ones, until their time is spun out that they may go home."' 
 
 Of course there are days — windy ones, for instance — or days 
 when few sportsmen are out, on which it is desirable to shut up 
 as soon as possible ; but in these cases it is always well to give 
 the " regulars " the hint, by doing which Huntsmen will not 
 only save censure, but the retirement of the forces will materi- 
 ally aid their retreat with the hounds. There is a discretion, 
 however, in all this, which shows the man with the head from 
 the man without. Tom Babbleton would tell all the country 
 that they merely took the hounds out for show, while Sir Rasper 
 Smashgate, or old Peter Pigskin, would acknowledge the pro- 
 priety of the step and go home at once. Few sportsmen like to 
 leave hounds while a chance of sport remains. Here is another 
 hint. " When a Huntsman is requested to draw for a second 
 fox late in the day, it would be fair to say, ' Gentlemen, we 
 have had work lately, and have some distance home ; but if I 
 do find, will j-ou promise not to leave me till it is finished ? ' " 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 43 
 
 Some men are very inconsiderate and unreasonable, never 
 thinking hounds, horses, or men can do too much when they 
 happen to be out, especially if the draw they recommend is in 
 their way home. 
 
 But to the qualifications of a Huntsman : — Beckford said " he 
 was not very ambitious of having a famous Huntsman, unless 
 it necessarily followed that he must have famous hounds ; a 
 conclusion," writes he, " I cannot admit as long as these so 
 famous gentlemen will be continually attempting themselves to 
 do what would be much better done if left to their hounds ; 
 besides, they seldom are good servants, are always conceited, 
 and sometimes impertinent. I am very well satisfied if my 
 Huntsman be acquainted with his country and his hounds, if 
 he ride well up to them, and if he have some knowledge of the 
 nature of the animal which he is in pursuit of; but so far am I 
 from wishing him to be famous, that I hope he will continue to 
 think his hounds know best how to hunt a fox." 
 
 If we were hiring a Huntsman, we should like him to be bred 
 in the hunting line. We cannot fancy a house-painter's or 
 cobbler's son assuming the saddle and horn, and setting up as 
 Huntsman. Doubtless there are fellows who have impudence 
 enough to set up for anything — archbishops, if they saw an 
 opening — and we think they would almost as soon fulfil the 
 duties of one as the other. It is not every wide-throated 
 fellow with "nought to do, and who likes hontin vastly," as they 
 say in Yorkshire, that will make a Huntsman — not a Huntsman 
 to foxhounds, though we are not sure but a good bow-backed 
 pedestrian, with his head well down to the ground for " prick- 
 ing," would not make as good a harrier Huntsman as the best. 
 The two offices are as different as horse-riding and donkey- 
 riding. They both "go," certainlj', but the "stop" of the 
 business is the thing. And yet we have seen fellows who, 
 because they have been able to circumvent a hare, have thought 
 themselves qualified for foxhounds. The simile of the horse and 
 
44 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 the ass may be carried still further. Turn a horse loose and 
 you don't know where he will go ; but give a donkey his head, 
 and see if he won't stop. It is just the same with a fox and a 
 hare. You never know where a fox is bound, but a hare is 
 almost invariably within the circle of the " magic ring." The 
 fox is travelling, the hare perhaps squatting under your horse's 
 feet. So far from having hunted harriers being a qualification 
 for hunting foxhounds, we should say it was a downright 
 objection. You have to unteach the harrier man all he knows, 
 before you begin to teach. Better have a fresh horn and begin 
 a new spoon. We would rather have a fellow from the roughest 
 pack going, whose constant pursuit had been '' fox," than one 
 of the psalm-singing gentry. Not that we decry harehunting 
 as a sport ; legitimately followed it is capital amusement, but 
 we should never take a Huntsman for foxhounds from a pack 
 of harriers. Instead of thinking which way the fox had gone, 
 he would be always thinking which way he had come. 
 
 We once heard of a harrier genius who, on the strength of 
 having successfully manoeuvred some ten or twelve couple of 
 waffling beggars, undertook the situation of Huntsman to a 
 scratch pack of foxhounds. A scratch pack of foxhounds, 
 especially a newly set up one, is always a dangerous thing. 
 You have all the \\ild, resolute, vigorous power of the animal 
 without the discipline ; added to this, theyare generally composed 
 of the wild, vicious, savage hounds of other packs ; things that 
 escape hanging by going to scratch ones. Having, however, 
 subdued the merr\' mettle of the harriers, generally with a rate, 
 at all events with a cut of the whip, our hero thinking foxhounds 
 were to be similarl}- kept down, " broke kennel " the morning 
 after his somewhat sudden installation, with a very riotous 
 crew at his horse's heels. He got to the place of meeting with 
 his own and the noisy efforts of a young clown in boots, and 
 the field began to assemble. The meet was in a valley, and un- 
 fortunately on the opposite hill were some newly stubbed, but 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 45 
 
 faded gorse bushes. A slight breeze caught one of these, and 
 set it a-going on the brow of the hill. The hounds caught view 
 and dashed away full cry, Soup and Chaw riding, rating, and 
 rioting, which the hounds were just as likely to take for 
 encouragement as not. On they went full cry, at a most 
 determined pace, when, wonderful to relate. Chaw instead of 
 riding at their sterns, got round them, and with uplifted whip 
 was about commencing operations, when the horse, unused to 
 such a charge, suddenly stopped short ; Chaw pitched over its 
 head ; away went the horse with the hounds full cry after it, for 
 two miles, when fortunately or unfortunately, according to the 
 value of the respective animals, a flock of sheep interposed, or 
 as Soup deposed, he verily believed they would have eaten horse 
 saddle and all. As it was, they compounded by taking several 
 saddles ofmutton. This, it may be said, might have happened 
 to any pack; indeed, Beckford relates a somewhat similar 
 accident with his hounds, owing to the falling off of a whipper- 
 in at exercise ; but it is nevertheless perfectly true, that an 
 acquaintance with harriers unfits a man for appreciating the 
 discipline requisite for foxhounds. They think too lightly of it. 
 They are like a friend of ours, who being asked if he thought he 
 could edit a Newspaper, replied " he thought any old woman in 
 their workhouse could do that." 
 
 Huntsmen are well aware of the feeling of harrier huntsmen, 
 and some of them seem to take a pleasure in selling an innocent 
 a bargain. We once overheard a dialogue between a young 
 scratch pack gentleman Huntsman and a top-sawyer, which 
 concluded by the young one, after sundry sporting and pertinent 
 questions about a draft he had recently got, saying, he " sup- 
 posed they had never worried sheep." ''Oh, no, sir," replied the 
 Huntsman with a shake of his head and touch of his cap, 
 adding, sotto voce, to a friend at his side, " but tlicy d — d soon 
 wilir 
 
 A " real tool," or " cake," of a Huntsman is a thing one 
 
4() THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 rarely meets with, at least not in a civilized country. We once 
 saw a fellow arrive in a greasy hat, and an old drab great coat 
 over an older red one, on a visit of inspection to another pack, 
 who was pointed out as Huntsman to the Scampington hounds, 
 and very like the thing he looked. They said he was the 
 cleverest hand at drawing on a public house that ever was seen ; 
 no matter whether he had ever been in the country before or 
 not, he could always find them, and his nose did credit to the 
 liquor. As to hunting a pack of hounds he had not the slightest 
 idea. When at length he got straggled up at a check, instead of 
 making a cast at once with promptitude and decision he would 
 sit on his horse exclaiming, "Ah, dear! whichiver way can he 
 have gone? Which way ^o yoti think he's gone, Mr. Brown ? 
 Which way Ao yon, Mr. Green ? " 
 
 Huntsmen — hounds, servants in general — have one charming 
 quality ; they look down upon every other species of amuse- 
 ment with the most superlative contempt. We like this. It 
 shows genuine enthusiasm, without which there is little chance 
 for anything in this world. We never heard or read of but one 
 servant who followed hunting merely as a livelihood, without 
 reference to the enjoyment, and without having any natural 
 inclination that way, or indeed any pleasure in the chase, and 
 that was a man of the name of Filer, formerly Huntsman to 
 the Craven hounds, who used candidly to say, " he never liked 
 foxhunting, but having been bred up with hounds he would 
 stick to them." We have heard of men being brought up to 
 the bar, the sea, or the church, and not liking their professions, 
 but sticking to them ; but really, for a man to stick to hunting 
 merely because he had been brought up with hounds, does 
 seem a piece of pure self-devotion. He had better have turned 
 policeman. How different to some of the stories that Beckford 
 and Cook tell ! Old Luke Freeman, who hunted Lord Egre- 
 mont's hounds, used to say to his lordship's sons, when he 
 caught them reading, " Stoody, stoody, stoody ! aye studying 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 47 
 
 they books ! take, I say, my advice, sir, and stoody fox- 
 hunting." Luke, Colonel Cook says, gave his whole body and 
 and mind to it, and famously he succeeded, as all the country 
 around could testify. A wag, for amusement, and to annoy a 
 musical friend that was present, asked the old Huntsman 
 " how he employed his time out of the hunting season ? " 
 The veteran disdained a reply to a question that showed so 
 little knowledge of the duties and cares of a Huntsman, and 
 the querist proceeded with, " What think you of music for 
 an amusement ? " " Music ! " contemptuously echoed Luke. 
 " Aye, fiddling, Mr. Freeman." " Fiddling, fiddling," replied 
 Luke; "it's all very well for cripples, poor things! I always 
 give them a halfpenny when I sees them at the fairs." Beck- 
 ford has a cut at the musicians also. " Louis the Fifteenth," 
 writes he, " was so passionately fond of hunting that it occu- 
 pied him entirely. The then King of Prussia, who never 
 hunted, gave up a great deal of his time to music, and himself 
 played on the flute. A German meeting a Frenchman, asked 
 him, very impertinently, 'Si son viaitrc chassoit toujours?' 
 ' Oiii, oiti^ replied the other, ' // ncjoiic jamais dc la flute' " 
 
 A Huntsman's head generally runs upon hunting. If he 
 rides, or rails through a country, he looks at it with reference 
 to riding over it. If he examines the crops, it is merely to 
 see when they will be ripe. Woodland scenery draws forth 
 observations upon cub-hunting. Hills are looked at with an 
 eye to the easiest way up. When Williamson, the Duke of 
 Buccleuch's Huntsman, visited London, his Grace told him he 
 must see the sights. " But," replied Wool, as they call him, 
 though he is no relation of our friend Cottonwool, " I don't 
 know the country, and shall be lost." His Grace then sent 
 him out on horseback, with a groom after him, and Nimrod 
 says Wool was taken for a newly-made lord. Talking of 
 countries reminds us of a story they used to tell of the late 
 Lord Spencer, when Lord Althorp, and Dick Knight, his 
 
48 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Huntsman. His lordship had been talking at the meet to 
 some gentlemen about political'matters, and had made use of 
 the old hack observation that the " country was ruined — "' 
 
 "Ah," said Dick Knight, with a sigh, "they nn'i/cd i\\e 
 country when they made the Oxford Canal." 
 
 It is singular that such a narrow strip of water as the 
 British Channel should make such a perfect division between 
 the tastes, the feelings, and inclinations of the people. What 
 would be prized and followed at Dover would be scouted and 
 laughed at at Calais or Boulogne. We are alluding, of course, 
 to hounds, for which the French have not the slightest feeling, 
 inclination, or sympathy. Children in England all rush with 
 delight to see them pass — French ones stare and wonder if the 
 " soldiers" are going to kill and eat them up with the dogs. 
 Hunting is quite the peculiar taste of Britons, and let people 
 say what they will, it must exercise a most beneficial influence 
 on the national character. Let any one look at a field of fox- 
 hunters in full chase, and say whether such men are likely to 
 be stopped at a trifle or not. Above all, let them look at the 
 Huntsmen and Whip, and fancy them with swords in their 
 hands instead of whips. Why, they would charge a regiment 
 of devils in complete armour ! The Duke of Wellington, 
 himself a foxhunter, and a real friend to the sport, used to say 
 that for daring, dashing deeds, there were none like the fox- 
 hunting officers. We believe he generally selected them to 
 carry despatches and other difficult duties on the battle-field. 
 
 A Frenchman looks at the " C/iassc," a term they apply 
 equally to sparrow-shooting and stag-hunting, as a mere 
 means of achieving an end with the smallest possible trouble. 
 They can't understand the wit of giving ourselves the trouble 
 of pursuing an animal over hill and dale, that we can exter- 
 minate at first sight. They are all for lead. Colonel Cook, who 
 resided many years in France, relates how that having some 
 ten couple of hounds consigned to him, he took them into the 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 
 
 49 
 
 Duke de Albufera (Suchet's) covers at Tankerville, and after a 
 long draw found a fox in a piece of gorse in an open country, 
 which being immediately headed into the mouth of the hounds, 
 a French gentleman rode up, and taking off his hat, exclaimed, 
 " Sir, I congratulate j'ou on catching him so soon, and with so 
 little trouble ! " Frenchmen have a mortal horror of the idea 
 of a pack of hounds, imagining that if they once get into a 
 cover they will destroy every living thing in it. On this occa- 
 sion, however, those that were out found great fault with the 
 chiens Anglais, asserting that they were good for nothing, for 
 they would neither hunt hares, rabbits, nor rats. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE HUNTSMAN — CONTINUED 
 
 " I have always thought a Huntsman a happy man ; his office is pleasing, 
 and at the same time flattering ; we pay him for that which diverts him, 
 and he is enriched by his greatest pleasure ; nor is a general after a 
 victory more ])roud than is a Huntsman who returns with his fox's head." — 
 Beckford. 
 
 N our last we glanced at the 
 character and some of the 
 duties of the Huntsmen, and 
 ran over the names of several 
 who have distinguished them- 
 selves in their calling. The 
 list was composed more of 
 by-gone or fading flowers 
 than of the rising geniuses 
 of the present day, because it creates no jealousy to award 
 praise where all allow it, and our object in writing these 
 sketches is to encourage a wholesome spirit of hunting, and 
 not to flatter this man or that at the expense of his neighbours. 
 Comparisons are always odious to some one, and there is no 
 truer saying than that a Huntsman's fame rises and falls with 
 the sport he shows. At the same time it is but justice to add, 
 that there are many Huntsmen at work in our different counties 
 whose fame will bear comparison with the best of those gone 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 51 
 
 by. When their waning day arrives, may some abler pen 
 portray their merits. 
 
 The Huntsman of our Analysis is one of the old school ; his 
 father was Huntsman before him, his sons now whip in to him. 
 He has neither read Beckford " On Hunting," nor Nimrod on 
 " Condition of Hunters," but he can kill a fox with any man 
 going, and turn out his horse in as good condition as the best. 
 He carries his library in his head — experience. Look at the 
 old boy as he sits astride his glossy, well-conditioned black, his 
 venerable grey locks protruding beneath his new black cap, his 
 spic and span coat, his fortieth scarlet, with the stout drab 
 breeches and mahogany tops. He sits on his horse as if he 
 were a part of him. Old Will is our Huntsman's name. He 
 most likely has another, but we never heard him called by 
 anything else, and possibly he may have forgotten his surname 
 himself Old Will and young Will and Will junior (or sweet 
 Will, as the girls call the young one, who is a bachelor), are 
 the trio now moving the hounds about on the bright green 
 sward, for Will, though no painter, knows that there is nothing 
 like a dark background for setting off colours to advantage. 
 How quiet he is with the hounds ! He gives them their fling, 
 too, instead of having them cowering under his horse's legs to 
 avoid the sting of the Whipper-in's lash, but a gentle ''here 
 again," with a slight wave of the hand, brings the outsiders 
 frolicking back to his call. How much better than the noisy, 
 bullying clamour of idiot boys, showing off, by the loudness of 
 their rates, the severity of their cuts, and the trashing of their 
 horses. 
 
 There isn't a gap, or a gate, or a hole in the wall in the 
 country, that Old Will does not know, and that he hasn't been 
 over or through a hundred times. Time has slackened his 
 leaping powers, but he is a capital hand at screwing through 
 awkward places, and he always saves his horse in anticipation 
 of a long day. He never seems in a hurry, and yet he is 
 
52 THE III NTING FIELD 
 
 always near his hounds ; he ne\er gallops when he can trot, or 
 takes a leap when he can go through a gap. Old Will is sixty- 
 seven, but he is not older than most men at fifty. He has not 
 an ounce of superfluous flesh upon him, and is as equal to four 
 days a week as he was at twent}-. 
 
 Will and his Whips are turned out as they should be. They 
 look as if they were going to ride across country instead of to 
 canter up and down Rotten Row after my lord or my lady. 
 We don't like to see dandified Huntsmen and Whips. Over- 
 dressed gentlemen are bad enough in the field, let us have no 
 over-dressed servants. Shooters always put on their stoutest 
 and worst things, wet or dr\-, wood or open ; but some fox- 
 hunters seem to think that only the best of everything will do 
 for hunting. Then, if the}' get to the meet in apple-pie order, 
 they don't care how soon after they spoil themselves, save and 
 except, and always reserved, the Muffs and Fribbleton Browns 
 who are going to lunch, with the Miss Cottonwools. They 
 don't care how soon they get awaj' after the pride of the meet 
 is over. 
 
 Huntsmen and Whips should all wear caps. Nothing looks 
 so ugly as servants in hats. Strange that Lord Darlington, 
 who was painted by Marshall in the cap and spare stirrup- 
 leather of the Huntsman, should, in his ducal days, have put 
 his men in hats. Lord Lonsdale, too, had his in them latterly, 
 and very slow they looked. Hats should only be worn at 
 exercise. Modern times have introduced some frightful pro- 
 jections at the back of some hunting caps, like sheds thrown 
 out at the backs of lodges. On inquirj-, we found the}' were 
 meant to turn the wet off the wearer's back. The same 
 purpose would be answered by turning the cap peak backwards 
 in wet weather, as Tom Rounding used to do at a wet Epping 
 hunt. This would sa%'e the wearer's neck, and also the 
 disfigurement of an otherwise sporting and seeml}- article of 
 dress. The projections make caps look like barbers" basons. 
 
rilE HUNTSMAN :>:] 
 
 Gentlemen never look well in caps. A cap and a frock coat 
 should always go together. A gentleman in a cutaway coat 
 and a cap looks as absurd as a courtier would in a round hat. 
 
 Leather breeches are stupid things for field servants. If the 
 breeches are good, they are heavy, and require a deal of 
 cleaning to keep them in order, and nothing can be more 
 unsightly than thin, dingy, parchment-looking, ill-kept ones. 
 Hunting servants have plenty to do without cleaning leather 
 breeches. Lord Yarborough's men, we believe, wear them ; 
 but it is not every Master that has his lordship's purse. His 
 lordship's men are the only ones we ever saw really well 
 turned out in leathers. The Warwickshire men used to wear 
 them in Boxall's time, but they would have looked better in 
 cords. The Atherstone men, in Mr. Applewaite's time, were 
 as well turned out as any men of the day, in neat cords, 
 the same colour and pattern. 
 Servants' dress shonlil V>^- ■■ 
 They have nianv a >' • 
 ing and an 
 know nothi; 
 
 at the meet ai iiaii-paii uu 
 know whence they came, nor 
 them, much as people look ; • 
 expect to find the dc 
 in the orchestra, after which f 
 
 matter of course; they are but speciaiors, lice to stu.y ur go 
 as the humour seizes them. The Huntsmen and whips, 
 however, must stay till the close of the entertainment, some- 
 times longer, unless, indeed, the Huntsman is content to go g 
 away, leaving lost hounds to " follow on," as a treasure of a 
 
 ;i1 
 
 :. uann, and 
 
 wen 
 
 !b. r ! 
 
 
 r^, cold ride. 
 
 b^t' 
 
 
 
 .ntraiity of 
 
 
 
 
 • y of m«; 
 
 
 
 jr 
 
 '.!i . ■ 
 
 
 
 ,h 
 
 ruh. 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 man we knew used to say. We spoke in the past ten?e, but v x 
 
 o 
 
 U 
 
 we knoiu him still, only he carries a horn with letters on a 
 mule, instead of pretending to hunt hounds, and ho seems m 
 
 quite in his right place now. ^ 
 
 < 
 
 ^ 00 
 
HI 
 
 a 
 It 
 
 X. 
 
 X It 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 00 
 
 a 
 » 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 53 
 
 Gentlemen never look well in caps. A cap and a frock coat 
 should always go together. A gentleman in a cutaway coat 
 and a cap looks as absurd as a courtier would in a round hat. 
 
 Leather breeches are stupid things for field servants. If the 
 breeches are good, they are heavy, and require a deal of 
 cleaning to keep them in order, and nothing can be more 
 unsightly than thin, dingy, parchment-looking, ill-kept ones. 
 Hunting servants have plenty to do without cleaning leather 
 breeches. Lord Yarborough's men, we believe, wear them ; 
 but it is not every Master that has his lordship's purse. His 
 lordship's men are the only ones we ever saw really well 
 turned out in leathers. The Warwickshire men used to wear 
 them in Boxall's time, but they would have looked better in 
 cords. The Atherstone men, in Mr. Applewaite's time, were 
 as well turned out as any men of the day, in neat cords, all of 
 the same colour and pattern. 
 
 Servants' dress should be stout, warm, and weather defying. 
 They have many a weary, trashing, cold ride, both of a morn- 
 ing and an evening, that the generality of hound followers 
 know nothing about. If the generality of men find the hounds 
 at the meet at half-past ten or eleven, they neither care to 
 know whence they came, nor whither they go. They look at 
 them, much as people look at a play ; at a certain hour they 
 expect to find the doors open, and " nosey " scraping his fiddle 
 in the orchestra, after which all is looked upon as a mere 
 matter of course ; they are but spectators, free to stay or go 
 as the humour seizes them. The Huntsmen and whips, 
 however, must stay till the close of the entertainment, some- 
 times longer, unless, indeed, the Huntsman is content to go 
 away, leaving lost hounds to " follow on," as a treasure of a 
 man we knew used to say. We spoke in the past tense, but 
 we know him still, only he carries a horn with letters on a 
 mule, instead of pretending to hunt hounds, and he seems 
 quite in his right place now. 
 
54 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 The Huntsman is the main spring in the macliinery of a 
 hunting estabhshment, and upon his good conduct greatly 
 depends the comfort and pleasure of the Master. If the 
 Huntsman is — what we must do them the justice of saying 
 the generality of them are — a steady, honest, careful, accurate, 
 economical, intelligent, painstaking man, holding the money 
 scales fairly between his master and the public, neither cheat- 
 ing himself, nor suffering others to cheat, soothing asperities, 
 rather than creating them, demolishing difficulties rather than 
 raising them ; he will be a credit to himself, a comfort to his 
 master, and the ornament of a circle composed of men not 
 onh- well capable of appreciating, but also in the habit of 
 substantially rewarding respectability of character and keen- 
 ness displayed in their service. But if a Huntsman is a low- 
 lived, careless, gossiping, drinking, grinding fellow, seeking 
 only to feather his own nest, and that in the shortest possible 
 time, he will be a torment to himself and everybody about 
 him ; and when he loses his place, which he most likely very 
 soon will, he will find his character so blown, that the mere 
 mention of his name to any other master will insure him a 
 polite answer that he has no occasion for liis services. A pack 
 of hounds without a good Huntsman are very much like a 
 fiddle without a stick. 
 
 Despite, however, what we have said about the liberality 
 of sportsmen to huntsmen and hound servants, we cannot but 
 feel that, considering what they do, the risks they run, and 
 the zeal the}- show, they are sometimes rather under than over 
 paid. Compare them, for instance, with jockej'S, who occupy 
 a somewhat similar position in the racing, to what hound 
 servants do in the hunting world. A jockey gets his two or 
 three guineas a race, winning or losing, but if he wins a good 
 stake for his employer, there is no saj'ing to what extent the 
 delightful delirium of the moment may induce a victorious 
 master to go. We have heard that Jem Robinson got a 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 55 
 
 thousand guineas for winning the Leger once, but suppose it 
 was only a hundred, what Huntsman ever got a tithe of that 
 for kilhng a fox ? A race is but a momentary spasm compared 
 to a hard run over a difficult countr}-, and the dangers of the 
 one are nothing compared to those of the other, but the 
 produce is oftentimes very different. It is not, however, for 
 the purpose of making servants dissatisfied with their places 
 that we have made these observations ; on the contrary, we 
 will remind them that hunting, unlike racing, does not admit 
 of money making, consequently they must put down as no 
 small part of their perquisites the enjoyment they themselves 
 derive from the pleasures of the chase, and remember that 
 though some jocke3-s may get large presents, yet their em- 
 ployment is precarious, and that it is better to have the 
 certainty of a Huntsman's wages than the capricious windfalls 
 of the uncertain goddess, Fortune ; but we alluded to their 
 pecuniary position for the purpose of encouraging the custom 
 that has now almost entirely superseded the old one of 
 capping — namely, that of gentlemen making huntsmen and 
 hound servants presents apart from their wages. Capping 
 certainly had its advantages, but perhaps its disadvantages 
 preponderated. It added interest to energy, and perhaps 
 spurred what might have been otherwise indolent men into 
 activity, but it encouraged mobbing and bag foxhunting, 
 which are both highly inimical to the chase. It is not killing 
 the animal that constitutes the charm of foxhunting, but it is 
 matching the vigour, boldness, and cunning of a wily animal 
 with the faculties and sagacities of others ; putting them on 
 fair terms, as it were, and trying which has the best of it. 
 Mr. Smith says, in his " Diary of a Huntsman," that there 
 are foxes that can beat any hounds if they have time to prepare 
 themselves, and have a fair start. 
 
 Another recommendation that capping on the death had, 
 was, that it was done at a time when men's hearts were open 
 
M THE HITNTING FIELD 
 
 to the f^'cnerous impulses — they had just partaken of the 
 highest enjoyment they know, and, when an Enghshman's 
 heart is fairly moved, it always finds vent through his pocket- 
 hole. The sportsman was carried away by the enthusiasm of 
 the moment, and the hand went in almost naturally. Let him 
 cool, let the cap be next week, and it will be very like paying 
 a heavy doctor's bill a year after a recovery, though we would 
 gladly have discharged it at the end of the illness. Some 
 people cannot resist capping as it is. Old Pigskin's hand, for 
 instance, dives into his drabs as naturally as can be at the 
 end of a good run, and Piggy's liberality leads us to say a 
 few words on the tax-gathering style of collecting. In some 
 hunts, busy men, or men who like to take the credit of others' 
 liberality, institute a sort of compulsory subscription, levying 
 an equal rate on the man who hunts his half-a-dozen days a 
 season, as upon the man who hunts his four or five days a 
 week, dividing what they get with due importance and perhaps 
 some favouritism. This is as bad, or perhaps worse, than the 
 old half-crown system. It takes a guinea from the man who 
 perhaps would give five, and makes a man pay a guinea to 
 whom five shillings is an object. It puts Piggy and Sir Rasper 
 Smashgate on an equality as to means. When lecturing Mrs. 
 Forcemeat Cottonwool on her treatment of our Master at 
 dinner, we advised her to give him credit for knowing his 
 stomach better than she did, and so in this case we advise 
 gentlemen to let others be the judges of their own means. Let 
 every man give what is convenient to him, and give at his 
 own time. Never mind if a few dirty scamps do escape. 
 Huntsmen and Whips have too much spirit to wish to take 
 money from such beggars. Let them ride over them the first 
 time they get them down, or give their loose horses a cut 
 instead of catching them. 
 
 Capping has been going out of fashion ever since the present 
 century came in. Mr. Corbet, we believe, was the last great 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 57 
 
 Master who allowed it, and with the large fields that attended 
 his hounds, and the many killing runs they had, "Will Barrow 
 and Co." as Nimrod called them, made a good thing of it. 
 Will was a provident man, and when he died 1,400/. in money 
 was found in old stockings and all sorts of odd places, in boxes 
 where he kept his clothes, besides suits that had never been 
 on, sufficient for a union workhouse. They still pursue the 
 system for the benefit of Lord Hill with the Surrey hounds, 
 and if it is allowable anywhere, it perhaps is in the neighbour- 
 hood of London, where chance gentlemen may be out every 
 day, that they may never have the pleasure of seeing again. 
 
 The reader will observe that the motto to this paper, taken 
 from Mr. Beckford's " Thoughts upon Hunting," speaks of 
 the Huntsman being "enriched by his greatest pleasure," 
 which in a note he explains to be the field money, collected at 
 the death of a fox. But he goes on to show that capping 
 even then was not universally approved of. " I have heard 
 that a certain duke," writes he, " who allowed no vails to his 
 servants, asked his Huntsman what he generally made of his 
 field money, and gave him what he asked instead of it ; this 
 went on very well for some time, till at last the Huntsman 
 desired an audience. ' Your grace,' said he, ' is very generous, 
 and gives me more than ever I got from field money in my 
 life; yet I come to beg a favour of your grace, that you would 
 let me take field money again ; for I have not half the pleasure 
 now in killing a fox that I had before.' " 
 
 After all is said and done, however, we come back to the 
 old opinion that hunting servants are well worthy the con- 
 sideration of the field, and whether they are remembered in 
 public or private must just remain matter of taste. No master 
 would ever object either way, because it is the best testimony 
 of the field to the adequacy of their servants' services. 
 
 We are sorry to say that faithfulness among servants is 
 becoming a rare quality. By faithfulness we mean not only 
 
58 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 that honesty which forbids their robbing us themselves, but 
 that integrit}- — that loyalty we may almost call it — which 
 ought to pre\-ent their allowing others to do it without telling. 
 Strange as it may seem, it is no less true, that their con- 
 sciences seem satisfied with the negative virtue of abstinence 
 themselves. Dangerous virtue ! The next step to looking on, 
 is participating, and then comes robbing itself. "Winking" 
 at robbery is the true school of training for New South 
 Wales. 
 
 Whether this indifference to their master's interests is to 
 be attributed to the gad-about habits of the day, or the spread 
 of education and facility of communication by post, or arises 
 from the distance now maintained between masters and ser- 
 vants, is immaterial to the present inquiry. Hunting servants, 
 at all events, have not the latter excuse for their delinquencies ; 
 and it certainly does favour the supposition that masters and 
 mistresses are not sufficienth' attentive and considerate to 
 their servants, when we find that those who are in constant 
 contact with their masters, enjoying their pleasures and sharing 
 their dangers, imbibe a certain interest and anxiety for them 
 that the mere payment of wages fails to produce. Huntsmen 
 are generally intrusted with large sums of money, much of it 
 frequently to be expended in the way of " secret service," and 
 yet we never hear of misappropriation or squandering lavish- 
 ment. On the contrar}-, if they do err, it is generally on the 
 side of keenness for their employer. Many excellent sfories 
 are told of Williamson, the Duke of Buccleuch's Huntsman, 
 in the way of bargain-driving for his grace. Williamson is a 
 great economist, but such is his dense Scotch stupidity that 
 he cannot understand, because his master is a rich duke, that 
 he ought to pay double for everj'thing he buys. Most servants 
 would think it a self-evident proposition, but \\'ool can't see 
 it. He drives and screws, and screws and drives, just as if 
 he was bargaining for himself He had a bad fall a few years 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 59 
 
 since, and, riding about shortly after with his arm in a shng, 
 he encountered a bargain-driving opponent. The man asked 
 him how he was: " Wrtll," said Will, '^ I'm b^rtter, thank ye ; 
 but I can no get my hand i' my pouch 3'et." " Gad ! ye never 
 could do that," replied the man. 
 
 The following is shrewd and characteristic : — " I was paying 
 a bill to a farmer for hay," said Williamson to Nimrod, when 
 that gentleman visited the duke's establishment during his 
 Scotch tour, "nearly fifty pounds, and the farmer insisted 
 upon the odd fourpence halfpenny. " I gave him it," said he, 
 with pleasure, " because it showed I had bought the hay ivorth 
 the vio7ieyr Williamson farmed the Lothian lands during the 
 Duke of Buccleuch's minority, publishing an annual statement 
 of the disbursements, and he is considered a great authority 
 on all points of useful economy. Going to market with ready 
 money and attention to trifles, is, he says, where the great 
 savings are effected. Talking of meal, " I know a gentleman," 
 said he to Nimrod, "who never returns the empty sacks. 
 Was there ever such a thing heard of," continued he, with a 
 strong emphasis on his words, "nuis there ever such a thing 
 heard <?/" as a person not returning the empty sacks ? " An 
 amusing circumstance occurred connected with Williamson's 
 ideas of practical economy. Being a true promoter of hunting, 
 and consequently anxious to enlist followers by making it as 
 cheap as possible, he wrote a paper, showing where great 
 savings might be effected in many of the indispensable articles 
 of stable use — clothes, saddles, bridles, physic, &c., and sent 
 it to a London periodical. The cockney sub-editor got hold 
 of it, and most unceremoniously condemned it, recommending 
 the author, in his notice to correspondents, " to forward a 
 copy of it to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, headed ' Hints 
 for a Budget.' " He doubtless thought his correspondent 
 was some puffing tradesman, instead of the " King of 
 Scotch servants," as Lord Kintore christened Williamson. 
 
<)0 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 So much for people deciding upon what they don't under- 
 stand. 
 
 Williamson's situation, perhaps, can hardly be called servi- 
 tude, but his example is not the less valuable on that account. 
 He receives the duke's money, and every man who accepts the 
 wages of hire enters into an implied contract that he will 
 protect and do the best he can for his employer. Williamson's 
 view of the matter was pithily expressed in the following 
 observation : — " I found the duke rich," said he, " and I wish 
 to leave him so." 
 
 Scotch servants, we are almost inclined to think, are more 
 faithful in a general way than English ones. Whether there 
 is something about mountainous countries that draws the 
 affections and binds parties in stronger union we know not ; 
 but the same may be observed of the Swiss. Spite of all the 
 contamination of English manners, and the corruption of 
 English gold, the Swiss, as a nation, are eminently faithful. 
 The Scotch, we believe, are kinder — more attentive, at least — 
 to their servants than the English. They treat them more as 
 friends and companions. There is one thing to be said, that 
 the Scotch do not often encumber themselves with the useless, 
 overgrown establishments that some English think necessary 
 for maintaining their dignity, as they call it, consequently the 
 attention that would cut up very small among many, makes a 
 handsome dividend to those servants that are really wanted. 
 Another thing is, that in large establishments notice or 
 attention to one more than another only makes jealousy and 
 mischief among those who are omitted. These points, how- 
 ever, bear more upon the general question of " servants "' than 
 the particular class under consideration. 
 
 We commenced this sketch by placing Huntsmen and 
 kennel servants at the head of all others, and as Huntsmen 
 ride first, we presume they would walk first in a procession. 
 If, for instance, Williamson was to be crowned King of Scotch 
 
THE HUNTSMAN 
 
 61 
 
 servants, the Earl Marshal would most likelj- arrange them 
 someway thus : — 
 
 His Majesty King William the Fifth. 
 
 Huntsmen. 
 
 Butlers. 
 
 Valets (and such like cattle). 
 
 Eldest sons of Huntsmen. 
 
 Whips. 
 
 Jeams Plushs. 
 
 Fat Coachmen. 
 
 Stud Grooms in cut-aways. 
 
 Younger sons of Huntsmen. 
 
 Eldest sons of Whips. 
 
 Grooms, &c., &c. 
 
 '^^^^-J^:::>kf'''' 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE WHIPPER-IN 
 
 " High o'er thy head wave thy resounding whip." 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 VERACIOUS French gen- 
 tleman writing on England, 
 observed that we were a 
 cruel, melancholy nation, 
 for in all parts of London 
 he saw written up, " Horses 
 tdkoi ill to bait," and 
 "Funerals performed here." 
 Doubtless the same observ- 
 ing traveller would assert 
 that people keep hounds, and servants to do nothing but whip 
 them. The name, " Whipper-in," certainl}' favours the sup- 
 position, at all events as much as the sign-boards did the con- 
 clusions Johnny Crapaud drew from them. Indeed others 
 than Frenchmen might be of that opinion, especially if they 
 heard the noisy, clamorous ratings that sometimes attend a 
 half civilized scratch pack. There is nothing, perhaps, so dis- 
 tinguishing as the silent quiet manner of the well-appointed, 
 well-disciplined establishment, and the roaring, cut-them-into- 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 63 
 
 ribbons style of the omnium gatherum, refuse, tear away, tear- 
 'em-up town pack. 
 
 Before railway advertisements increased and multiplied our 
 advertising sheets, newspaper editors used generally, in the 
 dulnessofautumnal times, to enlarge a leopard or tiger from 
 the caravan of some travelling showman, which, while it 
 afforded a fine crop of paragraphs, as long as it was at liberty, 
 produced a good stout contradiction at the end, and really we 
 don't think we are going much beyond the mark in saying 
 that a bona fide tiger or leopard would not be much more 
 dangerous than some of these enlarged canine bedlams, called 
 scratch packs. 
 
 Beckford relates how a kennelled pack once ate up their 
 Huntsman-nothing but the unfortunate man's buttons being 
 found to account for him-and we have seen animals scouring 
 the country that seemed equal to anything-anything, from a 
 "helephant down to a hearwig," as the dancing-master Hunts- 
 man, to the short-lived Fulham harriers, said of his. A man 
 that has never tried his hand with fox-hounds has not the 
 slightest conception of the undertaking. He sees forty or fifty 
 couple of great strapping, high-conditioned animals, all as 
 docile and obedient as lap-dogs-apparently rather inert than 
 otherwise-and he very likely fancies that listlessness is their 
 characteristic, that they are a sort of canine calves, and that 
 anybody can manage them. Little as hounds are attended to 
 m the field, it must have struck even the most casual observer 
 what totally different animals they are in kennel and out. In 
 kennel they are easy, indolent, devil-may-care sort of creatures, 
 checked by a word, almost a look, but when their mettle is 
 roused by the scent, what dash, what energy, what life, what 
 determmation is called forth. The Huntsman's horn and the 
 Whippers-in rate are equally disregarded, and "getting at 
 them " is the only chance of stopping them. How small a 
 man feels in a kennel with some fifty or sixty couple, looking 
 
64 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 and smelling at him, as much as to sa}', " Pray, what business 
 have you here ? " How pleasant to stand calculating what 
 proportion of a mouthful a-piece one's carcase would make for 
 the company. A man who has whipped-in to harriers, labours 
 under much the same disadvantage that the man does who has 
 hunted them ; he is ignorant of the discipline indispensable for 
 foxhounds. Instead of giving a hound one of those hearty 
 good hidings and ratings that makes him tremble at his voice, 
 he is always flopping and skutching, sometimes hitting, some- 
 times missing, but never making an impression. A foxhound 
 requires a tremendous hiding. Let not the French historian, 
 or the Society for the Suppression of Cruelt\- to Animals, jump 
 at the assertion. It is mercy in the end, most likely sa\'ing the 
 animal from the halter. We have seen a sheep worrier so 
 licked, that he could hardly crawl out of his kennel, and instead 
 of attacking sheep again, he was afraid to look one in the face. 
 After one of these sound flagellations, a hound running riot will 
 stop as if shot, at the sound of the voice that accompanied the 
 administration of the medicine. Of course these hearty hidings 
 are only for flagrant faults — sheep-worrying, deer-hunting, 
 poultry-killing, obstinacy, and so on. All young hounds will 
 riot occasionally — a great thumping hare starting up under 
 their noses is enough to lead any one astray, and it is in the 
 checking and stopping that the discipline or nondiscipline of 
 an establishment is shown. Some fellows will set to, roaring 
 and riding, and cracking their whips, making confusion worse 
 confounded, while others just trot quietly on till they near the 
 delinquent, when dropping his name heartil\- into his ear, 
 followed by a crack of the whip, if the receipt of the halloo is 
 not acknowledged, they will check his unlicensed career, and 
 bring him skulking back to the pack. Some let them have 
 their riot out, especially when the old hounds are stead}-, and 
 then shame the young ones on their return. Beckford thought 
 it as well, provided thev did not get blood. 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 65 
 
 Some hounds are desperately headstrong, and know the 
 advantage of having a high wall, coped with mortar and dashed 
 with broken bottles, between them and the man that is rating 
 them. For them, Beckford says, " My general orders to my 
 Whippers-in are, if, when he rate a hound, the hound does not 
 mind him, to take him up immediately and give him a severe 
 flogging. Whippers-in are too apt to continue rating, even 
 when they find that rating will not avail. There is but one 
 way to stop such hounds, which is to get to the heads of them. 
 I also tell him never on any account to strike a hound, unless 
 the hound be at the same time sensible what it is for. What 
 think you of the Whipper-in," asks he, " who struck the 
 hound as he was going to cover, because he was likely to be 
 noisy afterwards, saying, " You will he noisy enough by and by, 
 I warratit you " ? 
 
 When discussing the " Huntsman " we related a misfortune 
 attending a scratch pack Huntsman, or more properly " horn- 
 blower," with a furze bush and a flock of sheep, and in looking 
 into Mr. Vyner's book we find a similar case recorded of young 
 hounds at home : — 
 
 " I once knew an instance," says he, " of a lot of wild young 
 hounds being moved into a field adjoining the kennel where 
 they were kept, and where a long-tailed black pony was grazing, 
 attended by the feeder alone ; from wantonness one of the 
 hounds bayed at the pony, which induced another to do the 
 same, and the pony to declare his approbation or disapproba- 
 tion by repeated snorting and caprioles ; the main body con- 
 cluded it was a signal for a rush, when away went the little 
 horse over a fence into the adjoining lane, and away went the 
 hounds full cry, to the dismay of the feeder and the rest of the 
 establishment, who were so suddenly summoned by the music 
 of the pack ; however, to conclude my story, they were not 
 stopped until they ran the pony five miles, but without any 
 further damage to any of the party excepting sowing the seeds 
 
 F 
 
66 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 of irrevocable wildness whenever an opportunity might offer 
 itself." 
 
 All packs, however, must have a beginning, and the following 
 may afford consolation to Masters of newly set up ones: — 
 
 "There is an old story told," says Mr. Vyner, " of the Beau- 
 fort hounds, when that pack was being first formed many years 
 ago. A new draft of hounds which had arrived on the previous 
 day were let out into the paddock to be inspected, when they 
 commenced running the crows, which frequently fly skimming 
 along close to the ground in windy weather ; and, as the old 
 kennelman who had the care of them declared, that he believed 
 they would have never been stopped, if they had not, by the 
 blessing of God, changed for a jackass." 
 
 But to the Whip— 
 
 We oftener find a " tool " of a Whip than a " tool " of a 
 Huntsman — perhaps because they have not so many oppor- 
 tunities of exposing themselves as Huntsmen, or perhaps because 
 Whip " tools " are blighted in the flower of whipper-in-hood, 
 and never have a chance of blooming into Huntsmen. We 
 have had a letter from a friend, informing us that the "cake" 
 of a Huntsman we described, who used to exclaim in bewilder- 
 ment on coming up at a check, " A dear, whichi\'er waj- can he 
 have gone ? " — " which way do you think he has gone, Mr. 
 Brown?" — "which waj' d.o you Mr. Green?" — had an orna- 
 ment of a Whip, who never by an}' chance rode over a fence, 
 and the genius having chased a hound to the confines of a 
 field would sit craning and cracking his whip, hallooing " Get 
 away, Jiound ! get away ! " the hound, of course, pursuing the 
 same vagaries in the next field as he had done in the one from 
 which he had been chased, until interrupted by our friend again 
 cutting round, full grin, at the gate, and repeating the same 
 farce over again. We have seen non-riding Huntsmen do not 
 amiss, but a non-ridmg Whip will never do. Indeed, we know 
 a gentleman, an ex-Master of Hounds, who sa\'s that " riding 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 67 
 
 in a Huntsman " and " being a good shot in a Gamekeeper " 
 are of the least consequence. If the keeper can hit a hawk 
 sitting, he says it is enough for him, and that " brains, a cool 
 judgment, a good temper, and a good constitution " are the 
 indispensable ingredients for a Huntsman. Riding, he adds, is 
 his least recommendation. 
 
 But to the Whip again. Here is Mr. Beckford's opinion of 
 what a Whipper-in ought to be : — • 
 
 "With regard to the Whipper-in," writes he, "as you keep 
 two of them (and no pack of fox hounds is complete without) 
 the first may be considered as a second Huntsman, and should 
 have nearly the same qualities. It is necessary besides, that he 
 should be attentive and obedient to the Huntsman ; and as his 
 horse will probably have most to do, the lighter he is the 
 better; though, if he be a good horseman, the objection of his 
 weight will be sufficiently overbalanced. He must not be con- 
 ceited. I had one formerly, who, instead of stopping hounds 
 as he ought, would try to kill a fox by himself. This fault is 
 unpardonable; he should always maintain to the Huntsman's 
 holloo, and stop such hounds as divide from it. When 
 stopped, he should get forward with them after the 
 Huntsman." 
 
 It is ludicrous, but lamentable to sport, to witness a contest 
 between a Huntsman and Whip for supremacy. We remember 
 travelling through Leicestershire some years ago, when the 
 guard and coachman of the mail got to loggerheads on that 
 point, and it ended in the stoppage of the vehicle until the 
 passengers interfered. The coachman found fault with the 
 guard about something — perhaps having been too long over 
 his changing drop — when the guard repudiated his interference, 
 desiring him to " go on and make up lost time — for that the 
 coachman was his servant." " Your servant !'' exclaimed Jehu, 
 pulling his horses up into a walk ; " whose servant am I now, 
 think you ? " added he, grinning over his shoulder. So they 
 
68 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 went on for a mile or more, the coachman pulling up as often 
 as the guard gave his " his servant " orders to go on. Much 
 such a scene occurs in the hunting field, when Whips and 
 Huntsmen have not settled that point any better than our 
 coachman and guard had. 
 
 Beckford lays down the law on the point very ably : — 
 " The Whip," writes he, " must always be contented to act 
 an underpart, except when circumstances may require that he 
 should act otherwise ; and the moment they cease, he must not 
 fail to resume his former station ; you have heard me say, that 
 when there is much riot, I prefer an excellent Whipper-in to an 
 excellent Huntsman. The opinion I believe, is new; I must 
 therefore endeavour to explain it. My meaning is this — that 
 I think I should have better sport, and kill more foxes with a 
 moderate Huntsman, and an excellent Whipper-in, than with 
 the best of Huntsmen without such an assistant. You will saj-, 
 perhaps, that a good Huntsman will make a good Whipper-in : 
 not such, however, as I mean ; his talent must be born with 
 him. My reasons are, that good hounds (and bad ones I would 
 not keep) oftener need the one than the other ; and genius, 
 which if in a Whipper-in, is attended by obedience, his first 
 requisite, can do no hurt ; in a Huntsman is a dangerous, 
 though a desirable, quality ; and if not accompanied by a large 
 share of prudence, and I may say humility, will oftentimes 
 spoil your sport, and hurt your hounds." 
 
 Mr. Beckford, it should be remembered, was speaking of 
 the requirements of his own country, Dorsetshire — a country 
 abounding in riot of all sorts, where the covers are large, and 
 there is a chase full of deer and game. True, as Mr. Vyner 
 observes, in a note to this text, that almost all countries now 
 labour under a similar disadvantage from the unhealthy increase 
 of game preserves ; but Dorsetshire, perhaps, is still worse than 
 any, owing to the rather plentiful existence of the little roebuck, 
 which is a sad temptation to hounds at all periods of the 
 
THE WHIPPEIMN 
 
 chase. Beckford, by no means meant tu u„ucMume aDiiuies 
 in a Huntsman ; what he meant to say was, that, situated 
 as he was, he could do better with mediocrity in the Huntsman 
 than in the Whip. Hunting taleqt was scarce in his day. 
 
 He then gives the following instance of how much more .1 
 Whip is at liberty to give play to his genius than the Huntsman, 
 who must necessarily follow his hounds :— 
 
 "A gentleman told me," writes he, "that he heard the 
 famous Will Dean, when his hounds svere running hard in a 
 line with Daventry, from whence they were at that time many 
 miles distant, swear exceedingly at the Whipper-in, saying. 
 'I'V/iaf business have you here?' The man was amazed at the 
 question ; ^Why don't you know; said he, ' and be d-d to you, ' j 
 that the great earth at Daventry is open ? ' The man got' ^ 
 
 forward, and reached the earth just time enough to see th<-i. * 
 
 fo.\ in." 
 
 \ 3 
 
 Will Dean, or Deane as some ?r'l' i.iMv Tr. • g ^ 
 
 mantoiMr.Childe, whohunt-i •* 5 
 
 this scene occurred dm' 0.^ 
 
 Huntsman v.' ' ' *, 
 
 Childe''^ !•■■ -a 
 
 1 : 1 ^ 
 
 S 
 
 the 1 : '^ « 
 
 sidered J; "2 
 
 Ji (8 
 
 Whippe: o c 
 
 ^^f"- ' :<tes hi.. 
 
 .uu) active, be •« 
 
 ^f>" - Whippe 
 
 good an. ernan, h.-^vr. ,,„d ^.j^^r voice-^ •" 
 
 ''' '^' ■'« a very .'. re there and everywha-^ ^ 
 
 l^'- : llicsame time judv;inent to distinguish where he cj % 
 
 be o> most use; if, join.-.l to these,, he be above the fooli^c? 
 conceit of killin- ■ ' ^ without the Huntsman, but, on t^ ^ 
 contrary, be disp assist him all be r.n he then isR^ 
 
 perfect Whipper-in. *( ^ 
 
 Some peor '. because a man is a first-rate Whipper-|, 
 
 J* V 
 
 « 
 
 
a 
 t 
 
 M 
 
 c; 
 
 ^ 
 
 o 
 
 c 
 
 
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 cr 
 
 6 
 
 
 M«^ 
 
 
 
 
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 Si 
 
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THE AVHIPPER-IN (ji» 
 
 chase. Beckford, by no means meant to undervalue abilities 
 m a Huntsman ; what he meant to say was, that, situated 
 as he was, he could do better with mediocrity in the Huntsman 
 than in the Whip. Hunting talent was scarce in his day. 
 
 He then gives the following instance of how much more a 
 Whip is at liberty to give play to his genius than the Huntsman, 
 who must necessarily follow his hounds : — 
 
 "A gentleman told me," writes he, "that he heard the 
 famous Will Dean, when his hounds were running hard in a 
 line with Daventry, from whence they were at that time many 
 miles distant, swear exceedingly at the Whipper-in, saying, 
 'What business have you here ? ' The man was amazed at the 
 question ; 'Why don't you kiiot,',' said he, 'and be d—d to you, 
 that the great earth at Daventry is open ? ' The man got 
 forward, and reached the earth just time enough to see the 
 fox in." 
 
 Will Dean, or Deane as some spell it, was originally Hunts- 
 man to Mr. Childe, who hunted part of Oxfordshire, and doubtless 
 this scene occurred during that time. Dean was afterwards 
 Huntsman with the late Lord Fitzwilliam, who bought Mr. 
 Childe's hounds in 1769, and Dean has the credit of introducing 
 the present dashing style of riding to hounds. He was con- 
 sidered a great authority in former times. 
 
 Mr. Beckford thus recapitulates his qualification for a 
 Whipper-in : — 
 
 " If," says he, " your Whipper-in be bold and active, be a 
 good and careful horseman, have a good ear and clear voice — 
 if, as I said, he be a very Mungo, here there and everywhere, 
 having at the same time judgment to distinguish where he can 
 be of most use ; if, joined to these, he be above the foolish 
 conceit of killing a fox without the Huntsman, but, on the 
 contrary, be disposed to assist him all he can, he then is a 
 perfect Whipper-in." 
 
 Some people fancy because a man is a first-rate Whipper-in, 
 
70 THE HUNTIN(; FIELD 
 
 that he must necessarily make a good Huntsman ; such is far 
 from the case, at least far from being a necessary consequence. 
 Indeed, on this point, none are more sensible than servants 
 themselves. We have known several first-rate Whips who 
 have declined Huntsmen's places, fearing they might not 
 succeed, and have to retrograde in life, a proceeding that is 
 always disagreeable. The observation of most sportsmen will 
 supply them with instances of first-rate Whips making first- 
 rate failures as Huntsmen ; again they will be able to point to 
 Whippers-in, who have shone far more with the horn than they 
 did with the couples. 
 
 Still it is a good principle of Mr. Beckford's, who says : — 
 
 " Your first Whipper-in being able to hunt the hounds 
 occasionally, will answer a good purpose ; it will keep your 
 Huntsmen in order : they are very apt to be impertinent when 
 they think you cannot do without them." 
 
 A Whip may come up on an emergency, and do a brilliant 
 thing ; but as one swallow does not make a summer, so does 
 not one dashing act make a Huntsman. Some men, doubtless, 
 are born to be Whips, others to be Huntsmen. Upon this 
 point we may vouch the authority of Mr. Delme Radcliffe, an 
 ex-Master of Fo.xhounds, and an author to boot : — 
 
 " No one," says he, "could ever have seen old Tom Ball, 
 formerly Whipper-in to Lord Tavistock, without feeling that 
 he must have been born a Whipper-in. George Mountford 
 would readily admit that, but for Tom, man}- and many a fox 
 might have escaped his skill, which fell a victim to Old Ball's 
 sagacity, his knowledge of the animal and his line. Patiently 
 he would sit by a covert side, where, by his o-wn Hue, he had 
 arrived about as soon as the sinking fox ; there would he view, 
 perhaps, a brace or more away, without the motion of a muscle, 
 till his practised eye would recognize t/ie hunted fox, and then 
 would blithe Echo and other wood nymphs be startled by the 
 scream which would resound his knell, and, like the war-cry of 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 71 
 
 the ancients, would reanimate his pursuers with certainty of 
 conquest." 
 
 Another very able writer — indeed we think about the best 
 we know on the real essence of hunting, scent and trusting to 
 hounds — who used to write in the " New Sporting Magazine " 
 under the signature of " Thistle-whipper," also bears testimony 
 to the importance of a good Whipper-in, and to the superiority 
 of Tom Ball in that line : — 
 
 "I am decidedly of opinion," writes he, "that the success 
 of a pack of foxhounds is more dependent on the exertions of 
 a good Whipper-in than on the Huntsman, and that a North 
 American Indian would be excellent materiel to form one. 
 How often have I witnessed Wells, the Oakley Huntsman, 
 when his hounds were approaching a cover in which they were 
 likely to change, take off his cap, and turn his ear to catch 
 Tom Ball's holloa on the other side, and when he heard it, dash 
 to the head of his hounds, catch hold of them, and gallop 
 round to it." 
 
 This gentleman " Thistle-whipper," if we mistake not, was 
 the author of the " Life of a Foxhound," published in the " Old 
 Sporting Magazine." 
 
 No one can read his papers without feeling that they are 
 the productions of a real sportsman, a real Imnter, which is, 
 perhaps, a more determining appellation than that of " sports- 
 man," which, with "sporting man," may be assumed alike by 
 the foxhunter and the thimble-rigger. Being an observing man 
 himself, " Thistle-whipper" noted observation in others. Take 
 the following as an instance : — 
 
 " To show how much more observant of little things some 
 men are than others," writes he, " I was standing with about 
 twenty men in a riding, while the hounds were drawing and 
 had drawn a great part of the wood. ' No fox here to-day,' 
 said one. ' Yes, there is a fox moving in that young plantation,' 
 said another, ' and you will see him cross,' and two minutes 
 
72 THE HUNTINC; FIELD 
 
 after he did. There was a uni\-ersal exclamation, ' How did 
 you know a fox was there? ' 'While j'ou were talking,' said 
 he, ' I heard a cock pheasant " ceck up " three or four times, 
 evidently alarmed.' " 
 
 How beautifully that fact corroborates Beckford's observa- 
 tion, that when you see two men in conversation at the cover 
 side, you may safely infer that one at least knows nothing of 
 what he is out for. 
 
 All practical men agree in the necessity of a Huntsman being 
 efficiently supported by his Whippers-in. Mr. Vyner, in his 
 " Notitia Venatica," says : — 
 
 " Nothing will be found to be of greater importance in the 
 well-conducting of operations than steadiness and persevering 
 exertions on the part of the Whippers-in ; servants of that 
 description are quite as difficult to meet with as a first-rate 
 Huntsman ; a Master, who ' puts up ' a booby of a groom, 
 merely because he can ride young horses and scream like a 
 fish-woman, must never expect to see his hounds anything 
 else than wild and vicious in their drawing, and heedless 
 and unhandy in their attention to the Huntsman when 
 casting." 
 
 Mr. Smith, in his " Diary of a Huntsman," says: — 
 
 " To be a Whipper-in requires both a good eye and a good 
 ear ; but the greatest qualification for one is, that he should be 
 free from conceit, so that he will consider it right to obey the 
 Huntsman most implicitly, whether he thinks him right or 
 wrong, and not hesitate, but at once instantly do what is 
 required : then he does his dut}', but not till then." 
 
 Mr. Smith is of the same opinion as Mr. Beckford as to the 
 importance of a clever Whipper-in, and says that men who 
 have hunted their own hounds ha\'e often felt a wish to become 
 Whippcrs-in, knowing, as they do, that it is possible for a good 
 Whipper-in to do more towards the sport most da3's than the 
 Huntsman. The thing, he says, is to find a man who does not 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 73 
 
 wish to save himself, and he adds, if the Whip is really fond of 
 the sport he never will. 
 
 Upon this point, however, we may observe that the greatest 
 keenness may be subdued by work, and that the difference 
 between a gentleman's keenness and a servant's keenness is, that 
 the gentleman's work is voluntary, but the servant's work 
 is compulsory ; gentlemen can go or stay at home, as the 
 humour seizes them, but servants cannot. Even on the wildest 
 and most unlikely days, some people will turn up at the 
 appointed meet. 
 
 Mr. Smith says, " A Whipper-in should not ride as if he was 
 riding for amusement or credit, but should have his eye to the 
 hounds tvithout distressing his horse, which is a great recom- 
 mendation to every Master of Hounds. The greatest fools ride 
 the hardest generally ; the proof of their being so, is, that 
 they forget they must go on till night, but men who hunt ivith 
 hounds can go home when they please. A proof of a clever 
 Whipper-in is, that he is always up at a check, without ever 
 being seen in front, except by accident, and no one else there ; 
 but it is his duty to hold in, and by that means he has always 
 something left in his horse, when others are beaten. There are 
 Whippers-in now going who are never seen in a quick thing, 
 and yet are never missed, because they are alwajs up when 
 wanted. Who looks for a Whipper-in e.xcept then ? He does 
 not hunt the fox." 
 
 It has always appeared to us, in our casual observation of 
 hounds and different establishments, that servants — Whippers- 
 in in particular — do not give that delightful animal, the hound, 
 due credit for the extraordinary sagacity it possesses. They 
 treat them too much like cattle or flocks of sheep. There is no 
 animal so grateful for kindness, so sensible of injury or reproach 
 as the dog. We often think a London dray-horse possesses far 
 more sense than the great two-legged, plush-breeched buffer 
 on the flags, whose whip point dangles in our eyes. We should 
 
74 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 be sorry to say the same of hounds and their attendants ; 
 but we should Hke to see a httle more reasoning power, and a 
 little less whip-cord used in some hunting establishments — to 
 hear men talking to their hounds instead of rating them. 
 
 It has been well said that no animals take their character 
 from their master so much as hounds do from their Huntsman. 
 If the Huntsman is wild, noisy, or nervous, so will his hounds 
 be ; if steady, quick, and quiet, he may rely upon it that his 
 pack will be the same. 
 
 The same gentleman* who made that observation gives the 
 following judicious advice to Whippers-in : — 
 
 " In going through riot, let not the hounds be driven in a 
 heap under their Huntsman's horse, and indiscriminately rated 
 without reason, as is too often the case ; but, on the contrary, 
 let the Huntsman seem carelessly to trust them, at a certain 
 distance from him, to take their own way, with the simple 
 precaution of having his men a little wide on either flank ; he 
 will then see which hound is to be trusted and which not, and if 
 riot is begun, his men are rightly placed to check it, with the 
 further advantage of knowing and rating the hound that offends, 
 instead of chiding indiscriminately. If hounds are driven under 
 their Huntsman's horse when approaching riot, they will pass 
 it by without looking it in the face, noticing it no more than 
 they would if a hare were turned down in their kennel while the 
 men stood by with their whips. Such treatment cannot make 
 hounds steady ; on the contrary, they have sense enough to 
 know when they are out of your reach, and, like boys from 
 school, on the sudden removal of unnatural restraint, they are 
 the more inclined to join in any riot that may offer. A rate 
 when given at an improper time does more harm than good ; it 
 disgusts your honest hound — it shies and prevents from hunting 
 
 * " Skim,'' in the "New Sporting Magazine," describing the Hon. Grantley 
 Berkeley's system of management. 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 
 
 75 
 
 your timid one ; and it is treated with contempt by those of 
 another character, who may at some future time deserve it." 
 
 Mr. Beckford gives an admirable ilhistration of the absurdity 
 of supposing that because hounds refrain from mischief when 
 their attendants are by, that they are necessarily steady in their 
 absence. A friend of his whose hounds were troubled with the 
 unfortunate propensity of killing their own mutton, bethought 
 him of turning a ram into the kennel among the hounds. 
 Vigorously the old gentleman laid about him with his horns, 
 and patiently the hounds bore it, and after witnessing a good 
 deal of the fun the master and servants retired, leaving the ram 
 apparently master of the kennel. Returning in about an hour's 
 time to show a friend what an admirable receipt he had 
 discovered for sheep-worriers, the master found that the hounds 
 had_'eaten the old ram up in his absence, and having filled their 
 bellies had retired to their benches. 
 
 U" 'L*,L 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE WHIPPER-IN — CONCLUDED 
 
 
 HIPPERS-IN, like railway 
 passeng'ers, may be divided 
 into three classes; first, 
 the Huntsman \\'hipper- 
 in ; secondly, the regular 
 Whipper-in ; thirdly, the 
 second Whipper-in. 
 
 The Huntsman Whipper- 
 in is to be found in the 
 establishments of gentle- 
 men hunting their own hounds, as Shirley was with Mr. 
 Assheton Smith and afterwards with Sir Richard Sutton, Jack 
 Stevens with Mr. Osbaldeston, Charles Treadwell with Mr. 
 Smith, Hogg with Lord Elcho, and so on. 
 
 Huntsmen Whippers-in have difficult cards to play, having 
 to change from \\'hips to Huntsmen at as short notice as the 
 harlequin in a pantomime, and the worst of it is, they are 
 expected to change the feelings of the hounds as quickly, and 
 to draw animals to them in the security of enthusiastic confi- 
 dence that for weeks and months, perhaps, the}- ha\-e been 
 chasing and driving awa}-. In this respect they have a worse 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 77 
 
 chance than the Gentleman-Huntsman who never feeds his 
 hounds, for he at all events does not lick them, and an animal 
 remembers a blow much longer than he does a bellyful of 
 meat. 
 
 In addition to this, the Huntsman Whipper-in generally has 
 the pack pawned off upon him, under disadvantageous circum- 
 stances — during a hurricane perhaps — or at some out of the 
 way, or interminable woodland meet, or during doubtful, 
 changing, frost catching weather. Of all trials, however, that 
 of wind is the worst. " Take not out your hounds in a very 
 windy or bad day," says Beckford, and hundreds of Masters 
 and servants must have echoed the sentiment. 
 
 A Huntsman Whipper-in has not a fair chance under such 
 circumstances, and if we were a Gentleman-Huntsman, and 
 thought the day too windy to go out ourself, we would keep 
 the hounds at home rather than risk an accident by sending 
 them out in such critical times, different to what they usually 
 go. Wind is the very deuce and all in hunting. Fancy being 
 pinned, as we have been, horse and all, on the top of a hill, 
 coat laps flying out, one hand grasping the hat, the other the 
 reins, with the horse snorting and sticking his feet into the 
 ground for fear of being blown over, and then let a man ask 
 himself if that is pleasure. Pleasure ! We would rather pick 
 oakum or work the treadmill under cover. 
 
 " On windy days, or such as are not likely to afford any 
 scent for hounds, it is better, I think," says Beckford, " to 
 send the hounds to be exercised on the turnpike-road ; it will 
 do them less harm than hunting with them might do, and 
 more good than if they were to remain confined in their 
 kennel ; for though nothing makes hounds so handy as taking 
 them out often, nothing inclines them so much to riot as 
 taking them out to Juoit when there is little or no scent, 
 and particularly on windy days, when they cannot hear one 
 another." 
 
78 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Yet these arc the sort of da3's on which Huntsmen 
 Whippers-in have to exercise their talent, and upon which 
 hasty and thoughtless men ground their opinions. Many 
 people prefer finding fault to praising. They think it shows 
 acuteness on their part. 
 
 Again, another disadvantage some Huntsmen Whippers-in 
 labour under, is having the pack assigned under difficult 
 circumstances. Many Gentlemen-Huntsmen can manoeuvre a 
 pack about Salisbury Plain, who would yet be uncommonly 
 glad to get rid of them if they got into the " Crick" country.* 
 Then the Huntsman Whipper-in gets them until the difficulties 
 are past. 
 
 We are all great judges of hunting ; horses and hunting 
 everybody understands ; and the appearance of the Huntsman 
 Whipper-in, in the character of Huntsman, of course throws 
 wide the gates of critical observation. W^e have many a laugh 
 in our widely-made sleeve at the contrariety of opinion about 
 the same man, and the oracular decision with which each is 
 delivered. If the Master is a favourite with the speaker, then 
 he is the man, and poor Tom isn't fit to hold a candle to him ; 
 but if the Master doesn't stand " A i," as they say at Lloyd's, 
 then Tom is tlie man, and the speaker only hopes the Master 
 may not return on this side of Christmas. In hunting, as in 
 other things, the medium is seldom hit ; allowances are never 
 made ; a man is either a demon or a demigod. What one fool 
 says another repeats, and that is what they call " public 
 opinion" — ■^' They say." How disgusting it is to hear some 
 fellows prating about Huntsmen and Whips. Monkey boys in 
 jackets even think themselves qualified to give an opinion. 
 
 Mr. Davis, the celebrated animal painter, and brother to her 
 Majesty's Huntsman, commenced an admirable work a few 
 years since, called the " Hunter's Annual," being a series of 
 
 * The most strongly fenced part of Northamptonshire. 
 
THE WHIPrER-IN 79 
 
 beautifully executed engravings of the most celebrated of our 
 hunting establishments, in the various departments of the 
 kennel and the field, accompanied by short biographical 
 notices of the hounds, countries, and men. In speaking of the 
 Burton Hunt, then in the hands of Sir Richard Sutton, Davis 
 gives a capital illustration in the words of a " Huntsman 
 Whipper-in " of the difference between the acts of the master 
 and the acts of the man. " Sir Richard," says Mr. Davis, 
 " hunts his own hounds, but his locum tencns must not be 
 forgotten, the prime, good, old John Shirley, one of nature's 
 noblest works. To John Shirley Sir Richard has trusted all 
 the care and business of the kennel and the discipline of his 
 pack. The hounds are made to his hands ; Shirley is 
 nominally and hard-workingly (if we may coin a word) the 
 Huntsman. He was early initiated into the m}steries and 
 duties of stable and kennel in the service of Thomas Assheton 
 Smith, Esq., and we need not say more to convince that both 
 are well grounded in him. He came to Lincoln with this 
 gentleman, and it was here that Sir Richard knew his worth 
 and abilities as a servant. After he had hunted the hounds for 
 some seasons, it was signified to him that Sir Richard wished 
 to take upon himself that task. His answer was, ' Well, Sir 
 Richard, I am glad of it, very glad of it ; now, whatever j/fw do 
 wrong, be it ever so wrong, it will be called bad luck ; when- 
 ever / met with bad luck, / was called ignorantly wrong — that 
 will be the difference. But go on — you will do it well.' " 
 
 And well Sir Richard has done it. Long may he continue 
 to do it, say we. 
 
 Jack Shirley, we may remind our readers, is the Whipper-in 
 described by Nimrod as riding the loose-headed old hunter 
 down a hill in one of the worst fields in Leicestershire — 
 between Tilton and Somerby, abounding with ant hills and 
 deep furrows — the rider putting a lash to his whip, with a 
 large open clasp knife between his teeth at the time. 
 
80 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Huntsmen Whippers-in are like lieutenant-colonels, they 
 have the full command, except when the colonel is present. 
 The simile, perhaps, is not quite good, for the presence of the 
 colonel is the exception, whereas the absence of the Master is 
 generally so in the hunting field. The seldomer the Master is 
 absent, the greater, of course, the difficulty of the Huntsman 
 Whipper-in when he is. Beckford relates how a Master of 
 Harriers had found out that the use of a Whipper-in was to 
 ride after the hare, and keep her in view as long as he could ; 
 and we remember a Gentleman-Huntsman assigning a some- 
 what similar position to his Huntsman Whipper-in with 
 foxhounds. Some one observing that he wondered the 
 Gentleman-Huntsman kept a Huntsman when he did the 
 thing so well himself, and was so constantly out, received for 
 answer, that it was " convenient to have some one to ' blow 
 up ' when things went wrong." "Blowing up," however, is 
 more generally the perquisite of the second Whip than the 
 first, he always being younger, and his place more easily 
 supplied. We know " a Master " who used to use the second 
 Whip for the purpose of blowing up the field. When he saw 
 a man do wrong, he would send the Whip to ride within ear- 
 shot of him, and then he would come storming up, reading the 
 riot act to the boy, pretending he had done what the gentleman 
 had done. 
 
 Having, however, compared the Huntsman Whipper-in to 
 the colonel of a regiment, we may pursue the military simile, 
 and say, that as in the army the comfort of a subaltern is 
 greatly dependent on the character and disposition of the 
 colonel, so, in the hunting establishment, the comfort of the 
 Whippers-in are greatly dependent on the manner and conduct 
 of the Huntsman. Some Huntsmen are desperately coarse 
 and overbearing with their Whips, especially their second 
 ones, and then having frightened and bullied their wits out of 
 them, they wonder they are good for nothing. We dropped 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN rtl 
 
 upon one of these bullying gentry unawares one day — a flash 
 fool, who thought himself fit for anything, but of whose talent 
 the world formed so different an opinion, that he is now out of 
 place — and overheard a rating match that he thought was all 
 between themselves. " Come and ride behind ine, and don't 
 be showing off there," said he, with all the importance of a 
 lord-lieutenant, to a poor frightened lad he had stationed at a 
 gorse cover corner, with orders not to move till he told 
 him, an order that the lad had implicitly obeyed, but had 
 unfortunately attracted a group of children, who, we suppose, 
 the Huntsman thought would have been much better employed 
 in looking at him. " Like master like man," is a very true 
 saying, and in no instance more strongly exemplified than in 
 Huntsmen and field servants. If the Master is a coarse, 
 swearing, bullying fellow, the man will think it necessary to 
 imitate him. Huntsmen, of all people, take their " cue " from 
 the Master, and they have plenty of opportunity of observin 
 the terms on which each sportsman stands with him. Whip- 
 pers-in take their "cue" from the Huntsman, and much the 
 same manners will be found to reign throughout an establish- 
 ment. To their credit, however, be it spoken, we scarcely 
 ever met with anything like rudeness or incivility from a hound 
 servant. Some have more manners than others, but they all 
 " mean well." My lord's men are better drilled, have seen 
 how things are done in other establishments, but Mr. Rattle- 
 cover's, though they may not " sky scrape " quite so high, 
 would be quite as ready to catch a stray horse, or set a fallen 
 sportsman up on his hind legs. From catching loose horses 
 Huntsmen are always e.xempt, they must go with their hounds, 
 the office therefore devolves on the Whips, unless some 
 other good Samaritan anticipates them. Let the Whips be 
 remembered in the sportsman's "budget." They have no 
 perquisites beyond their pay, and as every little makes a 
 mickle, so a trifle from each sportsman will make a very 
 
 G 
 
 o 
 
82 THE HCTNTING FIELD 
 
 comfortable addition to their income. Old Sportsmen, we 
 know, will excuse our freedom in mentioning it. They do it 
 already, the hint is for the " young entry" of the season. 
 
 But to the duties of second and third class Whippers-in. 
 As yet we have only discussed the office of Huntsman 
 Whipper-in, and glanced more at what the others ought not 
 to do, than at what they ought. We will have recourse to our 
 old friend, Beckford, on the subject. 
 
 "When you go from the kennel," says he, " the place of the 
 first Whipper-in is before the hounds ; that of the second 
 Whipper-in should be some distance behind them ; if not, I 
 doubt if they will be suffered even to empty themselves, let 
 their necessities be ever so great, for as soon as a boy is made 
 a Whipper-in, he fancies he is to whip the hounds whenever he 
 can get at them, whether they deserve it or not." 
 
 Another gentleman, whom we quoted before, " Skim," says, 
 " some second Whippers-in conceive that they are placed 
 behind the hounds on the road to flog up all that stop within 
 their reach, as if they had a drove of pigs before them ; but the 
 zvhip should never be applied unless for some immediate and 
 deeided fault!' 
 
 Mr. Delme Radcliffe sajs : — 
 
 " The schooling of a pack will much depend upon the 
 efficiency of the Whippers-in. The Huntsman is at this time 
 endeavouring to attach every hound to himself, and will 
 encourage all (particularly the timid hounds) as they are 
 driven up to him by his assistants. A sensible and intelligent 
 Whipper-in will very soon acquire some notions of the peculiar 
 tempers and dispositions of different hounds, so essential to a 
 Huntsman ; and will not require to be perpetually cautioned 
 against the indiserimitiate administration of punishment. For 
 one hound a word ma}- suffice, while others ma)' require as 
 much payment as lawyers before the}- do anything ; with these 
 it must necessarily be not only a word, but a word and a blow. 
 
THE A\^H1PPER-IN 83 
 
 and the blow first ; but nothing annoys me more than to see a 
 cut made at a hound in the midst of others guiltless of the 
 cause. It is ten to one but the lash, intended for Vagabond 
 or Guilty, will descend upon Manager or Blameless, and render 
 others shy to no purpose. The difficulty consists in con- 
 triving to awe the resolute without breaking the spirit of the 
 timid." 
 
 " Whippers-in, like Huntsmen," writes Mr. Delme Radcliffe, 
 " must feel a pride in their places, an interest in the credit 
 and reputation of the pack, and thoroughly enjoy the sport, 
 although their labour is not light, but, on the contrar}-, very 
 arduous, and often harassing and vexatious. Without being 
 able to ride, a man will, probably, not be placed in such a 
 situation ; but they should be more than mere riders, thej' 
 should be active and good horsemen, capable of distinguishing 
 between the use and abuse of the horse intrusted to them." 
 
 Some gentlemen assist in turning hounds, some let them 
 alone, lest they may be doing wrong, and get a " blessing " 
 for their trouble ; while others console themselves with thinking 
 that it is no business of theirs, and just let them have their 
 fling until a Whipper-in arrives. Of course we would not 
 insult modern sportsmen by supposing that any of them would 
 be acquainted with the name of a hound so as to check him by 
 it as well as by the whip, but in the absence of a Whipper-in 
 there cannot be any harm in one of the field circumventing a 
 delinquent, and turning him back into cover. Young hands 
 ride after hounds instead of riding round them, and the effort 
 is sometimes productive of a fine trial of speed, generally 
 terminating, however, by the intrusion of a fence, through 
 which the hound skulks. 
 
 When a Whipper-in is by, however, it is best to let him do 
 the work, because he can very likely effect it by a rate ; at all 
 events gentlemen should trust more to their actions than their 
 voices, because the latter are strange to the hounds, but it must 
 
84 THE Hl^NTlXG FIELD 
 
 be a very dull dog that doesn't understand when a person is 
 manoeuvring to lick him. The human voice divine is doubtless 
 a fine popular organ, and perhaps it is a pity that the free use of 
 it does not contribute to the success of the chase, for we never 
 saw a hunting field yet where there was the slightest prospect 
 of a deficiency of noise. We shall never have to import any 
 of that, however. Some few men, however, are so modest or 
 timid, that they are afraid of the sound of their own voices, 
 and if they see a fox break cover, they get into such a delightful 
 state of perturbation, that they don't know what the devil to 
 do, and it perhaps takes them ten minutes or a quarter of an 
 hour before they recover their facilities sufficiently to be able 
 to tell anybody, and even then, they are often in such a nervous 
 state of confusion, that very likely they have forgotten the place. 
 For these gentlemen the hat is the thing. Indeed, a hat high 
 in the air is worth a hundred halloos, especially if the hounds 
 are in cover and don't see it. The Huntsman can then get 
 them quietly out, lay them gently on, and in foxhunting, as in 
 most other things, a good beginning is half the battle. The 
 hounds settle well to the scent, reynard travelling quietly on, 
 perhaps, hears them well in his rear ; he then has time to 
 consider which way he will go, and, putting his head straight 
 for his point, gives them a splitter. 
 
 Many a fox is lost in the first few minutes. But to the 
 Whip— 
 
 Beckford tells an amusing story of an amateur Whip, who 
 was got rid of with the following politeness: — "A gentleman," 
 says he, " perceiving his hounds to be much confused by the 
 frequent halloos of a stranger, rode up to him, and thanked 
 him with great civility for the trouble he was taking ; but at 
 the same time acquainted him that the two men he saw in 
 green coats" {green, the deuce!) "were paid so much by the 
 year on purpose to halloo, it would be needless for him, therefore, 
 to give himself iiny further trouble." 
 
THE AVHIPPER-IN 85 
 
 The first Whipper-in, it seems to be clearly established, is 
 to be an independent genius, capable of thinking and acting for 
 himself, as exemplified in the case of Will Dean and the 
 Uaventry earths. " The station of the second Whipper-in," 
 says Mr. Beckford, " may be near the huntsman, for which 
 reason any boy that can halloo and make a whip smack maj' 
 answer the purpose." 
 
 "May be near the Huntsman," and " may answer the pur- 
 pose," writes our veteran, as though he thought an old head 
 would be better. In truth, though all men must have a 
 beginning, boy Whippers-in are generally as great nuisances 
 as boy butlers. They are like the sham " captain " the London 
 leg proposed to hold the stakes between the Yorkshire yeoman 
 and himself at Doncaster races: " If you doubt me," said the 
 leg, with great apparent hauteur, " my friend, the captain, here, 
 shall hold the money." " But whe hads captin ? " asked the 
 wily old Yorkshire tyke, with a shake of the head. "The boy 
 Whipper-in looks after the hounds, but who looks after the 
 boy ? " 
 
 W^e once saw a fine scene between a Yorkshire scratch pack 
 Huntsman, and a newly caught yokel of a lad in top-boots, a 
 twilled jacket, and jockey cap. They had fallen out in coming 
 to cover, and the lad arrived in the sulks. Scratch packs 
 seldom tarry long at the meet, for the best of all reasons — 
 the hounds won't stay, and moving towards the cover, a cur 
 dog took fright, and went away like a fox, with all the 
 pack full cry after him. Yokel sat grinning. " Toj-n them 
 hooundes,'" roared the Huntsman. " Torn them thyscl ! " replied 
 the youth. 
 
 That sort of work, however, will not do for our second Whip, 
 who is supposed to belong to a regular establishment. " There 
 is nothing like experience for impressing things properly on 
 people's minds," says Mr. Delme Radcliffe, "especially if the 
 consequences are disagreeable" — indeed, according to him, the 
 
S(3 THE HUNTINC; ITEIJ) 
 
 mind is not the only part susceptible of an impression. In 
 elucidation of this, he relates an anecdote of a " hawbuck," 
 who being monstrously bothered with the word " miracle " that 
 occurred frequently in the course of a sermon, requested an 
 explanation of it from the clergyman after the service was over. 
 The reverend gentleman gave bunch-clod a tremendous kick 
 behind, asking him at the same time if it " hurt him ? " 
 "'Hurt liter' exclaimed bunch, "you've hurt me most 
 woundily."" " Then," replied the clerg3''man, " it would have 
 been a niirack if I had not.'' To bring this to bear upon 
 hunting, Mr. Radcliffe recommends practical inconvenience for 
 properly impressing the duties of a second Whipper-in. 
 
 " Send your second Whipper-in back," sajs he, " some miles 
 after hunting, and insist upon his return in good time, not 
 without some hounds that may be missing ; he will be for the 
 future more awake to the advantage of minding his business, 
 than by repeated lectures upon the expediency of keeping the 
 pack together. Follow this principle up, if 3'ou would have 
 deeds rather than rccirfl'j prevail throughout your establishment." 
 Our Yorkshire friend, if sent on such an errand, would have 
 replied, " seek them thysel." 
 
 "The duty of a second \\'hipper-in,"' sa\'s Skim, "is to 
 send on a hound that hangs, to bring up tail hounds, 
 and to mind all that passes in the rear of his Huntsman ; 
 and when all are before him together, and clear of the 
 wood, to act as occasion may require." "As occasion may 
 require " is a fine comprehensive phrase, capable of containing 
 anything. 
 
 The greatest vice hound servants, whether Huntsmen, first 
 or second Whips, can be guiltj- of, is that of drinking, and 
 unfortunately it is one to which they are peculiarly exposed. 
 Every person likes to treat them to a glass of something, so 
 what with one glass here and another glass there, they stand a 
 very fair chance of becoming, what country people call, tipplers, 
 
'i 
 
 % 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 % 
 
 "^^ 
 
THE WHIPPEH-IN 
 
 that is to say, people wh" 'li'i \T<i: ?^^t hVm,] i^mi ,,■.,• >..^,-, .,,, 
 always getting a drop. 
 
 "Bless me!" exclaimed old Peter Pigskin, as we were 
 jogging to cover together the other morning, " Bless me ! 
 there's Mr. Lapitup drinking a glass of grog at yon public- 
 house door, //'''c drank Jiff''-'" hundr^,? ,,.vr,if ,Tiid ///c ,{ry 
 still V 
 
 Gentlemen are not altogether exempt from the charge of 
 encouraging drinking. When hounds meet at their houses, 
 they are very apt to send the butler, or Jeames Plush, out 
 with the brandy-bottle, or somethmg equally potent, and then 
 there's pretty crashing and flashing, leaping of gates, and 
 larking at rails. It is a bad principle, and a custom that had 
 better be commuted into a goose, or a whole bottle of some- 
 thing at Christmas ; after a long ride, or on a cold raw 
 morning, a glass mn" '•■ '' ■ ■ ^■■'1. It is against the '^^"-^ 
 and not the n'?'. ' ' ntend. 
 
 We do T) ty to servants ; far fr 
 
 then V. 
 good run, 
 
 round— not .,. at 
 
 water sairil .i of a 
 
 wet shir r would a glass of 
 
 somethi ^.oid wet trashing day be 
 
 objected I n mended, ^but it is indiscriminate 
 
 cold-blood' ' ..ould be avoided. It is a dangerous, 
 
 a ruinoi lass this year leads to two ne.xt, and so 
 
 they gi ■ s the result. Servants may take our word 
 
 for it, tl . station or calling in life will drinking answer. 
 
 A drunken ii.<ai is not a man, he is only half a man, sometimes 
 not so much. Hound servants, as we said before, are exposed 
 to great temptations. They have frequently to lie from home .a 
 at night, at inns and public-houses, and we all know the o 
 customs of landlords, and the treating habits of tap-rooms, u 
 
 
 U 
 

 au 
 
 ml ■ 
 it 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 87 
 
 that is to say, people who do not get bhnd drunk, but who are 
 always getting a drop. 
 
 " Bless me ! " exclaimed old Peter Pigskin, as we were 
 jogging to cover together the other morning, " Bless me ! 
 there's Mr. Lapitup drinking a glass of grog at yon public- 
 house door. He's drank fifteen hundred a-year, and he's dry 
 still l" 
 
 Gentlemen are not altogether exempt from the charge of 
 encouraging drinking. When hoimds meet at their houses, 
 they are very apt to send the butler, or Jeames Plush, out 
 with the brandy-bottle, or somethmg equally potent, and then 
 there's pretty crashing and flashing, leaping of gates, and 
 larking at rails. It is a bad principle, and a custom that had 
 better be commuted into a goose, or a whole bottle of some- 
 thing at Christmas ; after a long ride, or on a cold raw 
 morning, a glass may be all very well. It is against the abuse, 
 and not the use of spirits that we contend. 
 
 We do not object to hospitality to servants ; far from it, but 
 then we advocate its exercise at seasonable times. After a 
 good run, no one would object to the frothing tankard flowing 
 round— not even Father Mathew himself, provided that great 
 water saint had first experienced the delightful delirium of a 
 wet shirt, got in a hard ridden run ; neither would a glass of 
 something hot and water after a cold wet trashing day be 
 objected to, but rather recommended, but it is indiscriminate 
 cold-blooded drinking that should be avoided. It is a dangerous, 
 a ruinous thing. One glass this year leads to two next, and so 
 they go on till ruin is the result. Servants may take our word 
 for it, that in no station or calling in life will drinking answer. 
 A drunken man is not a man, he is only half a man, sometimes 
 not so much. Hound servants, as we said before, are exposed 
 to great temptations. They have frequently to lie from home 
 at night, at inns and public-houses, and we all know the 
 customs of landlords, and the treating habits of tap-rooms. 
 
88 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Even in moving about home, exercising hounds, or looking 
 after kennel matters, they are always liable to the offer. 
 
 The farmers, the saddlers, the blacksmiths, the bootmakers, 
 all like to give them a drop. The}' belong to a popular sport, 
 and are popular characters. We once heard an amusing story 
 of Jack Shirley going frcjni Lincolnshire to Mr. Ralph 
 Lambton's, with a draft of hounds, and what was his surprise 
 on getting into the county of Durham (where he had never 
 been before) at finding himself accosted every now and then 
 by the familiar " Jack," and asked what he would drink ? He 
 was taken for Jack Winter, Mr. Lambton's Huntsman, whom 
 he greatly resembled. 
 
 In the matter of "drink," gentlemen are very apt to treat 
 hound servants as they treat the unfortunate sisters of the 
 pave — debauch them first, and then blame them for being what 
 they are; give them drink and then abuse them for being 
 drunk. Each man thinks what he himself gives can do no 
 harm ; but if hounds met before gentlemen's houses every day 
 they went out, it would be the ruin of half the establishments 
 going. Mr. Vyner comments severely on the vice of drunken- 
 ness, and gives the following amusing anecdote of what 
 happened with the men belonging to his pack : — 
 
 " There can be but one opinion upon the vice of drunken- 
 ness in any man," says he, " and the second fault in either a 
 Huntsman or Whipper-in ought to be the last to be over- 
 looked. Many of my readers may, I have no doubt, have been 
 disgusted in the course of their lives by such an outrage ; but 
 to see a Whipper-in drunk on champagne would be rather a 
 novel sight. I remember once meeting at the house of a jolly 
 good foxhunter, ' of the olden time,' who shall be nameless, 
 where he had a most splendid breakfast upon the occasion ; 
 and our worthy host, not being content with giving his guests 
 plant}- of that exhilarating beverage, absolutel}- sent a bottle 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 89 
 
 out to the men who were waiting with the hounds upon the 
 lawn : the result may be imagined. Upon remonstrating with 
 the elder of the two upon this most disgraceful occurrence, the 
 answer was, that he was sorry for what had happened, but that 
 he thought there could be no harm in the contents of the 
 bottle, as he had seen a lady drinking some of the same kind 
 through the window just before." 
 
 "This man," adds Mr. Vyner, "had but one fault in the 
 world ; in other respects he was a most excellent and trust- 
 worthy servant, and one of the quickest and best sportsmen I 
 ever saw handle a whip ; he had lived twenty years in two of 
 the most noted hunting establishments in England, but gin 
 became his ruin." 
 
 Drink is a thing that, sooner or later, shows itself in all men, 
 and, perhaps, in Huntsmen and Whips sooner than in most, 
 through the medium of the voice. There is a huskiness about 
 the voice of the dram-drinker, far removed from the joyful, 
 cheerful note of the sound, healthy-lunged, sober man ; indeed, 
 we sometimes fancy that men's voices sound differently after a 
 " lawn meet," to what they do at the ordinary run of the 
 hunting fi.xtures. After the huskiness comes the broken voice 
 of the old practitioner. We have heard men whose notes have 
 been broken right in two. 
 
 It is curious to see how hunting runs in families — to see 
 how certain names pervade our different hunting establish- 
 ments — how like begets like, and son succeeds father. Shirley, 
 for instance, has a son Huntsman to Sir John Cope : old Tom 
 Ball, if we mistake not, has one or two Whipper-in sons — one, 
 we know, whipped-in to Mountford, in Leicestershire, in Lord 
 Sufiield's time, and we think there was another with the 
 Pytchley, during Mr. Payne's first occupation of the country, 
 if not in Lord Chesterfield's reign. Smith, Lord Yarborough's 
 Huntsman, is great-grandson of the first Huntsman of that 
 
90 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 name; his father, our readers may remember, had the mis- 
 fortune to break his neck at a trilling place the very last day of 
 a season. 
 
 Mr. Davis, speaking of Smith, the father, in the " Hunter's 
 Annual," where, of him and his two sons, as Whippers-in, 
 caf)ital likenesses are given, says : — 
 
 " Of the natural requisites for a Huntsman of foxhounds, so 
 much has been said before, and really so much seems to be 
 expected, that a man to shine in this department is one to be 
 chosen out of ten thousand, and then his youth ought to be 
 spent in the education fitting his peculiar line of life. It has 
 been said of Smith, that if schooling had done as much for 
 him as nature had endowed him with, that no situation in 
 life would be too high for his powers. It is highly honour- 
 able to him and his family, that he is the third generation 
 filling the office of Huntsman to the Brocklesby Hunt. In 
 1816, the Lord Yarborough of that day presented the grand- 
 father of the present Huntsman with a handsome silver cup, 
 capable of holding the liberal quantity of upwards of two 
 quarts, on which was this inscription — ' The gift of Lord 
 Yarborough to his huntsman, after having been more than 
 fifty years in his service ; made as an acknowledgment of that 
 indefatigable and unremitting attention to the business of his 
 vocation, which may be recommended for a pattern to those 
 who succeed him, and can never be surpassed.' " Of the 
 estimation in which the late one was held by the country, 
 we add a description of the present made to him by his sporting 
 friends : — A large salver, with a bold and richly embossed edge 
 and border, and a broad chased wreath encircling a plain 
 shield in the centre, on which is engraved — " This salver and 
 a teapot, coffeepot, sugar-basin, and cream-ewer (purchased 
 by subscribers of five shillings each), were presented to 
 Mr. William Smith by his friends and the sportsmen in the 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 91 
 
 Brocklesbj' Hunt, as a testimony of their high estimation of 
 his propriety of conduct and great abihty as a Huntsman : 
 October, 1834." Sebright had a somewhat similar present 
 from the gentlemen and yeomen of Lord Fitzwilliam's Hunt, 
 in 1S36. Sebright is another instance of the passion for 
 hunting running in families. He is the son of a famous 
 Huntsman, and was almost nursed in the kennel. He has 
 gone through all the gradations of service. At fifteen he 
 entered the list of Whips under West, who hunted the old 
 Surrey when Mr. Nevill was Master. He then went to Mr. 
 Osbaldeston, and from him he came to Lord Fitzwilliam. 
 Skinner is a good name. There were three brothers at work 
 with hounds a few years since, all by old Skinner, who was 
 live-and-fifty years with Mr. Meynell. There were four Hills, 
 all Huntsmen or first Whippers-in at the same time. Tom 
 and his brother Peckham in Surrey, Jem in Wiltshire, and 
 Dick in Oxfordshire, or Jem in 0.xfordshire and Dick in 
 Wiltshire, we forget which. The Oldacres were all sportsmen, 
 and the name not to be beat ; the celebrated old Tom was 
 father of two Huntsmen. Treadwell is a good name in the 
 hunting world. There are two brothers who have graduated 
 from Huntsmen-Whipper-in-ships to be regular Huntsmen ; 
 one under Mr. Codrington and Mr. Horlock, the other under 
 Mr. Smith of the Craven. Mr. Codrington's Treadwell now 
 hunts Mr. Farquharson's hounds, and has a son a Whipper-in 
 with the Hambledon ; Charles, Mr. Smith's one, is now 
 Huntsman with Lord Harewood. Old Tom Rose got young 
 Tom Rose ; and, if we mistake not, Tom Wingfield, Mr. 
 Drake's Huntsman, in Oxfordshire, is son of Tom Wingfield, 
 who whipped-in to Raven and Goodall in Leicestershire in 
 Lord Sefton's time. Mr. Drake's Huntsman, Wingfield, has, 
 or had, a Whipper-in of the name of Goodall, very likely a 
 son of Goodall the Huntsman. Tom Leedham, Mr. Meynell 
 
02 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Ingram's Huntsman, is or was whipped-in to by his two sons. 
 There is one name, "Jones," that is about extinct in the 
 liuntins; field. Mr. Meynell had a famous cork-legged ^^'hipper- 
 in of that name, who was also a bit of an author, and 
 published some journals of their doings. He was a great rider 
 and a great drinker also. They say he used sometimes to get 
 so drunk that he could not recollect, when he awoke in the 
 morning, where he had left his leg over-night. There was also 
 a Robert Jones, who hunted a joint pack, kept by the late 
 Colonel Wardle and the late Sir Harry Goodricke's father, in 
 Flintshire. The celebrated Tom Crane, afterwards Huntsman 
 to the Fife hounds, came, we believe, from that part of the 
 kingdom, and has left no hunting descendants that we know 
 of. Crane, from all accounts, was a most extraordinary man. 
 It was said of him that one of his eyes was worth two of most 
 other men's, and that his ear was as true as his eye was quick. 
 Crane hunted the Duke of Wellington's hounds during the 
 Peninsular war, and one day in the ardour followed his hounds 
 almost into the enemy's camp. 
 
 Most of these men rose from the ranks, that is to say, from 
 Whipper-in-ships. 
 
 John Winter entered life as Pad-Groom under Mr. Ralph 
 Lambton in Leicestershire, in Mr. Meynell's time, and passed 
 through all the gradations of second and first Whip, and 
 Huntsman Whipper-in, when Mr. Lambton hunted the hounds. 
 Dick Foster whipped-in to Lord Foley, in Worcestershire ; 
 Will Long whipped-in to Philip Payne with the Duke of 
 Beaufort's ; the late Jack Richards, Huntsman to the Bads- 
 worth, whipped-in to Sir Bellingham Graham, in the Atherstone 
 country ; so did Will Staples, afterwards Huntsman to Sir 
 Rowland Hill — Will was by old Tom Staples, once Huntsman 
 to Lord Middleton. In short, most of our eminent men have 
 filled the subordinate offices of Whipper-in, and risen to 
 
THE WHIPPER-IN 
 
 93 
 
 eminence by talent and good conduct. Let the rising generation 
 emulate them ; but let them remember that talent is of no 
 use without conduct. Above all, let them beware of the 
 
 DRINK. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE EARTH-STOPPER 
 
 ■Six crafty Earth-stoppers in hunters' green drest, 
 Supported ])oor Tom to ' an earth ' made for rest.'' 
 
 Tom Moodv. 
 
 7 
 
 ^'. 
 
 ^--''- ■ ""!'-,' ^j^T'r- 
 
 '-c >^^ * 
 
 /i 
 
 
 LRTAIN things there are 
 we never wished to be — we 
 never wished to be a sailor ; 
 we never wished to be an 
 "old Charley"; we never 
 wished to be a great span- 
 gled cock ballet dancer at 
 the Opera ; we never wished 
 to be Lord Maj'or of York ; 
 we never wished to be Mr. 
 Green, the aeronaut : we 
 never wished to be a dentist ; we never wished to be King of 
 the Cannibal Islands ; we ne\-er wished to be a surgeon- 
 accoucheur ; we never wished to be postmaster of Heligoland ; 
 we never wished to be Stunning Joe Banks ; and, most cer- 
 tainly, we never wished to be an Earth-stopper. An Earth- 
 stopper ! oh, no ! Of all cold, candle-light, frigid, cheerless, 
 teeth-chattering, arm-flopping occupations, that of an Earth- 
 stopper assuredly is the most so. When all the world is 
 "snoring" fast asleep, our unfortunate woodland watchman 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 95 
 
 has to leave his downy couch and encounter the elements and 
 roughnesses of the thicket. Lord bless us ! fanc}' such a 
 night as last, the rain beating against the casements, the wind 
 howling, and blowing a perfect hurricane : the brooks swelled 
 into torrents, the rivers into seas ; and fancy having to leave 
 the warm house, the bright crackling fire, to grope and prowl 
 about the country like a thief in the night time : a man ought 
 to be well paid for such work as that. 
 
 Earth-stoppers are of two sorts — the resident Earth-stopper, 
 and the head Earth-stopper, or Earth-stopper in Eyi-e, as the 
 old law books designate the judges of assize. The head 
 Earth-stopper is an officer peculiar to great establishments ; 
 he is like the military inspector of a district, and it is his 
 business to go about and see that his subordinates do their 
 duty. In summer he receives and examines into the truth 
 of reported breeds ; in winter he sees that the right range of 
 country is properly stopped ; and, above all, properly opened. 
 The Earth-stopper only does half his business who only stops 
 the earths ; opening them after hunting is quite as important. 
 
 Yon weather-beaten old man, in the two-j'ear old cap, and 
 three-year old coat, is the head of the department of our 
 hunt ; he is to the Earth-stopping fraternity what the " super- 
 intendent " is to the police ; he is paid by the year, they by 
 the stop. Old Foxfix, for such is his name, is a varmint 
 looking old fellow, and when the old grey — or rather white — 
 is away from the high conditioned horses of the field, and the 
 new scarlet coats of the men do not throw the old plum colour 
 into the shade, he makes a \exy respectable appearance. He 
 knows every hill — every rise from which a view of the varmint 
 may be obtained; and often when the chase has lagged, and 
 hopes began to pall, old Foxfix's cap, on the sky line of the 
 horizon, has infused joy into the field below, and brought 
 hounds, horses, and men, to his welcome and undoubted 
 halloo. 
 
96 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Tlie Earth-stopper is generally a popular man in the 
 country, and many of them are as good hands at finding 
 their ways into the earths of farmers and gentlemen's houses, 
 as they are at finding the fox earths. Besides ascertaining 
 the breeds and probable number of foxes, they have also to 
 hear evidence as to their ravages, and keep a check on the 
 poultry account. Here they act 'as middle men between the 
 Master and the hen farmer, and in this department we would 
 advise them to give the cast of the scale in favour of the 
 farmer. Never mind if the hunt does pay for a few more 
 hens and geese than reynard really consumes. Foxhunters 
 pay nothing for field damage, hedging, rail-mending, and so 
 on ; and, moreover, the poultry is generally the perquisite of 
 the ladies, to whom foxhunters are always ready to do suit 
 and service. Indeed, were we a Master — which had we to 
 make out a catalogue of wishes instead of one of objections — 
 we should place at the head of the list — we should always be 
 glad to hear of a good lot of poultry damage. We should 
 regard the ravages of reynard much as we regard the appetite 
 of our friend Peter Pigskin, who it does our heart good to see 
 feed. The more damage say we the more foxes, at least we 
 would flatter ourselves so, though some ungentlemanly foxes 
 certainly will commit waste as well as proper plunder. These, 
 however, are the shabby dogs of the country, who generally 
 die ignominiously in cover, their distended bellies " with fat 
 capon lined." 
 
 In no instance is the popularity or unpopularity of a Master 
 more apparent than in the abundance or scarcity of foxes. 
 The man who can command a country full of foxes without 
 the aid of a superintendent Earth-stopper, resembles a monarch 
 who can trust himself among his people without a body guard. 
 There is no criterion — in a hunting country at least — so in- 
 fallible as a goodly show of foxes. It shows that the farmers 
 and the country people are pleased — rank, wealth, large 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 97 
 
 demesne, will not insure what the single word " popularity" 
 will achieve. Popularity is, in truth, the foundation of fox- 
 hunting. It is very true that the sport is popular itself, but it 
 is also equally true that a popular man with moderate means 
 will far outstrip in his show of foxes the richest millionaire 
 who lacks that quality. 
 
 Not that we mean to insinuate that keeping a regular Earth- 
 stopper is any sign of want of popularity ; on the contrary, 
 we have known some most popular Masters who have always 
 had them, but we say that half a hundred regular Earth- 
 stoppers will not insure foxes to a Alaster who is personally 
 offensive or objectionable. Fox-preserving, like voting by 
 ballot, is a good deal matter of conscience. A man promises 
 to " preserve " just as he promises to " vote " for you, but 
 if he keeps his own counsel you cannot detect the contrary. 
 After all is said and done, therefore, popularity is the best 
 fox-finder. 
 
 There is something very sporting and picturesque about 
 a fox earth. They are generally in romantic, sequestered, 
 secluded places; in deep ravines, or on the side of woody hills. 
 Their adjuncts are all pure and rural. The clean thrown up 
 sand at the mouth, the projecting rock above, or knarled root 
 supporting its lofty time-honoured oak, with the little accom- 
 paniments of bright growing hazel, knotty black thorn, and 
 withered fern or faded heath. It is strange how fox after fox 
 draws to the same spot ; what was a breeding earth a century 
 ago is a breeding earth now, and is as notorious to a country 
 as a turnpike gate. How creditable it is to the lower orders 
 that they should be held, as they are, inviolate, at least in all 
 countries where hounds come, or are even expected to come. 
 The man who has killed a fox is quite as much an object of 
 execration among the lower orders, as the acred vulpecide is 
 in the higher circles, with the disagreeable addition of moving 
 among men accustomed to speak their minds without the gloss 
 
 H 
 
OS THE IHTNTING FIELD 
 
 of courtly phraseology. " IV/io sliot the fox? " is an exclama- 
 tion that has sent many a skulking vagabond out of the 
 public-house, when a group of honest rustics have been 
 exulting over a day's sport. Indeed, the lower orders set an 
 example well worthy the imitation of many who call them- 
 selves their superiors in their respect for the fox. They look 
 upon him as a sort of privileged animal. He even seems to 
 shed a sort of lustre over those in any way connected with 
 him. Ask the first people you meet in a village where the 
 constable lives, and they cither can't or won't tell you, but 
 ask where the man lives " wot stops the fox earths," and they 
 will not only tell you, but accompany you to the door. This 
 is as it should be, and long may it continue so. It is this that 
 gets Earth-stoppers — it is this that makes men nervous and 
 fidgety in their beds, lest they oversleep themselves, and very 
 possibly causes them to bolt master reynard's door before he 
 has left the house. They are anxious for the sport themselves, 
 and anxious for the amusement of the country at large. They 
 feel that the honours of the day are greatly dependent on 
 them, and are correspondingly alive to their duties. 
 
 Mr. Daniel, in his " Rural Sports," says, "The fox knows 
 how to ensure safety, by providing himself with an asylum, 
 which he either does by dispossessing the badger, or digs the 
 earth himself; in either case it is so contrived as to afford the 
 best security to the inhabitants by being situated under hard 
 ground, the roots of trees, &c., and is, besides, furnished by 
 the fox with proper outlets, through which he may escape 
 from every quarter ; here he retires from pressing dangers, and 
 here brings up his young ; so that the fox is not a wanderer, 
 but lives in a settled domestic state." Daniel makes him 
 quite a respectable character, a housekeeper in fact, with a 
 back and front door to his residence, though we cannot say 
 we ever saw an earth with such accommodation. In running 
 to ground where rabbits abound, it is not uncommon for 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 99 
 
 reynard to bolt out of one hole while the foxhunting " navies" 
 are busy at another, but those holes are made by the 
 " bunnies," not by the foxes : reynard is there only a lodger. 
 Speaking of his domestic habits, Daniel says further, " The 
 idea of a settled place of abode indicates a singular attention 
 to self ; the choice of a situation and of rendering that abode 
 commodious, and of concealing the avenues to it, imply a 
 superior degree of sentiment ; the fox is endowed with this 
 quality, and manages it with advantage ; he prefers the covers 
 near dwellings, where he listens to the cries of the poultry ; in 
 his attacks upon them he chooses the time with judgment, 
 and concealing his road, slips forward with caution, and 
 seldom makes a fruitless expedition." Daniel had not been 
 much of a fox-man, we think, or else the animal must have 
 changed its habits a good deal since his book was written. 
 We have often seen foxes found in covers in the neighbour- 
 hood of farm-houses, but we do not remember at this moment 
 ever seeing an earth at all that would be called close to farm 
 buildings. Daniel's book, however, was written forty years 
 ago, since when foxhunting has undergone considerable 
 change, particularly the lodging — we might almost say the 
 domestication of foxes. We have now all sorts of artificial 
 contrivances, from the fagot cover down to Mr. Smith's 
 masonic drain. In Daniel's time, indeed, it seems to have 
 been a " moot " point whether foxes were entitled to protection 
 or not, just as we have heard people contend for the right to 
 shoot persons who have the luck to be outlawed. Daniel 
 says, " The destruction and preservation of foxes are points 
 upon which there is a difference of opinion ; the law holds out 
 a reward for the death of the aiiiinal, to be paid by the church- 
 wardens of every parish, whilst the foxhunters and their 
 friends use all possible exertions to protect the breed and 
 increase their numbers." He then gives the letter of a noble- 
 man to his agent in Leicestershire, desiring the agent to show 
 
100 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 every accommodation to the tenants who had been friendly to 
 the hunts of " Lord Spencer, the Duke of Rutland, Mr. 
 Meynell, and Lord Stamford." " On the other hand," 
 writes the noble lord, " you will take care and make very 
 particular inquiries into the conduct of those tenants who 
 shall have shown a contrary disposition, by destroying foxes 
 or encouraging others so to do, or otherwise interrupting 
 gentlemen's diversion, and will transmit me their names and 
 places of abode, as it is my absolute determination that such 
 persons shall not be treated with in future by me upon any 
 terms or consideration whatever. I am convinced that land- 
 owners, as well as farmers and labourers of every description, 
 if they knew their own interest, would perceive that they owe 
 much of their prosperitj' to those popular hunts, by the great 
 influx of money that is annually brought into the country; I 
 shall therefore use my utmost endeavours to induce all persons 
 of my acquaintance to adopt similar measures ; and I am 
 already happy to find that three gentlemen of very extensive 
 landed property in Leicestershire, and on the borders of 
 Northamptonshire, have positively sent, within these few days, 
 similar directions to their stewards, which their tenants will 
 be apprised of before they re-take their farms at next Lady- 
 Day. My sole object is, having the good of the community at 
 heart, as j'ou and all my tenants know that my sporting days 
 have been over some time ago." 
 
 That letter is as good now as it was the day it was written. 
 
 Having mentioned Mr. Smith's artificial earths or drains, 
 we may here quote what he says on the subject of stopping, in 
 his " Diary of a Huntsman." 
 
 " Hunting countries," says he, " which abound with fox- 
 earths are very liable to have blank days, according to the 
 usual method of arrangements ; for where there are earths, 
 foxes at times will be in them when they are wanted elsewhere, 
 even when the Earth-stoppers do their duty ; but the first 
 
THE EARTH-STOi'J'ER 101 
 
 question to put is, whether it is Hkely that a man can be 
 depended on to get up long before daylight in the coldest and 
 most dreary part of the winter, to stop a cold earth and leave 
 the warmer clay by his side. It's all very well for men to say 
 ' yes ! ' and that they know they do their duty properly, for 
 they have sent down to ascertain it. Ascertain what ? that 
 the earths were stopt before it was light. What matters that ? 
 how long before light does a fox go to ground at this time, 
 when it is not light much before eight o'clock, this being three 
 hours later than at other parts of the season ; and they are 
 ' consequently more often stopt after the fox has gone in than 
 before, and a very little ingenuity will extort this fact from an 
 Earth-stopper, that he has often found his stopping removed 
 by a fox scratching out when he has gone to take it out him- 
 self next morning, which accounts for many blank da3'S." 
 
 Some amusing productions used to be published a few years 
 ago, under the title of " Sporting Almanacks," and assuredly, 
 as far as making sport went, they were rightly named. In 
 them the commencement of hunting used to be iixed as 
 accurately as Horncastle Fair or Doncaster Races. Such a 
 day of September hare-hunting commenced — such a day of 
 October fox-hunting began, without any reference whatever to 
 the seasons. Earth-stopping is dealt with in a similar way by 
 certain sporting compilers — between such an hour and such 
 an hour the Stopper is directed to be at his work, without 
 reference to weather, season, localities, moon, or anything, 
 just as if foxes had their dressing and dinner bells, and went 
 to feed with the punctuality of their pursuers. " We may be 
 wrong," as Mr. Meynell used to say, but we take it foxes re- 
 semble a gay club-living bachelor, much more than a punctual 
 six o'clock family man. They like their chicken, or lamb 
 chops, just at their own time, without the restraint of specified 
 hours. Reynard may have fallen in with something dainty 
 in the middle of the day, and may not feel inclined to turn out 
 
102 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 on the grand prowl till a later or earlier hour in the morning. 
 He may put his nose out and find it raining, and having 
 neither cloak, mackintosh, nor clogs, may decide that he is not 
 hungry, or that he has a little something in his larder in the 
 neighbourhood that he can get when the weather improves. 
 
 From an hour before midnight, till about three o'clock in 
 the morning, is the prescribed time of the authorities, though 
 should it be moonlight, and reynard hungry, we don't see 
 what is to detain him at home so late. Better, however, to be 
 late than too early, for it is unpleasant, both to fox and 
 followers, to have him in the " lock-up house " when he is 
 wanted at large. 
 
 Mr. Smith was an advocate — indeed the inventor of the 
 system of walling up earths at the beginning of the season, 
 the duties of the Earth-stoppers being to see that the fagots, 
 or whatever the barrier was made of, were not removed until 
 the spring, when the vixens were let in to a lay up. A deduc- 
 tion w-as made from the pay of a man for each time a fox got 
 to ground in his district. 
 
 Mr. Smith, indeed, considers the disadvantages of having 
 earths are so much greater than the advantages, that if every 
 earth in the country were done away with, it would be a 
 benefit to foxhunting, even as respects the breeding of foxes, 
 for the vixens would breed above ground in furze, or would 
 find drains which no one knows of. 
 
 Colonel Cook published an estimate some years since of the 
 expense of hunting a country, which has been quoted and 
 requoted till we are tired of seeing it, for it has alwaj'S 
 appeared to us that the expense of hunting one country affords 
 no more clue to the expense of hunting another, than does the 
 management of foxes and fox-earths in one country afford a 
 guide to the management of foxes and fox-earths in another. 
 Almost all countries are now hunted after some fashion or 
 
THE EARTH-STOPrER 103 
 
 other, and a good thing it is that they are, for it not only 
 keeps men at home, but it affords sport and amusement to 
 many who would otherwise not get out at all, but one country 
 may have too many foxes, while an adjoining, and better one, 
 may be short of them. The better a country is, the greater 
 the trouble, difficulty, and expense of keeping it stocked with 
 foxes. This is self-evident, for the greater the security, the 
 greater the temptation to foxes ; hence the necessity of hunting 
 good and bad places alternately, or the foxes will be all 
 huddled together in the bad places. Hills, forests, deans, 
 crags, rocks, are all friendly to foxes, but unfavourable to the 
 progression of the chase. We remember breakfasting with a 
 Master of wiry-haired, rough mountain hounds once, when the 
 servant came in to say that a neighbouring farmer had sent 
 word that he must shoot the fox if the gentlemen did not 
 come to hunt him, for that reynard was constantly eyeing his 
 lambs. " Tell him to blaze away," replied the gentleman, 
 adding as the servant left the room, " if there were fewer foxes 
 I should kill more, but the fact is, if I ask a man in this 
 country to stay his hand, he will think he has a claim on me 
 for damage, whereas I hold out that I have a claim on them 
 for keeping down the stock of foxes, besides," continued he, 
 "there are many chances in reynard's favour as it is. First of 
 all, it's ten to one that the old blunderbuss will not go off; 
 secondly, if it does go off, it's twenty to one that the farmer 
 misses, and the fox will know just as well as him that he has 
 got something in his hand, and will take -good care not to 
 let him come within reach." Good logic in the mountains, 
 but not in the vales. Contrast it with the doings in Hertford- 
 shire as described by Mr. Delme Radcliffe, who truly says that 
 a fox there is worth his weight in gold. Speaking of the fees 
 to keepers he says : — 
 
 " In the first place, I condemn the fixed price set upon each 
 
104 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 day's amusement, the extravagance of the terms upon which 
 hounds leave their kennel, as likch- to operate, at some time 
 or other, seriously against b3'e-days ; and as an increase of 
 contingent expense which might well be spared. Secondly, I 
 assert, that with all the good will and support of the nobility, 
 squirearchy, and yeomanry, the Master of Hounds in this, or 
 any other similarly circumstanced countrj', is virtually at the 
 mercy of Gamekeepers and Earth-stoppers. For every fox 
 that is found, from one end of the country to the other, the 
 sum of one sovereign is booked, allowed, and regularly paid. 
 The fees of Earth-stoppers, from half-a-crown to ten or fifteen 
 shillings, according to the number of stops within the pro\-ince 
 of each, amount on the average to four pounds per diem. 
 Thus, supposing that the sport is limited to the finding of one 
 fox, we start with an expense of five pounds as the smallest 
 tax upon the day, independent of all the inevitable wear and 
 tear. So long as the subordinates have as much interest in 
 foxes as farmers have in their stocks or any kind of propert}', 
 it is not to be wondered that the animal abounds ; and it is 
 equally clear that it would be better that they should cost two 
 sovereigns each, than that the stock should be diminished, 
 seeing that there is no medium — that they are, or are not, that 
 they are altogether preserved, or utterl}' destroyed — as there is 
 no such thing as modification in the forms of vulpecide." 
 This is expensive work certainlj', but we do not see how it is 
 to be remedied. Foxhunting, without foxes, will never do ; 
 there is nothing rnore disheartening than riding from cover to 
 cover, with the full con\'iction that each will be a blank. We 
 know a man who went to an enormous expense with his 
 hounds, but somehow or other, he could not find in his heart , 
 to pay his Earth-stoppers properly, consequently the whole 
 outlay — some thousands per annum — was absolutely sacrificed 
 for a paltr}' saving of a couple of five pound notes, for we 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 105 
 
 really do not suppose the difference between what he did pay, 
 and what he ought, would have amounted to more in the year. 
 " Hertfordshire " does not sound much like hunting, and 
 doubtless this is an extreme case, and one that is not likely 
 ever to become general. In fact, none but a rich country 
 could stand such work. A bad custom, however, is much 
 easier introduced than got rid of, and gentlemen in other 
 countries will do well to take warning by Hertfordshire. The 
 mischief here appears to be the "patent office" of keeper, 
 the fees to Earth-stoppers not being higher than in other 
 countries. Earth-stoppers should be well paid. Theirs is the 
 worst office connected with hunting. A little pettifogging 
 economy is badlj' exercised with them. 
 
 Mr. Vyner says that in Warwickshire, in 1830, the Hunt 
 Committee reduced the pay of the Earth-stoppers to half, and 
 the result was, what might be expected, in about half the 
 covers " no find." 
 
 An occasional " tip " to a keeper is all very well, but the 
 regularly "booked demand," described by Mr. Delme Rad- 
 cliffe, "carries absurdity and inconsistency on the face of it," 
 as exposed by the honourable gentleman himself, who says 
 " that it is done, notwithstanding most of the great game 
 preservers in Hertfordshire have as much or far more pleasure 
 in the possession of foxes than of game in their coverts; 
 therefore it appears somewhat absurd that they should be 
 compelled to become parties to the purchase of them from the 
 very servants whose duty it is to protect them. The Master 
 stipulates with his keeper no less for the protection of the fo.x 
 than of the pheasant, and yet allows an extraordinary premium 
 to be paid, a prize to be directlj' awarded to him for the 
 fulfilment of that, in default of which he should, and generally 
 would, be discharged." 
 
 Mr. Delme Radcliffe suggests the following remedy : — 
 
10(5 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " I would not entirely abolish rewards to keepers," says 
 he, " by way of encouragement in the shape of douceurs at 
 Christmas, or at the end of the season ; but I would have no 
 regular charge for finds, nor even regular charges for Earth- 
 stopping, excepting in coverts expressly hired for the purposes 
 of the hunt. There such payments might be a part of the 
 wages of those employed ; but I would have the preservation 
 of the foxes, and the stopping of the earths for hunting matters, 
 entirely dependent upon their respective proprietors. I would 
 have every lord of a domain make a point of enforcing his 
 determination to contribute gratuitously all in his power to the 
 noble sport." 
 
 A very good resolution, say we; but suppose the said lord 
 is a shooter, how then ? Foxhunters are very apt to fancy that 
 every one must favour their sport, but some apparently very 
 friendly people would have no objection to see foxhunting 
 abolished altogether. 
 
 " Instead of a regular bill, amounting to from ;^io to ;^i5 
 to be presented by a keeper," writes Mr. Radcliffe, " as the 
 price of his forbearance, in permitting the existence of animals 
 considered obnoxious to game, and, in reality, destructive to 
 the rabbits, which are his perquisites, I would have -£^ the 
 maximum of remuneration. Such a sum might be adequate 
 compensation to any good servant for the trouble of doing his 
 duty, and would be received merely as a token of approbation 
 of the manner in which he discharged it, when the success of 
 his endeavours entitled him to such consideration. There can 
 be no reason why underkeepers, or other labourers, might not 
 as well undertake the earth-stopping, on account of their 
 regular employer, as on that of recompense from a separate 
 body." 
 
 '■ It has always been the custom, in Herts," continues our 
 author, " to hold two Earth-stopper feasts, one on each side 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 107 
 
 of the country; the Huntsman presiding: they are attended 
 by all the Gamekeepers, Earth-stoppers, et hoc genus omne, of 
 the districts ; the annual expense of both seldom exceeding 
 ^30 ; and they tend to implant, and keep alive, sentiments 
 most desirable to cherish." 
 
 Mr. Smith devotes a whole chapter to keepers, between 
 whom and the world at large he seems anxious to do justice. 
 
 " There is an old saying," writes he, " ' give a dog a bad 
 name and hang him,' — which maxim is too often applied to 
 gamekeepers : for there are some who are really friends to 
 foxhunting, and who have more pride in showing foxes with 
 their pheasants, that is in the same covers, than any others 
 can have in showing pheasants without them : innumerable 
 instances can be proved that foxes and pheasants can be had 
 in abundance in the same covers, particularly where there are 
 rabbits : the writer has seen five foxes cross a ride in a cover, 
 and nearly as many hundred pheasants." 
 
 In the following, Mr. Smith hits the right nail on the 
 head : — 
 
 " The great objection which keepers have to foxes is, that 
 they destroy so great a number of rabbits, which are the 
 keeper's perquisites, and consequently they are disposed to 
 destroy foxes." 
 
 No doubt about it, and therefore the remedy is not to let 
 the keeper have rabbits. Some people will say they won't 
 come without. Won't they, indeed ! We know a gentleman 
 who advertised for a keeper, and had thirty applications in 
 one week. Keepers are not like Huntsmen or Whips, men 
 that are difficult to meet with. As Mr. Grantley Berkeley, 
 the great game authority of the day, says, " Any man who 
 can shoot a hawk sitting will do for a keeper." 
 
 " It is a difficult thing," adds Mr. Smith, " to know how 
 to act with them ; but it is much the wisest plan to treat them 
 
108 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 civilly, even if they are doubtful, until proofs can be brought 
 against them that they do destroy foxes against their master's 
 will ; for there are many keepers most highly respectable men, 
 and indeed, under any circumstances, it is the height of folly 
 to abuse them openly, as is too often done." 
 
 Mr. Smith afterwards relates an anecdote of a most righteous 
 keeper, who, being accused of killing cubs, which he offered to 
 take any sized oath he did not, on the act being brought home 
 to him, candidly said, " Well, then, I did do it ; for it would 
 be unnatural in me not to kill what I was brought up to do." 
 
 We are, however, getting rather off the line, but keepers 
 are so connected with foxes and Earth-stoppers, that we 
 could hardly avoid touching upon them. We agree with 
 Mr. Smith that there are many highly respectable men among 
 keepers, men w^ho are reallj' fond of hunting, and we are 
 not sure that in some instances where they are blamed, the 
 fault is with the Earth-stopper. Of course an Earth-stopper 
 cannot " ring " the foxes out at a certain hour, as the bellman 
 does the merchants on the Royal Exchange, and he must 
 just "stop" at the likeliest time for the majority to be 
 roaming ; and, if any stay at home when they ought to be 
 out, why they must just go without their suppers. Do not, 
 however, let sportsmen condemn a keeper for an occasional 
 blank. Who knows but a fox, finding his earth stopped, may 
 say to himself, "I'll cut my stick; for, if I mistake not, 
 those terrible high bred dogs of Mr. Rattlecover's will be here 
 to-day." It is not attributing too much sagacity to the wily 
 animal to suppose that he will recognize the features that 
 preceded a former discomfiture. Foxes are quite as good 
 hands as other animals at discriminating where harm is meant 
 and none — who are their friends and who not. How leisurely 
 a fox disturbed b}' the sombre dressed shooter trots away, 
 sniffing the air and looking over his shoulder, as much as to 
 
THE EARTH-STOPPER 
 
 109 
 
 say, these bothersome people are not wanting me. He takes 
 them as coolly as the "Artful Dodger" would take a police- 
 man in quest of a comrade with whom he has not been doing 
 " business" lately. 
 
 Here is old Foxfix himself, we declare, doing the electric 
 telegraph with his cap, rejoicing the hearts of a now despond- 
 ing ireld. 
 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GROOM 
 
 .<^: 
 
 
 V>-— <i''*5&' 
 
 half the fellows calling 
 themselves " Grooms " were 
 in their proper places, how 
 well the pigs would be at- 
 tended to ! 
 
 Were it not for the in- 
 consistency of the thing, it 
 would say much for the 
 confiding innocence of hu- 
 
 man nature, and confidence 
 in mankind, that while some 
 men try, and pause, and deliberate, and hesitate, and call in 
 friends, and, lastly, veterinary surgeons, to examine a horse 
 ere they buy him, they yet can hire a Groom with often- 
 times no recommendation but the fellow's own. It never 
 seems to strike some men that a horse is a horse, or only 
 half a horse, according to the manner in which he is kept — 
 that you may make one and the same animal two perfectly 
 different creatures, by good grooming and bad ; na\-, that you 
 may even keep a groggy, half worn out horse on his legs by 
 dint of condition and management. Grooms are as various 
 as geraniums or dahlias — they are of all sorts, from the Stud- 
 
THE GROOM 111 
 
 Groom of my lord duke, who occasionally condescends to 
 hold a stirrup, down to the yokel who looks "arter" old 
 Miss Frowsington's "one oss chay," digs the garden, waits 
 at table, milks the cow, washes the poodle, cleans the parrot's 
 cage, sweethearts the maid, and makes himself generally 
 useless and troublesome. Grooms rank high in the scale 
 of servitude, and though in our fancy sketch of the Earl 
 Marshal's coronation procession we put house servants above 
 them, yet, if we were arranging them, we are not sure but we 
 would place Grooms immediately after Huntsmen and kennel 
 servants. We look upon a Groom as a real useful article 
 in an establishment ; in our mind they rank equal with the 
 cook in the domestic department, and, like cooks, are of 
 exceedingly various orders of merit. We can't do without a 
 Groom, any more than we can without a cook ; for though in 
 our moments of high-horseish-ness we may swear that we will 
 clean our own horse or cook our own dinner, rather than put 
 up with the impudence of a servant, still it is a feat that no 
 one would like to be constantly repeating. Grooms, there- 
 fore, we say, are really useful people, and, like the old story 
 of the king and the basket-maker of our childhood, rank 
 before the ornamental " knights of the napkin '" and toilette. 
 
 Of course in this our " Analysis of the Hunting Field," 
 the Hunting Groom is the one we have most in our mind's 
 eye, and to him we shall chiefly direct our observations. 
 
 A great change we imagine has taken place in the whole 
 style and system of hunting within the last century, and every- 
 thing appertaining to horses, hounds, country and riding, has 
 undergone material alteration. 
 
 If we take an old map of a county, it looks like a barren 
 plain instead of the divided town-dotted populous region of 
 the present day, and though in riding over it we may be told 
 that this is Thisselton Moor, or that Wideopen Common, 
 there is nothing to indicate such regions but the name. 
 
112 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Moors, open fields, common lands, &c., are all favourable to 
 hunting, not only as tending to promote the straightforward 
 progression of the chase, but m preventing the honourable 
 contention of arriving first at big leaps ; for it may be observed 
 that men are never jealous of each other so long as there 
 is no fencing. Our forefathers, therefore, had every chance 
 of being sportsmen : for, besides having no rivalry or emulation 
 among themselves, the lengths of their runs, with the softness 
 of their steeds, tended to make the riders save them at all 
 points. With the exception, too, of perhaps some half-dozen 
 hunts, Mr. Beckford's, Mr. Meynell's, Lord Talbot's, Lord 
 Yarborough's, Lord Fitzwilliams's, and a few others, the 
 majority of the packs were either trencher-fed, or only 
 kennelled during the winter ; a couple, or so, of hounds, 
 perhaps, being kept at the house of each follower, whose 
 attention would be riveted on his darlings in chase, instead 
 of diverted to the rasping of Thompson, or the bruising of 
 Jobson. These hunts were doubtless very popular, for there 
 is nothing so taking as a little bustle and stir, in which all 
 are at liberty to share. That is what makes a contested 
 election so popular. Men come out, and fuss, and canvass, 
 and strut, and swagger, who are heard of no more until 
 another contest comes round. There was another charac- 
 teristic attendant on many hunts in former days, which is 
 almost wholly lost sight of now — namely, hunts that used to 
 hunt hare till Christmas, and fo.x after. We never hear of 
 such establishments now — at least not avowedly — though 
 there are, doubtless, some that will hunt hare either before or 
 after Christmas ; but there are still those ubiquitous gentle- 
 men, the " oldest inhabitant," whose retentive memories are 
 charged with the miraculous doings of the past — how they 
 dragged up to reynard by daybreak — how Jowler unkennelled 
 him — how Towler hit him off at the road, and what a dance 
 he led them over hill and dale, till all the foot people were 
 
THE GROOM 113 
 
 shaken off, and half the horses sent home sad and tired. 
 These half-and-half hunts had an advantage not apparent at 
 first sight, which bears upon the heading of our paper. By 
 running hare till Christmas, sportsmen got their soft horses 
 into condition for the lengthened and more fatiguing fox- 
 chases that took place after. 
 
 The condition of hunters was certainly not generally under- 
 stood, or perhaps attended to, until about twenty years ago, 
 when " Nimrod " essayed his letters on the subject. We do 
 not mean to say that large first-rate establishments were 
 ignorant of the subject ; but certainly tired, stopping, and 
 dying horses were much more common before he wrote than 
 they have been since. Indeed, we seldom hear of a horse 
 being killed by sheer riding, unless in the hands of some raw, 
 enterprising beginner, who has omitted no opportunity of 
 taking a gallop whenever he could get one, needful or other- 
 wise — a gallop being a gallop with some, and quite as enjoyable 
 without hounds as with. 
 
 Mr. Beckford, in his " Thoughts upon Hunting," glanced at 
 what "Nimrod" afterwards wrote into a system, namely, 
 losing all the condition gained by the work and the feeding 
 of winter, by turning the horses out to grass in the spring. 
 Mr. Beckford, we imagine, had been of the grazing order ; 
 indeed, for any but a few countries, there is no doubt but the 
 old-fashioned system, with proper management, will always 
 produce condition enough for all legitimate riding to hounds. 
 The heat and flies of summer used to be the great argument 
 against turning out ; but, as summers go, it is very seldom we 
 have much to complain of in that w-ay. Doubtless the house 
 system is the surest and the safest way to hard condition, but 
 it is much more expensive than the other, though of course its 
 advocates always swear it is not. A man's hobby never costs 
 anything. 
 
 " Nimrod's " letters on condition did a great deal of good, 
 
 I 
 
114 THE HI NTIXG FIELD 
 
 though perhaps he was rather in the extreme, at all events 
 induced men to run into the extreme, who lost sight of the 
 fact that " Ximrod " took Leicestershire for his standard, and 
 that what might be necessar}' there might be superfluous else- 
 where. Besides, it is evident that with the variety of constitu- 
 tions, tendenc}- to lameness, and infirmit\- of horses, no general 
 rule can be laid down for their management. Treatment 
 adapted to each case seems to us a sounder and more sensible 
 system. We advocate clipping, a practice " Nimrod" never 
 could bring himself to hear of, though there is no doubt that 
 all who have tried it will admit its wonderful efficacy. 
 "Ximrod's"' objection seemed to be its cheapness, and its 
 tendency to make Grooms idle ; but the former is an objection 
 that poor men will readily pocket, and the latter is easily 
 remedied by giving each man three horses instead of two to 
 take care of. As times go, anything that tends to diminish 
 the expense of hunting establishments ought to be adopted, 
 and certainly clipping is a thing that not only saves labour to 
 the servant, but also needless annoyance and irritation to the 
 horse. A Groom never knows when he is done with a woollj'- 
 coated horse, for after he has strapped him, and rubbed him, 
 and got him, as he thinks, after much toil and labour to 
 himself, and plunging and kicking and wincing on the part of the 
 horse, all right and comfortable, very likely, on going into the 
 stable an hour or so after, he finds the horse all broke out again 
 into a cold clammy sweat, and all the rubbing and whisping to 
 do over again. Take the animal's pea-jacket of a coat off, either 
 by clipping, shaving, or singeing, and he not only looks five-and- 
 twenty per cent, better, but he thrives to the extent of five-and 
 twenty per cent, more, and does a third more work into the 
 bargain, with half or less than half the trouble to the Groom. 
 
 Clipping used to be quite a trade, nay, it almost threatened 
 to become a " profession " at one time, so high did the artists 
 run up their prices : but the humbug of the thing is exploded, 
 
THE GROOM 115 
 
 and prices are down. With very few exceptions, all the 
 fellows who go about the country clipping are mere grooms 
 and helpers out of place, who can't clip a bit better than a 
 man's own servant. Then when they get into a house where 
 the master is weak enough to let them have wear and tear for 
 their teeth, unless they have another victim in view, they are in 
 no hurry to take their departure, and a horse will serve them 
 the best part of a week. Travelling rat-catchers and itinerant 
 grooms are things that should be carefully avoided. It is a 
 far better plan for a master to keep a set of clipping scissors 
 of his own, and let a Groom try his " prentice" hand on a 
 hack or some horse that is not much wanted or seen, than to 
 take in one of these chance-coming clippers. A grey horse, 
 for instance, shows bad clipping less than any, and a man must 
 be a very numb hand if he does not get into the way of the 
 thing after going over a whole horse. Besides, a man's own 
 Groom clips at his leisure, at those mid-day hours that are 
 consumed in the saddle room, in polishing that eternal curb 
 chain, Grooms always have in hand, or ready to let fall, the 
 moment they see " master coming." A real clipper will clip a 
 horse in a day, and most likely charge a guinea for it, which, 
 it must be admitted, is pretty good pay. We have heard of 
 two guineas being paid in former times. 
 
 Shaving is a still easier process than clipping, and we 
 wonder it is not more generally adopted. Any man who can 
 shave himself can shave a horse, and shaving is attended with 
 far less fatigue to the hand than clipping. The veriest 
 beginner can shave a horse a daj- — the Groom, village barber, 
 sexton, anybody. It requires nothing but half-a-dozen razors, 
 hot water, and common soap, well lathered into the part you 
 are at work upon. There should be a man or boy to hold the 
 horse, one to shave, and a third to keep setting the razors, as 
 it makes awkward work when the shaver has to stop every now 
 and then, dry his hands, and commence whetting. It is a 
 
116 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 more efficacious process than clipping, and gets rid of mucli 
 of the singeing and smell-making that concludes that operation. 
 The only difference in point of convenience is, that you cannot 
 well ride a shaved horse without clothing for a week or so after 
 the operation, whereas a clipped one will come out the day 
 after — indeed we once saw a horse out with hounds in Kent, 
 whose forequarters were rough and shaggy, and the hind ones 
 smooth and smart, looking very like a French poodle, a like- 
 ness that was increased b}- the monkeyfied appearance of the 
 man upon it. As to the risk attending either clipping or 
 shaving, we confess we never saw or heard of any ill effects 
 arising from either, though, as we said before, we have seen 
 and felt very great advantages. We maj', therefore, be called 
 " clippers." 
 
 Now to the general subject of Grooms and condition. 
 
 A real Leicestershire Hunting Groom treads closely on the 
 heels of the Training Groom, with respect to condition : he 
 is, in fact, a Training Groom without the "humbug," at least 
 he ought to be without it. Some men keep Grooms to be 
 their masters, and to these the real Training Groom perhaps 
 would be the thing. They then would not get a glimpse of 
 their horses, save by sufferance. We have no notion of paying 
 a man to be our master. A gentleman ought to be just as 
 good a judge of the requirements of a hunter as a Groom, 
 indeed he ought to be a better, because he is the man who 
 has ridden the animal, and he also is the man who knows when 
 he wants to ride him again ; it therefore seems the height of 
 softness and absurdity for a master to put up with the not 
 uncommon answer to a message that he wants to see his horses, 
 that the stable " is shut up." This is carrying the mystery 
 and humbug of the racing stable into the hunting one. It 
 may be right, and necessary in the racing stable ; we don't 
 pretend to give an opinion on that point ; but in nine cases out 
 often it is sheer humbug as applied to hunters. Many a man. 
 
THE GROOM 117 
 
 we believe, has been choked off hunting by the over condition 
 of his horses. Some Grooms have but one system — the very 
 tip-top condition, good nerves, bad nerves, or no nerves at all. 
 First-rate, race-horse condition may be all very well for Sir 
 Rasper Smashgate, who rides fourteen stone, with the nerves 
 of a Roman gladiator, but for little Paul Poplin, it is nothing 
 short of cruelty to put him on an over fresh horse — cruelty 
 the most refined, for you make the poor victim pay for his 
 suffering. What can be more humiliating to a man of " taste, 
 enterprise, and spirit," as the old " Sporting Magazine " used 
 to put on its title page, than being hurried here, there, and 
 everywhere, knocked against gate-posts, dashed among trees, 
 bumped against acquaintance, by an impetuous, overbearing, 
 resolute horse, that the Groom has been coddling and spicing 
 for the show off on this particular day. Horrid reflection, 
 when there are five or six more waiting their turns to do the 
 same thing ! 
 
 In hiring a Groom, as in buying a horse, it is very material 
 to see whether they are adapted to the work we intend to put 
 them to. Hunters are not like carriage or park horses, that 
 can be kept for show with impunity, and it is no use a man 
 hiring a Stud Groom and buying six or eight horses merely 
 because he happens to have plenty of money, when a less 
 aspiring servant, with fewer nags, would make him much more 
 comfortable. He had better lay his money out in plate, or in 
 some less troublesome article than hunters. He must not 
 mind being called shabby. Surely a man is not to make 
 himself miserable for the sake of being called liberal. Of 
 all charges that of shabbiness, " closeness," is the commonest 
 and easiest made. If a man's stomach is not equal to the 
 "drenching" dinner-giving entails, and he is sparing of his 
 feeds, he is called shabby. If he gives dinners and does not 
 push his wine, he is said to be trying to save it. If Dick 
 Sharpwit tries to do him with a horse, and fails, Dick dubs 
 
lis THE HUNTING FIET.D 
 
 him a " screw ; " and so they ring the changes on the charge 
 through all the transactions of life. Nothing, however, insures 
 a man the charge of shabbiness equal to foiling another in -^do. 
 It is propagated with double rancour, for the delinquent to 
 screen himself and get his revenge. The man must lead a 
 wretched life who troubles himself with thinking what " the 
 world says of him." 
 
 It may generally be remarked, in looking over a hunting field, 
 that the Grooms who are the neatest and best turned out them- 
 selves, have their horses best turned out too. This turn-out of 
 self is difficult to define, varying, when out of livery, according 
 to the taste of the wearer, and when in livery, restricted a good 
 deal to the cut and putting on of the clothes. x\ woolly-hatted 
 Groom has always a shaggy-headed horse. That is a rule 
 admitting of no e.xception. Dingy-clothed Grooms, with inky- 
 looking tops, have always dull-coated, ill-conditioned horses. 
 Fellows with Britannia-metal-looking spurs, gloveless fists, 
 sloggering boots with the straps hanging out, unbrushed coats, 
 burst seams, stained waistcoats, fl\'ing-ended neckcloths, 
 generally have their choke-bands as tight as they can draw 
 them, and the head-stalls of the bridles flapping about, with 
 buckles and bits as dull as pewter. Some fellows can " dress 
 the Groom "' and can do nothing else. Others, again, are fond 
 of horses, just as a child is fond of a kitten ; but, as to any 
 real hard work about them, that they have no taste for. These 
 creatures are only fit for pony phaetons, or Mr. Brown's 
 one-horse cha}'. Of all abominations, however, that of slang 
 servants is the greatest — fellows who lard their answers with 
 cant terms, get their waistcoats as near their knees, and their 
 breeches as near their ankles as they can. 
 
 An ill-mannered servant is a thing no gentleman should have. 
 Manner is a thing that speaks for itself, therefore a master has 
 no excuse in saying he did not see the want of it when he hired 
 the servant- There is nothing bespeaks the low-li\-ed ill- 
 
THE GROOM 119 
 
 conditioned fellow so much as calling gentlemen by their 
 proper names, as Thompson, Simpson, and so on. We know 
 servants do it among themselves ; indeed, it is in consequence 
 of their doing it among themselves that causes some of them 
 to slip it out before their masters ; but candidates for place 
 may rely upon it it is very bad policy letting an expectant 
 master hear it. No judge would ask any questions after such 
 a displa}' of familiarit}'. Touching the hat is a thing there is 
 less of, the lower we get in the scale of servitude, till we reach 
 John Hawbuck fresh from the plough, who gives a familiar 
 grin, and says "it's a foine day." We remember the observa- 
 tion of a nobleman's Stud-Groom one day, on seeing a 
 newly-caught yokel of theirs answer a gentleman without the 
 touch of the hat, which was, that " there would have to be a 
 deal more politeness before lie did for them.'" 
 
 Touching the hat is an art, and can be made to convey 
 almost as much meaning as words. My lord's servant will take 
 his off, even to a commoner, if the commoner is a friend of his 
 lordship. Mr. Plantagenet's will do the same, or raise his hand 
 slowly and respectfully till he gets fairly hold of the brim. 
 Captain Bolisher's, of the heavies, will give a sort of back 
 hand salute. Mr. Rattlebar's, whose master drives the coach, 
 gives a comical sort of twirl of his arm, as though he wanted 
 to look under his elbow; while Tom Tinker, Mr. Loose- 
 fish's young man, gives a quick snatch, when he is just 
 upon you, as though he hardly thought you worth a salute 
 at all. We have observed that servants whose places are 
 tottering become singularly assiduous in the matter of the 
 " felt," and we have even known Grooms out of place 
 subsisting entirely upon the precarious income derived from 
 touching theirs. 
 
 Grooms are about the only servants upon whom masters can 
 form anything like an accurate opinion, and it would be well for 
 them to remember that fact. The communication between 
 
120 THE HUNTINC; FIELD 
 
 masters and all other servants is so slight, and occurs at such 
 stated and expected periods, that it would be odd if they could 
 not raise sufficient manners to pass muster; but Grooms — stable- 
 servants in general — have the " eyes of England " upon them, 
 as " hard-up " orators say. Not onl}' is the private eye of 
 England (the masters) upon them, but the real public eye of 
 the world at large. 
 
 Every Groom who enters the hunting field — every Groom, 
 as he passes along the street — rides as it were upon his 
 character. His horse and himself show what he is. 
 
 There are two things we make it a rule never to keep, a 
 drunken servant and an oil lamp ; and we go upon much the 
 same principle in both cases, namely, that the servant is sure 
 to be drunk, and the oil lamp to go out, when we want them. 
 Drunkenness is an inexcusable vice in any servant — least of 
 all in a servant entrusted with horses ; yet how many fat, 
 comfortable-looking old ladies we see getting into their carriages 
 in the country, to be whisked home by fellows who have been 
 boozing in the tap-room all day, and whose fine cutting and 
 tearing earns them the reputation of "excellent coachmen." 
 Women think of nothing but going fast. If they are fast driven 
 they think they are well driven. That, however, appertains 
 more to the branch " Jehu "' than the peculiar class of servants 
 under consideration. 
 
 " Honesty, sobriety, and civility " are the cardinal qualities 
 inquired after in character ; but there is another very important 
 one, especially in a Hunting Groom, " punctuality," that 
 should never be lost sight of. Want of punctuality counter- 
 balances almost everj' good quality. Half an hour — nay, five 
 minutes — is sometimes everything in a hunting morning. 
 Fancy a man coming twenty miles to meet hounds, and his 
 horse arriving five minutes after the last craner has taken the 
 distant fence, the panting hack sobbing as the master sits 
 straining his eye-balls — now after the hounds, now in vain 
 
THE GROOM 121 
 
 research about the country. If any one were to put the 
 following query to us : — 
 
 " Would a master, whose Groom was late with his horse, 
 and so lost him ' the run of the season,' be justified in quilting 
 him ? " 
 
 We should answer, — 
 
 " Most decidedly yes — lay into the loarniint ! " 
 
 Perhaps we might add, — 
 
 '^Beware that lie's not too big." 
 
 Want of punctuality attaches to both ends of the morning 
 start. There is the want of punctuality in getting away 
 from home, which entails hurrying on the road, and is more 
 common than the want of punctuality in arriving at the 
 meet. A fellow who can't get out of his bed of a morning 
 is only fit to sit in feathered breeches and hatch eggs. Some- 
 body said of a once prime minister, that he always seemed as 
 if he had lost half an hour in the morning, and was running 
 after it all the rest of the day ; and assuredly there is nothing 
 so annoying as a servant, who, for the want of the early half 
 hour, hurries and jumbles the work of two hours into one. 
 
 To a punctual person there is something strangely self- 
 speaking, evident, and significant in the movements and 
 appearances of an unpunctual, dilatory, behindhand servant. 
 We will suppose the master shaving, at which critical period, 
 instead of seeing the stable door open, and the horse going 
 away, Tom is running about in his fustians ; then, when at 
 length he does appear booted, the saddle and bridle make 
 their appearance, and have to be put on, till at last the 
 master, in ungovernable fury, hurries on his things, vowing 
 he'll go out and lick him, when he sees Tom rushing out of the 
 stable, scrambling on to the horse, and cutting away at the 
 rate of ten miles an hour. An unpunctual man is always an 
 irregular man, he never knows where he has anything. We 
 like to see a quiet, orderly, methodical Groom, who knows 
 
122 
 
 THE HITXTIXG FIE1>1) 
 
 where to lay hands on what he wants, and who does his 
 work as though it were his daily custom, and not something 
 oat of his usual way. 
 
 There is nothing so bad as a hurrj'ing, scuttling, muddle- 
 headed servant in a stable — a fellow who never knows where 
 he has anything, and who is always applying the wrong article 
 for want of knowing where the right one is ; " making shift," 
 as they call it. Again, we have seen fellows who thought to 
 ingratiate themselves with their masters, by showing unusual 
 bustle and activity when they were in the stable — snatching 
 at this, pulling at that, and dashing here, there, and every- 
 where. That sort of work won't do with horses. A man 
 must have a head as well as hands before he can be called 
 " a Groom." 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE GROOM CONTINUED 
 
 ILLING servants are a " real 
 blessing " to masters, as 
 the soothing sjTup people 
 advertise. Willingness co- 
 vers a multitude of sins, 
 and saves many a graceless 
 dog his place. Willingness, 
 however, is a thing con- 
 fined almost entirely to 
 small establishments. Let 
 a servant be ever so well disposed that way, when he gets into 
 a large establishment, he is obliged to conform to the rules 
 and ordinances of the place, and do nothing that can by any 
 possibility be considered the work of another, or that the odd 
 boy about the place can be made to do. Idleness is looked 
 upon as a sacred right, a right that each new-comer is bound 
 to preserve inviolate, and transmit to his successor perfect 
 and unimpaired. The true dignity and duties of servitude are 
 only properly appreciated and perfectly understood in large 
 houses. Whoever got his hat brushed at a duke's ? 
 
 "Willingness" of course includes pleasantness of manner; 
 
124 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 for it is hardly possible for a fellow who goes slouching and 
 muttering away to obey an order to be called " willing." A 
 man may never absolutely refuse to do a thing, nor ever 
 neglect to do it, and yet be a most unpleasant and unwiUing 
 servant — one that we would rather do a thing ourselves than 
 give an order to. 
 
 It is related that one of the Dukes of Bedford used to 
 declare that he was never so happy as when he awoke in a 
 morning on a journey and found himself in a chintz bed, 
 instead of the stateliness of Woburn ; and we, in our humble 
 meditative rambles, often think, as the opening door of some 
 great house discloses the bedizened and bepowdered retinue 
 of servants, what misery, what hardship it would be to have 
 them calling us " master." We, who direct the energies of 
 willing and industrious hands, shudder at the thoughts of 
 ruling a handful of idle, overfed lackeys. " What can they 
 be all kept for ? " we sometimes think. Surely all the owners 
 of these great houses cannot be like the unfortunate Miss 
 Biffin, born without arms or legs, and incapable of doing 
 anything for themselves. And then a thought strikes us that 
 these are the necessary concomitants of wealth and station, 
 and hurrying on we thank our stars that we were not born 
 with a " sideboard of plate in our mouths," as Dickens 
 would say. 
 
 " The servants are the gentlemen of England," says Sam 
 Slick. "Next to bein the duke," writes he, "I'd sooner be 
 groom to a gentleman that sports a four-in-hand than any- 
 thing I know of to England : four spankin, sneezing, bosses 
 that knows how to pick up miles and throw em behind em in 
 style — g'long you skunks, and turn out your toes pretty — 
 whist — that's the ticket — streak it off like iled lightning, my 
 fox tails ; skrew it up tight, lock down the safety valve, and 
 clap all steam on my busters ; don't touch the ground, skim it 
 like hawks, and leave no trail ; go ahead handsum, my old 
 
THE GROOM 125 
 
 clays — yes ! the servants are the gentlemen of England ; they 
 live like tighten cocks, and j'et you hear them infarnal rascals, 
 the radicals, callin these indulgent masters tyrants, endeavourin 
 to make these happy critturs hate the hand that feeds them, 
 telling these pamper'd gentlemen they are robbed of their 
 rights, and how happy they'd all be if they lost their places, 
 and only had vote by ballot and universal suffrage." 
 
 Sam is a true observer — many an over-fed fellow is talked 
 into imaginary grievances that would never occur to him of 
 his own accord, or if he was out of place. " Idleness," as the 
 copy heads well say, " is the parent of all mischief," and 
 it is much to be regretted that the system of great houses 
 encourages idleness as it does in servants. Not only is it 
 prejudicial to the servants themselves, but most injurious to 
 those who may happen to be thrown in their way. People 
 indeed of all sorts are so apt to think of what others have that 
 they are without, rather than what they have that others are 
 without. In place, a servant perhaps sees that servants in 
 other places do not do what he is required to perform, and 
 instead of recollecting how many hundreds there are out of 
 place who would jump at his situation with all its imperfec- 
 tions, he tries by every device and shifty excuse to rid himself 
 of what he is pleased to denominate " not his work." The 
 moment a servant begins to talk in this strain, it is time to get 
 rid of him. They never do any good after. Man}-, otherwise 
 well-meaning lads, we believe, are laughed and talked into this 
 kind of thing ; others again adopt it naturally, from a sluggish, 
 inert disposition. To the former we would saj', " Reflect on 
 what you may have to do if you fall out of place." 
 
 Until all masters' fortunes and ideas are alike, it is im- 
 possible to suppose that servants' places can be alike, or even 
 that the place of one master can regulate or guide the place of 
 another. "Every herring must hang by its own head," as 
 the saying is, and servants must take each place upon its 
 
126 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 individual merits, without reference or regard to what is done 
 or allowed at another. No master ought to allow a servant 
 to quote the doings of another place to him. These observa- 
 tions are peculiarly applicable at the present time, for the 
 increased and increasing facilities of communication, as well 
 by post as by railway, have brought about such a system 
 of note comparing and laying heads together, that half the 
 servants are agog to know what the other half have. Then 
 if Tom Brown linds out that Harry Jones has a couple of 
 pounds a year more than himself, he feels it a point of honour 
 to ask to have his wages raised, forgetful very likely of the 
 fact that he is in possession of a couple of pounds a-year 
 more than Giles Scroggins at some other place. A servant's 
 sliding scale only knows the ascendant. The breed of old 
 attached family servants, so beautifully described by Washing- 
 ton Irving, will be almost extinct with their generation. Few 
 new ones are rising up to supply their places. It may save 
 annuities to expectant heirs, but we much question whether 
 the new system is better for the general interest of families. 
 
 There are no people under the sun so well done by as 
 gentlemen's servants. They live on the fat of the land, have 
 no cares, no anxieties, and are paid out of all proportion to 
 their labouring brethren. An inflated beef and beer bursting 
 bragger will assert that he can do what a labouring man 
 cannot ; but a handy labouring man will do his own work 
 and the braggart's at his leisure hours. What are the 
 generality of servants, in fact, but part and parcel of the 
 labouring population ? They are not a bit better educated ; if 
 they were, they would aspire to clerkships or shopmen's 
 places. All the difference is that one lights on his legs in a 
 gentleman's service, the other sticks to the spade, the axe, or 
 the trowel, and, we believe, is oftener the richer and the happier 
 man of the two. Gentlemen's servants are often sadly im- 
 provident. They have great temptations, it is true, but few, 
 
THE GROOM 127 
 
 we fear, try to resist them. The easiness of comfort is soon 
 acquired, and the chance of adverse circumstances is un- 
 pleasant to contemplate. 
 
 In hiring a Groom, or indeed a servant of any sort, it is 
 always advisable to get them from places rather under than 
 above those they are coming to. A retrograding servant is 
 generally a dissatisfied servant, and as they always ride in the 
 highest hole in the stirrup of their knowledge, they are very 
 apt to think it necessary to instruct the new master in the 
 style and doings of their best place ; instead of serving, they 
 assume the direction. In the country, the scale of servitude 
 is as nicely understood, and the position of families as 
 accurately settled by servants, as the hereditary nobility is 
 by Mr. Burke or the Heralds' College. Grooms from great 
 places are often full of whims and conceit, and think nothing 
 can be right but what was done at Sir John's or my lord's. 
 Masters are great fools to submit to anything of the sort. 
 No two books, let alone two masters, agree upon even the 
 most ordinary point of stable management. Take feeding, 
 for instance — one man will tell you that hay should be given 
 in about the quantity of 12 lb. a day; but if you go into a 
 barrack yard, and ask a soldier what his horse gets, he will 
 tell you 8 lb. is the allowance. The more ignorant a Groom 
 is, the more mysterious, conceited, and pedantic he is, the 
 more he talks about his infallible receipts and nostrums, 
 known to none but himself, or confided by some equally great 
 authority. These sort of pretenders are only for young men, 
 the old stager knows the simplicity of condition too well to 
 be talked to in that strain. One of the absurdities of the 
 times is making everything as complicated and mysterious as 
 possible, using hard words where hard words can be brought 
 in, and dividing and subdividing trades, professions, and 
 occupations. The first thing a lad does now-a-days is to set 
 up a watch, after which, if his mind incline towards horses, he 
 
128 THE HUXTTXC; FIELD 
 
 buys what he calls a " printed book" about them, and thinks 
 himself equal to Field, Mavor, or Goodwin. The real require- 
 ments of horses are very few and \'ery simple : good food, good 
 grooming, good stables, and work proportionate to the food 
 and constitution. Apportioning the food to the work is a 
 thing that never enters the heads of nine-tenths of the horse 
 hisscrs calling themselves Grooms ; their great anxiety alwa3'S 
 being to get as much food down each horse's throat as they 
 possibly can. They are quite unhappy if they can't cram four 
 feeds down a day. We would rather see them keen about 
 giving them plenty of exercise than plenty of corn. It is in 
 the exercising department that half the stable servants fail. 
 Young lads are especially slack, and some have the still worse 
 trick of trying to put two hours' exercise into one by hurrying, 
 trotting and cantering. We have seen urchins rushing with 
 their horses out of the stables, jumping up, snatching their 
 bridles, and cutting awa}- as if they were riding for the mid- 
 wife, instead of going out in that leisurely, orderly way, that 
 belongs peculiarly to the word exercise — exercise in contra- 
 distinction to errands or work. Indeed there is not one boy 
 in fiftj- fit to be trusted with horses, we mean fit to be left in 
 the entire charge of them. They should ahvaj's have a man 
 over them. Let the reader recall the equestrian performances 
 of his own boyish days, the hurried and protracted ride, the 
 secret gallop, the stealthy leap, the quiet race, and say whether 
 he would have been a fit person to trust with a valuable horse 
 at that time of life. Talk of years of discretion at one-and- 
 twenty ! Let a man of forty ask himself if he was discreet at 
 one-and-twenty. 
 
 Exercising before breakfast is a great promoter of short 
 commons in the walking department, and a great inducement 
 for an early return. \\c do not know why Grooms should 
 like having their horses out before the world is properly aired, 
 but certainly the managers of large studs generally adhere to 
 
THE GROOM 129 
 
 that system. In the old days of mails and coaches, we have 
 often passed whole strings of sheeted and hooded horses in the 
 environs of different hunting quarters, as we have whisked by 
 in the opening mist of early dawn. Six o'clock is the usually 
 prescribed stableman's hour for being with his horses, which 
 is two hours before daylight in winter. Doubtless the earlier 
 a man is at his stable the better, to see that all is right and 
 quiet ; but we think it would be better both for horse and 
 man, if, after setting things fair and straight, the latter 
 returned to his breakfast, and took his horses out after sun- 
 rise. 
 
 Sheeting and hooding horses at exercise to the extent we 
 generally see them, and then sending them out next day with 
 only a saddle on, seems almost an experiment on health. 
 Again, how seldom we see them clothed according to the state 
 of the weather and the season of the year. What is once put 
 on is generally kept on. It is a good rule in hunting stables, 
 where horses have to lie out often, to clothe lightly at home. 
 An extra rug or sheet will then tell should the Groom get into 
 a bad, cold, or unaired stable. 
 
 Galloping horses to get them into condition is a dangerous 
 process, and one in which, we believe, more are lamed and 
 broken down than by regular work in the hunting field. 
 Taking a horse into a field by himself, oppressed with fat and 
 clothing, and kicking and bucketing him about till the sweat 
 runs down in streams, and he is fit to drop, does seem an 
 abusfe of the noble animal that nothing can justify. The horse 
 does not know what it means, what you are about, or what 
 he is expected to do. Instead of the quick, self-containing, 
 energetic stride that he takes in the excitement of hunting, he 
 blobs and flounders about, drops his legs and rolls like a 
 bullock till the senseless brute on his back either tires himself 
 or feels the horse failing under him. In sweating, as in 
 ordinary exercising, the compression system — the putting an 
 
 K 
 
i:;(> THE HIJNTIXC; FIELD 
 
 huur's work into half-;in-luHir — is often thu fatal fault. Wu all 
 know that we can sweat a horse by common road riding' ; 
 what then is to prevent the necessary reduction of flesh beinjj; 
 made quietly under clothing ? Nothing, but that it requires 
 more time. Galloping does it quicker, and lads like galloping 
 best. Then the way they saw and haul, and hang on by the 
 mouth is truly awful. 
 
 We remember in the days of our adolescence, folding a 
 shilling in a nice clean crisp " Henry Hase," with the £i 
 mark figuring like a raspberry tart at the corner, for the 
 purpose of giving it to the first Groom we met riding on the 
 snaffle, and feeling his horse's mouth as he went. Well, we 
 carried that " Henry Hase " for weeks and months until the 
 shilling wore itself through, and we dare say we might have 
 carried it till now, without meeting with such a rarity in 
 London, as a Groom riding on the snaffle. They all hang on 
 by the curb. 
 
 If a Groom can give a ball and bleed a horse, we would 
 compound for all the other knowledge in favour of that first 
 of all essentials, good " elbow grease " and exercise. " Giving 
 a ball," indeed, is about the extent of some of their ability in 
 the physicing line, the pr(jper preparation of a horse for it 
 being much beyond the march of their intellect. If a horse 
 is difficult to move, instead of lengthening the period of his 
 preparation, they increase the quantity of aloes, until we have 
 seen a poor beggar with near a dozen drachms in his guts. In 
 these cases Grooms ahvays swear the aloes are bad, or» the 
 bran is bad, or the water is bad, or something is bad — anj-- 
 thing but that their management is bad. Some fellows are fit 
 for nothing but inventing excuses, and uncommonly quick and 
 clever they are. 
 
 Veterinary surgeons are now so distributed about the 
 country that in anything out of the ordinary way it is best to 
 send for one of them. With horses, as with men, cold and 
 
THE GROOM 131 
 
 repletion are the principal causes of illness, and when bleeding 
 and physicing fail, let not a master persevere, but send for the 
 " vet." Horses sometimes fall lame without any one, not 
 even the "vet," being able to discover the seat of the lame- 
 ness, and will as suddenly get well and disappoint all the 
 prognostications of the learned. Physic is then the thing — it 
 can do no harm, if it does no good — given in moderation, of 
 course. 
 
 Shoeing is a thing that the green-horns of service are little 
 acquainted with the importance of. They are always "just 
 going" to get their horses shod, let the shoes be ever so thin, 
 when they are asked about them. Foot lameness, that curse 
 of good horseflesh, whose origin "no one knows nothing of," 
 may be all traced to indolent, ignorant stablemen — Grooms 
 we will not call them — and clumsy, unskilful blacksmiths. 
 Some men make a fuss about seeing their horses fed ; we 
 would rather see them shod. Shoeing is a thing upon which 
 doctors differ, as well as upon other points. One man will 
 tell you that the shoe should be made to fit the foot, and not 
 the foot burnt with the hot iron to make it fit the shoe, while 
 others will say that if the shoe be not burnt and fitted well, 
 the crust breaks and shivers up. Both these statements may 
 be found in " printed books." Perhaps it may be enough for 
 us to observe that a horse should be shod every three weeks or 
 a month, and that it is better to get them shod every three 
 weeks, than removed at that period, and shod at the end of 
 the month. The less wrenching and country-smith working 
 there is about a horse's foot the better, as we well know. 
 
 On this point, however, we shall enlarge when we come to 
 treat of our friend Elijah BulKvaist, the blacksmith, whose 
 rubicund visage now greets us as he enters the hunting field 
 on his shaggy white pony. 
 
 Instead of seeing a saddle-room shelf studded with bottles 
 and bo.xes, we would rather see a good assortment of combs. 
 
132 THE HI NTING F^IELD 
 
 brushes, scissors, towels, buckets, sponges, leathers, knee- 
 pails, and such like things. Warm water is a grand specific. 
 It is like the tongue of the dog to a wound. A little sharp 
 water is useful in cases of cuts and over-reaches. The follow- 
 ing is a good recipe taken from Mr. Smith's " Diary of a 
 Huntsman," and he recommends a Whipper-in carrying a 
 small phial of it, with a feather in the cork, ready for imme- 
 diate use : — 
 
 8 drops of oil of thyme 
 10 drops of oil of vitrol 
 
 I ounce of spirits of wine 
 
 As an alterative medicine the following recipe was given us 
 b)- an old sportsman endorsed " an excellent medicine for 
 horses : " — 
 
 4 ounces of nitre 
 
 4 do. antimony 
 
 4 do. cream of tartar 
 
 4 do. sulphur 
 
 Mix, and gi\e it once or twice a week in their corn, about a 
 tablespoonful at a time. 
 
 Instead of inquiring into an ordinary working Groom's 
 scientific acquirements, his knowledge of " Taplin," the 
 " Gentleman's Recreations," ami so on, we would infinitely 
 prefer putting him into a loose box beside a dirty hunter, and 
 seeing him set to work. There is something about a work- 
 man, be he a joiner, painter, glazier, mason, or what not, that 
 proclaims itself e\'en to the uninitiated in the craft, and in no 
 case more strongly than in a strapper. Look at the poor, 
 miserable, feeble creatures that stare at 3'our horse as you 
 dismount at a third-rate London livery stable, or in an ill- 
 frequented country inn yard : see how they potter and dribble 
 and fistle about the animal, fearing as it were to tackle with 
 him, and when they do, most likely commencing with that 
 abomination of all abominations, whipping off the saddle, and 
 
sas^,.>ai||«at^.; 
 
 
 > 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 i 
 
 ad 
 
 a 
 
 3 
 o 
 O 
 
/ 
 
 132 THE in XTT\(; FIELD 
 
 br"-i • ., .riges, leathers, knee- 
 
 pa! vater is a grand specific. 
 
 It : the dog to a wound. A little sharp 
 
 ■. i;-i its and over-reaches. The foUow- 
 
 1 from Mr. Smith's " Diary of a 
 
 i. :j;amends a Whipper-in carrj'ing a 
 
 ith a feather in the cork, ready for imme- 
 
 8 drops of oil of thynn: 
 10 drops of oil of vitro! 
 
 I ounce of spirits of wini. 
 
 • 
 
 Vs un ii'iterative medicine the follow; ri\ n n= 
 
 I;;, Lii' o.i sportsman endorse.: 
 horses: - 
 
 4 ounces of nitre 
 
 4 do, antimony 
 
 4 'do. cream of tartar 
 
 4 do. sulphur 
 
 Mi.K,-and give it once or twice a week in their corn, about a 
 fib'i: spoonful at a time. 
 
 • 'ad of inquiring idId an ordinar}' working Groom's 
 
 :c acfjiurements, his knowledge of " Taplin," the 
 
 Recreations," and so on, we would infinite!}' 
 
 a loose box beside a dirty hunter, and 
 
 There is something about a work- 
 
 '.azier, mason, or what not, that 
 
 iti.'.ied in the craft, and in no 
 
 pper. Look at. the poor, 
 
 re at your horse as you ^ 
 
 very stable, or in an ili- 
 
 ' they potter and dribble c 
 
 t were to tackle with ■^ 
 
 111 I! •mmencmg with that ^ 
 
 abominali' ig off the saddle, and g' 
 
 E 
 
 o 
 
 (J 
 
 X 
 
1 i 
 
 .. a ■) 
 
 « 
 
 V^>i^="'l 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ■' ' :is.«s(iaia8i9K*^' :_fsjiaB»;/'' ii-jBSr^s* 
 
contrast their dawdling, inert movements with the prompt, 
 vigorous decision of the well accustomed stableman, who is 
 stripped to the shirt, has the bridle and stirrups in hand, girths 
 loose, and hunting martingale off before the other poor ninny 
 has got his shirt sleeves turned up. 
 
 When at length Dribbles does begin to hiss, the chances 
 are he does nothing but tease and tickle the animal with his 
 ill-arranged whisp, or having scraped a certain quantity of 
 mud off its bell}' he will proceed forthwith to plaister it about 
 the ears by way of making it comfortable about the head. 
 The real workman having disencumbered the horse of his 
 bridle will shake his litter up, sponge his eyes, nose, and 
 mouth, and give him his gruel. We like to see the hunter 
 getting his gruel, it must be as refreshing to him as a bason 
 of soup to a tired man. Then he will give him a bit of hay, 
 which will occupy the horse and keep him from snatching and 
 biting at the man or the manger. Sponging under the tail and 
 all about is a grand thing, and we should like to see more of 
 it. Pulling the ears, too, is a thing all horses like, and doubt- 
 less tends much to make them comfortable about the head. 
 Real good powerful strapping is quite as essential towards 
 condition as feeding and exercise. Some fellows only strip 
 horses and starve them. 
 
 Ascending a little in the scale of stable servitude, we will 
 take a glance at the Second Horseman. The Second Horse- 
 man should know a little about hunting, and a good deal of 
 the country in which his performances are required. This 
 knowledge of hunting should be sufficient to keep him from 
 doing mischief, at all events, while his knowledge of the 
 country, and of the usual runs of foxes, should enable him to 
 have his horse up, when wanted, fresh and fit to go on. 
 
 Looking at the second-horse system in its ordinary every- 
 day aspect, we cannot, however, help saying, that there is a 
 good deal of flash and humbug, in the majority of instances, 
 
134 THE HUNTING FlEl.l) 
 
 where we see them out. Except for very heavy men, or verj' 
 hard riders on very good days, one horse ought to do all that 
 reasonable riders need require. Gentlemen's horses are not 
 like servants" horses, continuall\- on the go. While the men 
 are trotting and crashing over big places in a cast, gentlemen 
 have nothing to do but turn their horses" heads to the wind, 
 and give them their puff. Servants, in far the greater number 
 of countries, ha\e but one horse a-piece out, and theirs come 
 more regularly and more continuously throughout the season, 
 than the horses of any of the field. The servants, too, must 
 be with their hounds, must go on to the end of the da}-, 
 whereas gentlemen may shut up and go home at any moment 
 they like. 
 
 Roads are now so numerous and accommodating, that a 
 servant with an eye and moderate brains, ought to be able to 
 pilot a second horse, without putting him to anything like 
 work. Some fellows, however, never learn a country. The)- 
 will ride over the same coimtry for years, nav, will do the 
 same circle twice in a day, withciut discovering that they are 
 not going straight. They are like the lady who got into the 
 inner circle of the Regent's Park, and walked for many hours, 
 thinking she was never going to get round. 
 
 Man}- of the second horses that we see in the hunting field, 
 however, are there from the repletion of the stables, and by 
 way of exercise, rather than in expectation of being really 
 wanted. Doubtless it is convenient to have two out ; one ma}- 
 fall lame, lose a shoe, and the man who is provided seldom 
 wants. Here, then, let us recommend Grooms to ride like 
 Grooms, and not like gentlemen, in the hunting field. They 
 have no business in the front rank : neither is it etiquette to 
 pass in mudd}- lanes and roads. This latter hint ma}- be 
 useful to others than servants. 
 
 We do not exactl\- know whence the " Pad Groom " derives 
 his title, nor indeed what, in a " Castle of Indolence,"' would 
 
THE GROOM 
 
 135 
 
 be considered the lesjitimate duties of his office. In the 
 humbleness of our ignorance we have confounded them with 
 the Second Horsemen, though we believe there is a distinc- 
 tion, without, perhaps, much difference. The " Pad Groom," 
 we rather think, forms the sort of appendage to his master 
 that the can sometimes does to the dog's tail — while the 
 Second Horseman may flourish about the countr}', so long as 
 he keeps on the line of the hounds. The "Pad Groom" 
 should act as pioneer, and be always read}' to ram through a 
 bullfinch, or blind fence, it being derogatory to a gentleman 
 to risk his neck, when he can afford to keep a man for the 
 purpose. Paddy should be an adept at opening gates, throw- 
 ing down walls, breaking rails, and great generally in the art of 
 destruction. 
 
 If the Master should be unlucky enough to kill his horse, he 
 would then take the " Pad Groom's;" in which case, as the 
 latter would most likely have to "pad the hoof home," it is 
 not impossible that some such catastrophe may have led to the 
 creation of the title ; or, it may be that the " pad," on the 
 death of the fox, is consigned to the guardianship of this hero 
 b\- ambitions claimants. 
 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE GROOM — CONTINUED 
 
 
 ^s^si^x^^^i 
 
 HE sagacity both of hounds 
 and horses in the matter of 
 hunting is truly astonishing, 
 and we hardly know to 
 which to yield the pre- 
 ference. It is an imdoubted 
 fact that many of what are 
 called trencher-fed hounds, 
 learn to know the hunting 
 
 days, and will sit at the 
 doors listening for the summoning horn, or travel to the 
 usual place of meeting by themselves. An old hunter knows 
 just as well as his Groom the preparations that indicate the 
 coming chase, and is as delighted as ever he can be. Shorten- 
 ing the suppi)- of water is one of the usual concomitants, but 
 if a horse was left to himself, he would ne\er drink more than 
 he ought. \\"e mean if he was left to his own discretion 
 entirely, with a constant supply of water within reach. Of 
 course when he only gets it at stated intervals, and then 
 oftentimes less than he would like, he acquires a greedy 
 sort of swallow, that hurries it down as quickly as possible. 
 
THE GROOISI i;37 
 
 as he does not know how soon the pail ma)- be withdrawn 
 from his head. 
 
 Some horses are much more fretful and much more easily 
 excited than others, but as a general principle, fretfulness is 
 more the characteristic of young horses than of old ones. 
 Indeed, fretfulness is such a drawback to a hunter, that a 
 horse that carries it beyond years of discretion, say seven, is 
 generally recommended " to turn his attention to something 
 else," as they say in the Guards when they want to get rid of 
 a man. Young horses may readily be excused for a little 
 nervous irritability with so exciting a cause as the chase, and 
 it should be the duty of the Groom to remove all causes 
 as much as possible, and keep things as near their usual 
 course and appearance as they can. For instance, in taking a 
 young horse to lie out over night, instead of leaving him in 
 the stable when the others go to exercise, and then about the 
 middle of the day stripping him and rolling up his things and 
 fussing about the stable, putting all agog, he should just lead 
 him out when the others go to exercise, sheeted and all, get 
 his stable things quietly up, and ride leisurely and easily 
 away, without all the fuss and elbow working that says to the 
 horse as well as to the whole world—" here we are away for 
 the Mountain daisy, to meet Squire Rattlccovcr's hounds to- 
 morrow." Because horses can't talk and hold dialogues with 
 their riders after the fashion of Balaam's ass, some fellows 
 fancy they have no more instinct or memories than the 
 saddles on which they ride. Starting for cover in the 
 morning, again, should always be done as quietly and soberly 
 as possible, where a horse is at all subject to nervous irri- 
 tation. The sight of a scarlet coat in advance will set many 
 a horse off, that would otherwise have been got coolly and 
 comfortably to the meet. Some gentlemen have a nasty 
 trick of going out to breakfast on hunting mornings and 
 setting whole strings of horses on the fret by cantering past 
 
138 THK HITNTINC; FIELD 
 
 tlicni in scarlet. A (irooin should never calciilatf on doinj^ 
 more than five miles an honr in going to cover. Some horses 
 will go six comfortaljly, but fi\'e is about the pace. The first 
 thing he should do on arrixing, of course, is to get his horse 
 into a stable or outhouse, where with the aid of a little clean 
 straw and a table towel, he will remove the mud sparks from 
 the horse's legs and reno\-ate the polish of the bits, buckles, 
 and stirrups. A damp morning soon clouds the steel. It is 
 these trifles that mark the difference between the Groom with 
 the head from the one without. Some men seem to think 
 if they start fair and clean, or are neat and clean, once a-day, 
 that is all that can be required of them, and that they may 
 get themselves, their horses, and all about them, dirt)-, 
 tarnished, and daubed, without any reflection on their care or 
 neatness. " They have got dirtied since they came out," they 
 say. A neat servant not only avoids all collision, but removes 
 little casualties as they occur. There is a wide difference 
 between a neat man and a smart man. The neat man is 
 always neat whatever he has on, the smart man is often the 
 creature of the moment that degenerates into the carelessness 
 of the sloven after a flourish. 
 
 Lying out o\-er night and mixing in the tap-room societ}- of 
 stable-yards, is a sad trial for servants, and the less a master 
 throws them into that sort of temptation the better. It is 
 not only the drinking, swearing, and gambling that not 
 unfrequentl}' goes on, but tricks are taught that often prove 
 the ruin of lads : charging for things they never get, putting 
 down more than the\' pay, and various other devices that all 
 sooner or later end in ruin. Servants who wish to do justice 
 to themselves and their masters, should never pay anything 
 without getting a bill of particulars and a receipt. They 
 then can send them in along with their books, and if wrong 
 is done, the master sees where to a})pl\-, and the servant 
 
THE GROOM i;j'j 
 
 stands exonerated. Grooms, hunting ones in particular, may 
 rely upon it that gentlemen know the price and value of most 
 things just as well as they do, and it does not follow because 
 a master is not always storming or kicking up a row that he 
 does not observe what is wrong. A dishonest servant is sure 
 to " catch it '■ sooner or later. 
 
 But if we deprecate the country inn yard, what shall we 
 say to the abomination of some London livery stable ones. 
 Why, in the words of the author of the " Young Groom's 
 Guide and Valet's Directory," that a few weeks at such places 
 has been the ruin of many a young man. There is nothing, 
 writes he, " but drinking, tossing, colting, &c., going on from 
 morning to night ; it begins, as Blacky says, by drinking for 
 dry, and then comes drinking for drinky, and so on to the end 
 of the chapter." Purl the first thing in the morning before 
 their eyes are hardly open ; porter at lunch, porter at dinner, 
 and again a double dose at night. Then, there they are the 
 next morning, some with a splitting head-ache ; some so sick 
 and squeamish that nothing but a hair of the same dog will 
 cure them ; and the cry is, " d— n it, I cannot do my work 
 without my half-pint of ' purl." Well, away they go for this 
 precious stuff, and, at the corner, probably meet with some 
 more ' purl drinkers ; ' and then it is nothing but tossing up 
 and tossing down, till they return back, half stupefied and 
 muddled before they begin their work, and are soon obliged to 
 take another draught to (juench the thirst and fever produced 
 by the first." 
 
 That is a sad picture, but we do not believe an overdrawn 
 one of some of these places, and masters should pause ere they 
 consign a lad to such a scene of temptation. 
 
 One of the most important duties of a Hunting Groom 
 is taking horses out over night, and making the best of bad 
 stables. Fourteen miles is as far as a horse should go from 
 
U(» TIIF. IirXTIXCi FIELD 
 
 home on the morninf( of hunting, and when distances are 
 beyond that, with the probabihty of the draw being still 
 further uwa}', it is always desirable to let them lie out over 
 night. No doubt a horse does better in his own stable, just 
 as a man does better in his own bed ; but fourteen miles is 
 quite distance enough ; and even though some horses may do 
 more with impunity, still it takes a good deal away from the 
 pleasure of the day for a man to think that he has not power 
 enough under him to do what may be required. Imagination 
 has a great deal to do in the enjoyment of the chase, as well 
 as in other things. In going from home a servant should 
 take everything he usually requires, and never calculate on 
 finding anything at an inn. Having got everj'thing there, his 
 ne.xt care should be getting them back, for people are very apt 
 to " borrow." 
 
 In naming fourteen miles as the outside distance, we are 
 talking of meets which are towards home. Gentlemen, whose 
 horses stand at head quarters, have a great advantage over 
 out-lying sportsmen, inasmuch as the}' ma\- readily calculate 
 on their horses being able to do as much as the horses of the 
 hunt ; but supposing the fixture to be at the kennel, and a 
 man travels fourteen miles to get to it, he need not be sur- 
 prised at finding himself trotted half as far again on the other 
 side before the day is done. 
 
 Lying out over night entails the necessity of being able to 
 pack, a thing very few servants are up to. So long as 
 they unpack, also, so that "master" does not see the 
 state of confusion things are in, they are very easy how 
 they are spoiled by being crammed and squeezed together. 
 Soldiers" servants are always capital hands at packing. We 
 often wish to get one of them to give a clumsy packer a lesson 
 in the art. There is another thing soldiers' Grooms excel in, 
 and that is in the saving of bedding. Instead of covering the 
 
THE GROOINI 141 
 
 wet litter with dry straw, as is too often done by lazy, hiding, 
 hurrying fellows, they dry the wet straw in the air during the 
 day, and it comes again nearly as good as ever at night. 
 
 But here come the first flight of Grooms, with all the 
 important top-boot bustle that proclaims the coming scarlets. 
 See how they steal along at that " within-themselves sort of 
 pace" peculiar to hunters. Let us step aside under the lea 
 of this old barn, and scan them as they gain the field. 
 
 First, comes Timothy Jones, Paul Poplin's young man, all 
 louped up in gold, with his mare in a white lather, and her 
 mouth nearly deadened with the hauling of Tim's heavy hand. 
 Tim and his master are recruits of the season, the master 
 knowing as much of hunting as the man-boy does of horses. 
 That hat, with the gold threads binding the oval sides to the 
 gilt acorn on the crown, is a contrivance of Paul and his 
 sisters, the idea being taken from the Marquis of Dazzleton's 
 footman. Tim's Groom's footman's coat, with the red and 
 blue worsted shoulder knot, and patches of gold lace on the 
 collar and cuffs, would disgrace anything but the rumble of a 
 pony phaeton, and his red-seamed blue trousers and bluchers 
 seem lost for want of the red string of the Italian greyhound. 
 We don't know that we ever saw such an apology for a Groom 
 in our lives, and how Tim will have the face to present that 
 well-lathered mare to his master baffles our comprehension. 
 Poor weak, washy thing ! She has done her day's work 
 already, and another such ride will finish Tim's military-look- 
 ing overalls. She has been the laughing-stock of all the 
 knowing ones in coming along. 
 
 This great woman-thighed, bull-headed, bloated, porpoise- 
 looking fellow, with his beastly calves bagging over his lack- 
 lustre, mis-shapen, painted top-boots, is Mr. Spavin, the 
 horse-dealer's man, with a well-shaped screw for sale under 
 him. At first glance j-ou would think the fellow was a fool, 
 
141' THE HUNTING IIEIJ) 
 
 till 3-011 arrived at his little rogucish black eyes, peerinj,' from 
 amon.i; the lumps of fat composinj:;; his unhealthy ginnificd 
 checks. The fellow is the biggest scamj) in the country. He 
 lies like truth. He comes out as much to fish out the secrets 
 of gentlemen's stables as in the hope of selling the horses he 
 rides, though he is always ready to do his best in that way, 
 particularly when he falls in with a flat, whom he will persecute, 
 and ride at, and talk at, with the audacious impudence peculiar 
 to travelling prospectus men, railway surveyors, and small 
 horse-dealers" men. He has been making a set at Paul 
 Poplin's mare, making her as fidgety and fretful as possible, 
 in order the better to recommend the antediluvian beggar on 
 \\'hich he is riding. The two Grooms in blue frocks and small- 
 striped waistcoats next him are neat, and after them there 
 comes a man made, dressed, and riding to our mind as a hunt- 
 ing Groom should be. He is short, light, and wiry. Forty 
 summers may have passed over his head, leaving traces of 
 the wear, but not the cares of life. On the contrary, his 
 clear, bright eye beams radiant on the cheerful scene, pro- 
 duced perhaps by the inward consciousness that his horse 
 will not be eclipsed by any in the field. See how all that 
 man's things are in keeping, from the hat on his head to the 
 spur at his heel. The nap is as close and as flat as his horse's 
 coat. There are no flowing locks protruding at the sides, the 
 pride of housemaids and abhorrence of masters. There are 
 no filthy, bristl}', gingery whiskers fringing his cheeks, or 
 extending round his chin. His horse and he are both well 
 trimmed. His clean white neckcloth is well put on ; no shirt 
 collars appear above. His dark grey coat and waistcoat show 
 the wear of work with the care of keeping, while his well- 
 put on dark drab mother-of-pearl buttoned breeches look as 
 though they neither courted nor dreaded the assaults of the 
 mud. Then the tops — there is mure in top-boots than in 
 
THE GROOM 143 
 
 any other article of dress — not only in the cut, material, and 
 keeping, but in the art of putting them on. London Grooms 
 — we mean men in the habit of coming to London — are almost 
 the only ones who really can put on top-boots. This arises 
 in a great measure from their having a proper respect for, 
 and appreciation of, the article itself. There used to be a 
 bootmaker in Paris, who, on a complaint being made by a 
 customer, used immediately to ask if the wearer had been 
 walking in his boots. If he replied in the affirmative, then 
 St. Crispin would shrug up his shoulders, and, throwing out 
 his hands, exclaim that he " e.xpressly defended "' his customers 
 from walking in his boots, " that they were only for riding and 
 carriage work." 
 
 London Grooms are the only ones who seem to have any 
 idea that top-boots are only for riding in. A fellow in the 
 country pulls them on at all times and occasions, from walking 
 to church (or the public-house) to driving the market cart. 
 The consequence is, that after two or three good trudges and 
 paddles in them, the boots lose all shape, make, and sit, and 
 have that dejected melancholy air that only makes their fallen 
 greatness more painful. 
 
 Boots and breeches, with the proper cleaning and putting 
 of them on, give an air and character to the entire turn out. 
 Who, on seeing a postilion in dingy leathers, and dull boots, 
 ever thinks of looking at his horses ? But to our Groom in 
 the greys. His boots are well made, of good material, well 
 cleaned, well kept, and well put on. The rose-tinted tops 
 are longish, not affectedly so, but bearing a fair proportion 
 to the boot itself. They fall in neat wrinkles down the leg, 
 and the sole is clean and free from mud stains, instead of 
 being marked half way up the instep, with the paddling 
 about before starting. Contrast that man's appearance with 
 the high-shouldered, blear-eyed, Tom-and-Jerry-looking fellow 
 
144 THE HI NTIXG FIELD 
 
 in the black coat and waistcoat, all creases and whitening, 
 from kicking about in the saddle room since the " last day," 
 with a button ofl" one, and a button out of the other leather 
 breeches knee, the top-boots pulled up as high as ever he can 
 get them, and the ends of a dirty twisted white neckcloth flying 
 out at either side of a half-buttoned straggling waistcoat. The 
 fellow looks as if he had slept in his clothes, or put them on in 
 the dark, so hurried anil ill arranged is he. He has heard that 
 long-tops are the " go," so he has got them extra length, and 
 daubed them so with putty powder, that if it was to come a 
 shower of rain he would be the same colour from the knee to the 
 heel. There is a generous supply of mud about his ankles, 
 almost enough to constitute a forty shilling freeholder. 
 
 This great hulking, ill-countenanced fellow, on the badl 
 
 clipped rat tail, is what may be called a register-office servant 
 — a fellow that is generally on the books, and gets taken up 
 at short notice, in extremities. He is a sour-tempered, ill- 
 conditioned fellow, who can only conduct himself decently for 
 one month after being ground down In' poverty and adversit}' 
 for six. He is now a helper, and takes his master's horse to 
 cover, though weighing three stone more than his master. 
 When he applies for another situation he will dub himself 
 "Pad Groom," or "Second Horseman," despite that he stands 
 six feet high, with the brawn}' limbs of a bargeman. The 
 register-office will endorse him as such, and there is no saying 
 but b}' mere dint of impudence and want of contradiction, 
 some flat may be taken in to hiring him — Second Horseman ! 
 — second ploughman, more like. What a ragged-looking 
 rascal it is to send to cover. How an3-body dare trust such a 
 fellow with a twenty pound horse we can't conceive. If the 
 horse patrol were to catch him near London, they would be 
 sure to take him up for stealing it. There is something 
 terribly self-convicting about a job-servant. Seed)-, but pain- 
 
THE GROOJNl 145 
 
 fully well-brushed hats, nasty frowsey tartan neckcloths, long 
 ditto waistcoats, white-seamed, button-covered, greasy-collared 
 dark coats, stained drabs with tarnished knee buttons, patched 
 boots with sloggering caps, the whole set off with a pair of 
 baggy Berlin gloves. 
 
 This old boy, blue and all blue, with the tarnished band 
 on the greasy hat, is Cottonwool's coachman. What he has 
 come out for nobody knows, unless Henrietta has sent him to 
 look after Smashgate. Ah, see how old Blue Bluey greets 
 the baronet's groom ! There's a wring of the hand that looks 
 like business. Trust a servant for smelling a rat ! They are 
 at once the best-informed and worst-informed people under 
 the sun. They know everything and nothing — everything in 
 the hall, nothing in the parlour. Who would have thought 
 to see such a swell-consequential-looking man-gentleman, we 
 might say — with white cords and basket buttons on his brown 
 cut-away, doing the familiar with such a tawdry, dirt3'-clothes- 
 bag-looking old file as that coachman — a man whose boots 
 have evidently belonged to his predecessor, and whose plush 
 breeches would hold two pair of such legs as his ? Never- 
 theless there they greet. " Well, Matthew." " Well, Mr. 
 Thomas." Not that Mr. Thomas thinks Henrietta by any 
 means a match for his master ; but Mr. Thomas having cast a 
 favourable eye on the joint-stock lady's maid at Fleecy Hall, 
 who, according to the usual etiquette of servitude, will accom- 
 pany the first married " Miss," Mr. Thomas thinks it well to 
 favour the suit. What with this double pull upon him, it will 
 be odd if the baronet is not caught. 
 
 But enough for this paper is the scribblement thereof. If 
 this lecture on Grooms should cause one untidy dog to survey 
 himself in the limpid stream and amend his ways, one silly 
 lad to give over considering whether this or that is "his work," 
 one thoughtless master to pause ere he throws a servant into 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 needless temptation, or induce one infatuated 30uth to dress 
 his servant like a Groom instead of a strolling player, all we 
 have got to add is, that we shall be abundantly satisfied if the 
 benefited party will send us a barrel of oysters. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PETER PIGSKIN 
 
 ERE comes old Peter Pig- 
 skin ! Peter, of whose ex- 
 istence we have given so 
 many indications, that we 
 dare say our readers are 
 puzzled to know who he 
 is; Peter, the family stop- 
 gap and "back hander "' at 
 Cottonwool's ; Peter, the 
 man who it does one's 
 heart good to see feed ; Peter, the man who sings 
 
 ■'We won'/ go home till morning," 
 
 and who most probably practises what he sings. Now, what 
 do our readers think Peter is ? A Sportsman, it is quite 
 clear, or he would not be in our " Analysis ;" and, sportsman- 
 like, his early appearance procures him the honour of our first 
 salute. 
 
 When we commenced these sketchy papers we little an- 
 ticipated that the opening numbers would stretch themselves 
 
148 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 into so man}' parts ; j-et so they have, and this only fairly 
 launches us amonf^ the field. As \et we have only dealt with 
 the "master" and the "men," as it were, leaving the wide 
 range of character and station forming the ingredients of a 
 hunting field for discussion and description. The uninitiated 
 may suppose that a " field " is merely composed of one set of 
 people, drawn from the same class of life ; but the foxhunter 
 knows how different is the fact, and how foxhunting rever- 
 berates, as it were, through the whole of our social system ; 
 how the joy that a good run inspires in the breast of the peer 
 descends through all classes, even to the humble pedestrian 
 who witnesses either the find or the finish. " Foxhunting," 
 as was well said by Beckford, " is the peculiar sport of 
 Britons," and we trust it will ne\er be obliterated from the 
 national character. It is a fine, generous, comprehensive 
 sport, that every true follower delights to see his neighbour 
 partake of. It unites all classes in brotherl}- union, like 
 Shakspere's militar}- offer of brotherhood, "be his profession 
 ne'er so mean." 
 
 We need scarcely say that Peter Pigskin wears a dark coat, 
 for whoever saw a meet of foxhounds where a dark coat did 
 not arrive first ? It is not a black coat, but a dark coat ; a 
 bottle green, with metal buttons, straight cut, single breasted, 
 and short. Peter is a man that has been elevated by fox- 
 hunting ; not ridiculously raised above his station, but a man 
 whom foxhunting has brought into contact with parties he 
 would not otherwise have become acquainted with. Peter 
 now, and Peter fifty j-ears ago, are very different people. 
 The little, light, bow-legged, shrivelled, gray-headed old man 
 whose clean but queer-cut clothes bespeak defiance to the 
 elements, was then the smart, straight, dapper postilion to the 
 Duke of Blazington, and rode the leaders of his grace's coach 
 and six. In those daj-s great men turned out like great men, 
 and not like great midwives, or great jewellers, as too many 
 
I'T^TEK pk;skin ! • 
 
 do now. The Duke drove his six richly-caparisoned lie. 
 whose fl-i — ••■ - manes were entwined with a luxuriance ut 
 ribbon, a- ■ long tails were protected from the mud by 
 
 midway (;;atherings of the same material. Peter was then 
 in the flush of youth. His plump, healthy cheeks glowed 
 rubicund beneath the powder of his well-pomatomed hair, 
 terminating behind his lace-daubed velvet cap in a knotty pig- 
 tail, the buttons and gold lace of his jacket almost concealed 
 the rich scarlet of the material, while his well-cleaned leathers 
 fit so tight and close as to cause astonishment to the beholders 
 how he ever got into them. The youthful Peter on th ' 
 looked like the rosebud to his bloon-''^ ',.1. .• , . 
 radiant in all the magnificence of a : 
 hat, projecting pig-tail, be; 
 stomach without end. 
 
 When the D' 
 
 •• "ir ; and •• ' 
 I complin 
 \\ hat aniomi' 
 
 
 the first st;... 
 )rtly after ch;< 
 
 and pros] 
 ^, Peter soon ;■ 
 • '■• '■-'■rn in bi 
 .ally 1 
 and g.' 
 
 to 
 
 -J 
 
 hic HI'S 
 .J J a littltg 
 out on th«fl 
 md. Somei, 
 1- neigh bourhoojjjl 
 it xo hire, a horse t()) 
 y .'■:, ;i.irley for malting tj 
 rt, and being there he woi ;i< 
 
 see them " find." Jusi stay to see them finc/^ 
 
 a 
 
a 
 1 
 
 Si 
 
 2: 
 u 
 
 (J. 
 
 
 ft 
 
 > 
 
 a 
 
 £■ 
 w 
 
TETER PIGSKIN 149 
 
 do now. The Duke drove his six richly-caparisoned liorses, 
 whose flaunting manes were entwined with a luxuriance of 
 ribbon, and whose long tails were protected from the mud by 
 midway gatherings of the same material. Peter was then 
 in the i^ush of youth. His plump, healthy cheeks glowed 
 rubicund beneath the powder of his well-pomatomed hair, 
 terminating behind his lace-daubed velvet cap in a knotty pig- 
 tail, the buttons and gold lace of his jacket almost concealed 
 the rich scarlet of the material, while his well-cleaned leathers 
 fit so tight and close as to cause astonishment to the beholders 
 how he ever got into them. The youthful Peter on the leaders 
 looked like the rosebud to his blooming father on the box, 
 radiant in all the magnificence of a three-cornered gold-laced 
 hat, projecting pig-tail, bottle-nose, ponderous back, and 
 stomach without end. 
 
 When the Duke of Blazington died, he left Peter £20 
 a-year ; and when Peter's father died, which he did in the 
 most complimentary manner shortly after his grace, Peter got 
 what amounted to ;^20 a-year more. Our friend then married 
 the pretty head housemaid of Blazington Castle, and took the 
 neat little hostelry called the " Grapes," midway between 
 Plumley and Moss Side, so agreeably known to many of our 
 readers as the first stage on the road matrimonial. This sign 
 Peter shortly after changed into that of the " Fox and 
 Hounds," and prosperity attending way-side speculation in 
 those days, Peter soon found the weekly contents of his till 
 would justify him in buying a poster that would do a little 
 hunting occasionally. Peter used then to creep out on the 
 sly, breeched and gaitered, with a stick in his hand. Some- 
 how he always happened to have business in the neighbourhood 
 of where the hounds met — either a servant to hire, a horse to 
 look at, a pig to buy, corn to pay for, barley for malting to 
 bespeak, or something of that sort, and being there he would 
 just stay to see them " find." Just stay to see them find ! 
 
150 THE HIXTIXC; FIELD 
 
 What a charming, self-deluding sort of allowance that is. As 
 if an\- man with the feelings of a sportsman within him, and 
 the feelings of anything like a horse below him, was ever 
 satisfied with such a snatch of pleasure as that. Nevertheless, 
 Peter used to try it. "I'll just see them find," he used to 
 say to himself, as he pulled out his great watch, and followed 
 the hounds into cover, observing as he went, " there's plenty 
 of time to ride to Wall House or Kirkland after." 
 
 Hark to Joyful ! Hark! she's on the drag. " Have at him, 
 good bitch y \\7A\00s the Huntsman, and Peter's frame shakes 
 with emotion. Now they get together, and the old grove 
 echoes their cry a hundred-fold. Peter presses his hat firmly 
 on his brow, with a half sort of inkling that he may as well 
 see them away from the cover. Now they go full swing ! 
 Reynard has run the co\'er's utmost limits, and dare not break. 
 The hounds are yet "too near," as Beckford would saj-. The 
 music ceases ! The fox has slipped back, and the hounds 
 have overrun the scent. 
 
 " T.'^LLYHO ! " halloos the second Whipper-in from the far 
 end of the cover, and " Tallyho " is hallooed, and re-echoed, 
 and repeated, till every living thing is alarmed. 
 
 The Huntsman's horn goes tivaiig, tivang, twang, as he 
 gallops through bush and briar to the halloo. The hounds 
 strain their utmost powers to overtake him, and horses and 
 men are in a delightful state of e.xcitement. Peter Pigskin 
 forgets all about the barle\- for malting, and settling himself 
 as well in his saddle as shorts and continuations will allow, 
 crams and hustles away with the best. Peter was always a 
 man of first-class nerve, and first-class nerve makes a second- 
 class horse go uncommon!}- well. Moreover, a man who is 
 only going to take an instalment of a run — say five shillings 
 in the pound — always thinks he may as well have it as good 
 as he can get. Awaj- the)- go over the hill, now down the 
 vale, and right across Brackenburgh Meadows, pointing for 
 
PETER PIGSKIN 151 
 
 Disley. The table of precedence and all the Heralds' College 
 humbug is abolished— nerve reigns triumphant, and the majesty 
 of horsemanship is established. In our mind's eye we see 
 them settling into places. Well with his hounds, but not too 
 near, is the Huntsman ; then a hard-riding farmer ; while 
 Peter and the parson 
 
 " Ride side by side," 
 
 as the song has it ; red-coats come ne.xt in prodigal profusion, 
 and we have not time to look at the tail. There's a rare scent, 
 a slight frost in the air, and the hounds are bristling for blood 
 — it is one of those sort of days on which the worst packs 
 appear good. 
 
 Peter keeps his place, intending to pull up on the other side 
 of each fence, and go and see after his barley. Somehow or 
 other, the horse carries him over half the next field before he 
 gets a fair pull at him, and then he thinks that being so far 
 advanced, he may as well see what they do in the next field, 
 until twenty minutes are exhausted, and Peter's bay is m a 
 white lather. 
 
 Twenty minutes on paper, and twenty minutes real riding 
 across country, are very different things, and a check is grate- 
 fully received even by the foremost. We have seen it asserted 
 that no man ever had the candour to acknowledge the oppor- 
 tuneness of a check; but we think that all sportsmen are 
 ready to patronize them at the proper time. It is 3-our steeple- 
 chase gentlemen, with their cutting whips, who are always 
 "just getting into their stride" when they occur. Twenty 
 minutes' best pace across country is no trifle. 
 
 Our pack, however, are at a check, the hounds having 
 spread like a rocket, and made their own cast, now want the 
 assistance of the Huntsman. 
 
 Peter dismounts, looks at his horse, sees all his shoes are 
 on, and scrapes the thick of the sweat off with his stick. The 
 
1.V2 THE HUNTING IIEI.D 
 
 soft horse has had a " benefit," and the sweat runs down his 
 legs and over his hoofs. " I wish I mayn't be giving him too 
 much,'" thinks Peter, eyeing his distended nostrils and heaving 
 flanks, as he turns his head to the wind. 
 
 The barley for malting then comes across his mind, and it 
 strikes him he's been riding away from it. " It's been a grand 
 gallop," says he to himself, running its beauties through his 
 mind, " / wisli tlieyd killed him." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must be going," saj-s Peter to himself, 
 laying hold of his stirrup preparatory to mounting. Just as he 
 gains his saddle the hounds begin to feather and Peter's eye to 
 twinkle. 
 
 " T/iry are on liiiii again !" exclaims he, in ecstasies, as 
 gathering his reins with one hand, he brandishes his stick with 
 the other, and spurs the well-lathered nag into a trot. 
 
 Another instant, and with heads up and sterns down, the 
 hounds race along the hedgerow. Peter forgets all about the 
 barley for malting, his attention being riveted on the hounds. 
 There are seldom two bursts in a run, and the second part 
 exhibits their hunting qualities rather than their speed. No 
 man innatel}' imbued with the passion for hunting could be 
 expected to leave hounds under such circumstances, and if 
 Peter's mission had been ten million times more important 
 than the mere purchase of barley for malting, we feel assured 
 he would stand acquitted with our readers for forgetting it. 
 Not that Peter did exactly forget it, for Dustbin, the sporting 
 miller, declares he heard him exclaim, as his freshened hunter 
 took a flying leap over a bullfinch and brook, " Hang the 
 barley ! I dare say it isn't tvorth havi-ig ! " 
 
 Thus Peter coaxed himself on from point to point, now 
 declaring he would go another day, now deluding himself that 
 the hounds were bending his way, now turning his horse as if he 
 was absolutely leaving, when, as luck would have it, the hounds 
 invariably turned the same wav, and Peter was in for it again. 
 
PETER PIGSKIN 153 
 
 The story runs that Peter made nine starts before he got to his 
 destination. 
 
 Stolen pleasures are said to be the sweetest, and we are by 
 no means sure that a stolen hunt is not as good as any. That 
 single day keeps the latent embers alive, ready to burst into lire 
 under more favourable circumstances. 
 
 Not that Peter's passion was much pent up, for what with 
 his farm and his inn, he had abundant excuses for riding in 
 the direction the hounds had to meet. Some people ride out 
 in the afternoon, to take their chance of falling in with them, 
 but these are the mere feather-bed coffee-housers of hunting ; 
 Peter's business always seemed to march with the hounds. 
 Men of business in those days were shyer of hunting and 
 daylight amusements than they are now. Hunting used to be 
 thought incompatible with sober tradesmanlike occupations. 
 
 That is quite a mistaken idea, however ; moderately pursued, 
 we are satisfied that hunting is the finest preparative for business 
 that ever was adopted. 
 
 It is said that whenever Liston, the great surgeon, had a 
 difficult operation to perform, he used to brace his nerves by a 
 gallop with harriers on the Pentland Hills; and all London 
 literary men will acknowledge the refreshing obligations derived 
 from pure air, strong exercise, and country scenery. There 
 are some trades, to be sure, that hunting agrees with better 
 than others : an innkeeper's, perhaps, at the head of the list. 
 Of course a great deal depends upon the man, but, as a 
 general rule, a good sportsman is always welcome whatever 
 he is. 
 
 Peter's was a happy life — money rolled up, and children did 
 the same, but the means of maintenance kept pace with the 
 increase. He soon gave up hunting in gaiters. All who have 
 tried it will admit it is a most expensive amusement. He turned 
 out a pair of old Blazington boots, which were very soon 
 accorded the honour of ramming through all the big places first. 
 
1.34 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Thus things went on for many years ; young Peters sprang 
 up, resembling the portrait we drew of our hero on the Duke 
 of Blazington's leaders, while Peter himself, instead of expanding 
 into the red cabbage-looking figure of his father, receded into 
 the little wiry old man now entering the hunting field. 
 
 We should state, that Peter is now what the world calls 
 a gentleman — a gentleman in the idle acceptation of the 
 term, meaning a man with nothing to do, nothing to do except 
 hunt. Shorth' after the railwa}- mania broke out, the since 
 celebrated Jeames de la Pluce, Esq., attended by his pugilistic 
 wally, Fitzwarren, and a man in livery, drove up in a dashing 
 chariot and four to the Fox and Hounds, and politeh' intimated 
 to Peter that he was going to draw a line of railway slap 
 through his kitchen and back offices. Jeames, who is quite 
 the man of manners, accompanied the intimation with a hint 
 that the company " would be 'app}- to pay through the nose 
 for the ecomodetion." A bait so fairly thrown out was not 
 likely to be lost on a man like Peter, and after entertaining 
 de la Plucc with the best of exer^'thing, he stuck the Fox and 
 Hounds into him at three times its worth. Peter expatiated 
 on the loss it would be to him ; Mrs. Pigskin dilated on the 
 laceration of her feelings at leaving it, and de la Pluce swept 
 away their expostulations with so\-ereigns, those weighty 
 arguments, that settle all accounts between man and man, or 
 woman either. 
 
 Peter now lives at Rosemary Cottage, about three quarters 
 of a mile from Fleec}- Hall, where the reader may remember 
 they first met him. Rosemar}- Cottage was built b}' a joll}' 
 bacchanalian, who having a presentiment that he would break 
 his neck some night going to bed drunk, built it all on the 
 ground floor. Unfortunatel}-, however, he sank a well, which 
 did his business quite as effectually as a staircase. 
 
 Peter and Cottonwool began life about the same time, that is 
 to say, they commenced business about the same time — Peter's 
 
PETER PIGSKIN l-")5 
 
 probationary saddle-work being struck off the account, and it 
 says much for Cottonwool's sense that he has stemmed the 
 displeasure of his fine, tight-sleeved, highly-flounced daughters, 
 and stood by the " friend of his youth," as Lord Melbourne 
 would say. 
 
 Punch says, " the retired wholesales never visit the retired 
 retails," and we believe something of the same sort of dignity 
 pervades country life. 
 
 In point of breeding there was not much to choose between 
 the progenitors, Cottonwool being the son of the Duke of 
 Blazington's saddler, his mother by a butler out of a buxom 
 dairymaid ; while Peter's maternal descent was a cross between 
 a very respectable market gardener and a milliner. 
 
 The Miss Cottonwools, however, do not carry their inquiries 
 into the region of pedigree ; they take things as they are. 
 Here are they, three fine strapping, slapping lasses, with a 
 great green coach to ride in, a sky-blue man to drive it, and 
 another sky-blue man to loll behind, accustomed to receive the 
 admiration of the first-class country bucks, at the race and 
 assize balls, and they cannot be expected to tolerate this 
 dowdy old man in his drab shorts and gray worsted stockings. 
 " Really, if papa chooses to invite such people to the house on 
 company days, they ought to dine in the kitchen," they say. 
 
 Pigskin, indeed, according to the strict letter of right, we 
 believe, ought to take precedence of Cottonwool, he being a 
 retired tradesman, while our friend of the fine daughters still 
 drives a brisk business, and discourses learnedly on the 
 produce? of Albama, Demerara, Carthagena, the raw article, 
 long and short stapled. And speaking of that, it is an extra- 
 ordinary thing how Pigskin and he ever delude themselves . 
 into the idea that they are driving a conversation, for the talk 
 of one is of nothing but trade, while Pigskin's conversation 
 runs upon horses and hunting. Nevertheless they get through 
 their long evenings together most plainly, and each thinks the 
 
156 THE HI NTIXC; IMKLl) 
 
 other a most agreeable man. It is quite clear, then, that 
 similarity of sentiment and congeniality of mind are not 
 absolutely necessary for people getting on well together in this 
 world. We believe brandy and baccy unite more people in 
 friendship than anything else. 
 
 To see Pigskin in perfection, the reader should visit him at 
 home — see him when he returns after hunting, in all the joyous 
 abandon of a good run, to his snow-white cloth, strong soup, 
 strong ale, and beefsteak pudding. See him in his comfort- 
 able woollens and slippers, in his round-backed chair, pipe and 
 spit bo.\. See him in his snug room, with fox-brush bell-pulls 
 at either side of the bright fire, sporting prints on the walls, 
 and " Bell's Life " on the table. 
 
 The Quarterly Review Hunt, by Aiken, after Apperly, that 
 occupy the place of honour about the middle of the wall, have 
 their story and association with the sport. Peter having come 
 to London to see the lions, was riding loosely and leisurely 
 down Regent Street one afternoon, after a heavy shower had 
 rendered his namesake, Peter Laurie's abomination, the wood 
 pavement, more slippery than usual, when his horse suddenly 
 fell, shooting Peter Pigskin with his head heavily against a 
 dust cart wheel. Stunned with the blow, he was carried 
 insensible into Mr. Ackermann's well-known Eclipse Sporting 
 Gallery, and extended on the floor amidst all the sporting 
 pictures and representations of scenes that living he loved so 
 well. Every attention that kindness or surgical skill could 
 suggest was offered ; but poor Pigskin exhibited no sj-mptoms 
 of returning animation. At last the still pause betokening 
 the exhaustion of all the remedies and the extinction of all 
 hope ensued, and the lately bustling attendants gradually 
 subsided into calm meditative spectators. Peter had not 
 moved since he was brought in. The medical man took his 
 leave with a solemn air, saying, he would return within an 
 hour, the doors connecting the picture gallery with the shop 
 
PETEK rK;SKIX 
 
 were closed, and everytir.ug iiushca ana siiiied oown lo 1".tu.;ci 
 quiet. There, as Mr. Ackermann sat watchiiif:; his unknown 
 guest, nature gradually recovered herself, and ere the lapse of 
 half an hour, a low, ^'that's very good,'" fell upon his astonished 
 ear, apparently from the dead man. On looking, Pigskin's 
 eyes were found fixed on the pictures of the Quorn Hunt, 
 hanging on a level with his eye on the opposite wall — how 
 long he had been contemplating them remains unknown— but 
 the one that drew forth the ejaculation was where " Snob " 
 opens the gate for the good little bay horse, instead of leaping 
 it. When the doctor returned. Pigskin was in an easy chair, 
 examining the series. The point of the storj', however, is that 
 Mr. Ackermann was so delighted with the recovery, that he 
 insisted upon making Pigskin a present of the set. Nay, he 
 did more, he stretched Far better than 
 
 •• st ' ' ' . may the oli' ' 
 
 t(i . . ,. , V .mann's heal 
 
 km ' of publishers. 
 
 Pet'-i for he is not a slave to it 
 
 rises with the sun, and goes to bed 
 lii^ ■ " ' ■ 
 
 he e 
 
 eiiib' 
 
 honour of Mr. s 
 
 so on, but hunter -o 
 
 AS 
 
 before hum i to fir." ouse. ^ 
 
 So in th man i- ' - ^^icS his v 
 
 tXi 
 
 horse, ' iways a . dding at his *" 
 
 service s him thr; -, and makes no g 
 
 < 
 
 lat he does Then, when they have 
 
 ap. 
 
 sat , and drawn ^iLir easy chairs to the fire, with •g 
 
 the Ji;i k table to put the bright port or black bottle - 
 
 with i; Tiiry accom.paniments upon, Peter will go o\ ei ^ 
 
 every inch of the run again, dilating with rapture on tlie o 
 
 "3 
 
B 
 II 
 it. 
 
 cr 
 
 » 
 
 U 
 
 It 
 
 a. 
 ti* 
 
 ja 
 
 <t 
 
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 e 
 
PETER PIGSKIN 157 
 
 were closed, and ever\thing hushed and stilled down to perfect 
 quiet. There, as Mr. Ackermann sat watching his unknown 
 guest, nature gradually recovered herself, and ere the lapse of 
 half an hour, a low, " that's very good," fell upon his astonished 
 ear, apparently from the dead man. On looking, Pigskin's 
 eyes were found fixed on the pictures of the Quorn Hunt, 
 hanging on a level with his eye on the opposite wall — how 
 long he had been contemplating them remains unknown — but 
 the one that drew forth the ejaculation was where "Snob" 
 opens the gate for the good little bay horse, instead of leaping 
 it. When the doctor returned. Pigskin was in an easy chair, 
 examining the series. The point of the story, however, is that 
 Mr. Ackermann was so delighted with the recovery, that he 
 insisted upon making Pigskin a present of the set. Nay, he 
 did more, he stretched them for him also. Far better than 
 " stretching " poor Peter himself ! Long may the old boy live 
 to tell the story, and drink Mr. Ackermann's health as the 
 kindest of men and most liberal of publishers. 
 
 Peter enjoys life, for he is not a slave to its forms. He 
 rises with the sun, and goes to bed when he is tired. He gets 
 his dinner when he comes in from hunting, and on other days 
 he dines at two o'clock. Peter never sends out glazed or 
 embossed cards with — " Mr. and Mrs. Pigskin request the 
 honour of Mr. and Mrs. Hogslard's compan}- to dinner," and 
 so on, but if a brother foxhunter wants a billet the night 
 before hunting, he is sure to find a welcome at Peter's house. 
 So in the field ; if a man is left far from home, or tires his 
 horse, Peter has always a stall and steak pudding at his 
 service. Peter gives him the best he has, and makes no 
 apologies for what he does not offer. Then, when they have 
 satisfied hunger, and drawn their easy chairs to the fire, with 
 the little old oak table to put the bright port or black bottle 
 with its necessary accompaniments upon, Peter will go over 
 every inch of the run again, dilating with rapture on the 
 
158 THE HUXTIXC; FIELD 
 
 performance of the hounds, and dwelHng with enthusiasm on 
 the exploits of his favourites. We are afraid to mention how 
 many best runs in /lis life Peter has seen ; their name is 
 Legion. 
 
 But we are keeping the old gentleman too long on our easel. 
 We have sketched him from bo3-hood, and must now finish him 
 off as he is. There is something about a sportsman that invari- 
 ably proclaims itself, whether he be clad in scarlet and leathers 
 of high life, or the unassuming drabs and bottle-green of middle 
 station. Peter's eye retains its fire, notwithstanding the lapse 
 of seventy winters — we will say summers — seventy summers, 
 for they have passed lightly over him. 
 
 The only piece of spruceness about Peter is his neckcloth 
 and shirt ; the former is of French cambric, and he has a large 
 pleated frill to the latter. Looking at him one is strongly 
 reminded of the old adage, " clean shirt, clean shave and a 
 guinea in one's pocket." His drab breeches are made of 
 uncommonly stout double-milled cloth, and his old mahogany 
 tops are scratched and roughed till the_y look as if they had 
 been rasped b\' the cook or the blacksmith. 
 
 Peter's horse is like himself, a wiry-looking piece of whale- 
 bone. There is not a better shaped or a better conditioned one 
 in the field than the old chestnut, and his saddle and bridle 
 are models of their order. There is as much character about 
 saddles as there is about top-boots. It is not going beyond the 
 mark to say that a good, well-put-on saddle and bridle make 
 a difference of ten pounds in the looks of a horse. A London 
 saddle will fit any horse, just as a London coat will fit anj'bod}-. 
 What a difference there is between Peter's lean, roomy, well- 
 shaped one, and that fat, lump\-, spongy-looking thing of Paul 
 Poplin's. Again, look at Peter's well-cleaned, soft, thin-reined 
 bridle, with the chokeband dangling under his horse's head 
 like a lady's necklace, while Paul's is made to act up to its 
 name, by being drawn as tight as ever the bewildered, bedizened 
 
PETER PIGSKIN 
 
 159 
 
 lad can get it. We should like to appoint Peter inspector of 
 hunting cavalry, and get him to go round the stables and teach 
 ignoramuses the first principles of action. Who would hire a 
 Groom that ran his choke band up the top hole ? 
 
 But enough of that, let us part with Peter. There is not a 
 man in the hunt more respected than Peter Pigskin, and he 
 draws his popularity from two sources — his fine, sportsmanlike 
 horsemanship, and his generous, unaffected character. No 
 man ever saw Peter Pigskin press upon hounds. He always 
 rides as though he anticipated a check, but when they ''do 
 run " and do go straight, when a run is established, oh, but 
 Peter is there, imbibing delicious enjoyment as he goes. Yet 
 he has no jealousy ! He is the first to pull up, and the last to 
 move on again. Long may the old evergreen flourish, and may 
 many ambitious gentlemen, whom it would be impolitic in us to 
 name, take a leaf out of his book. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE FARMER 
 
 N estimating the position or 
 pretensions of a member of 
 any calling, it is important 
 to know whether the indi- 
 vidual in question is at the 
 top or the bottom of the 
 tree. Take a coachmaker, 
 for instance : it makes all 
 the difference in the world 
 whether the party is a Baxter or a Leader, or one of the little 
 shuffling, shambling shed-holders we see on the City Road, or 
 in the environs of London ; yet both write themselves up 
 coachmakers, and both are doubtless entitled to the appella- 
 tion. So John Slyboots, the unlicensed peripatetic packman, 
 with his decoy ribbons and shawls, and circulars offering 
 " equitable exchange " with servants for "household commo- 
 dities'" — inviting domestics to rob their masters and mistresses — 
 may call himself a haberdasher ; but we suspect " Jones, Loyd, 
 and Co.," or " Lubbock, Sir John W., Bart., Forster and Co.," 
 would regard his "bit of stiff" with a very different eye to 
 what they would the acceptance of " Swan and Edgar," or 
 of their felicitously named neighbours, " Evans and Liberty." 
 
THE FARMER Un 
 
 In talking of a Farmer, it is necessary to make the same sort 
 of distinction. There is all the difference in the world between 
 a Leicestershire or Northamptonshire grazier, or a Norfolk 
 or Northumbrian Farmer, and the little scratching-holders-at- 
 will we too often meet with, who seem to be running a starving 
 match between themselves and the land, and look likely to 
 make a dead heat of it. A Lincolnshire Farmer will have his 
 ;£^2,ooo or ;f3,ooo a year in wool ; and Norfolk or Northumbrian 
 Farmers think nothing of holding land to that amount. Yet 
 these men, opulent and independent as they are, only rank as 
 farmers, unless they occupy their own land, in which case they 
 combine the title of Esquires. 
 
 The dictionaries, from which we authors draw half our 
 apparent knowledge, say that " to farm, is to hire, or take 
 upon hire; to hold or take, for certain rents or sums to be 
 rendered, or other considerations required or performed ; to let 
 land or other property on such conditions ; to till, or cultivate 
 land ; " so that the payment of money seems to draw the line 
 between the Farmer and the farming landowner, or what is 
 commonly called an Esquire. 
 
 Most of us have some sort of outline in our mind's eye of the 
 human form divine filling the various occupations of life, and 
 the word " Farmer," we should think, generally suggests a 
 large drab coat, with flap pockets, patent cords, drab gaiters, 
 and double soles. The term " Gentleman-Farmer " suggests 
 a green cutaway, with white cords, and top-boots. The 
 Gentleman-Farmer, we should imagine, was merely a refine- 
 ment, or buck of a Farmer — not a landowner occupying a 
 certain portion of his own land, though some of these we see 
 write themselves up Farmers at the backs of their gigs and 
 dog-carts. 
 
 Taking the word " Farmer," however, in its general and 
 comprehensive sense, it is suggestive of more innocent if not 
 more poetical associations than any other title we know of. It 
 
 M 
 
162 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 is the " love in a cottage " of industrious life. We who live in 
 smoky, foggy, pent-up London, to whom Primrose Hill or the 
 tree-clad heights of Hampstead are a luxury, sigh for the 
 enjoyment of our own cow, and a shady flower-strewed pasture 
 to feed her in. What pleasure to turn an old fat hen off her 
 nest and pick out our own warm egg — to shake the thick 
 reluctant cream from the spout of the well-filled jug. How 
 delightful to wander in the flower-garden, amid the hum of 
 our own bees, all at work for our own profit — to see our own 
 ducks scudding over our own pond, and instead of the carrier 
 pigeons of Islington and Holloway, to see the wheeling flocks 
 alight on our own white dovecote. Above all, picture the 
 enjoyment of the sunny hay field, with coatless men mingling 
 with the merry maids of the village green. 
 
 Farmers are about the only people exempt from an}- settled 
 denunciation on account of their calling. We hear of savage 
 soldiers, rascally lawyers, humbugging parsons, greedy trades- 
 men, grasping doctors, exorbitant coachmakers, ruinous 
 milliners, but the worst accusation we ever hear brought 
 against a Farmer is that of doltishness or stupidit\-. That is 
 a last "refuge of the destitute" sort of charge, answering to 
 the " ugly old cat " of the ladies, or the school-boy's objection 
 to Dr. Fell :— 
 
 " I do not like you, Dr. Fell, 
 The reason why I cannot tell ; 
 But this I know full well, 
 I do not like you, Dr. Fell." 
 
 " You are a thick-headed farmer, and that's the long and short 
 of it," as a friend of ours would say, in closing what he would 
 call an "argument." 
 
 To appreciate a farmer properly, it is necessary for a person 
 to be acquainted with countr}' as well as with town life. He 
 will then be able to draw a just estimate of the quiet, respec- 
 table loyalty that pervades the whole class, and contrast it 
 
THE FARMER 1G3 
 
 with the hurried, self-interested excitement and elbowing that 
 characterizes the gatherings of large bodies. There is some- 
 thing at once substantial and respectable about the yeomanry 
 of the kingdom, if we may so designate all the landowmers who 
 are qualified to vote for knights of the shire, instead of the 40^. 
 freeholders of former times. 
 
 The " yeomany of England" has always inspired in our 
 landsman's mind the sort of feeling that " Ye Mariners of 
 England " rouses in that of the sailor. We look upon them as 
 one of the main-stays of this country. 
 
 If there is one class of men, however, who can more properly 
 appreciate the spirited liberality of the farmer than another, it 
 is fo.xhunters ; above all, fo.xhunters, who themselves are also 
 farmers. We do not mean foxhunting farmers, but farming 
 foxhunters ; country gentlemen, who keep a small quantity of 
 land in their own hands more for amusement than profit — 
 perhaps. These are the parties who can best enter into the 
 feelings and appreciate the forbearance of the real farmer, 
 whose means of livelihood depend on the well-doing and 
 produce of his crop. Let the squire picture to himself his 
 feelings at seeing the well-ploughed, well-worked, well-manured, 
 well-watched field of young wheat, that he has boasted of the 
 expected produce of to all his neighbours, counted as so much 
 gold, nay, perhaps, held up to the admiration of his local 
 agricultural society — let him picture to himself his feelings, 
 we say, at seeing this beloved spot crossed diagonally by 
 a field of fifty horsemen, followed by a score of boys on 
 ponies, whose rear is brought up by a herd of cows or Scotch 
 cattle, that sweep round the enclosure before they can be 
 got out ! 
 
 How long will it be, we should like to know, before he would 
 muster resolution to take a cool survey of the spot, and look 
 with indifference on the varied footings of the horses and the 
 cattle ? yet this man is a foxhunter himself, to whom farming 
 
164 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 is a secondary object ; how much stronger, then, must be the 
 feehng of the man who is no foxhunter, and whose sole depen- 
 dence is on the produce of that trampled soil. 
 
 Take a field of turnips — what havoc and destruction a field 
 of horsemen make in smashing through its contents ! Not 
 only what the horses absolutely knock out of the ground and 
 destroy, but every turnip they hit is more or less injured, 
 especially if there comes a frost. We must say, and greatly to 
 their credit we say it, that it really is astonishing the damage 
 and inconvenience farmers put up with every 3'ear, and the 
 extraordinary good grace with which they do it. It is not the 
 grumpy, passive acquiescence, that looks — " I'd break your 
 head if I durst " — but the sheer downright permission to do 
 what the exigencies of the sport require. All farmers stipulate 
 for is against "wilful damage," and most justly are they 
 entitled to what they ask. Nothing can be more annoying to 
 the true sportsman than to see wanton or unnecessary mischief; 
 crushing young quicksets for the sake of a leap, letting cattle 
 escape for want of shutting the gate, or any of the numerous 
 acts of omission or commission that all go to swell the catalogue 
 of damage. 
 
 Some townspeople have not the slightest idea of the damage 
 they do, indeed many of them do not seem to think it is 
 possible to do more harm to one field than to another. There's 
 our friend John Chub, the ironmonger, of Camomile Street, 
 who goes pound, pound, pounding, straight as an arrow, whether 
 hounds are running or drawing, just as he would clatter about 
 among his fenders, fire-irons, and hardware. Chub means no 
 harm, indeed there's no better man — regular at church, 
 punctual at business- — kind to his wife, ditto his children, pays 
 the income-tax without more grumbling than his neighbours, 
 never keeps the rate or tax-gatherers waiting, and if he only 
 knew when he was going to do harm he would never attempt 
 it ; but somehow Chub looks upon the country as a sort of 
 
THE FARMER 165 
 
 enlargement of Hyde Park, over which a person is at liberty to 
 go anyway he can get. True, Chub never attempts the wall or 
 the rails of Kensington Gardens, but that is only because he 
 sees they are too big ; so it may be said he never rides at the 
 Grand Junction or Paddington Canal, but whatever Chub sees 
 at all "upon the cards" he looks upon as fair and proper 
 game — nay, as something that he ought to have a shy at. 
 Nothing short of the fear of a broken neck can turn him to the 
 right or the left. 
 
 So with Paul Poplin — Paul has not the slightest idea of 
 going out of his way for anything except a toll-bar, which he 
 shirks, to avoid paying ; and he thinks a red coat would justify 
 his riding into a lady's drawing-room if he liked. Gardens he 
 looks upon merely as small enclosures — fields on a small scale — 
 " retail " ones, as he calls them. Paul has heard of a " bull in 
 a china shop," and it is just to a china shop that Paul's ideas of 
 a bull's capabilities of mischief are limited. He can fancy the 
 consternation the animal would create among the jugs and 
 basins, but as to thinking it could make the slightest difference 
 to a Farmer whether the animal was in his own close or a 
 neighbour's, Paul thinks if he got into the neighbour's it would 
 be so much the better for the owner, as he would get fed 
 for nothing. 
 
 It is only the real sportsman, or person who takes part in the 
 management of a country, that can be fully sensible of the obli- 
 gations foxhunters are under to Farmers. In the first place, we 
 are indebted to them for the existence of the animal we 
 hunt ; and their sufferance, nay, protection of it, is the more 
 disinterested and meritorious, inasmuch as foxes cannot by any 
 possibility do Farmers any good, but, on the contrary, are 
 almost certain to occasion them loss and inconvenience. They, 
 in fact, harbour animals for their own inconvenience. This they 
 do, too, in spite of domestic grievances and expostulations, for 
 foxes occasionally make sad /oraj/es among the poultry, and it 
 
166 THE HI XTIXG FIELD 
 
 would be extremely difficult to convince a Farmer's wife that a 
 hare was not quite so good an animal to harbour for the purpose 
 of hunting, and a much better one for the purposes of the 
 table. It may be said that harriers go three times over the 
 ground for the fox's once, and granted they do, still the}' do not 
 go over wheat, or ground on which the\' can do damage ; at 
 least they " didn't ought to do," seeing the case is never one of 
 urgency. But, with a fixing, straight-running fox, with a 
 burning scent, and main earths open in an adjoining country, 
 so far from caring for wheat, we believe a field of fox-hunters 
 would ride over the great Lord Mayor himself, and all the 
 court of aldermen, if the}' came in the way. It may also be 
 said that Farmers enjoy the sport themselves as much as any 
 one out, and we grant those who come out do ; but for one 
 Farmer that hunts, there are fi\-e hundred that do not. Recent 
 times have not been favourable to the race of Foxhunting- 
 Farmers, and many, we fear, are dismounted. Besides, those 
 who do hunt are generally the top-sawyers of the trade ; 
 whereas, in many countries, the preservation of foxes may be 
 quite as much dependent upon a small Farmer who has not the 
 means of hunting, as upon a large holder. 
 
 A favourite argument in favour of Farmers encouraging 
 foxes and foxhunting, has always been the advantage they 
 derive from the consumption of hay, oats, straw — farming 
 produce generally — and the opportunities it affords for selling 
 their horses to advantage. These arguments are plausible 
 enough, but like many plausible ones, are destitute, or nearly 
 destitute of truth. There is no doubt that the standing of 
 large studs, such as we saw congregated at Melton, Leicester, 
 Leamington, Cheltenham, Coldstream, and other places, must 
 cause a considerable consumption of the enumerated articles, 
 but the extra profit goes into the pocket of the middleman, 
 and not into that of the Farmer : corn-chandlers, inn-keepers, 
 liverymen, saddlers, are all benefited, and many of them very 
 
THE FARMER 1(37 
 
 largely; but what the iofia Jide Farmer gets is seldom more 
 than the mere market price, with the accommodation, perhaps, 
 of a near, instead of a distant delivery for his produce. 
 
 As to selling horses to advantage, that is a point involving 
 so many contingencies, that we fear even the most sanguine 
 dare hardly look the matter fairly in the face. Good stock, 
 good luck, good keeping, good handling, and though last, not 
 least, good riding. The only way we think that breeding can 
 pay is where the breeder hunts himself, and can show his 
 horse off to advantage. Even then a great deal depends upon 
 whim and caprice. One man can sell anything, and get 
 almost any price, while people will hardly look at the horse 
 of another. The riding is, perhaps, the most important point, 
 and there are not many men with both the nags and the 
 nerves equal to the task. 
 
 Taking the average of countries, we believe it will be found 
 that a Farmer is generally the best man in the majority of 
 hunts— either a Farmer or a parson, though rigid discipline 
 has thinned the ranks of the latter. A Farmer, however, is 
 generally the best man, and, in stating this, it must be 
 remembered that they generally give a good deal away by 
 riding unmade and oftentimes moderately-conditioned horses. 
 
 " Upon the w-h-o-o-l-e," as Farmer Wopstraw says in 
 " Hillingdon Hall," we are inclined to think if it were not 
 for the innate, national inclination for hunting implanted in 
 Britons, Farmers would find the preservation of fo.xes and the 
 promotion of hunting a very poor speculation for anything they 
 can get by it in the way of money. 
 
 The importance of standing well with the Farmers is a 
 matter so perfectly understood by all Masters of Foxhounds, 
 as to require no enforcement at our hands. Ifa Master has 
 not the goodwill and support of the Farmers, he need never 
 attempt to hunt a country. Farmers have always been 
 considered worthy the regard and attentions of all authorities 
 
168 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 on hunting. The great Mr. Aleynell, it is said, used to 
 arrange a day in each week to suit the convenience of the 
 graziers attending their marl<et, and Mr. Corbet used to show 
 the Warwickshire ones similar attention. 
 
 Colonel Cook, in his work on foxhunting, speaks of the 
 Farmers in the countries he had hunted in the highest praise, 
 and in enforcing the importance of hunting the good and bad 
 parts of a country alternately, he says, that although Farmers 
 are liberal, they think it hardly fair play, if they rent a farm 
 in the best part of the hunt for sport, to have their land rode 
 over constantly, whilst in the other less favourable part the 
 hounds never meet. Their conversation, says he, " at the 
 market dinner, over a bottle, is often on this subject, whereas 
 if you do but hunt the whole country impartially, there can be 
 no cause of complaint." 
 
 Mr. Smith eulogizes the conduct of the Farmers in all the 
 countries he has hunted, and urges that every attention and 
 consideration should be paid them. There is a story told of 
 Mr. Smith, we forget whether in his book or not, that when he 
 had the Craven countr}', and was in the habit of cub-hunting 
 in Marlborough and Savernake Forests in the autumn, that a 
 fox broke and took through a field of wheat, and on riding to 
 stop the hounds, a young Farmer came up and begged he 
 would ride through the wheat, adding, " his father would be 
 very much offended if he did not." 
 
 Indeed it has been frequently observed that Farmers are 
 generally the first to ride over their own wheat. An amusing 
 instance of this is related by Nimrod in his northern tour. 
 A nobleman's Huntsman was blowing somebody up for riding 
 over a field of wheat, who not attending to the rate, the 
 Huntsman launched out again with something stronger. 
 Still the man paid no attention. The Huntsman "at him " a 
 third time, adding the inquiry if he didn't know he was riding 
 over wheat ? 
 
THE FARMER 1(39 
 
 "Well," replied the Farmer. ''It's my oww /" thinking to 
 silence the reprover with the information. " So viucJi the 
 worse" retorted the Huntsman, adding, " there s the force of 
 example." 
 
 Farmers are the most easily pacified and soonest satisfied 
 race of men under the sun. The smallest kindness, the 
 smallest attention, the smallest consideration, is never lost 
 upon them. Let a Master of Hounds only show that he is 
 sensible of any damage he may have done thern, or of any 
 accommodation he may have received, and they do not know 
 how to stop the expression of his thanks soon enough. It is 
 in these sort of trifles that Masters of Hounds show their tact 
 and management. We have seen some Masters desperately 
 uncouth with the Farmers, taking no notice of them either at 
 the meet or the finish. Others again have always something 
 polite or good-natured to say, and a felicitously presented 
 "brush" has atoned for the tramplement of much wheat. 
 We remember when it used to be a favourite topic of 
 discussion, whether riding over wheat did it harm or good, 
 and we have seen stout pen and ink champions in favour of 
 the system, but, like many plausible things upon paper, the 
 theory and practice are very dissimilar. It is quite clear that 
 Farmers do not think so, otherwise they would turn their 
 cattle in to their wheat fields. 
 
 In some countries Farmers' cups are given, to be contended 
 for by the horses of Farmers in the limits of the hunt, and 
 certainly, as a mark of gratitude and attention to this most 
 praiseworthy class of men, it is a tribute deserving of com- 
 mendation, but we almost doubt whether the prizes generally 
 reach the objects the givers would like to see them go to. In 
 the first place, hunting and racing are such totally different 
 amusements, that one seldom sees a taste for both combined 
 in the same person, added to which, Farmers, least of all 
 people, are likely to cultivate an inclination for both, and if 
 
170 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 a man keeps a horse for the cup, it is not very likely that he 
 will keep him for the legitimate purposes of hunting. Hence 
 these prizes too often fall into the hands of itinerant black-legs 
 and leather-platers, or men in league with some skirtmg, 
 nicking, road-riding, fox-heading fellow, who is always getting 
 among the hounds at the death, or grinning in the Master's or 
 Huntsman's face at a check, to draw their attention to the 
 fact of his being up. 
 
 If we could be certain of seeing these trophies go into the 
 hands of the real Foxhunting Farmers of the hunt, if we could 
 think that each succeeding year was adding a fresh rivet to the 
 chain of foxhunting, by drawing the recipient in closer union 
 with the members of the hunt, nothing could be more 
 desirable than the encouragement of such prizes ; but when, 
 instead of their going to grace the sideboard of some true 
 lovers of the sport, to show by their inscription to their 
 descendants and friends that their zeal was appreciated and 
 rewarded, they fall into hands who merely value them for 
 their weight, and who are read}- to sell their unprized prizes 
 for the next year's contest, it raises a question whether some 
 more suitable acknowledgment could not be devised that 
 should be exclusively beneficial to Farmers, and incapable of 
 diversion from the right course. Prizes for the best colts or 
 hunters bred in the limits of the hunt, prizes for the best sheep, 
 or indeed for anything exclusi\elj- in the province of Farmers, 
 might, we think, be advantageously substituted, especially 
 now, when every district has its agricultural association or 
 Farmer's club. 
 
 We like to see a good lot of Farmers in the hunting field. 
 People may talk of the Excise and the Stamp Offices, 
 indicating the prosperity of the country, but to our minds, 
 there is nothing so convincing as seeing plenty of Farmers out 
 hunting. Farmers are not improvident people ; they live too 
 retired to be improvident, and it may be laid down as a 
 
THE FARMER 171 
 
 general rule, that no man who communes much with himself 
 will ever be so. Extravagance and improvidence are en- 
 gendered by contact and crowds ; one man leads another 
 astra}', and having embarked in a thing few men like to back 
 out. But Farmers are not gregarious beings. Societ}', with 
 them is the exception, and not the general rule. The family 
 circle supplies their wants in that way, and a domestic man 
 will rarely be found doing an act prejudicial to his family. 
 When times are adverse, then Farmers do not hunt, and 
 therefore we hold that a good show of them is the most 
 satisfactory evidence of general national prosperity. 
 
 We hope to live to see farming occupying a higher position 
 in the enterprise of our country than it at present holds. Not 
 but there are many bright ornaments among its peaceful 
 followers already, but we hope to see farming taken up more 
 as the occupation of gentlemen, who will adopt its fine, 
 healthy, interesting pursuits, instead of some of the genteel 
 starvations called " professions," that many waste the best of 
 their lives in following, to quit in disgust at the time they 
 ought to be making money. Farming is not a mone3^-bag 
 loading business, like many sedentary trades and pursuits, but 
 then it is a certain means of good and comfortable living, and 
 requires no long slavish apprenticeship, or extraordinary 
 power of intellect to learn, and no great capital to set up with. 
 Suppose a parent can give his son two or three thousand 
 pounds, to set him up in a farm of from eight hundred to a 
 thousand a-year rent. For that he gets a good house and 
 garden, and his farm will furnish him with every real require- 
 ment — not to say luxury of life, and instead of imbibing the 
 foul, noisome air of the town, in some confined chamber or 
 manufacturing office, and getting snatches of life by occasional 
 dives into the country, his whole year is one of wholesome, 
 pleasurable excitement and enjoyment. To a lover of the 
 country no life can compare with that of a Farmer. He 
 
172 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 enjoys from youth to age what others slave and toil in hopes 
 of reaching at the end. Farming is the nearest approach to 
 primitive independence of any calling we can adopt. The 
 Farmer is his own master, and though he may not derive so 
 large an apparent income as the investor of monej' in, or 
 follower of other pursuits, yet when we come to see what the 
 Farmer gets for nothing, that others have to pay for, and 
 observe how one thing dovetails in with another, it will be found 
 that after all, the enjoyments of life are not regulated by the 
 figures in three ruled columns of red ink, but in making the 
 most of such advantages as circumstances afford and put in 
 our way. Take a horse for instance — a Farmer will keep a 
 horse well for five-and-twenty pounds a-year, whereas the 
 Londoner will have to pay his guinea a-week for the keep of 
 his, and then very likely only have it half " done by." There 
 is cent, per cent, at once, and there is much the same difference 
 in the price of articles of domestic consumption. To talk of 
 dining with a Farmer is enough to set a Cockne3''s mouth 
 watering for a week — the very mention of the thing conjures 
 up all sorts of anticipations of pure, wholesome, rich, abun- 
 dant e.xcellence. The prime home-fed beef, the dark graveyed 
 mutton, the clean-fed pork, the plump white turkey, the 
 delicate chicken, the beautiful ham, the mealy potato, the 
 scarlet beet, above all, the fine, bright, home-brewed October, 
 and home-made butter and cheese. A large farmhouse is a 
 sort of general provision warehouse, containing the genuine, 
 unadulterated article. Who ever got a snack of anything at a 
 farmhouse without thinking it e.xcellent ? Who so truly 
 hospitable as the Farmer ? He gives what he has freel)' and 
 heartily, and never apologizes for the absence of what he has 
 not. Who ever hunted in the midland counties without 
 retaining a gratified recollection of the e.xcellence of the 
 Farmer's pork-pies ? The Lewes sausages of former da3s will 
 still smack on the palates of many. Again, what place so 
 
THE FARMER 173 
 
 sweet, so enjoyable, as a dairy ? If people would but be satis- 
 fied, and make the most of what they have, instead of yearning 
 after what they have not, no mercantile trading life could com- 
 pare with that of a Farmer. The glittering uniform may delight 
 the boy, but the easy coat of the country resident, the roomy 
 house, above all, self-masterj', present attractions that no 
 gaudy outward show can compensate for the want of. Though 
 we hear of few large fortunes made in farming, we seldom see 
 a Farmer in "The Gazette" — never almost, unless he has been 
 speculating in something he ought not. Railways, perhaps. 
 
 But let us take a glance at a Farmer in the hunting field. 
 The jolly-looking chap turning in is Mr. Barleycorn, of 
 Verdon, one of the old school of Farmers ; he is mounted on 
 one of the old stamp of hunters. Horse and rider are very 
 much of a-piece, big, boney, lasting-looking articles. The 
 horse is two-and-twenty 3'ears old, and though old " Corn," as 
 they call him, rides fifteen stone, and is generally first to come 
 and last to go, there is no blemish or symptom of decay about 
 the nag. Barleycorn and his friend, Michael Brownstout, of 
 Sapcote, keep a pack of harriers between them, but when the 
 foxhounds are near they give the preference to them. Barley- 
 corn has farmed in good times, bad times, and middling times, 
 but in whatever times he has farmed his heart has always been 
 in the right place, and he has never given way to despondency 
 or fear. Fear forsooth ! look at his frame ; there's a fist that 
 would fell an o.x. He. d — ns Peel, but only because he con- 
 siders Peel "did him." He's not a bit afraid of what he calls 
 the Alonncheers. 
 
 Barleycorn, to our fancy, is one of the happiest of men. 
 He is rich — rich in the fewness of his wants — and has nearly 
 all the requirements of life within himself. A good, large, 
 roomy, well-built, old-fashioned farm-house, with attic 
 windows peering out of the stone roof, a comfortable parlour 
 on either side of the entrance, and the kitchen sufficientl}- 
 
174 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 near to make the knocking on the table with his knife answer 
 the purpose of a bell, to indicate when he is ready for the 
 second or third steak and the pudding. He has a nice, clean, 
 healthy-looking girl to wait upon him, and a managing body 
 of a wife to look after the girl and the interests of the dairy 
 and larder as well. Barleycorn hunts his twice a week, and 
 has always hunted his twice a week, and means to continue to 
 hunt his twice a week, and yet he has only the big nag under 
 him, and an old brood mare, that takes her turn about the 
 farm the day after a hard run or a long day. His friend, 
 Brownstout, is a sort oi double, both in size and dress, and, 
 when their backs are turned, it is hard to say which is which. 
 Having great confidence in each other's judgment, they 
 generally bu}' in " duplicate," thus, if Barleycorn treats 
 himself to a new beaver, he buys another for Brownstout ; 
 and, some people say, that after a " wet night "' or two, the 
 hats become common, and they just take either. Both their 
 Christian names being John, and their surnames beginning 
 with a " B," perhaps aids the confusion or commonalt}'. 
 Their thunder and lightning coats are cut off the same web, 
 and made up by the same snip — so are their waistcoats, ditto 
 their big-ribbed cotton cords, as the dangling drab ribbon 
 over the mahogany tops testify. This similarity of dress is 
 often seen in the country ; indeed, in the hunting field one 
 may sometimes tell the residents of particular districts by 
 their clothes. 
 
 In hunting, Barleycorn and Brownstout are equally unani- 
 mous, both being admirers of the silent system. They hunt 
 by the weather, and not by the card. If Monday is a bad 
 day they turn out on the Tuesday, or adjourn again till the 
 Wednesday, the Sabbath and market-days being the only ones 
 to avoid. It says much for their management, that under 
 whatever Master the foxhounds ha\'e been kept. Barleycorn 
 and Brownstout have never been accused of interfering with 
 
THE FARMER 
 
 175 
 
 their sport ; on the contrary, they have received the repeated 
 expression of the thanks both of Master and followers, for 
 their preservation of the "varmint." At the present moment, 
 we may add that there is a duplicate round of cold beef at 
 each of their houses, in case the hounds should happen to 
 pass either way. As we fear our numerous engaj^ements will 
 prevent our partaking of either, we shall now bid adieu to 
 our good friends the " Farmers," regretting our inability to 
 portray them in the bright colours we could wish, but, assuring 
 them at the same time, of our hearty appreciation and un- 
 feigned respect. 
 
 
 e« ^ia»gi^^Q^S^%. ^ifJtei'.i^^^^ 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 ELIJAH BULLWAIST, THE BLACKSMITH 
 
 '*'' 
 Sk 
 
 ^"^^^gr'^f,,,^ 
 
 ASTING our eye over the 
 field, the next character that 
 greets is one of whom we 
 before spoke — EHjah Bull- 
 waist, the Blacksmith. Were 
 it not for the shagginess of 
 his pony's coat and the red- 
 ness of Bullwaist's nose, some 
 apology would be due for 
 keeping them so long ; but 
 neither is likely to take harm by standing. Bullwaist is 
 rightly named, for he is a man of Herculean proportions, six 
 feet two in his stocking feet, broad shouldered, broad backed, 
 and big limbed. How he ever can have the conscience to 
 pile his ponderosity upon that poor, ill-fed, hard-worked, 
 white pony, passes our comprehension. Surely none of the 
 " notables " for the suppression of cruelty to animals can have 
 heard of his performances, or Mr. Thomas would have been 
 after him, " Dicky Martin " in hand. 
 
 It has always appeared to us that the old school of black- 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 177 
 
 smiths are as much a distinct class or breed of men as coach- 
 men, sailors, or Jews. To our mind they are a sort of cross 
 between a travelling tinker and a stableman — by Vulcan out 
 of Pitchfork, or something of that sort. They are almost all 
 sportsmen or sporting men — that is to say, they have a turn 
 for everything going, or can turn their hands to everything. 
 They like a hunt, and they like a race ; they like a game at 
 pitch and toss, are great at quoits, can play at cards, dominoes, 
 get up raffles, shoot matches, jump in sacks, bait badgers, and 
 don't care if they go out coursing occasionally. Like the 
 travelling tinker, they generally have a turn for keeping a 
 horse. " Keeping," indeed, we can hardly call it — starving, 
 starving a horse would be nearer the mark. Bullwaist's pony 
 is a sample of that. Its shape is good, but it is long "over- 
 due," as the bankers say, only there is nothing on it to make 
 soup of Yet the poor beast was in the coal cart all yesterday, 
 and was assisting at a moonlight flitting the night before. Now 
 it has seventeen stone, avoirdupois weight, piled upon its back. 
 Bullwaist is a hard taskmaster. He never thinks he can get 
 enough out of a horse. 
 
 The blacksmith's shop is to the country what the saddler's 
 is to the town, the grand emporium of news. It is to the 
 servants what the hair-dresser's is to their masters, or perhaps 
 their mistresses, for we will give our se.x credit for having 
 something else to do than gossip. When the Blacksmith 
 combines the trade of publican as well, it will go hard if he 
 is not acquainted with all the "inns and outs" of the country. 
 It will be odd if he does not know who was at the castle last 
 week, and who is expected next ; nay, we will be bound to 
 say he can tell who supplied the Dorking fowls, and what 
 butcher sent the most beef and mutton. He has a chrono- 
 logical chart in his head of all the kings and queens that have 
 reigned there since the days of his boyhood ; can tell what 
 butler king was most liberal with the beer, and what key- 
 
 N 
 
178 THE HUNTING ITEIJ) 
 
 carrying queen was most lavish in tlie larder. Nothing, 
 perhaps, can equal the gossip of a public-house keeping 
 country smith, and we often wonder at gentlemen tolerating 
 such nuisances on their estates. They are the ruin of servants, 
 and the general haunts of idleness. It is an odd thing, 
 but let the beer be ever so good and strong and plentiful 
 at the castle or the hall, the servants will draw to the 
 public-house to spend their own mone}- in trash. As this 
 cannot be for the sake of the drink, it must be for the 
 sake of the gossip, and let anj- tolerator of such a nuisance 
 picture to himself what the conversation is likely to run 
 upon. We have seen many a lazy skulking dog dragging 
 his legs along to the public-house, who could never " find 
 time "' to go to church. 
 
 W'ith gratitude we say it, the Roj-al \'eterinary College has 
 done much to eradicate a breed of men who were at once 
 the curse of horseflesh and the country, and in lieu of the 
 botching, bungling, ignorant, self-sufficient, drunken, daring, 
 kill or cure, fear-nought horse and cow-leeches of twenty or 
 five-and-twenty }-ears ago. we have an educated race of men, 
 combining the business of shoers and veterinary surgeons, 
 who can be called in when a Groom or Master's knowledge is 
 exhausted or insufficient. In consequence of the distribution 
 of veterinary surgeons through the country, we have got a 
 better set of working smiths — men with some idea of the 
 anatomy and delicac\' of a horse's foot, and not fellows 
 who cut and wrench and hammer and tear, as if it had 
 no more feeling than a vice or an anvil. Londoners have 
 no idea what an old countrv smith was like ; they would 
 do anything — set a limb, shoe a horse, make a key, mend 
 a gun, sharpen a plough-share, or prescribe for horse, dog, 
 cow, and even man. The division between whitesmith and 
 blacksmith is still unknown in the greater part of the 
 kingdom. 
 
THE BLACKSIMITH 179 
 
 Few libraries are without that useful work, "The Horse,"* 
 written by Lord Brougham, and a select party of sportsmen 
 (Mr. Leader, most likely, and others), and published under 
 the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful 
 Knowledge — a work that contains more really useful matter in 
 an easy, unpedantic, intelligible-to-the-meanest-capacity-form, 
 than any that we know of; and were it not for the tendency it 
 might have to lead ignorant fellows to experimentalize on poor 
 horses, we could wish it were in every saddle-room as well. 
 That, perhaps, not being desirable, we may quote a passage on 
 shoeing that is incapable of perversion, and well worthy the 
 attention of masters, servants, Bullwaists, and all — if such 
 bigoted creatures as Bullwaists are open to conviction : — " We 
 will suppose the horse is sent to the forge to be shod," says 
 Lord Brougham and Co. : " If the master would occasionally 
 accompany him there, he would find it much to his advantage. 
 The old shoe must be first taken off. We have something to 
 observe even on this. It was retained on the foot by the ends 
 of the nails being twisted off, turned down, and clenched. 
 These clenches should be first raised, which the smith seldom 
 takes the trouble thoroughly to do ; but after going carelessly 
 round the crust, and raising one or two of the clenches, he 
 takes hold first of one heel of the shoe, and then of the other, 
 and by a violent wrench separates them from the foot, and by 
 a third wrench, applied to the middle of the shoe, he tears it 
 off. By this means he must enlarge every nail hole, and 
 weaken the future hold, and sometimes tear off portions of the 
 crust, and otherwise injure the foot. The horse generally 
 shows by his flinching that he suffers by the violence with 
 which this preliminary operation is performed. The clenches 
 should always be raised or filed off; and where the foot is 
 
 * Here let us recommend Mr. Miles's treatise on the foot of the horse to 
 the especial attention of sportsmen and horse masters generally. It is a 
 most sensible work. 
 
180 THE HINTING FIELD 
 
 temier, or the horse is to be examined for lameness, each nail 
 should be partly punched out. Many a stub is left in the 
 crust, the source of future annoyance, when this unnecessary 
 violence is used." 
 
 His lordship shows himself to be an accurate observer, and 
 to have profited by his sporting pursuits, albeit followed in 
 France, not the likeliest country for sporting science. No 
 doubt the horse does flinch — na\-, we have heard them give a 
 sort of groan, not unlike the sound emitted by a man catching 
 up his foot on having his corn trod upon. 
 
 The man-shoer and the horse-shoer occupy similar stations 
 in the biped and quadrupedal world, though the latter have, 
 perhaps, the best of it, in their exemption from the abuse 
 invariably lavished on a misfitting, uneasyfitting " snob." Let 
 a man think of the misery he has endured from the uneasy, 
 uneven pressure of a tight boot, and he will surely have some 
 consideration for the comfort of his horse. There is in horse- 
 shoeing precisely the same discomfort, without absolute lame- 
 ness, that there is in human shoeing, and it is that discomfort 
 that a careless, off-hand sort of fellow never discovers. A 
 man with a head, and eyes in that head, can see by the way a 
 horse stands in his stall whether he is comfortable or not ; 
 but many fellows will get on their backs and ride them eight 
 or ten miles without feeling that they are not going in their 
 usual form, which a master discovers the moment he mounts, 
 these are the cast-iron, wooden-headed class of servants, 
 " Grooms" we will not call them, who have no more feeling 
 or sympathy with horses than hedge-stakes. They go lob, lob, 
 lobbing along without thought or care, save how to get there, 
 and how to get back. Notwithstanding the great improvement 
 that has taken place within the last twenty years in the style of 
 country blacksmiths, and the manner of country shoeing, there 
 is still ample room for further advancement. There is still as 
 much difference between the skilfully town-shod horse, and the 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 181 
 
 lumpy, heavy, graceless, iron-bound hoof emancipated from 
 the hand of the country shoer, as there is between the Bartley 
 turned out boot, and the shapeless, baggy, half-tanned leather 
 looking things of John Crookedlast, of the village of Clotting- 
 ton. There is as much difference in iron as there is in leather. 
 A set of shoes from one man will last half as long again as a 
 set of shoes from another man, just as a pair of boots from one 
 man will outwear two pair from another. We have seen stuff 
 put on for iron that was almost as soft as gingerbread, driven 
 in by great tenpenny-nail-looking things, whose fat unburied 
 heads looked as if they were meant to act the part of one of 
 Crosskill's clod crushers ; regular tear-up-the-land and soil- 
 looking things. 
 
 It is not our intention to discuss the merits of the different 
 forms of shoes, but there is one point connected with hunting 
 shoes that merits a word or two, and that is " calkins," or 
 turnings up of the heels, to prevent slipping. These are very 
 useful in downy, hilly countries, and if the calkins could be 
 added on arriving at that sort of country, they would be very 
 good, especially in frosty weather, where, as all Sussex sports- 
 men know, one side of a hill is often soft and the other side 
 hard, according as they lie to the sun. Some turn up the 
 outer heel only, and on soft greasy surfaces, perhaps, the 
 outer heel is sufficient, but as that causes uneven treading, it 
 must be prejudicial to the foot on roads and hard surfaces. 
 If calkins, therefore, are used, they should be used to both 
 sides of the heel, or the foot either raised up or pared down, so 
 as to preserve an equalit}'. 
 
 There is another very important point connected with 
 shoeing, particularly hunter shoeing, that even our friend 
 Lord Brougham and the whole " Useful Knowledge Society" 
 seem to have overlooked, and that is nails. The best and 
 neatest of shoes are useless without good nails, just as the 
 best and neatest of biped ones are useless without strings or 
 
182 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 fastenings of some sort. Now it is a notorious fact, though 
 we dare say EHjah Bullwaist will deny it, that the same man 
 cannot make both shoes and nails. Bullwaist will make what 
 he calls nails just as he makes what he calls shoes, but if any of 
 our readers will pop into a veterinary forge, or well-conducted 
 smithy, he will tind making nails and making shoes are dis- 
 tinct departments, nay, in many, that making nails, making 
 shoes, and putting them on, constitute three separate branches. 
 Let the shoes be ever so good and ever so well put on, it is 
 clear that they are of no use, especially for hunters, unless 
 they will stay on, and that staying on depends almost entirely 
 upon the make and quality of the nails. 
 
 We do not know a more graceless, thankless office, than 
 telling a man he has lost a shoe, particularly if the discovery 
 is made in the middle of a run. We wonder if any person 
 ever got thanked for such information. Shoe-losing is one of 
 the drawbacks upon foxhunting, and one of the greatest argu- 
 ments for the second horse system. A man with a second 
 horse looks at his nag's feet at a check with very different 
 feelings to the man who has merely a spare shoe at his saddle. 
 The man with his groom behind him with a second horse can 
 afford to be civil when he is told he has lost a shoe : he has 
 nothing to do but change horses, just as he would change his 
 plate at dinner. But the man with but one horse, no spare 
 shoe, and no knowledge of where a blacksmith is to be found, 
 has a very dejected melancholy air as he turns from the hounds 
 and rides about among the country people, asking if they can 
 tell him "where to find a smith ?" Shoe cases are now so 
 common that the exception is seeing a saddle without one, 
 and there are divers patent contrivances extant for self-fasten- 
 ings and self-adjustings, that might be very useful if the 
 patentee was in attendance to work them, but which had 
 better be discarded in favour of the common shoe, with a few 
 nails to set it on with. 
 
THE BT..VCKSMITH 183 
 
 What an unfavourable opinion of foxhunters any one would 
 drawwho merely saw them arrive at a blacksmith's on losing 
 a shoe in the middle of a run. To heighten the loser's chagrin, 
 after seeing all his lovely companions gradually disappear, 
 when at length, horse in hand, he arrives at the pointed out 
 spot, it's ten to one but he finds the shop empty, the black- 
 smith after the hounds, and the apprentice shading the sun 
 from his eyes with his hand on the top of a distant wall, 
 straining his sight after the pack. Then when the unfor- 
 tunate sportsman does get a creature to attend his behest, 
 what gaping, poking, and searching after what they know 
 they have not, work there is ; what fumbling of dray-horse 
 shoes, and measuring of donkey ones, to see if they will fit. 
 The cj'c seems useless to some fellows, they are never satisfied 
 a thing won't do, until the}' measure it. If a man has not a 
 shoe with him, the only plan is to get the best fitting old shoe 
 the shop will afford put on. Don't let the fidgety sportsman 
 hurry the man, or he will most likely drive a nail into the 
 quick. Let "patience" be the word, and if on getting the 
 horse to the door, and leading him on a few yards, he walks 
 sound, let our sportsman remount and see if a lucky check or 
 turn will not let him in again. 
 
 Some people are verj' easily " cowed," if we may use such 
 an expression in connection with hunting, on losing hounds, 
 and never attempt to catch them if they once get away from 
 them, or to fall in with them again after getting a lost shoe 
 replaced. Instead of doing so, they indulge in all sorts of 
 imprecations, and conjectures as to the splendour of the affair 
 they are losing. A pack out of sight are always supposed to 
 be going best pace, whereas, perhaps, they are pottering on 
 the other side of the hill, picking the scent over fallows or 
 cattle-stained ground. A hunt is not like a steeple-chase, 
 where a few minutes make all the difference. We have seen 
 a man lose a shoe, find a smith, get another put on, and jump 
 
184 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 in with the hounds running baci< witli their fox as he led the 
 horse out of the door. 
 
 Some people are desperately inquisitive about a horse's 
 health, temper, appetite, and peculiarities, asking no end of 
 wise questions, and taking no end of precautions, and yet we 
 dare say it never enters the head of one in a hundred to ask 
 if he is a shoe-thrower. Some, we dare say, will smile at the 
 idea, because such a blessing as a shoe-thrower has never 
 fallen to their lot. We remember some years ago being in 
 a party of foxhunters, where the productions of a hunting 
 contributor to one of the sporting magazines was under dis- 
 cussion, and a gentleman observed that he did not think the 
 writer could be a man of much experience, because he spoke 
 of a piebald hunter in the tield as a curiosity, whereas, said 
 the speaker, "piebalds are quite common in our country." 
 So we are all apt to argue from what we ourselves know. 
 This gentleman lived in a country where there was a famous 
 piebald stallion, but we may appeal to our readers whether 
 a piebald horse is not an unusual sight in the hunting field. 
 But this gentleman thought not, and we have the same sort of 
 idea, that shoe-throwers are not so uncommon. Of course all 
 horses will cast their shoes occasionally, but there are some 
 that make a point of doing it at the very earliest opportunit}-. 
 Indeed we are something like the gentleman who li\-ed in the 
 country with a piebald stallion — for a friend of ours once 
 bought a finely shaped white horse at Tattersall's, perfect to 
 look at, fast in his gallop, temperate at his fences, but who 
 invariabl}' pulled off a fore shoe before he had gone over half- 
 a-dozen leaps — nay, we have known both shoes to come off 
 together. And yet there was nothing the matter with the 
 horse's feet ; they were good, sound, healthy feet — he did it by 
 catching the hind shoes with the fore, and no contrivance or 
 ingenuity could prevent his doing it. Now that is a case 
 " in point," as the lawyers say, and though we admit the 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 185 
 
 occurrence is a rare one, still we think that question might 
 just as reasonably be asked as half the questions that are put 
 about hunters. 
 
 Speaking of this horse, leads us to observe how beautifully 
 Providence turns even the infirmities of His creatures to good 
 account. To look at this animal no sportsman could doubt 
 the appropriateness of its form for hunting purposes. It was 
 the hunter all over, with one of the lightest, best set on heads 
 we ever saw. Added to a commanding figure, it had the 
 finest freest action imaginable, and though the circumstance 
 of such a horse coming to the hammer single-handed as it 
 were — that is to say not in a stud — certainly was suspicious, 
 still there were alwaj's fine venturesome men in the yard 
 ready to speculate on such a piece of perfection, and it was 
 sold in different parts of London— at Tattersall's, Aldridge's 
 the Horse Bazaar, and Barbican a dozen times at least before 
 it was regularly blown. We recognized it in five hunts one 
 season — the Royal buckhounds, Mr. de Burgh's staghounds, 
 the Hatfield, the Surrey, the old Berkeley, and more than 
 once saw its sleight-of-hand trick of chucking a fore-shoe 
 half-way up in the owner's face, before we suspected what 
 screw was loose. On each change of hunt we need hardly 
 say it was in the hands of a different owner, and as luck 
 would have it, about the twelfth time of " asking," our 
 friend Blatherington Brown, the Manchester warehouseman of 
 Friday-street, who thinks he knows more about horses than 
 muslins, had strayed into Tat's with a nice clean fifty pound 
 note in his blue satin note-case, and seeing this superb animal 
 trotting to and fro, and Tat labouring up the ladder of 
 bidders — a very unusual thing for Tat to do, by the way — 
 Brown thought it wasn't possible he could take any harm even 
 if he got the horse, and if he didn't, why giving a " bid " was 
 a cheap piece of flash that would tell in the City. Shock Jem, 
 the enterprising Mr. Pywell, and other cheap Johns of the 
 
186 THE HITNTING FIELD 
 
 yard, had run the horse up to their utmost Hmits, and still he 
 stood below what Blatherington Brown had in his note-case. 
 Accordingly he blurted out ''fifty I " on the top of forty- seven, 
 and turned on his heel with a m'-gligi sort of air, as much as to 
 say, " he's worth that if he's worth anything." 
 
 " Fcfty! going for f(?fty ! are you all done at ft-fty !" exclaimed 
 Tattersall, with a quick glance around, and in another instant 
 the hammer was down. 
 
 Blatherington wanted a second horse, for he was going to 
 Brighton, where he meant to play old gooseberry with the 
 Brighton and Brookside dogs, to say nothing of astonishing 
 Colonel Wyndham, and the " East Sussex," and \ery well 
 pleased he was with his purchase until he got him into the 
 Sussex play, when he began to play his old tricks, and off 
 went the shoes. A horse is desperately soon blown in the 
 country ; we don't mean in his wind, but in his character, 
 and Brighton being only a slice of London, poor Claudius 
 Hunter, for so Blatherington christened him, after the great 
 civic patron of white horses, very soon had his London reputa- 
 tion tacked to his Brighton one, and he was what theatrical 
 
 people call d d. In this dilemma it occurred to the fruitful 
 
 mind of old Mr. Boss, the tit-tup-ing, Hessian-booted riding 
 master, that Claudius might prove a valuable acquisition in 
 his stud. It may appear singular to our readers that a horse 
 which was a drug in one man's hands should be an acquisition 
 in another's, but Boss had lived a long time in the world, 
 almost as long as Widdicomb, who Punch says has turned 
 three hundred years, and Boss had learnt a thing or two. 
 Among other things Boss had learned that half the people 
 who hunted from Brighton only hunted for the sake of 
 wearing red coats, and that they were never so happy as 
 when they got off their horses, having qualified to strut on 
 the flags and tell their exploits to the ladies. The only 
 difficulty of doing that is an excuse for coming home, and 
 
m-: 
 
 - .-t 
 
 
 
 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 
 
 Boss saw thai a horse thai wujj J j' rir.Mi m- own ■ 
 would not only be in great request, but would also b< 
 to go out very often. Accordingly, be threw himself in 
 Bktherington's way as, slipper on foot, Claudius and he 
 re-entered Brighton by luncheon time, having disposed of n 
 shoe about Firle. Boss, of course, knew the horse's inftrr • 
 and finding Brown in the parting mood, they very soon i 
 a deal. Well, Claudius was the most jjopular horse that ever 
 entered Brighton — like a belle at a ball, he was :> 
 engaged three or four deep. His colour was greatly in his 
 favour, for though it is a generally received axiom tliat a 
 white horse should always be forwav.! \.f as it takes h ilf-a- 
 dozen fields or half-a-dozen fences t' -leople propc 
 
 their places, a horse that always dc • 'fore the ru 
 
 ' could never be 
 
 wa 
 
 re^'i 
 
 the jg 
 
 of a s; < 
 
 the Ion,, ^ * 
 
 faithful ' ^ 
 
 windov g 
 
 hoi: ^ ' ..! If 
 
 T 
 
 ly, answenng "S 
 
 ev r> to put to him o 
 
 '^ bo 
 
 V 
 
 Z 
 
•'■'V: 
 
 ■ffi, »»■ 
 
 e 
 
 t 
 
 
THE BLACKSINHTH 1«7 
 
 Boss saw that a horse that would furnish his own excuse 
 would not only be in great request, but would also be able 
 to go out very often. Accordingly, he threw himself in 
 Blatherington's way as, slipper on foot, Claudius and he 
 re-entered Brighton by luncheon time, having disposed of a 
 shoe about Firle. Boss, of course, knew the horse's infirmity, 
 and finding Brown in the parting mood, they very soon made 
 a deal. Well, Claudius was the most popular horse that ever 
 entered Brighton — like a belle at a ball, he was always 
 engaged three or four deep. His colour was greatly in his 
 favour, for though it is a generally received axiom that a 
 white horse should always be forward, yet as it takes half-a- 
 dozen fields or half-a-dozen fences to settle people properly in 
 their places, a horse that always declined before the rubicon 
 was reached could never be said to be conspicuously behind. 
 Indeed Claudius always looked most promising. When other 
 mad devils were yawning and boring, and rushing and shaking 
 their heads, like terriers with rats in their mouths, Claudius 
 was as cool and collected as possible, taking his fences as 
 though he meant to go on fencing all day. But that was all 
 deception — Claudius was an honest horse, and never dis- 
 appointed his rider ; as sure as he came to the sixth fence, so 
 sure would a shoe be gone or going. Then, with well feigned 
 regret and disgust, the rider would pull up, and after receiving 
 the condolence of the passing field, would cast about in search 
 of a smithy, and slipper on foot would re-enter Brighton by 
 the longest route, so as to display the faultless pink on the 
 faithful white. Then young ladies sitting in bay and balcony 
 windows, bending over novels, or laps full of work, would 
 exclaim — " Oh, dear ! there's that orrid Mr. Spoonbill coming 
 home from hunting;" or — "Oh! I declare here's Captain 
 Green on the white horse, looking so nice." 
 
 Then Mr. Spoonbill having lingered by the way, answering 
 every inquiry any one would have the kindness to put to him 
 
188 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 relative to the run, would at last render up Claudius to the 
 hands of Mr. Boss, and, repairing to his lodgings, would re- 
 arrange his curls and whiskers, and, putting a most deceitful 
 little mackintosh over his scarlet coat, would go clonk, clonk, 
 clonk, with his spurs on the flags the rest of the afternoon, a 
 cross between a post-boy and a heavy dragoon. 
 
 But, Lord bless us! what a way out of our ground this 
 mention of Claudius Hunter has led us. ^^'e have been taking 
 a canter on Brighton Downs, and a ride through the town, 
 instead of sticking to the hero at the head of our paper, ^\'ell, 
 here goes at him again. 
 
 Elijah Bullwaist is a full tlowering specimen of the old tribe 
 of " horse and cow leech," and for the benefit of posterit\- we 
 will impale him on our sheet. BuUwaist's nionstrous bulk 
 is further increased by a profusion of foul, filthy clothes. He 
 seems as if he carried his whole wardrobe on his back. Peer- 
 ing above his nasty rusty black duffle frock coat, we see as 
 man}- dirt}' waistcoats as would serve the gravedigger in 
 " Hamlet." Above the rusty-stained unwholesome duffle, 
 with its broad binding, parting from its seams and sides, is 
 one of those ancient abominations, a Witney coat, with large 
 mother-of-pearl buttons. It was once white, but the days of 
 its whiteness are long gone by, and it is now a sort of whitey 
 brown walking pestilence, combining the odour of tobacco, 
 aloes, sulphur, oil, turpentine, opium, what Bullwaist calls 
 harbs (herbs), a definition that he applies to all medical ingre- 
 dients that he is not particularly acquainted with. Harbs and 
 brandy are grand specifics in Bullwaisfs pharmacopoeia. 
 
 BuUwaisfs corduroy breeches and gaiters partake of the 
 general nastiness of his apparel, and two great slits across the 
 middle of each shoe give him the air of being troubled with 
 the gout, or perhaps corns, a sort of retribution for the many 
 his bad shoeing has entailed upon horses. A careless twisted 
 red cotton kerchief chafes against his unshaven chin, and an 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 
 
 189 
 
 old shallow-crowned, broad-leafed, napless black hat, protects 
 his dirty bald head from the winds, and keeps the lank un- 
 combed grey locks of the sides down upon his greasy coat 
 collar. Altogether, Bullwaist has a most unwholesome sort 
 of look ; yet this is the sort of man that deals in drugs and 
 potions, and is consulted about the ailments and accidents 
 of cattle and horses; and, strange to say, many of the country 
 people prefer these ignorant quacks, these blockheads, these 
 horse torturers, to regularly educated men. They have heard 
 of some wonderful cure, some extraordinary operation border- 
 ing on a miracle, performed by them, that banishes the recol- 
 lection of all their bungling failures, and of all their broken 
 promises. Some, indeed, carry the principle out with regard 
 to themselves, and many a lout would rather be operated upon 
 by a bone-setter than by a Liston, a Cooper, or a Brodie. It 
 is wonderful the influence some of these quacks obtain over the 
 minds of country people ; nay, even over parties from whom 
 better things might be expected. In a village, not fifty miles 
 from London, carriagefuls of people used to resort, week 
 after week, to a man fully as ignorant and as brutal as Bull- 
 waist ; nay, we believe, more ignorant, for Bullwaist can make 
 a sort of writing, whereas the individual in question was wholly 
 ignorant of the art. 
 
 Here is a specimen of Bullwaist's spelling. We are sorry 
 
 we cannot give a facsimile of the call 
 
 1836.— Anthew Brown to Eli. 
 
 BUL 
 
 LWAIS'l 
 
 
 
 Febery 8. — To a Bote! of Blistern oil 
 
 
 £0 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 28. — To firin the marledg 
 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 March i. — To a Jurney . 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 6 
 
 To a Jurney . 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 To Oinement 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 To 2 Doze of Bales 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 To a Pot of Oinement . 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 To a Jurney to Ruben them 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 To 2 Doze of Pirgin Bales 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 To a Jurney . 
 
 
 
 
 -> 
 
 6 
 
 iphy 
 
 tself:- 
 
 £1 
 
l<f(> THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 The above is really and truly an account rendered by 
 Bullvvaist so recently as 1S36, and looking at the spelling, 
 and the style of the man, what a mass of cruelty his ignorant, 
 brutish barbarity must have inflicted upon the poor animals 
 that the last fifty or five-and-fifty years have brought under 
 the ban of his ignorance. "To A Botel of Blistern oil," 
 for a bottle of blistering oil : and to " firin the marledg," for 
 firing the mare's leg. "The Jurney to Ruben them," perhaps 
 requires the aid of the glossary even more than the others, 
 and were it not for the " pot of oinement " that precedes the 
 item, we should have been puzzled to collect that the 
 "Jurney to Ruben them," meant a journey to rubbing them 
 with the precious stuff. 
 
 We have another bill of the same worthy's before us, 
 where there is a charge for " a bottel of essens," meaning a 
 bottle of essence (essence of what? we wonder), and there is an 
 item "To Rowling the mar and sane," or sow, we cannot tell 
 which, that quite beats our power of deciphering. Then the 
 impudence of a fellow so replete with ignorance charging as 
 much, nay more, for his medicine than the regularly educated 
 practitioner. Three shillings for two " pirgin bales," meaning, 
 we presume, two physic balls, which we all know can be 
 bought at any chemists for a shilling a-piece, or for ten 
 shillings a dozen. The veterinary surgeons, we may observe, 
 do themselves no good by exorbitant charges for medicine, it 
 only drives custom away to the chemist that would otherwise 
 come to them. " Live and let live," is a good useful motto, 
 applicable to vets as well as to other trades. There is a story 
 told of a young " sawbones," who, on sending in his bill to his 
 solitary patient, added the following note : — 
 
 " Being a young man anxious to get forvvaid I have charged double," 
 
 and Elijah Bullwaist is in a somewhat similar predicament, 
 only he is an old man whose business has left him. 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 191 
 
 Twenty j'ears ago Elijah had the sign of the Rising Sun 
 in the centre of the village of Hatherly, with a well frequented 
 smithy adjoining, but irregular conduct caused him at length 
 to forfeit his licence, and he has now a beer-shop and forge at 
 the east end of the town, where he carries on a second-rate 
 business as a blacksmith, and a first-rate one as a black- 
 guard. This beer-shop is the resort of all the vagabonds in 
 the country ; poachers, trampers, tinkers, discarded servants, 
 hawkers, pedlars, raffs of all sorts, who find in Bullwaist 
 and his numerous progeny, congenial spirits and ribald 
 company. 
 
 There, over the lowest, basest, most revolutionary prints, 
 they charge the result of their own misconduct on the laws, 
 and heap abuse on every one whose authority keeps them 
 in control. It is a sad sight to see a hoary old sinner, like 
 Bullwaist, leading his own children on in a course that 
 has been productive of his own ruin. It is a sad thing 
 for a country to see the seeds of vice ready to spread and 
 waft in all directions : to calculate that the nuisance of old 
 Bullwaist is to be the lot of many parts — Bullwaist is a 
 bad man. It is one of his boasts that he never goes to 
 church, and we never knew one who so boasted that was 
 to be trusted. 
 
 Parents should bear this fact in mind, that there is no 
 occupation or employment in life in which the character 
 of themselves is not inquired into with regard to their 
 children. If the parents are honest, steady, respectable 
 people, there will be every reason to believe that their 
 children will be the same, at all events the world will 
 take them on credit as such, but if parents are notorious 
 wrongdoers, the evil of their reputation will attach to their 
 children, and be serious impediments to their worldly advance- 
 ment. 
 
 We may also add, though we have no desire unduly to 
 
I!t2 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 stigmatize a class, that few people are fond of engaging with 
 those who are connected with beer-shops. " Inn "' service is 
 generally considered bad enough, but bold must be the man 
 who tackles with the offspring of the beer-shop. We never 
 look at one of their nasty, dingy, common-looking signs, with- 
 out thinking what apt prototypes they are of the squalor 
 within. But the hounds are away, and here is old Bullwaist, 
 as usual, getting in people's way. He doesn't seem to like 
 water a bit better than his nag. " Noiu, old boy ! " we fancy 
 we hear this red-coated buck exclaiming, as he dashes past, 
 leaving old " Waist" in the lurch. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE SQUIRE 
 
 
 
 T is only those who have 
 been much abroad that can 
 right!}' appreciate the ad- 
 vantage of having resident 
 country gentlemen. It is 
 only the absence of the class 
 in other countries that im- 
 presses us with the convic- 
 tion of its importance in our 
 own. In no other country 
 in the world do we find individuals with the same power and 
 territorial possessions occupying so unassuming a place in 
 the national scale — men that in this country rank as mere 
 Esquires, in other lands would be princes and magnates from 
 the importance of their possessions. We, who have seen 
 marquises presiding at gaming tables, and counts figuring off 
 behind counters, feel proud of belonging to a country whose 
 greatness is based on such substantial foundations. 
 
 The title " Esquire " is so prostituted by the indiscriminate 
 application of modern usage, that were it not founded in 
 respectability, and maintained by its "order," it must long 
 
 o 
 
194 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 ere this have fallen into disrepute. Every man dubs himself, 
 or is dubbed, " Esquire." One of the judges, in reply to an 
 objection of counsel, that a man had improperly described 
 himself an " Esquire," observed that it had been held that 
 every man who was not a gentleman was entitled to be called 
 " Esquire ; " and a still older authority — we believe the 
 lamented Mr. Thurtell, or one of his confederates — propounded 
 the doctrine that keeping a gig and horse was proof of a man 
 being a gentleman. In spite, however, of all its misapplica- 
 tions — in spite of all the jibes and jeers levelled at the class, 
 there is still something about the title " Esquire," or 
 "Squire," peculiarly grateful to Englishmen, and peculiarly 
 expressive of the tranquil simplicity of country life. Strictly 
 speaking, we believe the title of Esquire is the prerogative of 
 parties named in her Majesty's commission of the peace, of 
 members of certain professions and callings, but there is no 
 doubt that its real working identity is the lord of the soil, the 
 country resident — the country justice, if you will, but the 
 follower of field sports, at all events. This is the sort of being 
 that the title " Esquire " suggests to the minds of Englishmen, 
 and this is the sort of " Squire" that the country people look 
 up to as the highest authority within the scope of their 
 imaginations. And rightly, we believe, they do so look up, 
 for a well educated right thinking gentleman is an acquisition 
 in a district, and are best appreciated, as we said before, by 
 those who have witnessed their want or removal. We may 
 even go further, and say, that counties well supplied with 
 resident gentry exhibit a much smaller amount of crime 
 than counties where they are scarce. All statesmen are 
 aware of this, and it has always been an object with 
 Governments to afford, by the encouragement and protection 
 of country sports, every inducement to landowners to live on 
 their estates. 
 
 We consider the maintenance of field sports of immense 
 
THE SQUIRE 195 
 
 importance to the well-being of a country. They not only 
 engender a fine manly daring spirit among all who are in any 
 way drawn within the scope of their influence, but they 
 materially tend to promote a healthy spirit of sociality and 
 intercourse among neighbours. Nor are their beneficial effects 
 confined to the mere followers of field sports ; all the inhabi- 
 tants of a district, all who are in any way dependent upon 
 others for the amusement of themselves or friends, are benefited 
 by their existence and prosperity, and interested in their main- 
 tenance. To illustrate this, let us look at the case of a large 
 country house in a sporting district, and one in a country where 
 there is neither hunting nor shooting. 
 
 The great difference between London society and country 
 society is this : — In London we get people together just when 
 and for as long as we want them, at a time of day and under 
 circumstances peculiarly adapted to the development of any- 
 thing like information, talent, or humour; whereas in the 
 country, people must be thrown more upon each other- than 
 the average stock of reminiscences and parish politics will 
 find conversation for. Here people get into their carriages, 
 if they have them, or street equipages if they have not, and 
 five or ten minutes will take them to their most distant friend ; 
 but in the country, visiting is oftentimes a serious job — a 
 matter of two or three days' business. And then comes the 
 consideration, what are a host and hostess to do with their 
 good friends when they have got them scraped together? Now, 
 we take it will be readily conceded by all who have tried it, 
 that of all dull, wearisome, up-hill work, there is nothing equal 
 to dragging out a tedious existence among people with whom 
 we have little in common, where breakfast, luncheon, and 
 dinner are the only alleviations of the settled stream of in- 
 active monotony ; in other words, that mere eating and drink- 
 ing are not sufficient inducements to draw people from home. 
 Have we a country reader unoppressed with the mental 
 
1% THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 {nciibiis of a three days" visit to a stupid country house, 
 where the good people, though desperately glad to see you, 
 are high and dry for conversation before it is time to dress 
 for the first day's dinner. Suppose it a first visit, entailing 
 the magnificence of the " best of everything," and the usual 
 pressing and urging of people for miles around to meet. The 
 scene opens in the drawing-room, with the usual apologies for 
 the smallness of the party, and the recital of a long list of 
 invited friends who have been too shrewd to be victimized. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gabble were asked, and had promised to come, 
 but unfortunately Mrs. Gabble's mother had arrived from 
 Boulogne-sur-Mer, and would neither accompany them nor 
 hear of their leaving her. Captain and Mrs. Smith were 
 both laid up of bad colds, or would have been there, and 
 Mrs. Buggins had just got her eleven boj's home from school, 
 and could not leave them, and Miss Toby and her brother had 
 just gone on a visit to their rich uncle's ; and so they go on 
 through a long list of shuffles and apologies, ending with the 
 usual asseveration that it is "a wretched country for neigh- 
 bours — not such another bad one in England " — the common 
 denunciation, in short, of all unlucky party pressers. The 
 victim listens with polite complacency, inwardl}' chuckling, 
 perhaps, at escaping so many bores, until his satisfaction 
 gradually changes into astonishment at what has brought him 
 there himself. Some men are so dense as never to remember 
 that mammas consider it part of their duty to bring all the 
 single men to their houses to give their daughters a chance, 
 and think because they have no fancy for any of the girls 
 that the girls cannot have any design upon them. Innocent 
 youths ! There is not a man goes into a house where there 
 are girls, without being more or less bespoke or assigned to 
 some one or other of them. 
 
 But we must get on with our visit, or we shall make our 
 sketch as long as the infliction itself. If a dinner passes heavily, 
 
THE SQUIRE 197 
 
 what a prospect there is for the evening ! What a spirit- 
 depressing thing it is to feel that no gentle knock or quiet area 
 ring, following the slow rumble of wheels, will bring liberation 
 through the footman's hands, but that we are regularly booked, 
 and in for the night — not only the night, but two following 
 ones, with the addition of long unoccupied days. One day, 
 however, shall serve for all. Let us suppose the dawdling 
 breakfast at last finished, that it has been protracted even until 
 eleven o'clock, then comes the appalling conviction of thin 
 boots, and total indolence. The ladies retire to the drawing- 
 room, and the wretched male victims of society, whom spurious 
 hospitality has brought together, either follow them or make 
 for the library. This is the time that countrj'-house indolence 
 is most apparent and most appalling. If a man has any, the 
 smallest occupation or resource when at home, the first hour or 
 so after breakfast is sure to bring it out ; but in a strange 
 house, away from his horses, his garden, his dogs, his gun, his 
 fishing-rod, his books, his everything that makes home home, 
 what is a man to do ? There cannot perhaps be a greater 
 nuisance for both sexes than a lot of men hanging about a 
 drawing-room after breakfast. It must be as great a bore to 
 the ladies as it is to the men — yet how often we see it — men 
 lounging and idling and twaddling, until luncheon prepares 
 them for the excursion to Prospect Hill or the ruined abbey by 
 the river, the usual inflictions on unhappy victims. Lord bless 
 us ! we would rather break stones than be condemned t6 such 
 ponderous idleness. 
 
 There is no " tip-and-go-ish-ness " in the country — none of 
 that light effervescence that distinguishes the active-minded 
 man in brief contact with a sparkling circle. People in the 
 country, though they have nothing to say to you, think they 
 cannot see too much of you. They must have you alongside of 
 them, and when at length dull time has dragged through the 
 imprisonment, and with well-feigned regrets you are about to 
 
198 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 separate, they " bind you over " to appear again on that day 
 three months, or inform you that they are to have the pleasure 
 of meeting you at dinner the next day at the new goal you are 
 going to. 
 
 Let us take the converse of this sad picture. Let us suppose 
 a country house in a hunting country, and see the influence 
 field sports have in procuring society. It is just like the 
 difference between a volunteer and a pressed man. Instead of 
 a hostess having to send out urgent solicitations to some, and 
 embossed cards to others, the probability is that the fixture of 
 the hounds, in the county papers, conveys the first intimation 
 that she may prepare for a party ; and instead of apologies, 
 excuses, and backings out, the plot thickens as the time 
 approaches. 
 
 We have heard it said that extempore speeches are always 
 the best, and we have met people simple enough to believe 
 well-conned orations were extempore; but that is a "fallacy" 
 that does not require Dr. Dixon to expose. We think we shall, 
 however, be borne out by our readers in assertmg that extempore 
 parties are generally the pleasantest, especially extempore parties 
 of sportsmen. People may object to the conversation of 
 foxhunters, just as they may object to the conversation of 
 lawyers, soldiers, sailors, or any other class of men, but surely 
 'brisk, animated conversation of any sort is infinitely preferable 
 to the forced, up-hill driblets of words proceeding from 
 constrained people with nothing in common. Put the case in 
 its very worst form, it leaves the unconcerned, uninterested 
 guest the privilege of running his own thoughts and ideas 
 through his mind, without those tiresome interruptions and 
 appeals that invariably accompany forced attempts at " most 
 delightful evenings." Eagerness and animation, however, are 
 catching, particularly over wine, and we have seen many a 
 jolly, laid-on-the-shelf-sportsman, and even unentered host, 
 the one forget his years, the other his ignorance, and under the 
 
THE SQUIRE 199 
 
 benign influence of wine and hilarit}' swear eternal attachment 
 to the sport that has formed the staple of the evening's 
 conversation. 
 
 Then contrast the early activity of the hunting morning with 
 the sluggish inertness of the mere " house full of company," 
 with nothing to do. Gaitered Grooms, and abortions of lads, 
 not abortions in buttons, but abortions in boots, will be seen 
 hurrying about getting ready for the start, while breakfast, 
 instead of being forced as far into the morning as possible, so as 
 to take a good cut out of the day, will be rung for at the very 
 moment it is ordered, and woe betide the cook if it is not 
 ready. How lively the red coats make the table look, and how 
 each man's eye beams with pleasure as entering the breakfast- 
 room he casts his eye on the assembled party. The very 
 servants seem to partake of the general enthusiasm, and bustle 
 about with unusual activity. 
 
 Suppose the meet takes place in the park, then breakfast is 
 laid for the " million." 
 
 " Show meets," as they are called, are not generally popular 
 with sportsmen, and perhaps deservedly not, but the ladies like 
 them, and they tend to keep up the spirit of hunting. After all 
 is said and done, they are harmless things ; a quarter of an 
 hour consumed in liquoring the men and parading the hounds, 
 and another quarter in running the latter through the 
 evergreens, under pretence of drawing for a fox, is all the 
 mischief they do, and the man who does not like "make 
 believes " has nothing to do but come half an hour late. 
 
 Hunt breakfasts are capable of complimentary application, 
 or otherwise, and require some tact in their management. It 
 is clearly a compliment for a gentleman to invite a stranger 
 into his house ; it is a compliment to the man and a compli- 
 ment to the sport, inasmuch as it shows that he thinks none 
 but gentlemen partake of it. It is also a compliment to invite 
 a general acquaintance, with whom he may not be in the habit 
 
200 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 of visiting, but whom he sees before his house ; but we should 
 almost question whether it would be a compliment to say to 
 such a man, a day or two before, " The hounds meet at my 
 house on Monday, and I shall be glad to see you to breakfast," 
 because it would be almost tantamount to saying he was "just 
 worth a breakfast, and nothing more." These, however, are 
 points that depend upon the peculiarity of each case. 
 
 The sketch we have drawn of country visiting for mere 
 visiting sake, and country visiting for a specific purpose, will 
 show that hunting is not a question affecting only its followers, 
 but one in which all the residents are more or less interested. 
 All who like society — society in its easiest, and therefore its 
 most agreeable footing — are interested in having a country 
 hunted. Any one who has seen the change produced by the 
 introduction or withdrawal of a pack of foxhounds, will be 
 satisfied of the truth of this observation. With a well-conducted 
 pack, and the interchange of visiting it engenders, winter 
 passes away almost as pleasantly as summer ; and, even in the 
 longest, hottest, brightest day, we remember with pleasure the 
 red-curtained, sparkling fire-side comforts of the previous 
 winter. An Englishman, indeed, is nothing without his 
 domestic hearth. The open fields and cloudless skies of 
 France and Italy, bring joy to the mind of the foreigner ; but 
 John Bull should be drawn in the Turkey-carpeted, fire-side 
 party, with the little table and bright bottle of port just starting 
 on its circular voyage. 
 
 To the resident country gentleman having the country 
 hunted is of vast importance ; and fond of hunting as men 
 may be, they had better put up with an inferior country and 
 sport, than leave their homes in search of better. The man 
 who hunts from home hunts in the most comfortable, rational, 
 and satisfactory way, uniting pleasure and business, and not 
 sacrificing the latter to the former. 
 
 The man who leaves his home for hunting must, to a certain 
 
THE SQUIRE 201 
 
 extent, make a business of it, for what else can he do ? Away 
 from his ordinary pursuits and occupations, he must either 
 hunt or he idle, and we need not observe that hunting in other 
 countries is about half as expensive again as hunting from 
 home. Not only is everything to be bought and paid for at full 
 price, but many things paid for that would be had for nothing 
 at home — lodging, for instance — while a stud that would be 
 ample for all the requirements of home work will be totally 
 unequal to the demands of a regular five or six days a week 
 hunting quarter. The resident, we think, must be very short 
 of occupation and resources who is not satisfied with three 
 days a week at the most. 
 
 The last quarter of a centur}' has made a great difference 
 in the style and habits of the country gentleman, and indeed, 
 with the exception of a few of the old school still remaining, 
 such a thing as a real country gentleman — that is to say, a 
 gentleman who lives all the year round in the country — is 
 scarcely to be met with. The last five-and-twenty years have 
 effected a wonderful revolution in our whole social system. 
 The means of mental resources and bodily communication 
 have been increased a hundred-fold. Railways and steamboats 
 have superseded coaches, just as magazines and newspapers 
 have annihilated books. There is quite as much improvement 
 in the mode and economy of mental improvement as there is 
 in the way of bodily transit. Information, instead of being 
 bonded in costly quartos, and voluminous encyclopaedias, 
 irrigates the whole land in cheap tracts and treatises. A man 
 can buy just what he wants and nothing more. So with 
 newspapers. The son of the man who, twenty years ago, was 
 content with his country paper, now has his London daily, and 
 Sunday one on the " dies no7i." 
 
 M'Adam was thought a miracle twenty or five-and-twenty 
 years ago, and gentlemen who had been accustomed to plough 
 their ways to their market towns with their carriage wheels up 
 
202 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 to the axles began to think they ran easier on hard surfaces. 
 Gradually roads became better, and the old fat maggots of 
 horses were thought equal to two journeys a week instead of 
 one. Country houses in former da\-s were like besieged towns, 
 where it was necessary to keep a large stock of everything, and 
 where everything and everybody was taken in and welcomed. 
 Inns were then the characteristic of towns, but the improvement 
 of roads and consequent increase of communication have 
 established them in nearl}- all parts where a trade can be 
 driven, and with their establishment the old system of taking 
 in servants and horses has been gradually going out. Some 
 object to the discontinuance of the custom, as contrary to the 
 principles of old English hospitalit}-, but like all antiquated 
 customs it is as well to get rid of it where no present advantage 
 is derived, and when the circumstances that gave rise to the 
 custom have disappeared. If society is looked upon as the 
 medium of conversation and the interchange of sentiments 
 and opinions, then it cannot be said that servants or horses 
 contribute to the purpose ; and though it might be a breach of 
 hospitality to send a friend's horses away to bad stabling, it 
 \\ould look rather like " sponging " to send them to private 
 stables when there is good standing in the neighbourhood. Of 
 course all this must be received with due allowance for time 
 and peculiarity of situation, also for the operation of the 
 reciprocity system. It is a ver}^ different thing taking a friend's 
 horse in over night, and a string of horses coming for a month. 
 In the one case the accommodation is great to the sender, and 
 the expense is nothing to the receiver ; added to which, if a 
 sportsman, he will have a billet for his horse on the other side 
 of the country, but it would be an awful tax upon the owner of 
 a house in a good hunting countrv if he was expected to take 
 in the studs of all the friends that the fame of the country 
 might draw within its limits. 
 
 A place in a country Squire's house is generally looked upon 
 
THE SQUIRE 203 
 
 by servants as the best situation. In them there is that proper 
 personal inspection by the heads of the establishment that no 
 really honest servant will ever object to, while there is none of 
 that currying favour with upper servants incident to the 
 steward's room of great houses. Our papers on " The 
 Groom " drew from a subscriber in Paris, who states himself 
 to be an "Old Stableman," a letter approving of our "hints," 
 but wishing we had given the masters a few as well as the 
 men, and among others he drew our attention to the fact that 
 a " talking servant " will frequently command a place to the 
 exclusion of the quiet, hard-working man. He certainly admits 
 that the persons who hire such are " simpletons," but the 
 tongue is such a deceitful, seductive instrument, that we fear 
 what he says is too true, especially with young men of large 
 fortune. Much as we are all disposed to repudiate the idea of 
 a talking servant, often as the impolicy of trusting to them is 
 exposed, still there is a something about the plausible subtlety 
 of the tongue that beguiles us when the rule comes to direct 
 application. So with persons dealing largely in promises and 
 professions ; as a general rule, we know they are always to be 
 suspected, yet when the professions come to be made to 
 ourselves, we are too apt to suppose we are the exceptions, 
 though we should have laughed at anybody else for doing so. 
 
 It has long been a settled opinion of ours, that high wages 
 do not necessarily procure good servants, and our Parisian 
 correspondent fully confirms the truth of that position. Great 
 people, of course, must have servants ; but because my Lord 
 Duke hires a Groom from Squire Rattlecover, at double the 
 wages the Squire gave, does it follow that the man, therefore, 
 becomes doubly good ? Certainly not ; on the contrary, the 
 chances are that he deteriorates. The Squire was fond of his 
 stable, he knew all about it just as well as his Groom ; his 
 Groom knew this, and was glad that his master took an 
 interest in his department ; the Squire knew what a man should 
 
204 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 do, and, knowing it, required to have it done, but he was never 
 unreasonable in his demands, and always considerate in his 
 indulgences, and a community of interest was established 
 between them, and the badge of servitude was almost obliterated 
 by the constant contact with a liberal, right-thinking master. 
 The man was comfortable with Squire Rattlecover, and though 
 his wages might not be higher than the common wages of the 
 country, still that word " comfort " comprised an infinity of 
 attractions. 
 
 Let us glance at the same man in a nobleman's establish- 
 ment. His lordship, we will readily concede, possesses every 
 amiable quality that the country Squire does, but his inter- 
 course with his servants is necessarily small, and the man 
 finds himself under the dominion of other servants, instead of 
 under the gentle sway of his former master. As our corre- 
 spondent says, "he has now got to a fresh school, and his 
 business will be to find out which is the most plausible and 
 cunning among the upper servants, so as to acquire the 
 greatest influence at head quarters, and then study to please 
 and serve those upper servants — drive out the lady's-maid, lend 
 the butler and valet horses, convey them or their friends to the 
 railway station, pick out their co7ifidantcs among the lower 
 servants, to praise them to " — in fact, make those upper 
 servants masters, and trust to them for keeping right with the 
 real employer. " It is no matter how good a stableman a man 
 may be," he says, " unless he stands well with the people in 
 the steward's room, for there is the real dominion. There is 
 none of this," he adds, "in the house of the well-regulated 
 country Squire, where every servant stands on his own merit, 
 and the master and mistress can see who do their duty, without 
 trusting to what other servants say or think." 
 
 Our correspondent, as we said before, being in Paris, 
 concludes his sensible letter with the following observations on 
 the difference between English and French servants. " I was 
 
THE SQUIRE 205 
 
 surprised," he writes, " to find so many English stablemen 
 here, some very bad, some good. The English one is always 
 preferred, because, in the first place, he is brought from a good 
 practical school ; and, secondly, if he is of the right sort, he 
 will be working whether his master is looking at him or not, 
 whereas ' monsieur'' always wants his employer to see how 
 busy he is." That is a very capital description of a workman 
 and a " make believe," and one that will apply to a great many 
 English as well as French Grooms. We have seen fellows 
 who did not know how to be hurrying and bustling enough 
 when their > masters were by, and yet who could employ 
 themselves for a whole morning in jingling a curb chain or 
 scouring a stirrup iron, \\hen there was no one looking on. 
 The great mischief of great houses, as we said before, is keeping 
 more servants than can by any possibility be worked. This is 
 what people call keeping up their station ; and though we are 
 far from wishing to see great people degenerate into little ones, 
 we should be very sorry to accept a servant from many of 
 them, even though they would pay him his wages. 
 
 But to the hunting field. 
 
 Modern custom has caused an amazing consumption of 
 scarlet cloth in the hunting field. We are old enough to 
 remember the time when the scarlet coat was looked upon 
 quite as the distinguishing mark of the man of independent 
 means, just as the gold epaulette is still looked upon as the 
 badge of the military or naval professions. Few men in trade 
 or business thought of riding in scarlet, except the merchant 
 princes of London, perhaps, in the palmy days of the old 
 Berkeley. In the country, where things are on a much smaller 
 scale, and people more narrowly watched, it was rarely seen. 
 Much as we desire to uphold hunting, and anxious as we are to 
 draw all real sportsmen within the scope of its enjoyments, we 
 confess we are not advocates for indiscriminate scarlet-coating. 
 It imposes on no one, but draws forth ill-natured remarks from 
 
206 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 many. The man who puts on a scarlet coat advertises to the 
 world that he is going a hunting — nay more, he advertises that 
 he goes so often that it is necessary to have a coat expressly for 
 the purpose. Then come the usual amiable observations that 
 it would be better if he was looking after his business, wondering 
 who attends to things when he is away, and so on. Now the 
 man who goes out in a black coat may be going anywhere, 
 especially if he carries his whipthong in his pocket ; at all 
 events he carries no convicting evidence on his back that he is 
 going to hunt. 
 
 People, instead of saying to him, " Well, you are going a 
 hunting, are you? " in atone that as much as says, "What 
 business have you in a red coat ? " merely inquire " If he is 
 going to see the hounds ? " and it rests with him to admit he 
 is, or say, like Peter Pigskin, that he is going to buy barley for 
 malting, or any other article that comes into his head. 
 
 In addition to these arguments against indiscriminate 
 "scarlet coating," we may adduce another that will perhaps 
 have more weight than the foregoing. Nothing looks better 
 than a well-appointed, well-turned out sportsman ; and nothing 
 looks worse than a badly-turned out one. Things that would 
 pass muster uncommonly well with a black coat, are made 
 dreadfully conspicuous by a red one. There is nothing so 
 offensive to the eye as an ill-cut, ill-coloured, bad cloth'd red 
 coat. The majority of the wearers of them seem to think that 
 the coat being scarlet, is all that is necessary ; hence we some- 
 times see the most antediluvian cuts and the most out-of-the- 
 way fits — coats that look as if they were sent by the Jews in 
 Holywell-street on job for the day. Did ever sportsman, we 
 would ask, see a foxhunter figuring on the stage without a 
 shudder ? Even Widdicomb himself, great and versatile as he 
 is, sank beneath the character at Astley's. Who will ever 
 forget Punch's portrait of him bowing like a man milliner in 
 the saw-dust circle ? Fancy turning half-a-dozen Widdicombs 
 
THE SQUIRE 207 
 
 into each hunting field, with their red baize coats, outrageous 
 breeches and boots, and marvellously caparisoned horses. Yet 
 we sometimes see objects that are not much behind the great 
 equestrian master of ceremonies in misconception of the 
 character and accoutrements. If occasional sportsmen, and 
 men dependent on the world's favours, would take our advice, 
 they would eschew the scarlet coat, by which means they 
 would escape alike the smiles of their superiors and the 
 detraction of their equals or inferiors. But here comes a 
 licensed scarlet coat wearer — Squire Trevanion of the Priory — • 
 followed by three or four friends who have come to his house 
 overnight for the convenience of the " meet." The Squire's 
 " chinchilla " whiskers, as Mrs. Gore would call them, show 
 that he is rather past the prime of life, and like men vacillating 
 between two periods, he presents a few of the characteristics of 
 the times in which he has lived. The straight cut coat has 
 never given way to the swallow tail dress, or round duck 
 hunter, neither have the lightish drab cords been superseded by 
 whites or leathers. Even the horse's tail has escaped the long 
 prevailing switch or swich, and appears in the good old- 
 fashioned square cut — Lord bless us ! we are old enough to 
 remember the time when it was the fashion not to allow horses 
 any tail at all, or ears either scarcely. When we used to see 
 nags as close docked as the old waggon horses, leaving them 
 something very like a whitening brush sticking out of their 
 hind quarters. Squire Trevanion has seen all these, and being 
 satisfied of the folly of fashion, has adopted and stuck to the 
 cut of his youth. A clinging to old customs is perhaps one 
 of his characteristics. Though he travels by railways, he 
 stoutly insists on the superiority of the chariot and posters. 
 Squire Trevanion is, however, a right, steady going, well 
 thinking man, and his word and opinion are taken when 
 those of many of the " new lights " will not go down. Honest 
 men will leave matters to his reference, rather than go to 
 
208 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Messrs. Sharp and Quirk of the neighbouring town, and he 
 is considered the worst friend the lawyers have, for he makes 
 up no end of quarrels that would otherwise bring grist to 
 their mills. 
 
 Like all men whose names end in " ion,"' he traces his 
 pedigree back so far that none but a " Burke " could burrow 
 to his original ancestor. Suffice it for us to say, that the 
 family have lived so long at the Priory, that the country 
 people believe they have been there ever since the world 
 began; and as in London we have but one "Duke," so in 
 Mr. Trevanion's neighbourhood there is but one " Squire." 
 Not but that there are plenty of others, but he is the Squire 
 par excellence. 
 
 The Priory is a comfortable old-fashioned Elizabethan 
 house, with its stables behind, the whole embosomed in 
 lofty oaks of stupendous growth, whose spreading branches 
 harbour myriads of rooks, that keep up a lively clamour 
 about the place. The house is neither too large nor too 
 small ; no state rooms " put away," but everything com- 
 fortable, commodious, and neat. The estate shows the best 
 of farming, and everything about bears the impress of care 
 and attention. 
 
 As a sportsman, in which it is more our province to regard 
 him, he is one of the " never-do-mischief sort," and though a 
 fair rider for a man past the grand climacteric, will always 
 turn out of his line to avoid damage. Living in the country, 
 and observing the effects of seasons and of circumstances, he 
 knows what really is harm and what is not, and never makes 
 unnecessary clamour about trifles ; neither does he sacrifice 
 one sport for the sake of another, or make a business of one to 
 the neglect of the other. He has a fair show of pheasants 
 about the house, and hares, partridges, and pheasants scattered 
 over the estate in sufficient abundance to show ample sport to 
 a man blessed with the use of his legs ; but as to drawing them 
 
THE SQUIRE 
 
 209 
 
 together for a hattitc, that is a thing he has never thought of. 
 He has no desire to see his name figuring in the country 
 papers with so many hundred head of gj-me attached to it. 
 Down with the battues ! sa}- we. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LORD EVERGREEN : WITH SOME THOUGHTS ON TUFT 
 HUNTING 
 
 'There is more virtue in a saddle than in the whole materia inedica." 
 
 Thistle Whipper. 
 
 HO comes here? Who is 
 the venerable, thoughtful- 
 looking man riding quietly 
 into the field with the rein 
 on the neck of his well- 
 bred bay hack ? He greets 
 Peter Pigskin with a familiar 
 "Halloa, Mr. Pigskin, how 
 are you ? glud to see yon.' ' 
 
 Peter quickly raises his 
 hat as high as the hunting 
 
 string will allow, with a " Good morning, my lord, glad to see 
 
 you down among us again."' 
 
 "Can't be more pleased than I am, Mr. Pigskin, I assure 
 
 you," rejoins his lordship, his intelligent eyes sparkling with 
 
 pleasure as he surveys the glad scene — • 
 
 " Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs ; 
 .■\nd in each smiling countenance appears 
 Fresh blooming health and universal joy." 
 
 By the way, our friend Somerville is not quite correct in his 
 
LORD EVERGREEN 211 
 
 phraseology — "dogs" is a term not allowed in speaking of 
 hounds. However, never mind, he is a pleasant poet, and we 
 forgive him. 
 
 The nobleman now entering the field is a minister — one of 
 the Cabinet and Lord Lieutenant of the county. He seeks 
 relaxation from the toils of office by a run down into his 
 native county. Last night's mail train brought him down, 
 to-morrow night's train takes him up. He is going to enjoy a 
 stolen pleasure. Lord Evergreen has been a sportsman from 
 his youth, and neither age, cares, nor the trammels of office 
 can deaden the feeling within him. Deaden it, forsooth ! they 
 are more likely to cherish it — to increase it. 
 
 What so likely on a mild February morning, when mistaken 
 birds are warbling their premature notes in St. James's or the 
 Green Park, and sprouting shrubs are opening their silly buds 
 — what so likely to awaken the victim of red boxes and 
 Downing Street to the delights of the real country, as the too 
 palpable imitation and efforts of nature in town. 
 
 We are quite certain that the parties who enjoy hunting 
 most are those who cannot command an unlimited quantity of 
 it. The regular five-days-a-week-man looks to the sport and 
 the sport only ; whereas those who only get it by fits and 
 starts — those who exchange the unsporting, unnatural cere- 
 ments of brick and mortar for the broad open enjoyment of 
 unrestricted, unadulterated country — are the people that get 
 the " sermons out of stones," and good out of everything. 
 
 Let people talk as they will of the wild tractable scenery 
 of St. James's or the Regent's Park, the forest-like glades of 
 Kensington Gardens, or the open breadth of Hyde Park, 
 " still, still," as Sterne says, " it is not country," and we 
 cannot divest ourselves of the idea of omnibuses, chimney-pots, 
 and cabbage gardens in the distance. 
 
 But away from London, away from its toils, away from its 
 cramping narrowness, its coldness, its stiff calculating formali- 
 
'2\-2 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 ties, hou' the emancipated mind bounds and revels in the 
 luxury of unrestricted countr}-. Now along the narrow valley, 
 now through the woody grove, now over the swelling hill, from 
 whose commanding height we see the shining river circling, 
 till the landscape runs itself into nothing in the distance. The 
 very horse seems to partake of the jo}- and inspiration of the 
 rider, and treads the ground with a light, blithesome step, that 
 as much as says, '" Why don't you hunt oftener ? " Diana, we 
 often think, favours the occasional sportsman. How often we 
 see brilliant runs on the \-erv days we most wish them — days 
 when strangers are out, or people have come a long way. 
 Truly, sportsmen are a happy race, the}' have much to be 
 thankful for, and little, verj' little, to complain of. Who has 
 not seen " splendid runs " on days when hunting appeared to 
 be almost out of the question ? Again, we often think that 
 men ride harder on occasional days, such as Lord E\ergreen is 
 now going to take, than they do in a regular four or fi\e days 
 a-week course of hunting. The extra excitement sends them 
 along. 
 
 If it be true, as asserted b)- Dr. Johnson, that " the true 
 state of every nation is the state of common life," who is so 
 likely to be acquainted with the real wants and condition of a 
 country as a foxhunting nobleman ? He brings the experience 
 of other climates, and the benefits of education to bear upon 
 the absolute condition of the unexpecting, unprepared peasantry. 
 The foxhunter is the man of all others to get accurate informa- 
 tion, for he wanders about, without pomp or terror, and is 
 welcomed rather than avoided b\' any. Take your com- 
 missioner, with his solemn look, inky fingers or metallic- 
 pencilled note-book ; is he so likeh' to get a frank, candid 
 answer as the man whose whole manner and appearance 
 disarms both fear and suspicion, nay, inspires confidence, and 
 procures a ready answer to every question he may ask ? To 
 get at the real truth with some people, the only plan is to make 
 
LORD E\'E11GREEN 213 
 
 them believe that you are after something lese, and if Her 
 Majesty's Government would take a few sharp, enterprising 
 foxhiinters into her public offices, keeping them a competent 
 stud of respectable-looking horses, we will be bound to say 
 they would get them far more sound, reliable, accurate 
 information upon any subject of country interest, such as 
 stock of wheat, sickly potatoes, poor-law workings, than lord- 
 lieutenants, or the solemn pompous-looking gentlemen, who 
 sit in inn parlours, driving away truth, just as a fox or a 
 shepherd's dog drives away a flock of sheep. Country people 
 don't like strangers — they don't understand examination, 
 cross-examination, re-examination, and blue-booking. They 
 are afraid of pen, ink, and paper. But put them alongside a 
 red coat, in a stable, under a shed, or behind a hedge, and they 
 will tell you anything you like to ask them, simph^ because 
 they think you don't care to know it. 
 
 This hint is worth the consideration of the Home Secretary, 
 especially after the expense the late Government was put to in 
 getting up the potato panic, and if he thinks well of it, but 
 fears the cost, or doubts what Joe Hume may say, we should 
 be glad to see if we could not make some arrangement so as to 
 carry it out between us. If the Government, for instance, 
 would find horses, we would pay expenses, or we might join, 
 and job a few horses of Tilbury, for the first season, to see how 
 the thing worked ; all that we should stipulate for would be, 
 that the parties should be sent into civilized countries where 
 there is decent hunting, so that their reports of the chase, 
 for publication, might indemnify us for our share of the 
 expense. 
 
 Certain we are, that there is no invention so fine for suppres- 
 sing the truth as a Government commission and a fuss. 
 
 The hunting field has been said to be the great leveller of 
 rank, but that is not the case. The hunting field, indeed, is 
 a place where deference is voluntarily paid to station, because 
 
•214 THE HUNTIN(; FIELD 
 
 it is in the hunting Held that station never demands it. Lord 
 Evergreen comes in quietl}- on his hack, unattended bj' servants 
 or state, and as long as the business of the daj- is confined to 
 plain straightforward sailing, every one gives way to his 
 Lordship ; but when the fox is found, and goes right awaj-, 
 then the order of things is reversed, and those who ride behind 
 are extremely welcome to ride in front. 
 
 It is this sort of yielding and taking of precedence that has 
 raised the idea of foxhunting being a levelling amusement, but 
 no one acquainted with it can entertain such an idea — at least 
 if he does he's a fool. 
 
 What can be a finer sight than to see the Duke of Wellington 
 enter the hunting field ! Not one of those gorgeous spectacles, 
 it is true, such as a coronation, a review, the Lord Mayor's 
 show, or a procession to the Houses of Parliament — not one of 
 those pompous continental exhibitions called a cliassc, where 
 armed menials keep back the crowd, and brass bands proclaim 
 alike the find and finish ; but what can be a finer sight— a 
 sight more genial to the mind of a Briton — than the mighty 
 Wellington entering the hunting field with a single attendant, 
 making no more fuss than a countr}- Squire ? Yet many have 
 seen the sight, and many, we trust, ma\- yet see it. The Duke 
 takes the country sport like a countr}- gentleman — no man less 
 the great man than this greatest of all great men — affable to 
 all, his presence adds joy and lustre to the scene. 
 
 The Duke is a true sportsman, and has long been a sup- 
 porter of the Vine and Sir John Cope's hounds. He kept 
 hounds himself during the Peninsular War, and di\ers good 
 stories are related of them and their huntsman (Tom Crane), 
 whose enthusiasm used sometimes to carry him into the enemy's 
 country, a fact that he used to be reminded of by a few bullets 
 whizzing about his ears. 
 
 What a number of noblemen we have seen keeping hounds 
 or acting as Masters of Hounds. The Dukes of Richmond, 
 
•%->--i 
 
c 
 
 LORU E\EH(;RKJ'N 
 
 Rutland, Buccleuch, B'...... 
 
 Marquises of Salisbury, L' 
 stock ; Earls of Derby, Harewood, Due 
 brough, Lonsdale, Fitzwilliam, ! 
 Anson. Middleton, Southampton, i 
 Hawke, Elcho, Portman, Gifford, Alti 
 Kintore, John Scott, Bentinck, Rl 
 Galway, and others, whose names do n-l o 
 moment. 
 
 Many of the abo\' auut^d '■• 
 lives in enjoyment ol cxctil'-' 
 pursuits of the chase. Lord i ^ j 
 
 was near eightj', the late 1> ~" 
 
 hounds till he wa'^ j) 
 
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LORD EVERGREEN 215 
 
 Rutland, Buccleuch, Beaufort, Bedford, and Cleveland ; the 
 Marquises of Salisbur}-, Londonderr)*, Hastings, and Tavi- 
 stock ; Earls of Derby, Harewood, Ducie, Chesterfield, Scar- 
 brough, Lonsdale, Fitzwilliam, Fitzhardinge, Radnor; Lords 
 Anson, Middleton, Southampton, Forester, Petre, Yarborough, 
 Hawke, Elcho, Portman, Gifford, Althorpe, Hastings, Glasgow, 
 Kintore, John Scott, Bentinck, Redesdale, Suffield, Parker, 
 Galway, and others, whose names do not occur to us at this 
 moment. 
 
 Many of the above hunted to great ages, and lived all their 
 lives in enjoyment of excellent health, from the invigorating 
 pursuits of the chase. Lord Lonsdale, we believe, rode till he 
 was near eighty, the late Duke of Cleveland hunted his own 
 hounds till he was well up to sevent}', and the late Lord 
 Harewood may almost be said to have died in the saddle, 
 somewhat turned of that age. Lord Evergreen might pass for 
 fifty, though he has not much change to take out of sixty. 
 
 But let us take a glance at the " order "' generally. Though 
 the style and magnificence of our nobility is very imposing in 
 London, still it is in the country that they should be seen to 
 appreciate their true influence and importance. In London 
 there are too man\- of them ; they are too closelj- packed, to 
 say nothing of being over-ridden by the dazzle of the Court, for 
 them to shine singly in their individual lustre. In the country 
 they rule despotic. They are the great stars of their respective 
 hemispheres. Greatness stretches itself out, and grandeur has 
 room to shake and show itself. Indeed, we believe there is 
 more uniform state — more constant show in the country than 
 in London, where recent years have confined the state 
 equipages and liveries to levee and drawing-room days. 
 Greatness has been cropped a good deal, too, by the intro- 
 duction of railways. Coach and four succeeding coach and 
 four, and saddle and carriage horses, accompanying servants' 
 van, all tended to keep up the character and importance of the 
 
216 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 English nobleman. Now they are put on a truck and tacked 
 to the tail of a train, with little more ceremony than attends 
 the transit of Mr. Flatcatcher's race-horse, or Mr. Bullock- 
 smithy's fat ox. The utilitarians will tell you that it is all the 
 better, but we don't know that it is for all that. Some one 
 said " there had been ten men hung for every inch they had 
 curtailed in the judge's wig," and state — even on the road — 
 was not without its advantages. To be sure the public style 
 of travelling favours intercourse with the world and knowledge 
 of life ; but, as we said before, there is no better place than the 
 hunting field for acquiring that. However, railroads are now 
 the universal mode of travelling, and my Lord Duke and 
 family, who formerly made a grand progress through England 
 of many days — travelling with a retinue as long as Polito's or 
 Wombwell's menageries — now whisk from one end of the 
 kingdom to the other in the liberal limits of a summer's da\-. 
 
 Let us look at a nobleman "at home," as Mathews used to 
 say of himself. 
 
 What a world in miniature a nobleman's castle is. Placed 
 in nature's choicest, sunniest spot, it looks upon all the 
 luxuries, necessaries, and enjoyments of life; waving corn- 
 fields rise beyond the park — herds of deer are scattered over it 
 — the many-coloured and scarcely less picturesque little wild 
 Scotch kyloes fatten in droves, while the more sedate and 
 matronly cows graze indolently in groups — hares, pheasants, 
 and partridges run and bask about, with a sort of privileged 
 security — the rabbit warren is alive, and the sedgy sun-bright 
 lakes swarm with fisii and wild-fowl, and the clear purling 
 stream with beautiful speckled trout. In those paddocks may 
 be seen brood mares and foals, the winners, and expected 
 winners, of our great prizes, while in others the worn-out 
 favourites of the hunting field close 
 
 "A youtli of labour with an age of ease." 
 
 Then the stables, the coach-houses, the harness-rooms, the 
 
LORD EVERGREEN 217 
 
 straw-houses, the granaries, with all their concomitants of 
 grooms, coachmen, postilions, helpers, and the out-lying 
 kennels — out-lying, but not too distant for the mellowed notes 
 of the baying pack to fall with the sweet west wind on the 
 listener's ear as he stands at the castle gates. There is 
 nothing sets off, nothing enlivens a place like a pack of hounds. 
 Even in summer they are an object of attraction. How 
 beautiful they look in a morning, passing indolently at exercise 
 among the venerable trees and glades of the park, attended by 
 the hatted and purple-coated servants of the hunt, wearing at 
 once the stains and laurels of the bygone year. Even if a 
 great man does not hunt, still a pack of hounds is an ornament 
 and attraction to his place. There is nothing so popular as 
 keeping a pack of hounds. We must all remember the noble 
 example of the Oxford sweep, who recorded his vote for a 
 particular candidate, because, said he, " I 'unts with the 
 duke." 
 
 That duke, however, we may add, was the Duke of 
 Beaufort, an out-and-out sportsman, one of the most popular 
 men of the day. We have been cudgelling our brains and 
 labouring at an imaginary description of a nobleman's esta- 
 blishment, whereas, if we had cast our eyes westward, we 
 should have had it all cut and dried to our hands at Bad- 
 minton. Take a lawn meet there. What could give a 
 foreigner a finer idea of the vast magnificence of an English 
 nobleman's establishment than what he would see at that fine 
 old place ? The splendid hounds, the magnificent horses, the 
 countless servants, the bountiful hospitality within and with- 
 out ; above all, the open-hearted, unaffected cordiality of the 
 noble owner. Still hound-keeping for sheer political purposes 
 would not answer. It is only when the owner is a sportsman, 
 that ■■ the fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind " principle 
 tells upon his companions in chase. Keeping hounds, in the 
 hopes of influencing votes, would be a poor speculation. It 
 
218 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 would be attempting bribery upon men who are not open to 
 corruption. Your small voters don't " "unt ; " nothing under a 
 master sweep. Indeed, it is no small recommendation to the 
 chase, that it is so little capable of perversion to other than 
 legitimate purposes. 
 
 A nobleman"s influence, however, must always be great in 
 his own localit}-. There is the influence of wealth and station, 
 almost always blended with the influence of pri\ate worth. 
 Common people may not be great judges of etiquette or 
 accomplishments, but they are all judges of the homely 
 qualities of which they themselves partake. A bad husband, 
 a harsh master, an unpunctual payer, are qualities that adapt 
 themselves to all stations of life ; indeed, we believe the lower 
 we look in society, the more great people are respected for 
 what they are than for what they have. The influence of 
 intercourse is also considerable. The nobleman occupies 
 much the same place in the country that ro3-alt}' occupies in 
 London. People all like to be asked to the Palace. An occa- 
 sional dinner keeps all things straight in the countrx' — \'enison's 
 very convincing. 
 
 And here let us take a glance at a most popular sport that 
 somehow or other has never been treated with the respect it 
 deserves — we allude to the noble sport of Tuft Hunting. 
 True, Lord William Lenno-x launched a novel under that title ; 
 but as we prefer letting other people read our thoughts and 
 ideas to reading the thoughts and ideas of other people, without 
 meaning the slightest disrespect to his lordship, we can 
 candidly saj- we ha\e never read his work : therefore we trust, 
 whatever ma}- be the similarity of ideas, that we shall not be 
 accused of " cribbing " from him. 
 
 Tuft Hunting is a fine, delicate, scientific, enterprising, 
 subtle amusement. If the proper " stud}- of mankind is 
 man," surely the pursuit of a lord must be proper beyond all 
 contradiction. 
 
LORD E\'ERGREEN 219 
 
 We have looked into Bailey, Richardson, and several of the 
 
 old dictionaries, to see if they throw an}' light on the origin of 
 
 the term, but we have drawn them all blank. Bailey gives 
 
 " Tuft ■' {toiiffe F), a lock of hair, or bunch of ribbons, &c., also 
 
 the crest of a bird, and then "Tuft (with botanists), a thicket 
 
 of trees, bunch of grass," &c. ; while Richardson deals much 
 
 in the same sort of description, giving "Tuft — the top, or 
 
 summit," leading one to suppose that one might say, " the tuft 
 
 of the morning," instead of the " top of the morning to you," 
 
 a species of phraseology we never heard indulged in. In the 
 
 long tail of quotations with which this worthy gentleman 
 
 obscures the meaning of words, there is one allusion to 
 
 hunting, certainly, but not with the pack we allude to. The 
 
 c] notation is as follows : — 
 
 " With his hounds 
 The l.ibouring hunter /i/f/s the thick unbaibed grounds. 
 Where harliour'd is the hart.'' 
 
 That is not our pack — ours are the two-legged hounds — the 
 talking, babbling, fawning, courting, humbugging, glozing 
 things called men. After all is said and done, we are inclined 
 to adopt the hNpothesis (to make use of a fine word) of a friend, 
 and attribute the term to the gold tassels or tufts worn by 
 noblemen at our universities, which distinguish them from the 
 common herd, just as a fox's brush distinguishes it from a hare. 
 Indeed there can be no doubt that that is the origin of the 
 term, and we will thank the next dictionary maker to add 
 " Tuft Hunter" to the T's, and describe them as " a breed of 
 men whose offence is rank," or a breed of men desperately 
 smitten with title. Rank at school doesn't go for much — at 
 least not at our great schools where lords abound, and a 
 marquis may be fag to a milliner's son, but at college rank 
 dawns forth like a meteor, and subsequent adulation atones for 
 early familiarity and humiliations. Then the fine nose of the 
 Tuft Hunter begins to show itself, and men lay the foundation 
 
1'20 THE IirXTINC; FIELD 
 
 of characters that generally remain with them to the end of life 
 — desperate Tuft Hunters. 
 
 Like hounds, Tuft Hunters may be divided into different 
 classes — \ar3'ing like hounds in their keenness, energy, and 
 determination. There is the bold, open-mouthed, dashing, 
 foxhound Tuft Hunter, who runs at a lord as if he would eat 
 him — who persecutes him — who lards him with "lordships," 
 and does not know how to be subservient and obsequious 
 enough. There is the pottering, dribbling, babbling hare- 
 hunting Tuft Hunter, who deals more with lords in conversation 
 than in reality, and there is the lurching Tuft Hunter, who 
 professing contempt for the game, never misses an opportunity 
 of having a run at it — with several minor varieties not important 
 to our purpose. 
 
 We might carry our kennel simile further, and divide the 
 followers into sexes. Wonen are generally desperate Tuft 
 Hunters. There is no denying that. Many a poor man has 
 been made to stoop to the scent who has no natural inclination 
 that way. Tuft Hunting is an instinct that pervades nearly 
 the whole sex. We have heard a tenth-rate milliner knock 
 the peerage about with her tongue, just as an expert billiard 
 player knocks the balls about on the table. Nay, there is our 
 second cousin, old Miss Deborah Crustyface, of Canonbury 
 Square, Islington, in whose presence it is absolutely dangerous 
 to mention the name of a nobleman, for she immediately strikes 
 a scent, and heads up and sterns down, runs into them even 
 up to the third and fourth generation, not unfrequently diverging 
 into collateral alliances and marriages with commoners. Not 
 only has she Burke, Lodge, and Debrett, peerage, baronetage, 
 and all at her fingers' ends, but Dod's dignities, privileges and 
 precedence, with lists of great public functionaries from the 
 Revolution down to the present time. To hear her talk you 
 would fancy she was the "• lady,"' as they now call " wives " of 
 a Lord Chamberlain, so accurately has she the ladder of conse- 
 
LORD EVERGREEN 221 
 
 quence, called precedence, arranged in her head. She knows 
 what ring of the ladder the Lord Pri\y Seal holds, as also the 
 legitimate consequence of a knight banneret, and the place 
 of the eldest son of a knight grand cross of St. Michael and 
 St. George. In fact the old fool is peerage mad, though how she 
 came to be " bit " nobody knows ; for though in her occasional 
 west-end rambles she sees people riding in coroneted coaches 
 whom she takes to be lords, she has never yet accomplished an 
 
 identity so as to be able to say that is the Duke of A or 
 
 that the Marquis of B — . True, that in her ruminating 
 
 mind, with the aid of her books, assisted sometimes by Madame 
 Tussaud's exhibition, she shadows forth certain ideal person- 
 ages for her titles, nay, sometimes assigns the creations of her 
 mind to corporeal objects ; but she is generally as wide of the 
 mark as the celebrated would-be Countess Ferrers* was in her 
 descriptions of the noblemen and great people with whom her 
 intended liege lord associated. We remember being victimized 
 b}' our venerable relative down St. James's-street, one after- 
 noon, when she insisted that a certain duke was Sir Francis 
 Burdett, merely because he wore top-boots ; and Madame 
 Tussaud"s Sir Francis wears them also ; while every big, burly, 
 bushy-wigged man she christened Daniel O'Connell. We met 
 si.\ Daniel O'Connells between Sam's corner and Slaughter's 
 coffee-house in St. Martin's-lane. O'Connell, we may tell him, 
 may take it as a compliment, for we never knew our cousin, 
 Miss Crustyface, descend to a commoner before. It was all 
 owing to his generous breadth of shoulder and the fine dark 
 cauliflower wig he sports in Madame Tussaud's exhibition, 
 
 * The most extraordinary action of modern, or perhaps any times, was 
 one brought by a Miss Smith, a girl of twenty, against Lord Ferrers, for an 
 alleged breach of promise of marriage ; which she sought to establish by a 
 series of letters, supposed to have been written by herself to herself. After 
 the trial had lasted four days, the Solicitor-General submitted to a non-suit. 
 —See Pickering's Report, in i vol. 
 
222 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 or rather perhaps all owing to his being in Madame Tussaud's 
 exhibition, that Miss Crustyface gave herself any trouble about 
 him. 
 
 Talking of the Countess Ferrers — or, alas ! for true enter- 
 prising talent ! Miss Smith — talking of Miss Smith — what a 
 loss was there for want of a little real London information and 
 experience. We will be bound to say, if Miss Smith had had 
 but a tithe of the opportunities our cousin, Miss Crustyface, 
 enjoys, she would have triumphed over the earl — at all events 
 have made costs — heavy, vindictive costs, compensate for the 
 loss of the coronet. Inspired young lady ! If the unblushing 
 " white rose " of the country — if the untrained, untutored mind 
 of rural life could depict scenes and situations that outwitted 
 her Majesty's great "cute" Solicitor-General, what might w-e 
 not have hoped from the resources of an ampler field ? It was 
 not her fault that Lord Clive was painted the very reverse of 
 what he is. It was not her fault that gentlemen were stationed 
 at Brighton who were quartered in Scotland, or that Lord 
 Brougham was made to dine with those with whom he was not 
 acquainted — it was the fault of circumstances — the want of 
 opportunity of knowing better. But, take it for all and all, the 
 performance was a wonderful — a miraculous one. 
 
 Talk of our novelists — our Bulwers, our Blessingtons, our 
 Dickenses, our Jameses, our Hooks, or our Hoods — how they 
 sink into nothingness, how they must hide their diminished 
 heads before the maiden efforts of that unadulterated, unso- 
 phisticated country girl. Their writings are the produce of 
 active and experienced lives, their ministerings are to minds 
 predisposed to fiction (which yet they sometimes fail to move), 
 but here was pure, innocent inexperience, storming the great 
 citadel of reason, of Plutus, and of power, capturing legal 
 acuteness, and all but carrying judge and jury in her train. 
 Such efforts were worthy of a better end. 
 
 " Facts are stranger than fiction," says the proverb, and 
 
LORD EVERGREEN 223 
 
 assuredly the would-be-countess has proved them so ; yet, let 
 her not regret the loss of that " bauble," the coronet, as Oliver 
 Cromwell called the " mace." It would but have consigned 
 her to a life of inglorious ease, perhaps voluptuous indolence, 
 whereas she has that within her which surpasses rank and 
 wealth — the power of leading the world. If the great man of 
 Great Marlborough Street, or some of the enterprising brethren 
 of the press, have not a nine-volume novel coming out from her 
 pen, all we can say is, that fiction must be out of fashion, or 
 real talent unappreciated. 
 
 But to return to Tuft Hunting. 
 
 A real, determined, out-and-out Tuft Hunter, is a thing that 
 loves a title merely because it is a title, without reference to 
 fame, talent, acquirements, agreeableness, or any of the 
 hundred-and-one qualities that constitute the difference between 
 one man and another. Show such a man a lord, and he " ats 
 him " as a greyhound would a hare. The peerage occupies the 
 sort of place in his head that ale and beer measure occupies in 
 the head of a publican — gallons, half-gallons, quarts, pints, 
 gills, &c., &c. He looks at a duke as a gallon, an earl as a 
 quart, a viscount as a pint, and a baron as a gill, and considers 
 that each rank holds just its own particular quantity, and that 
 the only difference among noblemen is in the sign of the 
 measure. In countries where game is abundant, a hound of 
 this sort may be seen changing from title to title, always, how- 
 ever, on the ascendant ; just as some hounds will change from 
 hare to martin cat, and from roe deer to fox. We have known 
 a real out-and-out Tuft Hunter inconvenience himself by taking 
 up his quarters at hotels frequented by noblemen, even though 
 he had not the slightest chance of a contact, except on the 
 staircase or in the passage. Still he could talk about, " Ah — 
 yes — ah — I remember we were staying together at the Bedford, 
 at Brighton ; "' or, " Ah — yes — ah — I remember meeting him at 
 the Plough, at Cheltenham." These are the sort of Tuft 
 
224 THE III NTING FIELD 
 
 Hunters that acute keepers — alias stewards of public dinners — 
 bait their traps with royal dukes and great men to catch, well 
 knowing that their presence will effect what no charitable 
 motive would accomplish. His Serene Highness the 
 Grand Duke of Doodleton in the chair, acts like a sugar 
 saucer upon flies, draws all the Tuft Hunters from their holes, 
 to flutter and bask in the sunshine of rojalty. Then, if hi? 
 Serene Highness takes a sham glass of wine with them, the)- 
 reckon they have established his acquaintance, if not his friend- 
 ship, for life. Harmless foible ! So let it pass. 
 
 The most contemptible species of Tuft Hunter undoubtedl\- 
 is the assiduous, cringing, never-miss-a-chance Tuft Hunter, 
 who yet pretends to great independence, na}-, almost blunt 
 rudeness, to noblemen, when away. 
 
 We have met Tuft Hounds of this description — men who 
 talk as if they always spoke their minds most freely — nay, in- 
 fluenced the conduct of noblemen, but who yet were the most 
 abject, servile, sneaking, fawning sycophants in " the presence," 
 the carpet e\-er saw. These are, undoubtedlj-, the skirting, 
 babbling, lurching things of the pack, from which no scientific 
 master of "tuft hounds"' would even breed. Tuft Hunting, 
 however, is not a sport to be pursued in packs — indeed tuft 
 hounds are generally so desperately- jealous that it is scarcely 
 possible to get two to run together. Tuft Hunters never agree. 
 They are always jealous of each other being on the scent, and 
 then as the pot called the kettle "black bottom,"' so the cut 
 one calls the other "Tuft Hunter." Flashing with titles, 
 calling noblemen by their names, or by their titles without their 
 names, as, " ^^'ell, duke, how are you ? '" or abbreviating their 
 names, is all bad taste, and has always the contrary effect to 
 what is intended, making the auditors set the flashers down as 
 fools, if not something worse, instead of as very " fine fellows," 
 and "deuced thick with mj- lord." Flashing behind their 
 backs is more common, but equall}- snobbish. \\'h\- not render 
 
LORD EVERGREEN 225 
 
 unto lords the things that are lords' ? There is no doubt that 
 Tuft Hunting is an hereditary instinct, descending from father 
 to son, and traceable through families, just like the gout, the 
 tic, or a taste for foxhunting. A good Tuft Hunting father 
 generally begets a good toadying son. Still we should observe 
 that as the slightest twinge of the gout is enough to make 
 people set a man down as gouty, so the slightest contact with 
 a nobleman is apt to saddle a man with the charge of Tuft 
 Hunting. It is of all imputations the easiest made, and is 
 oftentimes made without the slightest foundation. Now, for 
 our own parts, we have no objection to bear the imputation of 
 Tuft Hunting, in as far as admitting that the society of noble- 
 men is oftentimes preferable to the society of commoners, and 
 we are really hardened enough not to be ashamed of the 
 admission. If education, knowledge, talent, manners, inter- 
 course with the polished world, are recommendations for a 
 companion, where are we so likely to find them as in the 
 leisured circles of the aristocracy ? To run after a man merely 
 because he is a lord, is an amusement iit only for a lacquey, 
 but to shun a man because he is a lord, and because his 
 acquaintance might entail upon one the charge of Tuft Hunting, 
 is sacrificing rather too much at the shrine of our estimable 
 friend " public opinion," or the opinion of the gentleman who 
 rejoices in the title of " they say." 
 
 The fable of the old man, the boy, and the ass, is an admirable 
 illustration of the opinion of our good friend the world, with 
 regard to companions. If a man listens to all that is said 
 respecting the objects of his choice, he would very soon be left 
 alone in his glory. Tuft Hunting, however, is always more 
 offensive than what is called keeping "low company," because, 
 in the first place, some people have a secret pleasure in seeing 
 others do wrong, while the protege of the nobleman is lifted, as 
 it were, over the heads of his companions, and thus made an 
 object both for envy and ridicule. 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Let no modest, unopinionated youth, then, be deterred, from 
 fear of incurring the old charge of Tuft Hunting, from paying 
 proper respect to great men. It is their due. The omission of 
 it is rudeness, and it is only by carrying it to excess — converting 
 respect into servility — that it becomes ridiculous. 
 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 
 
 EXT to the man who is always 
 wanting to bet with you, 
 the man who is always 
 wanting to sell you a horse 
 is the most disagreeable. 
 Most of our readers, we 
 doubt not, have some 
 squarey, slangy, " I'll-lay- 
 you-two-to-one-of-//^<2/" sort of person, among their acquain- 
 tance, and many, doubtless, are oppressed with an — " I'll sell 
 you a horse, friend," while some will recognize in Captain 
 Shabbyhounde a genius combining both these amiable, charac- 
 teristic, and enterprising qualities. 
 
 Both the above figures of speech are sometimes taken up by 
 young men at the outset of life, more because they think it 
 sounds fine than from any real inclination to " do" any one, as 
 it is called, either in betting or in horse-dealing. It is a mis- 
 taken notion, and one that we dare say only requires the expos- 
 ing hand of our Analysis to correct. Slang and cant have 
 fortunately taken their departure from among gentlemen, and 
 have found refuge among the legitimate denizens of the stable. 
 
228 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 The real betting man is a decided nuisance ; it is dangerous to 
 open one's lips in his presence, and they may be looked upon 
 as the kites and vultures of society. We never see a young 
 man with a clasped book and metallic pencil without reckoning 
 him ruined. They always are sooner or later. 
 
 The " I'll sell you a horse," friend, is a much more innocent 
 creature than the betting one. The " I'll sell you a horse," 
 sometimes arises from a paucity of ideas ; it is a sort of " come 
 uppermost thought," spoken perhaps just for the sake of some- 
 thing to say, like the passenger who, on a voyage to India, used 
 to address the captain every morning after the usual salutation, 
 with " Pray, sir, what do you think of Napoleon Bonaparte ? " 
 
 Again, some men indulge in it from excessive delight at the 
 novelty of ownership. Many people wouldn't know they had a 
 horse if they did not advertise the fact in that way. The 
 course of life runs thus : watch, gun, top-boots, and then a 
 horse. The possession of a horse converts the boy into a man. 
 Instead of being whipped himself, he gets something to whip. 
 
 After aping a stage coachman, there is nothing so disgusting 
 as seeing a young man acting the groom or horse-dealer : we 
 mean dressing the character as well as acting it. 
 
 Doubtless there is something very pleasant and attractive in 
 horse-dealing. There is the sort of excitement peculiar to the 
 lottery about it. We have known men who could not be 
 trusted at a horse auction, so sure were they to come home 
 with some " trcincndo/is bargain." A private deal is very 
 engaging. The greatest ignoramus — the man who would not 
 know which side of a horse to get on at, will nevertheless go 
 out of his way to accompany a friend to look at a horse. That 
 interest is a good deal excited by a desire to see an animal of 
 which he is likely to hear much more hereafter. It is an 
 interest that does not attach to a horse-dealer's transactions, 
 because " dealing " is his trade, and he is supposed to be too 
 wary to be done. 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 229 
 
 Mr. Whipend may buy fiftj' horses without any one trou- 
 bling his head about any of them ; but let Mr. Spoonbill be 
 seen trotting one out, and he will have the whole "town" out, 
 as they say. 
 
 Old John Lawrence, a kind-hearted, if not a very practical 
 writer on horses, exclaims, " Who shall counsel a man in the 
 choice of a wife or a horse ! '" but if a buyer were to listen to 
 all the hints and suggestions he will have made him, he would 
 stand a good chance of going on foot the rest of his life. In 
 spite of Mr. Lawrence's exclamation, good stout counsellors 
 will never be wanting on the animal side of the question at all 
 events, and the ridiculous thing is, that the lower the figure, 
 the greater the fear on the part of the purchaser. Time was, 
 when we used to talk about a twenty pound horse, just as we 
 did about a twenty shilling note, a guinea hat, a silk umbrella, 
 or any other unimportant thing ; but now — thanks to the 
 march of railroads — a twenty pound horse has become an 
 object of considerable importance. People used formerly to 
 talk of " giving a horse away for twenty pounds," just as our 
 friends under the Quadrant talk of giving one a piping bullfinch 
 for an old coat ; but now twenty pounds is a most difficult sum 
 to realize. People look at a twenty pound horse as if they 
 thought the seller had stolen it. A two hundred pounder is an 
 easier one to sell. 
 
 Gentlemen dealing is at best but a ticklish trade, and we 
 doubt any one being able to pursue it for any length of time, 
 and retain the title of a "gentleman." Every woman has 
 been said to be a separate enigma, and the same may be said 
 of every horse, and yet to hear an ignoramus talk, you would 
 think there was but one article answering to the name — that 
 they were all alike. There are very few horses without some- 
 thing or other that they would be better without, and which a 
 man is obliged to slur over by himself, or servant, if he wishes 
 to get rid of the animal without a sacrifice. It is just this 
 
230 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 slurring^ over that constitutes one of the great difficulties of 
 gentlemen dealing. You must have a servant in your confi- 
 dence — you must, to a certain extent, place yourself in the 
 power of that servant, and where is the gentleman who would 
 like to feel himself under such domination ! Of course, gentle- 
 men must both buy and sell : it is the buying with the view of 
 selling again to a profit that constitutes the horse-dealer. The 
 best plan is for a man to look upon horses as an article of 
 luxury, for which he must expect to pa}' something, instead of 
 expecting a profit, and then that man is best off who pays least. 
 It is not worth any gentleman's while, for the sake of a five, 
 ten, or even a fifty pound note, saj'ing anything about a horse 
 that he knows is not borne out by the facts. We have heard 
 men assert that anything is fair in horse-dealing, but that is the 
 mere bravado of some notorious cheat, wanting to carry off his 
 delinquencies on a general principle. Lying is never allowed 
 among gentlemen — above all, lying for self-interest. If any 
 one doubts the truth of this position, let him observe the cool- 
 ness, the shirking, the cutting that attends a man of this 
 description in the hunting field. Instead of the hearty, joyous 
 welcome that greets the legitimate sportsman, there are cold, 
 sour looks and mutterings about cheating scamp, and wonder- 
 ings who he is come to " do " now. In remote parts there is 
 no scope for this kind of work ; a false deal or two does for a 
 man, and no one will look at his horses after ; and even in 
 London and the metropolitan hunts it is wonderful how soon a 
 man is " blown."' In our opinion, gentlemen dealing, with a 
 view to money-making, is the most unpromising of all specula- 
 tions. Some men have a vanity about the thing, and assert 
 they make money, even though they lose. This is a sort of 
 vice, or foil}-, that carries its own correction along with it. 
 Some again only count their "gains," leaving the long 
 catalogue of losses to the account current, which somehow or 
 other never comes to he balanced. 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 231 
 
 It has always appeared to us that the prejudice of the day 
 has affixed a very illiberal and unmerited odium on the trade 
 of a horse-dealer. Doubtless there are scamps and cheats in 
 the business, just as there are scamps and cheats in all trades, 
 but taking them as a whole, we believe there is more honesty 
 among the regular dealers than there is among what are called 
 gentlemen dealers. Let us examine the position and peculiari- 
 ties of the two. The licensed dealer generally does business 
 in a large way : for one horse that passes through the hands of 
 the gentleman dealer he will have fifty through his, and though 
 quick sale is the soul of trade, and it is his interest to keep 
 passing horses through his hands, he gets far more abused for 
 an occasional failure than the gentleman dealer, who must 
 know all the faults and weak points of his horses from the 
 length of time he keeps them, and the personal trials and 
 examinations he makes of them. We consider it just as im- 
 possible for the licensed dealer — at least a licensed dealer in a 
 fair way of business — to know all the ins and outs and peculiari- 
 ties of the horses passing through his hands, as it is for the 
 gentleman dealer to be ignorant of them. The licensed dealer 
 must occasionally make mistakes, must occasionally be taken 
 in himself, yet if he passes the deceptive horse on quickly to a 
 customer, he gets blown up and abused, as if it had been a 
 premeditated robbery. 
 
 With respectable dealers, the faulty horses are the exception, 
 and not the general rule ; but we have too much reason to 
 think that with many of what are called " gentlemen dealers " 
 the faulty are the rule and the sound ones the exception. It is 
 ridiculous to suppose that men whose business is horse-dealing 
 — who have been at it all their lives, and many of their fathers 
 before them — -with the extensive ramifications of long-continued 
 business — can find it their interest to deal in what must be un- 
 satisfactory articles to their customers, or yet that such men 
 are to be beat out of their own markets by the newly jumped 
 
232 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 up capital-less judge of yesterday. These " gentlemen dealers " 
 as they call themselves often take up the trade, because it is a 
 ready-money one — ready-money at least as far as the seller is 
 concerned, though we are not quite so sure about its being a 
 ready-money one when they are the buyers. It is then " I'll 
 give you a bill at three months," or, " If you don't want the 
 money at present, I don't care if I give the odd five : " whereas 
 the regular dealer is the credit giver, if there is any. Indeed it 
 is this credit giving that tends to run horses up to such enor- 
 mous prices in London. Even of licensed horse-dealers there 
 may be said to be two distinct classes, namely, the dealers in 
 young fresh horses, and the traffickers in aged, blemished, 
 second-hand ones, as they may be called. It is the province of 
 the latter that the "gentlemen dealers " chiefly invade. Again 
 there are men calling themselves gentlemen, and even admitted 
 into the society of those who are, who do not hesitate to act as 
 middle-men between a buyer and a seller. We have known 
 men who did not scruple to take a five-pound note for buying 
 a horse " cheaper," as they call it, for another than he could for 
 himself. These are the men who talk themselves into the 
 reputation of judges, and the ignorant and uninformed in these 
 matters are glad to avail themselves of their experience rather 
 than trust to the word of a dealer. The dealers know these 
 men, and know that unless they have their good word they 
 have very little chance of selling their horses, and of course 
 that good word must be obtained by the usual means, and, as a 
 natural consequence also, the usual means must be added to 
 the price of the horse, so that the purchaser by employing such 
 a party is in reality running up his own price. The same sort of 
 thing descends in the scale of life, and the coachman must be 
 propitiated when a new pair of horses arrive, or they will stand 
 a very poor chance of finding favour in his eyes, and the groom 
 will expect a similar compliment on the arrival of a hunter or 
 hack. 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 233 
 
 The hero whose name we have placed at the head of this 
 paper, and who is just now entering our hunting field, is an 
 admirable sample of the tribe we have been describing — a 
 gentleman horse-dealer. Captain Shabbyhounde is a man who 
 lives by his wits, and is what is generally called, " up to every- 
 thing." He can ride a race, ditto a steeple-chase, play 
 billiards, ditto rackets (which by the way he studied in Denman 
 Lodge, as they call the Bench), buy a horse, sell a screw, 
 measure twelve paces, cut the cards, row a match, shoot a 
 ditto, and take the part of a walking gentleman in private 
 theatricals. 
 
 Forty years, five-and-twenty of which have been spent in 
 elbowing, and active intercourse with the world, have tended to 
 polish Shabbyhounde's wits up until he is as keen as a razor. 
 There are few things that he is not up to, or had a turn at, 
 though if his habits have acquired any settled direction it will 
 be for race and steeple-chase riding, billiard playing, and horse- 
 dealing. Hunting, it will be seen, we have not enumerated in 
 the catalogue of the Captain's accomplishments, for to tell the 
 truth, he only hunts as an auxiliary to horse-dealing, and we are 
 not desirous of enrolling such a character among its legitimate 
 followers. The Captain's season is summer, or perhaps spring 
 and summer, when the silk jacket and doeskins are in vogue. 
 
 Captain Shabbyhounde has a taste for horses, but it is not 
 the taste of a sportsman — a taste that amounts almost to affec- 
 tion for an animal that pleases him ; for Captain Shabbyhounde 
 would sell anything he has — his own father if he could get any- 
 thing for him — and his taste amounts to a sort of enterprising 
 dabbling in an interesting article that brings him in money. He 
 is a good judge of horses, and a good judge of what they can do, 
 and has a turn for cobbling them up, and passing infirm ones 
 off as sound. Hunting, of course, favours this sort of dealing, for 
 as the Captain only professes to deliver them sound, if they break 
 down on the second or third day, he shifts any blame from 
 
234 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 himself to the chapter of accidents. "Most unfortunate," he 
 will say, " but these accidents will happen ; that horse never 
 had a moment's illness all the time he was in my stable — must 
 have put his foot in a rabbit hole, or wrenched himself some 
 way." If the unfortunate purchaser is a hard rider, perhaps he 
 will throw in some "desperate leap " he saw him take, to make 
 his misfortune lighter. 
 
 The Captain, though a light weight man, is very tenacious 
 about not carrying anything e.xtra. Here the racing man 
 shows itself. Though he would not leave the " coppers " at a 
 turnpike gate until he returns, he will nevertheless wait till the 
 toll-keeper fumbles in all his pockets, and looks in the corners 
 of all his drawers for one of those hide-and-seek fourpenny 
 pieces, the most uncatchable and slip-through-the-fingers coin. 
 His clothes are all made on the principle of e.xtreme lightness, 
 and whether in cords or leathers, of which he has "two and 
 one," he never wears drawers, and sometimes he even dispenses 
 with stockings ; his boots, too, are of the paper sort, and spurs 
 of the true racing cut. 
 
 It would puzzle Shabbyhounde himself to make out how he 
 came by the title of Captain. He was originall)' an apprentice 
 to a clothier at Frome ; but having a soul above " buttons," he 
 suddenly disappeared from the scene of action, and, after 
 vegetating some time at Boulogne, returned to England a 
 Captain, instead of, as might have been expected, a count. 
 This was, perhaps, accorded on the strength of moustachios, a 
 military-looking travelling cap, and a broad black stripe down 
 a pair of blue trowsers, strapped under Wellington boots, with 
 ringing heel-spurs. " Captain " is a convenient travelling 
 name. Shabbyhounde had some little money at starting — a 
 few thousand pounds — sufficient to make or mar a man. A 
 part of this he "dropped" in mastering the mysteries of the 
 magic game of ccarte, for there is little to be acquired in this 
 world without payment, and the balance, whatever it was, has 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 2:3") 
 
 kept the Captain going ever since. Of course he has had his 
 ■seasons of prosperity and depression ; but he has never been 
 seen either at the bilHard or card table, or in any gambling and 
 ready-money concern, without a well-displayed purse full of 
 sovereigns, or a stiff roll of notes, of which he seemed most 
 thoroughly careless. Indeed, it is in scenes such as these that 
 he chiefly shines, for it is much easier to affect the flash man 
 than the foxhunter. Well-made clothes, smart cravats, clean 
 gloves, good boots, are things of easy accomplishment ; but it 
 is difficult for the non-foxhunting man, at least for the man 
 who has no real taste that way, to pass muster among sports- 
 men. People soon see who come out for pleasure and who for 
 other purposes, though, as we said before, it is no small 
 recommendation to hunting that it is so little capable of 
 perversion to other than legitimate purposes. It may be 
 prejudice, and because we " know the man," but we cannot 
 help thinking there is something about Shabbyhounde's 
 appearance indicative of his calling, and different to other 
 people. His very clothes seem to tell his story. 
 
 They have neither the neat appropriateness of the well 
 got-up sportsman, nor the indifference of the careless dresser. 
 There is a sort of attempt — a sort of shabby genteelishness 
 about them, unknown in the general run of hunt costume. 
 
 Of course he rides in a cap. This he does for the sake of 
 identity, and in order that none of the hazardous leaps he 
 takes in the prosecution of his calling of horse-seller may be 
 appropriated by any one else. 
 
 It is not a badly-shaped cap ; neither one of those ridiculous 
 sugar-loaf things we sometimes see sticking a mile ofi" a man's 
 head, nor one of the squash order, that look as if they only 
 want ears to turn down to make very comfortable travelling 
 ones, but it has the appearance of having been made by a 
 workman, and not of second-rate velvet either. This cap, 
 indeed, is the best thing about him ; but below it are a pair of 
 
236 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 very watchful, restless, grey eyes, full of anxiety and suspicion. 
 " Conscience, which makes cowards of us all," keeps Shabby- 
 hounde in a constant state of alarm. The meet of hounds, so 
 enjoyable to the sportsman, so fruitful in anticipations, and so 
 productive of agreeable surprises, is to him a scene of constant 
 nervous dread and anxiety. He docs not knoiv zvho may cast up. 
 The recollection of his misdeeds crowd upon his memory, and his 
 tormenting brain conjures the figures of appearing sportsmen 
 into the bodies of those whom his ingenuity has defrauded. He 
 does not know how parties will receive him. He does not know 
 whether the secret of his last "do " may have oozed out, how 
 many of the lies he told in effecting it may have been detected, 
 or what Groom in whose power he has placed himself may have 
 betrayed him. All these are sad drawbacks to the pleasures 
 of the meet — sad drawbacks to the pleasures of anything. 
 
 To the man of sensitive mind there can be no humiliation so 
 great as the quiet, silent, cold shoulder reproof of a party of 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Shabbyhounde's coat, of course, is a dress one — not only a 
 dress one in cut, but absolutely an evening one. These dress 
 coats for hunting in — these 
 
 ■' Beds by night, and chests of drawers by day," 
 
 have always appeared to us to be the economy of extravagance, 
 paltry in conception and contemptible in execution. If a man 
 is such a determined out-and-out sportsman that he must 
 always have the insignia of his calling about him, surely he 
 can afford a coat for each division of the day, and not have to 
 look forward to converting the superfine cloth of the drawing- 
 room into the defier of thorns, and storms, briars and bushes, 
 out of doors. 
 
 We are quite aware that, generally speaking, these coats 
 are launched on the service they are meant for — that they go 
 at once into the hunting field, but the theory is the same, they 
 originated in a paltry idea of converting dress coats into 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 237 
 
 hunting ones when they got shabby, and a shabby dog he 
 must have been who started the idea. 
 
 Ahhough we fully agree in the words of the old song, that 
 there's 
 
 " Naught like boots and leather breeches," 
 
 we do not carry our admiration for hunting accoutrements 
 quite so high as to insist upon there being nothing like scarlet 
 for dining in. Indeed, we don't like it. It makes too much 
 of a business of the thing, added to which we often see the 
 greatest cocktails in a morning the most tenacious of appearing 
 in it in an evening. 
 
 If, however, men with their hair stiffly curled, and pumps on 
 their feet, will put themselves into scarlet for dinners and 
 balls, let us beg of them to get new coats occasionally. Most 
 things look well when the}- are fresh and new ; finery, above 
 all things, should be good, for much of its popularity depends 
 upon its newness, and scarlet evening coats are no exception 
 to the rule. What can look nastier than a greasy annual, a 
 keepsake, or book of beauty, for instance, or a frowsy faded 
 piece of worsted-worked finery ? Nothing but a shapeless, 
 makeless, old-fashioned red rag dancing about. Yet what 
 things we have seen, to be sure ! and what men in them ! 
 Tall, gaunt, spectral-looking fellows, with faces the very 
 antipodes of their coats, and little roundabout, teetotum, 
 beer-barrel-looking things, that could never by any possibility 
 sit on a horse. These people have coats that they got when 
 " they hunted," as they call it, some twenty years ago perhaps, 
 and having them, they think it right to air them every now and 
 then, that is to say, whenever they can get an opportunit}-, at 
 hunt or fancy balls, at which latter place, indeed, hunt coats 
 are valuable, as saving many a worthy man from being choked 
 in uniform. But if a man hopes to kill a girl — which, after all, 
 we suppose is the real object of appearing in scarlet — let him 
 ascertain before he commits himself, that there are no military 
 
238 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 going, else his plain coat will have a very denuded, stripped-of- 
 its-lace appearance by the side of the glittering uniforms of his 
 competitors. Hunt coats are best at hunt balls. 
 
 Shabbyhounde's coat has not come to the cover before it 
 was due. It has long lost all the freshness of newness, while 
 sundry stains on the back and left shoulder give indications of 
 lamp droppings, or wax swealings, obtained in the fantastic toe 
 service. Still it is not a badly cut coat, though the collar 
 rather puts the back to the blush, having only superseded a 
 black velvet one with a gold embroidered fox on each side, it 
 shows rather too new for the rest. Of course Shabbyhounde 
 sports an anonymous button, one we should think made 
 entirely out of his own head ; but he does not trust the keeping 
 together of his coat to these usual articles, for he has it secured 
 b\' a diminutive steel bit, which, with a curb chain to his 
 watch, add very materially, he considers, to his sporting 
 appearance. No flash man was ever seen without pins or 
 brooches, sometimes both, and Shabbyhounde has a large gold 
 pin representing two race horses contending for a prize, in the 
 full stride of extended limb. His cravat is a rich purple and 
 black-flowered satin one, and his waistcoat a worked one, blue 
 ground, with yellow roses. We need hardly add that he rides 
 with a large .cutting whip. He is a little man, though hunting 
 dress has the singular effect of making some little men look 
 taller and some tall men shorter than they are. Of course the 
 Captain keeps his moustachios, this being part of his stock 
 in trade, but he is not prodigal in whisker, neither does he 
 indulge in flowing hair, at least not in winter. 
 
 We will now glance at him in action. He is always in 
 a desperate stew about a start. His whole thoughts and 
 conversation turn upon this point. He never cares to see the 
 fox go away. He never looks to see whether the body of the 
 hounds are out of cover, but as soon as a hound speaks, he 
 begins to settle himself in his saddle, gets his horse firmly by 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 239 
 
 the head, and keeps his eye on what he considers the foremost 
 man to be ready to start the moment he sees him move. Thus 
 he goes Hke a jockey, creeping to the starting post all arms 
 and legs, jealous in the extreme if any horse's head comes 
 before his. " Hold hard ! " is the only hunting term Shabby- 
 hounde knows, and most liberally he vociferates it when any 
 one gets before him. It is a term, however, he pays little 
 attention to, if he is first — the Master not up, and an expectant 
 purchaser in the rear. What places he will then go at ! what 
 risks he will run ! 
 
 A looker-on would fancy he had half a dozen spare necks 
 at home, so little does he seem to care for the one he is 
 wearing. 
 
 How amiable he is about his horses, how tender of their 
 reputation, how anxious to transfer their /aux pas to his own 
 shoulders. We saw old staggering Bill, as he is called, a big, 
 bay, wooden-legged old screw, give him a tremendous fall over 
 a stone wall, which the old beggar absolutely ran at without 
 the slightest attempt at leaping, and not content with tumbling 
 him over on the far side, the indolent brute lay on his leg for 
 some five minutes, which agreeable time was spent by the 
 Captain in alternate exhortations to the horse to rise, and 
 protestations to the parties who came to compel him, that it 
 was " all his own fault ; the horse wasn't to blame in the least." 
 Another day he was riding a groggy old grey in a sharpish 
 burst over a roughish country, where, as usual, the Captain 
 was doing his best to distinguish himself, when in crossing a 
 field of wheat, the veteran fell in a grip, and rolling heavily 
 over him, left the Captain distended for dead. It is a painful 
 sight to see a red coat and white breeches lying full stretch 
 on the land, a painfulness that was increased in the present 
 instance by the apparent lifelessness of the body and the 
 springing of the young green wheat all around. There lay the 
 Captain, and it was not until he was stuck up on end, and 
 
240 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 some brandy poured down his throat, that he began to give 
 any symptoms of returning animation, when the first words he 
 uttered, as he stared wildly around, were, " Good beast as ever 
 luas for all that." In short nobod}' ever saw the Captain 
 without an excuse for a horse, whatever he did. 
 
 There are some people in the world, not many certainly, 
 who have no idea of improving an opportunit}' — indeed upon 
 whom the temptations of fortune are perfectly wasted, but the 
 Captain is not one of these. We will give an instance of his 
 observing acuteness and anxiety to " do business," as they 
 say on 'Change. As he was getting on to his horse one 
 morning, he saw a woman coming up with a pig in a string by 
 the leg, after the approved fashion of pig-driving, and all sorts 
 of dealing being interesting, she was accosted by a passing 
 countryman as to what she had given for it. " Far o'er 
 much," replied the lady, desirous of having the inquirer's 
 estimate before she told. 
 
 "You'd give six-and-twenty shillings, perhaps," rejoined 
 the man. 
 
 " No, a guinea," replied the lady. 
 
 Well, the Captain went to meet the hounds, and after 
 drawing Copgrove Hanging Wood and Ashbourne Gorse 
 blank, they turned in the direction of Harpsford, intending to 
 go to Drewsborough Great Wood. 
 
 On the road coming down the Chequers Hill, what should 
 Captain Shabbyhounde espy but his friend with the pig in the 
 string, who, with that obstinate sort of stupidity called pig- 
 headedness, was quartering the road as if to make the most of 
 the journey. The Captain's keen eye saw " opportunity," and 
 tickling old Beelzebub in the flank, he coaxed him in between 
 young Tom Pappington and Miles Brown, who were enjoying 
 an angry discussion on the corn-laws. Both being rather beat 
 for arguments (indeed what they advanced were only the 
 crumbs they had picked up at their fathers' tables), they were 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 241 
 
 not sorry to transfer the further discussion to the Captain 
 if he was inclined to accept of the boon. Accordingly they 
 appealed to him for his opinion of protection, and the Captain 
 prolonging a draw at his cigar — that most convenient of all 
 idea furnishers — drawled out at length, as he watched the 
 upward curl of smoke rise above his nose, that he thought 
 repeal would bring down prices. 
 
 " But," continued he, after a pause, during which he 
 adjusted the end of the cigar, " \'ou great landowners should 
 know these things much better than me." 
 
 Piggy had now got near hand, and after a snort and semi- 
 circular dart on meeting the hounds, had adopted the grass 
 siding of the road, and was advancing in that sort of retro- 
 grading way that makes one congratulate oneself upon not 
 being a pig-driver. 
 
 " It will bring down the price of bacon, too," observed the 
 Captain, eyeing the bristling little beggar as it squeaked and 
 tugged at the cord. "There's a nice little pig," continued he, 
 pointing it out to Pappington, " What price would you set 
 upon it ? " 
 
 Pappington looked at it with a most sagacious eye, as if he 
 was in the habit of valuing whole droves every day. 
 
 " Thirty shillings," said he, with the greatest confidence. 
 " What do you say, Mr. Brown ? " asked the Captain. 
 
 " I say five-and-twenty," replied Brown. 
 
 " Let us make a sovereign sweepstakes," said the Captain, 
 " for the nearest guesser." 
 
 " Done," rejoined Pappington. 
 
 " Will you be in ? " asked the Captain of Sam Tubbs, who 
 was just passing, to whom he explained the purport of the 
 venture. 
 
 Tubbs, who was a judge of pigs, joined and priced the pig at 
 four-and-twenty shillings. 
 
 The Captain guessed three-and-twenty. 
 
 R 
 
242 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " What did you give for your pig, my good woman ? " 
 inquired Pappington, riding up. 
 
 " Five-and-twenty shillings," replied the woman. 
 
 She had been hoaxing the man. 
 
 That was a spec deserving of a better result. We shall now 
 exhibit our Captain in the more genial field of horse-dealing. 
 
 He once had a horse that he sold six times over in one year, 
 receiving from each purchaser a bonus for taking him back. 
 This was Lambkin, as he was erroneously called, though we 
 really believe the name had considerable influence in selling 
 him. Lambkin was a finely-shaped black horse about fifteen 
 two, or rather under, a size adapted for hacking, hunting, or 
 harness. The Captain either got him in a gambling debt, or 
 from some officer ordered to join his regiment, we don't know 
 whither. Suffice it to say, that in the season of sea kale and 
 spring captains, Shabbyhounde cast up at Market Harborough 
 with Lambkin in his stud. Now Lambkin really was a nice- 
 looking horse — he was what we may call a creditable, 
 gentlemanly-looking horse, in contradistinction to the 
 blemished, iron-marked, knuckling, round-legged Tom and 
 Jerry seedy-looking screws that generally composed his stud. 
 With any man but Shabbyhounde upon him, the horse would 
 have looked like a hundred and fifty or two hundred guineas, 
 but spring captains are always suspicious creatures — such a 
 spring captain as Shabbyhounde — suspicious beyond all 
 conception. Many people looked at the horse, many admired 
 him, many talked of him, and if Shabbyhounde had not been 
 at Harborough before, he would very soon have sold him. 
 As it was, he rather hung fire — everybody was satisfied that 
 there was a screw loose somewhere, and most industriously 
 they set to work to discover it. One thought his carcass was 
 too big for his legs, another that his wind wasn't good — that 
 he^ didn't cough as he ought, a third that there was an 
 enlargement of the near knee, a fourth thought he detected 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 243 
 
 incipient spavin, a iifth a little warmth in the off leg, a sixth 
 that his feet didn't match, a seventh suspected incipient 
 cataract, while the herd of greenhorns condemned his standing 
 over legs, which were in fact one of the best points about him. 
 We are not like Luke Lieall, the " Cripplegate Pet," as he is 
 called by the horse-dealers, who invariably expatiates on the 
 advantages of any infirmity about a horse that he wants to 
 sell, but we may observe that real standing over legs, such as 
 Lambkin had, are a recommendation. Standing over legs are 
 of two sorts, the natural and the acquired. The natural, of 
 course, are those with which a horse is foaled, while the 
 acquired are the result of hard work, as are too strikingly 
 portrayed by stage coach and cab horses, knuckling towards 
 the ground. It is a truism for which we will vouch the great 
 Tat himself, that naturally standing over legs never fail, while 
 the others have too palpably failed already. That however is 
 beside the subject. The question before the house is " what 
 was the matter with Lambkin ? " Well reader, what do you 
 think it was ? D'ye give it up ? Well, we'll tell you. He 
 ivas difficult to mount ! 
 
 We have already stated that he was good tempered — even 
 playful — but he had his peculiarity, and that peculiarity 
 consisted in kicking people over his head the moment they 
 mounted. To further his amiable designs, nature had endowed 
 him with the most powerful back and loins that ever horse 
 possessed. Even in leaping, it required a good seat to keep in 
 the saddle with the tremendous lashes out he gave behind, 
 and the reader may easily imagine what redoubled force he 
 would muster for a premeditated kick, and with what awful 
 violence it would tell on the unsuspecting confidence of a half 
 acquired seat. Lambkin could spanghew a rider as clean as 
 ever schoolboy spanghewd a sparrow from a trap. Send him 
 flying through the air like an arrow or a darting hawk. It 
 was only at the first mounting he did it. If the rider — or 
 
244 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 would-be rider — kept his seat — the horse would give in after a 
 fight, a piece of politeness that tells more with a master than a 
 stranger, seeing that the stranger, if he gets kicked off, in all 
 probabilit}- will never be master. It was just one of those 
 nasty sort of tricks that would prevent nine men out of ten 
 from trying a horse. 
 
 Still, beau Shackell, Elmore, Bartley, Anderson, Bill Bean, 
 a whole jury of horse-dealers, could not have detected anything 
 wrong about Lambkin. His action was good, he could trot 
 with a loose head on pavement, and in the field his 
 performances were first-rate : first-rate at least with Shabby- 
 hounde on his back, and a horse wanter behind. His temper 
 too was perfect, and he had a playful way of rattling and 
 champing the bit when he had nothing to do, as much as to 
 say, " Why can't you trust me without this nasty thing in my 
 mouth ? " Whether it was this playfulness, or to disarm 
 suspicion of his infirmity, we know not, but Shabbyhounde 
 christened him Lambkin. Now the name Lambkin certainly 
 does convey the idea of a ver}' gentle, playful, docile creature, 
 its disarms suspicion, nay, even inspires confidence, and would 
 make one go up to an animal in a stall, that we might have 
 declined had he been called "Beelzebub," "Old Nick," "The 
 Tiger," or any such name. But Lambkin ! who would be 
 afraid of Lambkin ! so great is the charm — the magic of a 
 name. And j'et his kicking was not from vice — it was a mere 
 trick — a trick that he had acquired with a sore back, and 
 which had grown into habit by repeated successes. Before he 
 came into the hands from which Shabbyhounde got him, he 
 had spanghewd two prebendaries, a fat apothecary, a linen- 
 draper, three ostlers, a master butcher, an official assignee, a 
 railway surveyor, and two druggists. The uninitiated in 
 " kicks off" may say that it makes very little odds whether a 
 horse kicks you off from vice or from fun ; but there we beg to 
 differ from them, it makes a good deal of difference, especially 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 245 
 
 if you fall near. The vicious horse will often follow up his 
 success by attacking you either with his teeth or his heels, 
 standing with his nasty frightful iron calkings at your nose, 
 considering which eye he shall knock out ; whereas the 
 playful ejector merely seems to have been having a trial of 
 skill how far he could send you, and stands looking at the 
 result, just like a baker playing at bowls. The vicious horse to 
 be sure gives a sort of notice to such few as are capable of 
 taking a hint. There is a certain liberal display of the white 
 of the eye, and a muscular cat-like contraction of the back 
 and loins, all symptomatic of his intentions, but any misgivings 
 arising out of such symptoms are generally allayed by those in 
 the secret declaring that it's " all play " — " the quietest horse 
 in the world when he's mounted " — " child might ride him " — 
 with that most taking of all appeals to a Briton, "not to be 
 frightened," an appeal that drives more men to destruction 
 than even an engineman on a railway. Lambkin, on the 
 contrary, gave no indication of anything of the sort. He 
 would let a stranger walk up to him, handle him, gather up 
 the reins, and even put his foot into the stirrup without 
 wincing ; but as soon as he felt the souce in the saddle, as 
 surely down went the head, up went heels, and away went the 
 intrepid adventurer. And yet, as we said before, Lambkin 
 was not obstinately persevering, if he found he could not 
 unship a chap, he would shut up shop, at all events, confine 
 his endeavours to an occasional hoist ; but a new customer 
 invariably drew forth all his best energies, which he continued 
 to use till one or other gained a decided victory. We 
 need scarcely say, that Shabbyhounde had gained that 
 desirable ascendancy, and though he always found it con- 
 venient to ride Lambkin to cover, and was especially shy of 
 mounting in the inn yard before strangers, yet that was from a 
 desire of keeping the peculiarity snug, and not from any 
 expectation of Lambkin proving " too many for him." 
 
246 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 It has been well said that there is no secret so close as that 
 between a rider and his horse, and as Shabbyhounde had no 
 taste for disclosing the secrets of his stable, it will be 
 abundantly clear that the only way of selling a horse like 
 Lambkin — at least the only way of getting anything like a 
 price for him — was selling him in the field, a process that the 
 Captain was particularly partial to, especially after having 
 " gone a good on " before the expected buyer. 
 
 Our readers will now have the kindness to consider it a fine 
 morning in February, and the " Squire's " hounds meeting at 
 Kelmarsh, a few miles below Market Harborough, on the 
 Northampton road. They will further oblige us bj- supposing 
 that Captain Shabbyhounde, having mounted Lambkin in the 
 inn-yard without more trouble than usual, has walked him 
 quietly to the meet. 
 
 We took occasion lately, when sketching the portrait of old 
 Mr. Bullwaist, to introduce the adventures of another horse — 
 Claudius Hunter — and to comment on the admirable dispensa- 
 tions of Providence in turning even the infirmities of His 
 creatures to good account ; and in relating the adventures of 
 Lambkin, we may observe how a never-failing supply of flats 
 is kept up in the world — a fact most perfectly understood by 
 advertising tailors, persevering wine merchants, and peripatetic 
 map men. 
 
 It so happened that on this particular morning, the 
 Honourable Julius Milksop, a newly emancipated, but beard- 
 less Cantab, made his appearance with the Pytchley in all the 
 luxuriance of flowing locks, cheroots, and a perfumed pocket- 
 handkerchief. Shabbyhounde's eyes, which had had " no 
 speculation in them for some time, glared withal," for 
 Milksop looked like a man for his money, added to which he 
 did not seem to have any acquaintance in the field, so the 
 Captain ascertaining from his groom who he was — a piece of 
 information that the groom of course accompanied with the 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 247 
 
 title of Honourable — "Honourable Milksop" — according to 
 the then Cambridge idiom, why the Captain took him at once 
 under his wing — a most prudent proceeding, seeing that it 
 not only increased his own consequence, but prevented any 
 of those illiberal remarks or insinuations that an opposition 
 Shabbyhounde might indulge in. The Captain and Julius 
 very soon struck up a dialogue, for Julius was just of the age 
 to rush into indiscriminate acquaintances, and a youth — nay a 
 man — entering a strange hunting field, is very like a fresh boy 
 turned into a school — glad to take up with the first one that 
 speaks to them. Since Mr. Lockhart went down into Leices- 
 tershire with his good little " bay horse," and wrote the 
 surprising article on the " Chase," in the " Quarterly Review," 
 people have been rather suspicious of strangers in the hunting 
 field, and many a man has been charged with being a 
 Quarterly Reviewer, whose banker's or whose betting-book has 
 been his only claim to literature. Authorship somehow is not 
 a popular trade in the countrj-. Nimrod was the only author 
 on horseback who could fairly face a hunting field in //v/'/Vrt 
 pcisona. There was no mystery or concealment about him. 
 He went in as Nimrod, and as Nimrod he wished to be known. 
 He even indulged in the lordly privilege of putting " Nimrod " 
 on the backs of his letters. But to our story — the Honourable 
 Julius Milksop is landed in Northamptonshire, and "taken 
 up " by Captain Shabbyhounde, who, riding his best horse, 
 had got his leather breeches on, and looked more like the 
 gentleman, if not more like the fo.x-hunter than usual. 
 
 After giving the hounds the usual run of the evergreens 
 about Kelmarsh, and drawing Scotland Wood blank, they 
 trotted away to a cover on some broken ground on a hill side 
 belonging to Sir Justinian Isham, called Blue Devils, or blue 
 something we forget what, when a whimper and the Squire's 
 cheery holloa as he worked among the gorse on foot 
 proclaimed the varmint astir, as was very soon confirmed by 
 
248 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 the crash of his redoubtable dog pack forcing their way to the 
 spot. Presently Jack Stevens's halloo away ! was heard from 
 below, and joy and fear became depicted on every face. 
 Scream ! screech ! twang, twang, crack, crack, whoop ! 
 whoop ! all noise, bustle, and confusion — yonder he goes ! 
 Which way! over the hill! No, he's turned! Now d'ye see 
 him ? No, I don't ! Yes, I do ! No, it's a dog ! 
 
 " Folknu inc, I know the country," cried the Captain to his 
 pupil, as he hustled along, jostling two or three funkers out of 
 their places, and leaping over the gorse and brushwood that 
 obstructed his path, he dived down into the bottom. The 
 Second Whip brought Osbaldeston his horse, and the Captain 
 and Milksop start fair with the hounds, followed by all the 
 bold boys of the count}'. It's a rare burst ! and there's a rare 
 scent ! 
 
 It was worth going a long way to see Osbaldeston ride Pilot, 
 or any of his 
 
 " Cock horses to Banbury Cross," 
 
 followed by that best of good Whips, Jack Stevens, and our 
 pen even now inclines to follow the Squire instead of sticking 
 to the subject at the head of our paper — Captain Shabby- 
 hounde. The Squire, however, and we must part for the 
 present, for the Captain durst not ride before him, and his 
 object now was to break the fences for his new acquaintance, 
 and show what a wonderful horse he was on. Accordingly at 
 the first divergible point the Captain struck off to the left, 
 clearing four stiff rails instead of opening the bridle gate 
 which they joined. Milksop followed him, for all lads like 
 leaping, and they presenth' found themselves in great enjoy- 
 ment among the bullfinches. The Squire's red coat on the 
 right acted as a sort of guide, and first one, and then the 
 other, went at the fences, as though they would eat them. 
 Milksop was no shirker, on the contrary he would take 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 
 
 249 
 
 anything that anybody else would take, and wanted particularly 
 to distinguish himself. So Shabbyhounde and he went on 
 from fence to fence, rejoicing. 
 
 As luck would have it, at the end of ten minutes or so the 
 fox took it into his head to turn short to the right, but 
 the Squire's hounds turning short also, they were getting 
 together on the hne, when our friends found themselves " right 
 among them before they knew where they were." It is a 
 general rule that when mischief is done, every person who 
 is not in the place with the master or fault-finder, whoever he 
 may be, is wrong, and it required no rhetoric from the Squire 
 to proclaim " that any but a natural born fool might be sure 
 that the fox would turn where he did," but when the Squire 
 came up and saw it was his old tormentor, Captain Shabby- 
 hounde, who had ridden them to check, he began reading the 
 Riot Act, most vehemently, exclaiming, as he held the hounds 
 on across the enclosure, something about d — d horse-dealing 
 something — that did not sound at all like " gentleman." The 
 scent was good, the hounds were quickly on the line, without 
 letting in more of the tail than was desirable, and away they 
 went again full tilt. 
 
 
 'ii^^a^,, ^^-■-'-^■^■'•i 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CAPTAIN SHABBVHOUXDE — CONXLUDED 
 
 ^'^fe'j;^-'i,-==.:^-__ """"'"11 O a stranger, 
 
 ^ or a man like 
 Shabbyhounde, who never 
 looks to hounds,! a ring is 
 as good as a line, and he 
 reached Cottesbrooke, after 
 running down nearlj'to Little 
 Creaton, without being aware 
 that the_v had not been going 
 straight. At Cottesbrooke 
 the pace increased, and the 
 fox making for Thornb\' Folly, turned a little towards Naseby, 
 and was finally run into view in the large fields where the two 
 cross carving knives on the map denote the battle to have been 
 fought. The new friends rode gallantly together, at least as 
 far as they went, nor was their cordiality diminished by the 
 partnership " blowing up " they had received from the Squire. 
 
 As luck would have it, Mr. Milksop's horse began to decline 
 before they reached Thornby Folly. He blundered and tripped, 
 and at last fell on his head on the far side of a fence. Shabby- 
 hounde saw how it was, and, having alighted, picked up and 
 scraped his acquaintance, as the late Mr. Hood would have 
 
 3g5S^^®r 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 251 
 
 said, nothing would serve him but he would put Milksop on 
 Lambkin. If the generality of the Captain's horses had only 
 been as good on their legs as they were in their wind, they 
 would have been invaluable, and Lambkin, for a wonder, was 
 perfect in both. He had gone the run stoutly and well, was 
 still as gay as a lark, and, with Milksop's lighter weight upon 
 him, bounded off like an arrow from the bow. Lambkin never 
 thought of trying to kick Milksop off — that was only a home 
 exploit ; on the contrary, he scuttled away, and very soon was 
 well with the hounds again. 
 
 Naseby Field used to be rather deep in those days — it may 
 be so still, for aught we know — and after a fair trial, over sound 
 springy pastures. Milksop found Lambkin had the knack of 
 getting his hind legs well under him, and of going through deep 
 also. What a luxury that is ! How delightful to feel the hind 
 quarters throwing the fore ones on, treading the water, as it 
 were, instead of the floundering deeper and deeper still, lob, lob, 
 lobbing, grunting, groaning, sobbing, sighing, hammer-and- 
 pincering of the mere turf strider. 
 
 Give us the horse that can go in deep as well as on grass, the 
 nag that can creep as well as fly, and we will throw extreme 
 pace to " Bunbury,"* to divide among the Jockey Club. 
 
 Forrard ! forrard! that inspiriting cheer to the fresh — that 
 tantalizing mockery to the he^a^.— forrard ! forrard ! was still 
 the cry, and Lambkin responded to it vigorously. 
 
 The Honourable Julius Milksop being in 
 "The morning of life," 
 as the elegant Dr. Goss sublimely sings, when 
 
 " Middling horse-flesh takes the reason prisoner,"' 
 
 it will not surprise our ancient readers to learn that he soon 
 found out there was a considerable difference between the 
 horse he was on and the one he had been riding, nor was the 
 
 * The great turf writer of the present day. 
 
252 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 improvement less apparent, owing to the sudden transition 
 from a beaten horse to a fresh one. Indeed, Mr. Milksop, like 
 many young gentlemen riding on the top of the morning, went 
 a good deal upon price. He thought if he gave a good lot of 
 money, he was sure to get a good horse, a problem not quite so 
 apparent to those who have made a long journey in old Father 
 Time's coach. The nag he was on was out of Jordan's stud, a 
 fair hack hunter when in the superior wind peculiar to the class, 
 but who had got rather pursey from a repletion of oats and 
 deficiency of work since he entered our friend's (if he will allow 
 us to call him so) service. 
 
 Yonder lie goes I cried the Squire, pointing with his whip to 
 where reynard was stealing over a gently swelling hill in the 
 distance. Yonder lie goes ! repeated he, urging his horse on to 
 the pack. The blood of old Furrier was in the ascendant, and 
 the staunch pack clustered like bees — a sheet would have 
 covered the whole. The fox gains the hedge-row, and is for 
 a moment screened from view — another second, and he creeps 
 through again, hearing hounds on the same side. Ah ! it's all 
 over with him. The hounds divide, and there's no escape. 
 Whoo whoop ! Vengeance snaps him ! 
 
 A fox is one of the few animals whose death never draws 
 forth compassion. 
 
 " Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare,'' 
 wrote Somerville, and hundreds will echo the sentiment who 
 never feel a pang of compunction for poor reynard. The fact is, 
 he is a carnivorous dog, and dies game. The scream of the 
 hare is piteous in the extreme. Our fox will not excite any 
 more pity, we dare say, from the fact of our having killed 
 him tivice. 
 
 "A southerly wind and a cloudy sky" used to be the 
 huntsman of old's delight, but we confess we have no objection 
 to sun. We don't get so much of it in England that we can 
 afford to shut it out even for hunting. Sun adds cheerful 
 

brillancj to any .->ceiie — to a. graii 
 
 to anything. All nature looks sn 
 
 nothing gajer or livelier than a 
 
 day, in the middle of a large pasture . 
 
 The led horses forming the outer circle, th 
 
 coats mopping themselves on foot, the huntsmen. 
 
 fox, in the middle of the baying pack, the ( 
 
 whoops of the whips, and ever and an .r <!■ 
 
 arrival of some unfortunate outcast h 
 
 not being up. 
 
 Such a scene was it on the day ■ 
 The Squire was delighted ! .' ' ' 
 the lagging lane and line ri.' 
 they had passed through, .. "^ 
 
 unqualified approbation of the p:. > 
 
 inually ; « 
 
 (d 
 
 V 
 "0 
 
 V 
 
 • Im: 
 
 inti: 
 
 It he hi. 
 
 the\ 
 
 ! such a p 
 
 hav: 
 
 \sledged the 
 
 
 1 Bland usi. 
 
 
 hand, retin-. 
 
 \\ 
 
 ■iw return t 
 
 Th. 
 
 \i • 
 
 t!. 
 
 
 < 
 
 1 
 
 B 
 V 
 
 M 
 
 o 
 
 Ji 
 u 
 
 a 
 o 
 p 
 
 o 
 
 ' 
 
 I 
 
 hi. 
 

 ■..1 
 
 Y: 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBVHOUNDE 253 
 
 brillancy to any scene — to a grand foxhunting ^««/^ as much as 
 to anything. All nature looks smiling and gay. There can be 
 nothing gaj'er or livelier than a well-grouped kill on a bright 
 day, in the middle of a large pasture like those about Naseb}-. 
 The led horses forming the outer circle, the dismounted red 
 coats mopping themselves on foot, the huntsmen, with uplifted 
 fox, in the middle of the baying pack, the echoing zvlioo 
 whoops of the whips, and ever and anon the unexpected 
 arrival of some unfortunate outcast brimful of excuses for 
 not being up. 
 
 Such a scene was it on the day we have been describing.^ 
 The Squire was deli'ghted ! All the " ups " were rejoiced, even 
 the lagging lane and line riders were pleased with the country 
 they had passed through, and all joined in testifying their 
 unqualified approbation of the pack, and asserted their perfect 
 readiness to be continually going before the Lord Mayor to 
 make affidavit that Osbaldeston's were the " best hounds in 
 England ! " 
 
 Who, we should like to know, ever hunted with a pack 
 that were not occasionally the best ? 
 
 The Squire, seeing Mr. Milksop well up, and recollecting 
 that he was one of the unfortunate wights he had " blessed "' in 
 the run, most politely handed him the brush, with an 
 intimation that he had gone uncommonly well, and he was glad 
 they had had such a good day for his first. The stranger 
 having acknowledged the compliment, and tipped Jack Stevens 
 a sov., as Jem Bland used to call them, sought his led horse, 
 and brush in hand, retired from the field in quest of his own. 
 
 We must now return to our friend Captain Shabbyhounde. 
 The Captain got Mr. Milksop's horse just in time, for the pace 
 they were going, and the loose way Mr. Milksop rode, would 
 have polished him off in another field or two. 
 
 He was not the first tired horse the Captain had had through 
 his hands, by many ; indeed, the generality of his stud 
 
254 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 exhibited the sunken, dejected eye, pecuHar to stopped and 
 over-marked horses. By slackening Milksop's horse's girths 
 turning his head to the wind, rinsing out his mouth, and 
 other little attentions, the Captain was soon enabled to 
 pursue the chase on foot with his horse in his hand. 
 
 Hunting on foot is only poor sport at best, pursued in top 
 boots lamentably poor, and the Captain was not sorry to see his 
 new acquaintance returning on the line of the run. Great was 
 his joy when the proud trophy waved over Milksop's head 
 proclaimed the glorious finish, and greater still, though more 
 suppressed, his delight at hearing that Lambkin had "carried 
 him well." 
 
 What an opportunity was here for a man of Shabbyhounde's 
 enterprising qualities — what a field for the exercise of his 
 " insinivating " talents. A youth, as fresh and verdant as 
 a turnip-field — a splendid horse — a clear stage, and no opposi- 
 tion. Could but the Captain have had a peep at the banker's 
 book, he would indeed have been elated. That was his only 
 fear. He had once been bit by an apparent greenhorn in the 
 matter of a post obit, and he rather dreaded the innocence of 
 youth. " Nothing venture nothing gain," however, thought the 
 Captain, and he " at him "again with the virtues of his horse. If 
 ever animal had cause to be proud of the favours of a master, it 
 surely was Lambkin — Shabbyhounde did butter him up — did lay 
 it on thick. Not but that the horse deserved praise; for he was a 
 "good-un," and nothing but a "good-un," barring the little play- 
 ful propensity already related. Indeed, Shabbyhounde laid it on 
 so thick that Milksop, who was most "jolly green," thought it 
 useless asking if he would sell such a piece of perfection. The 
 consequence was the Captain was obliged to throw out the bait 
 himself, a decidedly unskilful move in the grand game of " do." 
 However, there is no help for it, where such verdancy does 
 exist, and the Captain was obliged, after sundry beatings about 
 the bush, to put it to Milksop rather pointedly " If he would 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 255 
 
 not like to have Lambkin ? " There are very few people who 
 can't take a good horse, the difficulty generally being about 
 paying for him ; but this did not seem to weigh with Mr. Milksop, 
 who merely said he would be glad to take him — " take him,'' 
 just as he would take a hat from a hatter, a pair of braces from 
 a hosier, or a waistcoat from his tailor. That fine, easy, Can- 
 tabridgian style of doing business not sounding at all like 
 money, and " tick " being at all times abhorrent to the mind of 
 our Captain — at least when he had to give it — and dangerous in 
 the extreme in a case like the present, he let out at once that 
 the price would be a hundred and seventy-five guineas. 
 
 Milksop didn't seem chagrined at all at the information ; 
 indeed, he rather looked upon the price as complimentary to his 
 judgment in horse-flesh, seeing that he pronounced Lambkin 
 first-rate, and he had given a hundred and twent_v for the horse 
 he was on. 
 
 We think the Captain showed great judgment, not only in 
 asking a high price, but in asking it in such a way as to look as 
 if he had measured the horse out to the odd five guineas. Had 
 he asked a hundred and fifty or two hundred, it might have been 
 regarded as a mere random, off-hand, figure-of-speech sort of 
 price ; but a hundred and seventy-five guineas carried con- 
 siderate calculation on the face of it. Time was, when gentle- 
 men used not to think it right to offer each other less for their 
 horses than they asked — they used to leave bartering and bargain- 
 driving to jobbers and dealers — but those days are about 
 past — gentlemen haggle just as hard as the hucksters. To 
 this rule, however, we must add that Mr. Milksop was an 
 exception. His father, old Viscount Creamjug of Papcastle 
 Tower, had instilled good old-fashioned gentlemanly ideas into 
 his mind, and Mr. Milksop invariably acted up to them. 
 Honourable himself, he had no suspicion of dishonesty in 
 others — a fine healthy feeling, but one that is not exactly 
 adapted to this extremely sharp world of ours. Be that as it 
 
256 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 may, the Captain g;ot his price, and how the horse turned out 
 will soon appear. 
 
 Captain Shabbyhounde, litce most of the puffing, advertising 
 tradespeople, not expecting to do business with the same person 
 a second time, always made a point of bilking the groom, when 
 he accomplished a sale by himself, and he did not depart from 
 his custom in the present instance. Indeed, there does seem 
 something superlatively silly in feeing a servant, because we 
 have taken it into our head to buy a horse. We might just as 
 well fee the housemaid on buying a broom, the dairymaid on 
 buying a cow, or the man or boy on buying a hat. 
 
 Nobody who knew the Captain, or rather no one who did 
 not know him, l)ut who heard him talk, could doubt for 
 a moment that his objection was founded on pure principle. 
 He denounced it as an absurdity, as a mere premium for 
 dissatisfaction, and the urging of frequent changes on the part 
 of servants. 
 
 When, however, the deal was not to be accomplished without, 
 our friend knew how to plant a sovereign, or even a iive pound 
 note, as well as anybody. The Captain indeed was the 
 creature of circumstance, now liberal, now mean, just as 
 it suited his purpose. The character is a common one, and 
 we need not describe it further. 
 
 When Mr. Strutt, Mr. Milksop's valet and stud-groom, 
 heard that he had presumed to purchase a horse without con- 
 sulting him, he was highly indignant. Strutt had had cause 
 for dissatisfaction before, and it was only not seeing his way 
 clearly to a better place, that prevented him turning his 
 master off. When he learned that his master had dealt with 
 Shabbyhounde, he looked upon himself as regularly robbed. 
 It may seem strange that Mr. Strutt, who had so lately 
 arrived, should be "up" to the Shabbyhounde dodge; but 
 Strutt was a high privilege man, one who stood upon the 
 rights of his order, and he considered it a downright insult 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 257 
 
 for any man, be he who he might, to attempt to "do" his 
 master without consulting him. He took an enlarged com- 
 prehensive view of the question — -not the mere " A and B " 
 deal case, as between Shabbyhounde and his master, but he 
 looked at the general principle of the thing, and he saw if 
 such work was allowed it would be destructive of settled 
 principles, and most prejudicial to the interests of his pro- 
 fession. Moreover, Shabbyhounde's fame was not altogether 
 unknown to him, though it did not enter into Strutt's imagina- 
 tion that a man could be so depraved as to think of defrauding 
 him of his regulars ; the amount of which, however, he could 
 not but feel greatly depended upon the imparlance before the 
 deal. It is a delicate case, and one that we feel assured will 
 come home to the feelings of all stabularian professors. It 
 makes all the difference in the world, whether the imparlance is 
 before or after the deal. 
 
 Strutt looked as though nature had meant him for the 
 name, for he was a most bumptious, consequential, rosy-gilled 
 bantam-cock-looking little fellow, uniting in his apparel the 
 extravagances of valet and groom. He had a groom's hat 
 and a valet's hair, a groom's coat and a valet's waistcoat, a 
 swell satin cravat, and groomish-made trowsers, buttoning up 
 the leg with French-cut gaiters and thin shoes. At the 
 time of which we are writing, he might be forty or forty-five 
 years of age, greyish about the whisker, but not about the 
 hair, pot-bellied, and uncommonly " long in the tooth." He 
 knew where sixpence could be laid on, or a shilling squeezed 
 out, as well as any man going. He had been Lord Creamjug's 
 " own groom," and had been selected by his lordship to 
 accompany his son to Cambridge, in the advanced capacity 
 of valet and groom of the one horse his lordship thought would 
 assist in digesting his son's mathematics, and other cross- 
 grained stuff that he had to encounter with his mental teeth. 
 
 Of course, Strutt had improved his own education and 
 
 s 
 
258 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 knowledge of arithmetic among the highly respectable trades- 
 men and " talented " men congregated at Cambridge, and at 
 the time of which we are speaking you might have drawn 
 Piccadilly and Oxford Street too, without finding a more 
 "knowing hand " than Simon Strutt. 
 
 Of course, Strutt had now nothing to do with what he 
 called the " dirty work " of the stable. The stud had increased 
 to four, for which he had the second horseman, a regular 
 helper, and as many occasional ones as he chose to take ; 
 Strutt superintended. His valeting was onerous. He attended 
 to all his master's clothes, except his hunting and shooting 
 things, his morning boots and shoes, dirty trowsers and 
 gloves. Those he assigned to the second horseman. He gave 
 the linen out to wash, and counted it or not when it came 
 back as suited his convenience. Altogether, Strutt — we beg his 
 pardon. Mister Strutt — had a hard easy life of it — laboriously 
 idle. 
 
 Strutt, we need not saj-, was desperately indignant when 
 his master informed him that he had bought the " sweetest 
 horse in the world," and when he mentioned the name of 
 Captain Shabbyhounde, his gill-less chops reddened like a 
 turkey-cock's thropple at the sight of a scarlet coat. He did 
 not like captains in general, or the name of Captain Shabby- 
 hounde in particular. Our readers may suppose how much he 
 was disconcerted, when he committed himself by writing the 
 following letters : — 
 
 " George Inn, Northampton. 
 "Sir, — Understanding the Honourable Mr. Milksop has been looking 
 at a horse of yours, i shall be glad to kno when it will suite you for me to 
 com over and e.xamine him and so on, yours to command, 
 
 '• Simon- Strutt, Stud Groom. 
 " To Captain .Shabbyhounde, Market Harborough." 
 
 The (Captain replied as follows : — 
 
 "Sir, — Your master has bought my horse, and he only remains in my 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 259 
 
 stable to suit his convenience, and save the horse a journey southward 
 when he is going west. He had a hard day at Kelmarsh, and as we thought 
 he would not be fit for four or five more, we arranged that he should stay 
 here, and I would send him to meet you at Dunchurch on Friday, where 
 Mr. Milksop proposes riding him with Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds on Satur- 
 day. — Yours obediently, 
 
 " George Shaubyhounde. 
 " To the Honble. Julius Milksop's Groom, Northampton." 
 
 We should have premised that Mr. Milksop was a mere 
 bird of passage, hunting his way to Leamington Priors, where 
 the Viscountess Creamjug had gone in a terrible hurry, suffer- 
 ing from an affection of the toe (what common people would 
 call a corn), which she preferred placing under the silent treat- 
 ment of Doctor Jephson, to undergoing the public gibbeting of 
 Monsr. Eisenburg, or any of the advertising fraternit}-. 
 
 Before Captain Shabbyhounde's answer reached the anxious 
 hands of Mr. Strutt, that vile jade rumour had spread some 
 very unpleasant stories respecting the Captain's mode of doing 
 business. Indeed it appeared that a jury of grooms had sat on 
 him only the season before, when they returned an unanimous 
 verdict that he was a " snob," and strongly recommended that 
 he " should be transported back to the country from whence 
 he came, being totally unfit," as they thought, "for a civilized 
 one," a sentence, we may add, that they would have had some 
 difficulty in carrying out, seeing that no one had ever been 
 able to tell what country claimed the Captain. That case 
 had originated in much such a transaction as the present — an 
 unprincipled attempt to defraud a man of his regulars. Indeed 
 the cases were so analogous, that it was agreed in consultation 
 that unless the Captain was brought to book before the horse 
 was delivered, there would be very little hope of getting 
 anything after. That impression was quite confirmed by the 
 receipt of the Captain's reply, which did not even hint at 
 doing the " usual " or the " genteel," or anything that could 
 be construed into an acknowledgment of vested rights. Strutt 
 
2tJU THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 was outrageous. He was so put about that he could not take 
 the chair at the Groom's Champagne Club, which was to hold 
 its weekly meeting that night. 
 
 Instead of going, he concocted the following letter. How 
 many he cancelled before he got one to his mind, it is 
 immaterial to say : — 
 
 " Sir, — I beg to acknowledge your letter respectin the horse which is 
 quite satisfactory, i was not awar the honble had gone so far in the matter. 
 The honble is a very honble gent in horse-dealing, but not quite up to 
 the thing, and i am sponsible to the Right Honble Lord Viscount Creamjug 
 for the honbles safety and neck and limbs and other particklars i should 
 like to have him passed by a vet, and i will thank you to send me his 
 ped : along with him. Hopin to have further dealings. — I am. Sir, your 
 respectful servant, 
 
 "Simon Strutt, Stud Groom, Northampton. 
 
 "To Capt George Shabbyhounde, Market Harborough.'' 
 
 '■ P.S. — The honble not being up to snuff, it may save trouble if you will 
 say what kompliment i may kalculate on, so that i may kalculate the 
 kompliment due to your groom. We wish of course to be quite genteel.'' 
 
 Captain Shabbyhounde was not such a fool as to indulge 
 in the "pleasures of hope " of having a second deal with Mr. 
 Milksop, therefore he saved Strutt the expense of a " rule 
 to compute " by not returning any answer to the letter. 
 
 The showman will now change the shade, and the intelligent 
 and accommodating reader will have the kindness to accom- 
 pany us to the " Cow ■" at Dunchurch. 
 
 It was mid-day, and Mr. Strutt was airing his little round 
 stomach before the inn door, indulging in one of his master's 
 Havannahs. The weather was still fine, rather unseasonably 
 so if anything, and Strutt, like a good servant, was also airing 
 a cut tartan velvet waistcoat of his master's, which fitted him 
 marvellously well, considering the disparity of their corpora- 
 tions. He had also a shirt with a very finely-worked front on, 
 and three diamond studs secured by a diminutive chain down 
 the middle. Altogether he looked as full of beans and con- 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 261 
 
 sequence as man could possibly do, a gentleman that none 
 but a public bod}' — the Bank of England, South Sea House, 
 or some such establishment, could purchase, if taken at 
 his own valuation. What a contrast to the lean, haggard, 
 lank-haired, one-eyed man coming up on a worn-out pony 
 with the redoubtable Lambkin in his hand. The old, napless 
 seen-better-days looking hat of the stranger is put out of all 
 countenance by the spic-and-span, fresh-from-the-band-bo.x, 
 blooming-looking affair on the well-anointed curls of the 
 smoker. "Well to do" must the man be who turns out a 
 new tile in February, tempting not only the snow, but Jupiter 
 Pluvius. This, too, Strutt did, in spite of the redoubtable 
 Moore having prophesied in his wonderful weather column, 
 " Now dull with frequent downfall." Strutt, of course, found 
 his own clothes, and affected a sort of mixture of the foreigner 
 and the country gentleman. Not so the stranger, whose 
 seedy old drab coat and broad blue-and-white striped livery 
 waistcoat put all idea of concealment of servitude out of 
 the question, even if the shabby cockade in the hat had 
 been wanting. 
 
 " I'm blowed, if I don't believe this ere kiddey with the 
 ventilator in his old tile is a bringin of my new 'orse," 
 observed Mr. Strutt, taking his cigar out of his mouth, with 
 which, and a hand in each coat pocket, he had been straddling, 
 the observed of all observers of a select circle of post-boys, 
 horse-keepers, and idlers, the usual concomitants of the 
 glorious but now departed greatness of stage-coaches. 
 
 " I say, old chap ! " exclaimed Strutt to the man who had 
 now begun fumbling and smelling at the piece of dirty paper 
 as if he could read, " I say, old chap, are you a lookin' for your 
 nuss ? " 
 
 " Brought a horse for a gentleman," replied the man, again 
 holding the dirty slip of paper upside down before his 
 nose. 
 
L'OJ THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " Here, let me see it," said Mr. Strutt, perceiving how it 
 was. He took and read as follows : — 
 
 '•The Cow at Dunchurch. Ask for tlie Honourable Mr. Milksop's 
 ^'room, and deliver the horse to him." 
 
 " I ihoiigkt so," smA Mr. Strutt, tearing the paper up, and 
 giving it to the winds. " I thought so," repeated he, looking 
 at the horse. 
 
 " And have you no letter from your master ? " asked Strutt. 
 
 " No," replied the man. 
 
 " No ! " repeated Strutt. " What ! no letter, no message, 
 no nothing? " 
 
 " No," was all the answer returned. 
 
 The " gemman wot does our shades " would not like to have 
 them dulled by recording the oaths that followed. Suffice it 
 to say, Strutt saw his worst fears were realized, and stormed 
 and fumed accordingly. 
 
 The horse, too, came in for his share of abuse. What was 
 
 the use of bringing such a d d cat-legged, cow-hocked, 
 
 sickle-hammed, leg-tied, spavined, glandered, broken-down 
 rip of a brute to him ! He didn't 'orse a coach ! He didn't 
 keep a cab ! 
 
 Poor Job Tod, the spectral groom, had lived in many bad 
 places, and had had too many blowings-up and blackguardings 
 to care much about one now, so finding he had got to his 
 customer, he sought the ostler, who conducted him to 
 Mr. Milksop's stable, where, notwithstanding Mr. Strutt's 
 asseverations that he would not receive the horse without 
 his pedigree, warrant}, and we don't know what else, he never- 
 theless let the second horseman lead him quietly in. Strutt's 
 bumptious, inflated, cock-sparrow manner — his full rubicund 
 face and boisterous action, contrasted with the lean, haggard, 
 pensive looks of the ill-fed, ill-paid stranger, whose wrinkled, 
 cadaverous cheeks were innocent of colour, whose old, mis- 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 263 
 
 fitting clothes hung on him like sacks, and whose short 
 parchment-looking leathers and tightly-pulled up boots were 
 a world too wide for his shrunk shanks. The poor creature 
 did not look as if he had had a good meal for a month, and 
 most likely he had not ; for the Captain gave him but twelve 
 shillings a-week, and he had himself, a wife, and three small 
 children to keep out of it. How meek, passive poverty is 
 imposed upon in this world ! And yet the poor creature was 
 faithful, faithful even to the Captain — early and late at his 
 stable, careful and patient with his horses, attentive to the last 
 comer as to the first ; his regard for the animal seemed to 
 extend to the whole equine generation. 
 
 The Captain was not the man to tell his right hand what 
 his left hand did ; but if he had, we really believe he might 
 have trusted Job Tod. He would have kept his secret. 
 Indeed, nature seemed to have meant Job for the secret 
 service department ; for if ever there was a silent, uncom- 
 municative, monosyllabic creature, it was Tod. " Yes " or 
 " No " seemed to constitute the stock of his vocabulary. 
 Honest as Aristides, and always as poor ; patient, attentive, 
 watchful, without being inquisitive, he served even Shabby- 
 hounde with all the faithfulness of affection ; j-et he had 
 never risen much above the rank of a horse-dealer's man. 
 The reader will see why. Job's manner and appearance were 
 against him — he had but one eye and no tongue. 
 
 Strutt, however, was not deficient in that respect. Having 
 abused every limb and every look about the horse, he turned 
 the voluble battery of his tongue upon poor Job, whose 
 master he belaboured, through him, in a most exemplary way. 
 Job, however, as we said before, cared little for that sort of 
 thing, and having retraced his steps to Harborough, and 
 returned the pony to the butcher from whom he had borrowed 
 it, he betook himself to his stable, just as if he had only been 
 along at the post office. 
 
i'()4 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " Well, Job, you've sot back," observed his master, entering 
 the stable at four o'clock. 
 
 " Yes," replied Job, as he knelt, hand-rubbing one of the 
 ticklish legged stud. 
 
 " Did you see the groom ? " 
 
 "Yes," was the answer. 
 
 "What did he say? " 
 
 " D d vie zvcll," replied Job. 
 
 Change the shade again, Mr. Showman, and put us in the 
 one exhibiting Strutt coming out after dinner fuller than ever 
 of beer, brandy, baccy, and blackguardism. 
 
 That's your sort, Mr. Showman : now we'll go on again. 
 
 " Let's see the d d cripple out," says Mr. Strutt, 
 
 swaggering into the yard, hallooing out, " Here, Tom ! John 1 
 James! ostler! what are you all about?" "Saddle me that 
 'orse," exclaims he, as his authoritative voice brings out the 
 whole crew with their mouths full, they having been regaling 
 in the kitchen with what had come from the " bar table." 
 
 " Take off my straps," said he, cocking up a leg to a 
 newly caught helper. This is a proceeding, by the way, we 
 never could understand. We have always imagined that the 
 use of straps was to keep the trowsers down in riding, but we 
 see certain of the XX knowing ones always take theirs off 
 before mounting. The obedient helper quickly had Strutt 
 divested of his. 
 
 " Bring me the honourable's riding whip," continued he, 
 " you'll find it on my dressing-table, and put them 'ere straps 
 there." 
 
 Here let us pause for a moment to observe on one of the 
 absurdities of the day. We keep a barometer of impudence, 
 and we find that when servants begin to call their masters 
 and mistresses by their names, as Mr. Brown, or Mrs. Green, 
 instead of " my master " or " my mistress," they are generally 
 getting above themselves, and want taking down a peg or two. 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 265 
 
 Time was when such phraseology was unknown ; but that was 
 before grooms drank champagne, or housemaids wore artificial 
 flowers and veils. The fact is, however, the whole system of 
 servitude is gone wrong ; but servants are not the onl}' parties 
 to blame for that misfortune. Simon Strutt called his master 
 "the honourable," because being the servant of a lord's son 
 reflected honour on himself. Had he been plain •' mister " he 
 would have called him "my boy," or " Milksop," or any other 
 term of familiarity. " Mr. Brown," or " Mrs. Green," we 
 mean to observe, is a before-your-face style of expression, 
 instead of the old one of " master " or " mistress." 
 
 Now for the last shade of all that ends this strange eventful 
 story. 
 
 Lambkin quickly made his appearance, looking all the 
 better for his feed of corn and entry into the stable. Even 
 Strutt, prejudiced as he was, could not but feel that he was a 
 nice-looking horse. 
 
 Tom, the helper, sidled him up to where Mr. Strutt stood, 
 and with one hand at the bits, the other at the stirrup, and 
 the clean towel over the left shoulder, held Lambkin for the 
 great little man to mount. 
 
 Mount he did, but ere his right foot gained the stirrup, 
 Lambkin, with one of those tremendous efforts, sent him flying 
 several yards, pitching him head foremost in the pit of old 
 Margery Daw, the Banbury cake woman's, stomach, who, 
 unfortunately for herself, was passing by at the time. 
 
 What a hubbub was there ! How the women screamed ! 
 how the men stared ! Gilpin's celebrated ride to Edmonton 
 did not create greater sensation on that line of road than did 
 Simon Strutt's summerset. 
 
 It was an uncommonly clean thing. 
 
 The most provoking part of a "kick off" is, that nobody 
 can help laughing — great as their an.xiety may be, still the 
 laugh will out. That is very odd, for people do not laugh at 
 
266 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 each other when they tumble out hunting, and yet they 
 generahy fall much softer and dirtier, and consequently with 
 less chance of being hurt than the \ictim of a deliberate kick 
 off. " More dirt the less hurt " is a sound hunting axiom. In 
 this case, perhaps, there were more than the usual provocatives 
 of laughter. There was a little bumptious, over-dressed, cock- 
 sparrow-looking thing, pitching like a cannon ball into an 
 old cake-woman's bread-basket. Old Margery was floored — 
 regularly doubled up — her Banbury cakes were scattered all 
 over the road, while the concussion sent Strutt's head right 
 into his hat, knocking the crown clean out, and leaving him 
 with the rest of the hat over his face, looking just as if he were 
 going to have a game at blind man"s buff. 
 
 Ye gods, what a rage he was in ! How he did stamp, and 
 splutter, and groan, and kick, and swear he was finished ! 
 The scene was ridiculous — too ridiculous to pursue, so we will 
 chop over to the Captain and his doings. 
 
 The Captain's acute mind on hearing Job Tod's laconic 
 account of what had passed, saw there was a chance which, 
 industrious as he was, he determined not to throw away. 
 Accordingly he addressed the following letter to Mr. Milksop, 
 and sent it in a parcel by the next "up" coach to North- 
 ampton, where Mr. Alilksop had to sleep: — 
 
 "(Private and Confidential.) 
 
 " Dear Sir, — My groom having just reported to me that your servant 
 Strutt was very dissatisfied on the delivery of Lambkin, it has just occurred 
 to me that it is possible he may play some tricks with the horse so as to 
 prejudice you against him, and I therefore think it due to myself to give 
 you this hint on the subject. His dissatisfaction, I imagine, arises from 
 my not complying with a most absurd custom of tipping him because you 
 bought my horse, a system too much pursued, I am sorry to say, by parties 
 with lame or inferior horses, in order to get the servants' good word with 
 their masters. That is a system that has always been strenuously opposed 
 
 by, 
 
 " My dear Sir, your most obedient, humble servant, 
 
 ■• (iEORGE SHAIiCVHOUNDE, 
 •' To the Hon. Julius Milksop, " Market Harborough. 
 
 " Northampton." 
 
CAPTAIN SHAEBYHOUNDE 267 
 
 There never was a more perfect master-stroke of policy 
 than that of the Captain. Generally speaking, it is a foolish, 
 thankless office, giving a man a hint about a servant ; but in 
 the Captain's case it was a dashing venture where he could 
 not lose. Besides we have already stated that Strutt had 
 cause of dissatisfaction with his master, who had shown certain 
 rebellious symptoms, all inclining towards having more of his 
 own way ; and of course what was unpalatable to the man, 
 would not be altogether lost upon the master. In truth, Strutt 
 did not accommodate his carefulness of the boy to the grow- 
 ing independence of the man, and Mr. Milksop had once or 
 twice gone out of his way rather to let Strutt see that he was 
 not to have the upper hand. The Captain's hint, therefore, 
 was not likely to be thrown away. Nevertheless, Mr. Milksop 
 had forgotten all about it, as in the enjoyment of the " balmy 
 breeze " of a fine hunting morning, he cantered up to the Cow 
 at Dunchurch. What did he see ! Strutt, instead of standing 
 with his usual patronizing air, with a couple of jean-jacketed 
 helpers behind him, acknowledging his presence with a finger 
 to his hat, appeared in an old cloth foraging cap, with a blue 
 pocket handkerchief bound over his left eye, while the other 
 exhibited symptoms of going into mourning. 
 
 "What's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Milksop, pulling up 
 in astonishment. 
 
 "Matter !'' replied Strutt, with the dignity of a deeply 
 injured man ; " matter, by God ! " continued he, " I've pretty 
 near lost my precious life with that ere blasted rip of yours." 
 
 " What rip ? " asked Mr. Milksop, who knew the term to be 
 one of general application. 
 
 " Why that d d beast Colonel Scabbydog, or whatever 
 
 they call him, has stuck into you." 
 
 "What, my new horse! " exclaimed Mr. Milksop. 
 
 "New Devil!'' retorted Mr. Strutt, "he's as vicious as a 
 whole caravan full of tigers." 
 
 " Vicious ! " repeated Mr. Milksop. 
 
268 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " Vicious, aye vicious," reiterated Strutt, with an emphasis, 
 " he nearly killed nic — most pulled the stable down — takes ten 
 men to hold him — 'bliged to put his corn down through the 
 rack." 
 
 " God bless me, you don't say so ! " observed Mr. Milksop, 
 quite disconcerted. " You are none the worse though, I 
 hope," added he, looking at the little great man's dejected 
 appearance. 
 
 "Jl'iiss/" exclaimed he, his impudence rising with his 
 master's consideration, " JV//ss," repeated he, with a shake of 
 his head and shrug of his shoulders, " never had such a shake 
 in >/ij' life, I know. Wish I may e2'£r get over it." 
 
 "Well, but what am I to do?" asked Mr. Milksop, seeing 
 the hounds were about to leave the meet, " I was going to ride 
 him, you know," added he. 
 
 " 1 intend you to ride Apollo," said Strutt, with his usual 
 
 consequence, " he's all read}- — here, Tom ! " exclaimed he, 
 
 " bring out the 'orse ! " 
 
 ****** 
 
 When the hounds were drawing Birdingbury Faggot Cover, 
 who should appear but Captain Shabbyhounde, and with his 
 appearance returned the recollection of the over-night letter. 
 Shabbyhounde's quick eye saw at once it was a "case," but 
 Milksop's countenance, as he hurried up, had more the appear- 
 ance of a man wanting information, than the lowering sulky 
 scowl of one who has been " doncT The Captain was a second 
 Lavater in physiognomy. 
 
 "Tell me," said Mr. Milksop, in the hurried way men speak 
 on the eve of battles and fox-hunts, " Tell me," repeated he, 
 " is that horse of yours vicious ? " 
 
 '■'Not the least!" exclaimed Shabbyhounde, with emphasis, 
 squeezing Milksop's proffered hand. 
 
 ^'Tki.'L\iio\ gone away \ hark, halloo! hark! hoop! hoop! 
 crack ! crack ! crack ! hold hard ! go on ! Now, sir ! Do go 
 on or get out of my way ! I'll ride j-ou over ! " 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 269 
 
 Away for the Shuckborough hills, and Merston Priors, and 
 across to Ladbrooke Gorse, where the hounds killed their fox, 
 or another, which did quite as well, ere our friends had time 
 to finish their confab. Once indeed 
 
 " They met, 'twas in a crowd," 
 
 the majority of whom were craning at a wide brook, and as 
 Shabbyhounde and Milksop beat simultaneously on the oppo- 
 site bank, the former flourishing his whip, exclaimed in joyous 
 exultation at the feat, " Not a sweeter tempered horse in the 
 world, by God ! " but a paralyzing bullfinch immediately inter- 
 vening, stopped all further intercourse, and they saw no more 
 of each other till the end of the run. Not that either of them 
 shirked the bullfinch, but they got through at different places, 
 and it is much easier to part company than get together in a 
 run. The pace was severe. Quickest thing that ever was 
 seen ! All quick things are. Every season furnishes a bushel 
 of them. "A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," they 
 say, and in no case is the truth of the adage more strongly 
 exemplified than among foxhunters. 
 
 We often think if Frenchmen had a turn for hunting, what 
 hugging and kissing there would be on a kill ! 
 
 Shabbyhounde and Milksop had each " gone a good-un," 
 and some time was consumed in discussing the delightful 
 variety and size of the leaps ere Mr. Milksop again bethought 
 him of recurring to Lambkin. 
 
 Shabbyhounde assured him he was the most perfect tem- 
 pered horse he had ever had in his stable, and though it would 
 be going out of his way, he offered to accompany Mr. Milksop 
 to Dunchurch to prove it. 
 
 :;: :;; O * * * 
 
 Had Lambkin been troubled with hydrophobia, he could 
 not have been more tightly secured than they found him. 
 Tied short up to the rack, and hoppled both before and 
 behind. 
 
270 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 " What's all this about ? " asked Shabbyhounde, following 
 the disconcerted Strutt into the statJle. 
 
 "Vicious!" retorted Shabbyhounde, in reply to Strutt's 
 asseveration — " not half so vicious as the man that put those 
 on," continued he. 
 
 Strutt, for once, was taken aback. 
 
 The Captain proceeded to liberate the animal, whose 
 trembling, frightened manner showed he had been abused. 
 All abused horses show this, if masters would but take the 
 trouble to observe them. Nevertheless, there are more savage 
 servants in stables than nine-tenths of the world imagine. 
 
 It would be impertinent in us to trouble the sagacious 
 reader with the dcnoneiiicnt of this deal in detail. The most 
 rusty-brained, wooden-headed cock among them, must an- 
 ticipate that the Captain was too many for Strutt. The fact 
 of the horse having been taken out, coupled with Strutt's 
 assertion of his viciousness, and the Captain's wily insinuation 
 by letter, all tended to a hasty dismissal, which was not even 
 softened by the stale trick of being allowed to give up the 
 place himself on seeing he was going to lose it. Strutt was 
 chassacd. 
 
 Having had occasion, however, to exhibit the Captain in 
 not the most enviable colours, to avoid the imputation of 
 painting human nature " too severely true," we will add 
 something that may be placed to his credit. Finding Mr. 
 Milksop was not sufficiently strong in the fork to compete 
 with the vigorous efforts of Lambkin, and knowing that his 
 recent success over Strutt would only add fresh fuel to the 
 fire of his exertions, the Captain kindly gave Mr. Milksop 
 the pick of his stud in exchange, and Milksop got a very fine 
 £2,0 piece of antiquit}' that was worth " any mone\-," if he 
 only stood sound. Shabbyhounde's disinterested benevolence 
 carried him still further. He accommodated Mr, Milksop with 
 Job Tod, though helpers" wages had ri:: from twelve to fourteen 
 
CAPTAIN SHABBYHOUNDE 
 
 271 
 
 shillings a-week, and he could not hope to supply Job's place 
 under this latter amount. 
 
 Job, it may be thought, was not exactly the man for the 
 heir to a peerage, but when a master has been racked by the 
 forward, loquacious, tormenting impertinence of an officious, 
 presuming puppy, he is very apt to fall into the other extreme 
 in the choice of a successor, and Job, it must be admitted, was 
 the very antipodes to Strutt. Job was too old and too strongly 
 stamped by nature to change or be spoiled, though good 
 clothing and diet soon made a very different looking man of 
 him. Indeed so pleased was Mr. Milksop with Job, that he 
 looked upon Captain Shabbyhounde in the light of a bene- 
 factor, and the piece of antiquity fortunately keeping on his 
 legs, Mr. Milksop was not at all sorry to see our hero cast up 
 at Leamington, where the recital of his kindness so touched 
 old Lord and Lady Creamjug, that Shabbyhounde absolutely 
 had the honour of dining with them ! 
 
 But we must dismiss this illegitimate member of the hunting 
 field, who has occupied more of our space than any of the real 
 worthies who have preceded him. 
 
 Captain Shabbyhounde, adieu ! 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 LADY FOXHUXTERS 
 SIR RASPER SMASHGATE AND MISS COTTONWOOL 
 
 HERE is nothing we hate so 
 much as seeing a woman 
 lolHng alone in a carriage 
 with a lap-dog sticking out 
 of the window. It is the 
 picture of deserted dejection 
 — of utter loneliness, friend- 
 lessness, and solitude. 
 
 Carriages are now so 
 multiplied that not keeping 
 one is the singularity instead of keeping one the wonder. 
 Roads are so good that we can get almost everywhere upon 
 wheels ; and feet and horses — saddle horses at least — are about 
 in equal disuse. We should like to see a return of the number 
 of carriages kept now, and the number that were kept a 
 hundred or even fifty years ago. 
 
 Considering the luxurious inert lives many of our highest 
 aristocracy lead, it is wonderful that the\- still retain their 
 superiority of appearance. What possible exercise can there 
 be in lounging on a soft-cushioned, easy hung carriage for two 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 273 
 
 or three hours in the day, grinding up and down by the 
 Serpentine, or, what is worse, hurrying from house to house, 
 changing from hot rooms to cold air, and from cold air to hot 
 rooms — carved ivory card-case in hand, making what they call 
 " calls." Surely this system of cold-catching must have been 
 invented by the doctors for the purpose of procuring patients. 
 No wonder dashing ladies think so little of their poor horses 
 and servants shivering in the cold and night air when they are 
 so regardless of themselves. 
 
 It is said that caricatures contain in a manner the history of 
 the times, and much such an observation may be applied to 
 inn and public-house signs. What should we have thought 
 fifteen or twenty years ago of the sign of the Railway Tavern 
 or the " Locomotive Inn " depicted, with its hissing engine, 
 and a long train of railway carriages after it, and yet it has 
 become quite common, superseding our ancient friend the 
 pack-horse. "The pack-horse" was eminently characteristic 
 of the times, speaking, as plainly as words can speak, of heavy 
 bottomless roads and slow progress. The unspeakable badness 
 of the roads in former times may perhaps have been one reason 
 for the fewness of carriages that were kept in comparison with 
 what are kept in the present day, for formerly travelling was a 
 real matter of slavish drudgery, and we are not surprised at 
 our forefathers staying at home, or at our foremothers being 
 able to spin, pickle, and preserve. 
 
 People who were past horse exercise had scarcely any 
 alternative but staying at home, unless they tacked all the 
 lumbering long-tailed cart-horses to the old family tub, and 
 ploughed their way to the next town, furnishing subsequent 
 lazy road-surveyors with the favourite augument against 
 improvement, that " Squire Stick-in-the-mud's coach and four 
 used to travel that road when it\v3.s/ar n'orse." Squire Stick- 
 in-the-mud was never in a hurry, not so Squire Stick-in-the- 
 mud's grandson, who is always in a stew — always in motion 
 
 T 
 
'274: THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 and never doin^ anythinj^ — railways have really made idle 
 people believe that their time is valuable. 
 
 Housekeeping and riding we take it had been part of a 
 woman's stock education in former days. If we consult the 
 old novelist we shall find that quite as many heroines dis- 
 appeared on side-saddles or on pillions, as in the more aspiring 
 mode of hack chaises and four. Fielding, who had great 
 knowledge of both town and country life, makes his Sophia 
 Western arrive at the inn at Upton on horseback at night, 
 attended solely, if we remember rightly, b}' Mrs. Honour, the 
 housekeeper. We have not seen any writer attempt to 
 subjugate a railway train, so as to invest it with the interest 
 and sentiment necessary for a novel. The noise, the smoke, 
 the hiss, the "now. marm, if j'ou please; tickets, tickets, tickets, 
 show your tickets " — the riotous bell, and alarm whistle, are 
 all against the quiet privacy of an elopement. 
 
 Riding for ladies is now become wholly a matter of luxury 
 — there are no journey ridings — even the pillions have dis- 
 appeared with recent years, and farmers' wives drive to market 
 in gigs with " Giles Jolter," or whatever their husband's name 
 may be, painted up behind. When her Majesty took her 
 daily promenades a citeval, as the French call them, in the Park, 
 equestrianism was all the rage, and we had nothing but smart 
 habits and slate-coloured veils. Indeed, each season shows a 
 good muster of fair equestrians still, though, perhaps, not so 
 many as there used to be. We never go into the Park without 
 thinking how much better it must be for them than the 
 enervating, listless motion of a carriage. Even park riding is 
 slow work compared to the free gallop of the country, but to 
 be sure park riding is generally pursued at a season of the year 
 when it is too hot for hard exercise. 
 
 One of the great faults of ladies' horses, and one that 
 prevents a great number of ladies from riding, is having them 
 too fresh — too much above themselves. Grooms have what, 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 27o 
 
 when properly directed, is a very laudable ambition, a desire to 
 see their horses look well, and this they are very apt to promote 
 by over-feeding and stimulants. High feeding, however, will 
 not do for ladies' horses. They should be rather under than 
 above themselves. Still you cannot get one groom in a 
 dozen to believe this — at all events to act upon it. " Oh, 
 mistress is going to ride to-morrow," and down goes another 
 feed of corn. It would be much better to take one off and give 
 the horse a gentle canter in the morning. \\'hen her Majesty 
 rode. Miss Quentin always took the fiery edge off her steed in 
 the riding school for her. 
 
 All sportsmen know that half the pleasure of hunting is in 
 being pleasantly carried by a horse that you have perfect 
 confidence in, and surely ladies must be equally sensible to the 
 pleasures of comfort. There can be no enjoyment if you are 
 constantly calculating when you are likely to be on your back. 
 We do not know a more frightful sight than a woman run away 
 with. 
 
 If low condition is desirable for the road, how much more so 
 must it be if a lady enters the hunting field— a scene that is 
 enough to excite the most sedate and orderly-minded horse. 
 
 And here we may observe that there is a wide difference 
 between ladies hunting and ladies coming to see hounds throw 
 off. They are as much in their place at the meet as they are 
 out of it tearing across country. We like to see them at the 
 meet ; it shows that they take an interest in the amusements of 
 their husbands, their brothers, or their sweethearts. The meet 
 then being open to them, it follows as a matter of course that 
 they should come on horseback. We cannot imagine poorer 
 amusement than hunting on wheels — starving in a carriage on 
 a cold winter's day, jolting about country roads, pitching from 
 one side of the vehicle to the other, wondering which ditch 
 they will go into. People in carriages seem out of their 
 element altogether ; they look as if they did not belong to the 
 
270 THE HMNTINCi FIELD 
 
 concern, and have veiy much the same sort of appearance that 
 a man in top-boots and spurs would have in a ball-room. Let 
 ladies come on horseback, especially if the}- are prett\-, for then 
 the gentlemen can make up to them through their horses, just 
 as they sometimes make up to gentlemen through the gentle- 
 men's dogs. Moreover, having to " attend to the ladies" is an 
 excellent excuse for any " coffee-houser " who wants to cut 
 home when they find. Having then cantered to the meet, and 
 seen old reynard start, let our fair friends canter home to 
 luncheon, "with such appetites as they may"' — generall}- 
 pretty good ones, we should -think. 
 
 One of our objections to ladies hunting, though we do not 
 know that we have ever seen it taken before, is that it deprives 
 gentlemen of the agreeable change and variet)' which their 
 society makes in the evening. Without intending the slightest 
 disrespect to the fair sex, we may say that it is possible to have 
 "too much of a good thing," and, if we exhaust all our jokes 
 and small-talk in a morning, it is very likely we shall be " high 
 and dry " in the evening. It is this sort of over-communication 
 that makes daih' hunt dinners such irksome, tedious things. 
 You sit down with the same men that you have been riding 
 about with all the daj' to a hash of the same conversation that 
 }'0u have been indulging in before. We have all our fancies 
 and ideas as to what is most pleasant and agreeable, but to our 
 mind the good dinner and cheerful female society of the 
 evening is no small enhancer of the pleasures of the morning. 
 If, then, the ladies have been at the meet, they can take part 
 and interest in the hunting part of the conversation, which 
 otherwise would be extremel}- dull and uninteresting to them. 
 What man ever wants to be bored with the details of a day 
 of which he has not partaken ? 
 
 When \\'omen do ride the_\- generally ride like the very devil. 
 There is no medium with them. They either " go " to beat 
 the men, or tlwy don't "go" at all. We have seen some 
 
LADY lOXHUXTERS 277 
 
 uncommon performers among women, performers that would 
 put nine-tenths of the men to the bkish. We are puzzled 
 whether to give the palm to the single or to the married 
 women in this respect ; but, as the single are most interesting, 
 perhaps the preference will be yielded to them. Like many 
 things in this world it makes all the difference who the party 
 is that hunts. If a pretty woman hunts we are all glad to see 
 her ; if an ugly one comes we wonder what " brings her out." 
 Certainly dishevelled hair, ruddy and perspiring face, and 
 muddy habits are more likely to be forgiven in the bloom of 
 youth than in what ought to be the orderh' sobriety of maturer 
 years. We had dotted down a lot of names of first-rate female 
 performers across country, but in looking it over we find it 
 contains such a curious medley, that we think it better to 
 suppress it altogether than risk the chance of offending by 
 publishing an unpalatable assortment. 
 
 Never having been a woman, we cannot understand how it 
 is they manage to keep their seats. We see what are called 
 " wash ball " seated men rolling about constantly, and yet 
 women, to whom the term as well as the form is much more 
 applicable and becoming, manage to keep on. Keeping their 
 seats on the road, and keeping them in the field are very 
 different things, about as different as riding horses on the road 
 and riding them with hounds. " Still, when there's a will 
 there's a wa\','" and pretty dears who would scream at the sight 
 of a frog or a mouse, will face a bullfinch from which many 
 men would turn away — indeed that is one of the palpable 
 inconveniences of ladies hunting, for it is almost a point of 
 honour for men to go over what ladies have taken. If it were 
 not their ignorance when horses have done enough, and their 
 great desire for pace, we would rather be a woman's horse than 
 a man's. Women have much finer and more delicate hands 
 than men, and they never fight or bully their horses as men do 
 — neither do they ever pull them into their leaps— by which 
 
-'7<s THE IIL'XriXC; FIELD 
 
 means nine-tenths of the annual falls are procured. A horse 
 worthy the name of a hunter would very seldom fall or make a 
 mistake if left to himself. Let a man watch a loose horse, or 
 even a raw foal, followin.L; the field, and see how safely, slowly, 
 and easily, they go over places that some men and some horses 
 terrify each other into believing are all but impracticable. 
 Who has not seen horses throw arches, like the dome of 
 St. Paul's, over places little wider than water furrows ? 
 
 There was a neat little jaundice-backed book published a 
 few 3'ears ago b_\- Muxon. of Dover Street, called " Hints on 
 Horsemanship to a Nephew and Niece, or Common Sense 
 and Common Errors in Common Riding, b}- an officer of the 
 Household Brigade of Ca\'alry,"" which, barring the officer 
 authorship, always an objectionable paternit\- in our mind, 
 gives a greenhorn as much instruction as it is possible to 
 derive from books, and contains, besides sundry instructions 
 about how to get on and how to get off, the following very 
 sensible observations on the subject of pace: — " I cannot finish," 
 says he, "without (.me word to deprecate a piece of inhumanity, 
 practised as much, perhaps more, b}' ladies than gentlemen — 
 the riding the horse fast on hard ground " (our author might 
 have included our old friends the Grooms, for whoever saw one 
 that did not select the centre of the road, and how many do we 
 see clattering along making up for lost time, seeming as though 
 they were tr\ing ho\\- soon they could wear the horse's legs 
 out). " I pray them to consider," continues our author, "that 
 horses do not die of old age, but are killed because they are 
 crippled ; and that he who cripples them is the cause of their 
 death, not he who pulls the trigger. The practice is as un- 
 horsemanlike as it is inhuman. It is true that mone)- will 
 replace the poor sla\es as j-ou use them up, and if the occasion 
 requires it, the}- must, alas ! be used up; but, in my opinion, 
 nothing but a case of life and death can justif)- the deed. If 
 the ground be hard and even, a collected canter may be 
 
LADV FOXHUNTERS 279 
 
 allowed, but if hard and uneven a moderate trot at most. One 
 hour's gallop on such ground would do the soundest horse 
 irremediable mischief. Those who boast of having gone such 
 a distance in such a time, on the ground supposed, show 
 ignorance or inhumanity. Such facts require cruelty only, not 
 courage. Nay, they are performed most commonly by the 
 very persons who are too cowardly or too unskilful to dare to 
 trust their horse with his foot on the elastic turf, or to stand 
 with him the chances of the hunting field ; and such is the 
 inconsistency of human nature, that they are performed by 
 persons who would shudder at the bleeding flank of the race- 
 horse ! or who would lay down with disgust and some expres- 
 sion of maudlin, morbid humanity, the truly interesting 
 narrative of that most intrepid and enduring of all gallopers. Sir 
 Francis Head. But compare the cases. In the case of the 
 race-horse, he has his skin wounded to urge him to a two or at 
 most a five minutes' exertion, from which in ten minutes he is 
 perfectly recovered and ready, nay eager to start again. In 
 the case of the wild horse of the Pampas, he is urged for two, 
 three, or perhaps five hours to the utmost distress for wind, 
 as well as muscular fatigue ; he is enlarged, and in three or 
 four days he is precisely the same as if he had never been 
 ridden. But in the case of this English road-rider, though 
 no spur is used, unfair advantage is taken of the horse's 
 impetuous freedom of nature ; his sinews are strained, his 
 joints permanently stiffened ; he is deprived at once and 
 for ever of his elasticity and action, and brought prematurely 
 a cripple to the grave." Let the ladies remember that ; it 
 is not age that makes most horses useless, but work. It has 
 been well said that a free-actioned, high-couraged horse will 
 wear out two sets of legs, and we believe it. Let us then 
 endeavour to make the one set that nature allows last as long 
 as possible. Riding on soft ground will be found to be a great 
 conducer to that end. Now to other matters. 
 
280 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 If an)- pretty }-oung lady were to propound to us the 
 following : — 
 
 " Do you think it would assist me in catching; young Mr. 
 Redrag if I were to take to foxhunting? " 
 We should say : — 
 
 " Be cautious : we have our doubts. It may catch him, 
 or it may scare him. Some men think mounting themselves 
 as much as they can manage, and would rather have a wife 
 staying at home looking after the house than tearing about 
 the country after the hounds. Besides, it is possible you 
 might beat him, and men don't like being beat by their wives 
 in the field, anv more than wives like being beat by their 
 husbands in the house. Again, we sa}', be cautious. But 
 here comes a case in point : our fair friend, Henrietta Cotton- 
 wool. Henrietta has been after that weary Sir Rasper 
 Smashgate, the whole of this blessed season, and now, as 
 spring is about to set in, with its us<.ial severity, she feels 
 herself constrained to take some decided step. " To be, or 
 not to be," is the point — Lady Smashgate or Henrietta 
 Cottonwool. Henrietta is a tine, large, full-grown, healthy- 
 looking girl, who, of course, says she thinks " all girls fools 
 who marry," and yet at the same time would do anything 
 to catch a husband herself. She uses the common figure of 
 speech, in fact, or, rather, the common figure of lie — a figure 
 so common, that if all men were married it might be abolished, 
 for it only does for the bachelors, and those must be of the 
 soft order, who believe it. 
 
 A man is not a match for a woman till he's married. 
 That is an aphorism to which all Benedicts will assent. Our 
 friend Sir Rasper Smashgate is in a somewhat similar predica- 
 ment to the half-starved costermonger's horse, whose guardian 
 boy declared had plenty of corn only he " hadn't got no time 
 to eat it." Smashgate is matrimonially inclined, at all events 
 he has no objection to matrimony, only hunting leaves him 
 
LADV FOXHUXTERS 2S1 
 
 no time for making love. We should apologize to the baronet 
 for not sooner sketching him, but the same sort of difficulty 
 has attended our efforts — we never knew where we had liim. 
 Our reminiscent readers will perhaps recall that in the early 
 part of these papers we mentioned the fact of Mr. Cotton- 
 wool having been partly converted to foxhunting, or rather 
 fox-preserving, from having seen Henrietta in the grasp of 
 Smashgate (waltzing, or attempting to waltz, as far as the 
 Smasher was concerned), which, aided b}- the promptings of 
 the ambitious Mrs. Wool, had induced our friend to have 
 the Master and " Co." to feed (vide No. i of these papers). 
 That man " Co.," as the country lad in London wrote to 
 his father, "he is a great man — he is in partnership with 
 almost everybody;" but the Co. in this case was meant to 
 include all the members of the hunt, or, perhaps, more 
 correctly speaking, it was meant for Sir Rasper in particular 
 and for the hunt in general. Sir Rasper was to be " Co." 
 As the best laid plans, however, will occasionally miscarry, so, 
 in this instance, Mrs. Cottonwoors project went awry. On 
 the day of the dinner, which Sir Rasper accepted " con- 
 ditionally," as indeed he accepts all his invitations during 
 the winter, "if lie gets home in time," he had gone eighteen 
 miles "t'other way" to meet Lord Uncommonswell's 
 magnificent hounds, which, never throwing off before eleven 
 b\' their clocks, or half-past eleven by other people's, had 
 been close upon twelve before they moved from the meet, 
 the Countess of Uncommonswell having come in her barouche 
 and six, with five out-riders, to smile benignl}- on the field, 
 and try to stick a couple of plainish sisters (now rendered still 
 plainer by the addition of red noses) into an}' ambitious 
 Nimrods who might aspire to wives out of a coronetted 
 carriage. It was a show day, in short, and of course late. 
 The meet might be unusually protracted perhaps, from 
 the circumstance of the countess not having any one in 
 
282 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 particular to whom she wished to recommend her goods, 
 she had, therefore, to keep a stall, as it were, and trust to 
 chance for customers. Some men think of nothing but sweet- 
 hearting. The}' are always " dying "' for some girl, and 
 commit as many imaginary demises in the twelvemonth as 
 old Mantalini himself. 
 
 When the hounds did throw off in earnest (for of course 
 they had to draw two or three sham places first, for the 
 accommodation of the ladies), the way they dashed into 
 Everhold Gorse plainly said that sly-boots (if he will allow 
 us to call him so) was at home, and before Lord 
 Uncommonswell had got half through his dog-language, a 
 great banging big-brushed, white-tagged, greyish-back dog- 
 fox, almost knocked the fifth \\'hipper-in off his hind legs, 
 as he was trying to open the bridle-gate at the north end 
 of the cover. The poor lad was so paral3-zed — never ha\ing 
 been in such close contact with so formidable a customer — ■ 
 that a second or two elapsed ere it occurred to him that he 
 ought to do something, a pause that master reynard availed 
 himself of for stealing quietly up the deep newly-cleaned-out 
 ditch of a thick hedgerow. At last the lad, having climbed 
 on to his gigantic horse, hoisted his cap in the air, which 
 had much the effect of the prolonged flourish of the head- 
 fiddler at the opera. 
 
 A terrible noise was the result ! 
 
 " Now," as Peter Beckford familiarl_\' asks, " where are 
 all your sorrows, and your cares, ye gloomy souls ? Or 
 where your pains and aches, j'e complaining ones ? One 
 halloo has dispelled them all." 
 
 Peter's description does not e.xactlv fit our hunt, for we 
 had a hundred halloos at least, and half as many screeches 
 and yells, to say nothing of the discordant brass music of 
 the noble Master and his Huntsman. 
 
 However, the following will do : — 
 

 
will, 
 
 man. Spn- 
 sportsin. 
 noses seem 
 but gooi' 
 Who h. 
 ever}' Fi 
 sorrow, 
 sensibh. 
 beov: 
 
 fc-\^ 
 
 s 
 c 
 
 Jt 
 
 
 
 CO 
 
 
 V 
 
 I 
 
it 
 
 w 
 
 a. 
 H 
 
 e 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 283 
 
 " What a crash they make, and echo seemingly takes 
 pleasure to repeat the sound. The astonished traveller for- 
 sakes his road, lured b}- its melody : the listening plowman 
 now stops his plow {s/c in the original, as the lawyers 
 say), and every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and 
 runs to see him break. \\'hat jo}- ! what eagerness in every 
 face ! " 
 
 And then Peter prigs a bit of poetry from Somerville, 
 which we in our turn will prig from Peter, requesting the 
 accommodating reader to turn the sentiment about the 
 forgetfulness of sorrow into Smashgate's total forgetfulness 
 of Cottonwool's dinner : — 
 
 " How liappy ait thou man when thou'rt no more 
 Thyself I When all the pangs that grind thy soul. 
 In rapture and in sweet obli\ion lost, 
 "^'ield a short interval and ease from pain ' " 
 
 We like old Somerville for that idea ; it speaks the sports- 
 man. Sporting writing has this charm, it is sure to tell with 
 sportsmen. Others may turn up their noses (some people's 
 noses seem only made for turning up), and saj' "what stuff! " 
 but good sporting feeling is sure to tell where it is intended. 
 Who has not felt one tallj^-ho ! banish old dull care, for as 
 every Frenchman has a "suit," so every Englishman has a 
 sorrow, and it is onlj- by increasing their size that we are 
 sensible of the smallness and absurdity of the old ones. It has 
 been well said that an Englishman is only thoroughly happy 
 when he is miserable. 
 
 Be that as it may, however, Sir Rasper Smashgate had as 
 few cares as most people. His hopes and fears were centred 
 in his stud, with the addition, perhaps, of his razors. If he 
 got a good shave in the morning he was generally happy for 
 the rest of the da}-, for he had twelve as good hunters as a 
 si.xteen stone man cotild desire, with two thorough-bred hacks, 
 and a stud-groom equal to his business, and yet not abo\e it. 
 
•_>S4 THE HI XTING 1 lELl) 
 
 Added to this, Sir Rasper was in the heighday of youth, stood 
 six feet high in his stocking-feet, with a great deal of good 
 land, and a great deal of money in the funds — two most 
 desirable concomitants — moreover, he never laid out a shilling 
 in pills. 
 
 Smasher (for so he is called by his friends) came to his title 
 from an uncle, at an earlier period than uncles are generally in 
 the habit of putting off their shoes, before which our hero had 
 lived at home with his mother, who had long held a commission 
 to get him a wife — a commission that we regret to say she had 
 departed this life without executing. Smashgate was an 
 exemplification of the good and dutiful son. for he was ready 
 to marr)' any one his mother recommended ; but thinking she 
 would be the best judge of the article, he just left it to her to 
 suit him, as he would the choice of a piece of linen for shirts, 
 or as he left it to Tilbury to supply him with horses. 
 Somehow Sir Rasper was never much in society, though many 
 great ladies had iiim high on their list of " eligibles," and 
 some had gone to no little trouble in "touting" him. 
 Whether his mother had put him up to a thing or two, or he 
 had too manly a mind to contend with the lisping butterfly 
 things he had to encounter we know not, but certainly, after 
 the death of his mother. Sir Rasper seemed more likel}' to be a 
 bachelor than a Benedict. 
 
 We sometimes meet men like Sir Rasper Smashgate in the 
 world — men who seem neglected by the sex, just as we see 
 women neglected by the men. Indeed, there must be many 
 such, for it was only this morning we encountered the following 
 amusing advertisement in a Sunday paper : — 
 
 •' AIatri.moxial Society. — Single ladies and gentlemen really desirous 
 of entering tliat state which heaven has adjudged to be the most conducive 
 to virtue and happiness, will find the above truly deserving of their 
 consideration and confidence. A select party of ladies and gentlemen, 
 combining rank, influence, character, talent, and e.xtensive acc|uaintance. 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 285 
 
 influenced principally by a desire to extend the social comforts they ha\e 
 realized to the hermits around them, whose single state is the result alone, 
 perhaps, of circumstances, have determined to improve their leisure by 
 promoting, as it lies in their power to do, felicitous unions. To prevent 
 imposition, a trifling sum is required as a proof of sincerity, and nothing 
 afterwards, but on the realization of matrimonial bliss. Both parties 
 mutually bound to secrecy and sincerity. — None but respectable characters 
 need apply, who will be treated with the utmost respect and decency. 
 
 The prevention of imposition is a charming feature in the 
 foregoing. It is hke the hvery stable notice, " for fear of 
 accidents, pay before mounting." Sir Rasper Smashgate had 
 never been reduced to this deplorable state, but the death of 
 his mother, and hearing nothing about matrimony, coupled 
 with his extensive prosecution of the chase in winter, and the 
 attractions of Epsom, Ascot, Limmer's door, club windows, 
 and 3'achts in summer, with shooting in autumn, drew him 
 more and more from the petticoats, till at last disappointed 
 mammas used to speak of him as that " 'orrid man. Sir Rasper 
 Smashgate," and indulge in the usual insinuation ladies deal 
 in against men who don't make up to their daughters — " Poor 
 lost creature ! " and so on. 
 
 We have now run a ring with our hero, and shall bring him 
 back to the starting place to see if Henrietta Cottonwool can 
 run a " ring " with him too. Oh, could but another Diable 
 Boiteux visit the earth, disclosing the secrets of human breasts, 
 as Le Sage's Diable disclosed the secrets of the town, what a 
 real blessing it would be to sighing, dying, suitoring lovers ! 
 When Sir Rasper Smashgate did not cast up at Cottonwool's, 
 what tormenting thoughts racked the mind of poor Henrietta ! 
 Dressed in her new pale blue satin, with a point berthe, and a 
 silver thing like a cow tie twisted in her bright brown hair, 
 and a winter's nosegay in her hand, of which nosegay she was 
 ready to give Sir Rasper any part he asked, or the whole of her 
 hand if he preferred. All this, too, after she had planned the 
 proceedings of the drawing-room, the line of march to the 
 
i'86 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 dining-room, so as to manceuvre herself next him at dinner, 
 ring after ring, and door after door opened, and no Sir Rasper. 
 Everybody but him. 
 
 Cruel Lord Uncommonswell ! or rather cruel fox that took 
 the cruel hounds such a cruel distance. When Sir Rasper 
 Smashgate ought to have been sitting down to dinner at 
 Mr. Cottonwool's, he was sucking off a pair of waterlogged 
 boots and tripey leathers at a village public twenty miles off. 
 They had had a tremendous run ! They were sure to have, 
 indeed. It only requires a man to have a particular engage- 
 ment in the east to ensure him a splitting run to the west. 
 Sir Rasper had been uncommonly well carried ; indeed, he 
 generally was, and wearing a blank button had felt himself 
 bound to ride for the honour of the world at large. He 
 was so elevated that we are almost ashamed to say he never 
 thought of Cottonwool, Henrietta, or anybody, until he got 
 his huge legs dived into a bucket of hot water. Then, as he 
 sat thinking the run over, and debating whether he should 
 have "beef-steak," or "mutton-chop" — "mutton-chop" or 
 " beef-steak," for dinner, it occurred to him that he ought to 
 be dining at Cottonwool's. 
 
 " Ah, well, never mind," observed he, " I said I'd come if 
 I could," and, with that easy indifference, he settled both 
 hopes and fears, and the fate of all the roasts, boils, jellies, 
 and creams. Much as women may pretend to like hunting, 
 there is not one old one in a hundred who will admit the 
 excuse of a " late day " for a non-appearance at dinner, at 
 least at a " spread." Dinner, in their minds, is the grand 
 business of life, it takes precedence of everything. " Men 
 have no business to accept invitations, if they ain't sure they 
 can come. All stuff about the hounds — mere excuse — Mr. 
 Spoonbill and Mr. Slowman could both come away — why 
 couldn't Sir Rasper — could, if he would — where there's a will 
 there's a way " ; and then they generallj' wind up with the old 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 287 
 
 assertion, that " he'll come the next time he's asked," meaning 
 that they won't give him another chance, which most likely 
 they don't do until it suits their convenience, when, like Lord 
 
 Byron's lady, who 
 
 " Loves again, 
 To be again undone,'' 
 
 they invite again, to be disappointed a second time. 
 
 Gentlemen, however, may take our word for it, it is no use 
 joking with the ancients about dinner. We have reason to 
 believe that we lost a very stiff legacy from a sturdy old aunt, 
 whom nothing could convince that we were not humbugging 
 about the hounds. We had promised to dine with her to meet 
 old Sir Timothy Grumpington of Grumpington Hall, Gray's 
 Inn Road (a sweet rns in urbe on the left, as you go north), 
 and unfortunately our friend Joseph Lob of Highbury Terrace, 
 offered us a mount with Lord Derby's staggers (for it is long 
 ago, and aunt. Lord Derby, Grumpington, staggers and all, 
 hav'e long been in their graves), which met at the White 
 Lion, Lock's Bottom, whither Lob offered to drive us, and 
 bring us back if we liked. The great merit of staggers un- 
 doubtedly is the certainty of a gallop, and the pretty near 
 certainty where you will finish ; but, on this provoking day, 
 the insensate creature seemed to have had a turn for visiting 
 every part of the country ; and north, south, east, and west, 
 were equally favoured with his presence ; the consequence of 
 which was, our aunt was not favoured with ours for three- 
 quarters of an hour after the appointed time, when we found 
 Sir Timothy Grumpington with half-appeased appetite, but 
 wholly unappeased mind, and aunt in that direful state of 
 excitement that old ladies invariably are whose whole dinner 
 has been spoiled by long waiting. People should be all in the 
 same boat who sit down to a long-delayed dinner. 
 
 But let us hark back to Henrietta, Sir Rasper, and Fleecy 
 Hall, for we want to get a glance at the end of the season 
 
I'ss THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 before we finish our book. Sir Rasper, as we said before, 
 did not cast up at the Fleecy Hall dinner, and, as usual, in 
 all cases of extreme anxiety, no end of mistaken, and, we fear, 
 somewhat illiberal surmises, were indulged in, as to the cause 
 of his absence. Mrs. Cottonwool, who had been "trotted 
 out " by a few men before she became Mrs. Cottonwool, and 
 knew all the symptoms of " no go," set it down at once as a 
 case of desertion — " trifling with her daughter's feelings," as 
 they call it. It never entered her mind that a man could love 
 hunting better than his food, after the fashion of Gray's bull- 
 dog, who is reported to have loved fighting better than his, 
 and therefore she would advise Henrietta to have no more 
 to say to Sir Rasper. Indeed, for her part, she thought her 
 daughter had had a most fortunate escape, for it was quite 
 impossible to look for conjugal happiness \\ith a man so 
 thoroughly undomesticated as he was, who thought of nothing 
 but tearing about the country from morning to night ; indeed, 
 if all were true, there were otlicr objections, which Mrs. Cotton- 
 wool indicated by sundry little tosses of her head, much in the 
 manner of a carriage horse teased by flies. 
 
 Old "Wool," of course, said that he never thought there 
 was anything in it, which procured him the usual recommenda- 
 tion "to hold his tongue, and not talk about things he did 
 not understand," for Mrs. Cottonwool had clearly settled in 
 her own mind that there had been a " nibble," and though 
 she might pretend to " whip off" at present, she meant to lay 
 Henrietta on again the first convenient opportunit}'. Those 
 opportunities in the country are very rare, especially in the 
 hunting season, where men ivill make their engagements sub- 
 servient to hunting. This is where hunt balls tell; it gives 
 the women a chance of bringing men to book ; for, as they 
 cannot be hunting at night, if they have any " y^«/ intentions " 
 they can come to a ball. 
 
 Henrietta Cottonwool, of course, being of the same way of 
 
LADY FOXHUNTERS 289 
 
 thinking as "mamma " — indeed, mamma's opinions must have 
 been chiefly derived from the daughter — has determined not 
 to let the season close without a final effort for our hero. 
 According!}' she has enlisted one of those convenient articles 
 called a cousin, that women know so well how to use, either as 
 suitors or cats'-paws, to attend her to the meet. Well she 
 looks as she sits on her horse, and if the animal was only as 
 well turned out as she is, she would do uncommonly well. 
 There is not one woman in a hundred with the slightest idea 
 about either a horse or a carriage. Thin legs and long tails 
 are all they look for in a saddle-horse. Small legs, however, 
 would not exactly do for Henrietta, for she is a good load, 
 though her well-formed back and waist are admirably developed 
 by the close-fitting evenness of her well-made London habit. 
 The hat, too, becomes her. It rather fines than fulls her 
 plump healthy cheeks, and the maid has given some extra 
 labour in the brightening and arrangement of her flat-dressed 
 hair. Most young women look well in hats and habits. But 
 here comes Sir Rasper, bearing down the road like a man-of- 
 war in full sail. He comes at the pace of the regular five or 
 six days a week man, who knows to a minute how long it will 
 take him to "do " each meet. You can tell at a glance that 
 he is a workman ; everything bespeaks it, from the hat on 
 his head to the spur at his heel. What an age of anxiety — 
 what a world of time is often comprised in a brief unpre- 
 meditated moment like the present ! A glance, a look, a word, 
 and the thing is done. Sir Rasper greets our fair friend with 
 the hearty cordialitj^ of a half-way-met agreeably-surprised 
 foxhunter. He is pleased with the attention of so fine a girl. 
 A tinge of pink pervades Henrietta's bright healthy com- 
 plexion, as she recognizes the pressure of her somewhat hard 
 hand. When hers is released she dives into the saddle-pocket 
 for the fine lace-fringed handkerchief. Cousin Spooney looks 
 
 amazed. 
 
 u 
 
-290 
 
 THE HUXTIXG FIELD 
 
 How long soever a man may be about it, it is clear there 
 must be a first thought, a first impulse as to marrying a girl, 
 and Sir Rasper's impulse came on him rather suddenly this 
 morning. Pleased with Henrietta's appearance, flattered by 
 her preference, and perhaps wanting a solace for the fast 
 wearing-out season, he said to himself as he changed his hack 
 for his hunter, " By Jove, why shouldn't I marry her? " 
 
 TO OUR READERS. 
 
 " If any of you know cause or just impediment why these 
 two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, 
 you are now to declare it." 
 
 ORDERED, 
 
 "That she be made Lady Smashgate accordingly; and that 
 we have two pair of gloves and one pound of cake sent us. 
 Cards and compliments we dispense with." 
 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 COLONEL CODSHEAD ; OR, THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON 
 
 " I knows no more melancholic ceremony than takin the string out of 
 one's at, and foldin hup the old red rag at the end o' the season — a rag 
 unlike all other rags, the dearer and more hinterestin the older and more 
 worthless it becomes." — Jorrock's Sportin Lector. 
 
 ORD bless us ! here comes 
 old Colonel Codshead — old 
 we may well call him, for 
 we have seen him cast up 
 at the end of fifteen seasons, 
 vowing each time that he 
 meant to take to hunting 
 
 in 
 
 ' right earnest " at the 
 
 beginningof the next. Sea- 
 son after season have we 
 seen the incursions of good living on his frame, marked the 
 slow progress of corpulence, as layer after layer of fat has 
 been added to his size. Fourteen years ago, the colonel, 
 though not slim, was what might be called a fine stout healthy 
 looking man — full limbed, but not obese — ruddy, without 
 being pimply, blotchy, or purply. 
 
 Now he looks like an over-fed alderman. His lascivious 
 
202 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 eyes are starting out of his head, the roses of his flabby cheeks 
 have dissolved into numberless little red veins, while his 
 mulberry-coloured nose has thrown out divers little knots and 
 hillocks, all indicative of devotion to the joU}- god. 
 
 Codshead has on the verj- coat — nay, w-e believe, the very 
 coat, waistcoat, breeches, and boots — in which he appeared 
 fourteen years ago. The coat, we remember, was the first 
 dress one — the first 
 
 " Bed by night, and chest of drawers by day," 
 
 that appeared in our country, and of course produced a corre- 
 sponding impression. It then fitted him as a coat should fit, 
 easy and comfortable-looking, neither too tight nor too loose ; 
 the waist was where the colonel's waist was, and if the collar 
 was twice or thrice the breadth of collars of the present day, 
 it was not a bit more ridiculous than the hem-like things of 
 our times will be hereafter. It was then a fresh well-favoured 
 coat, and though we cannot say we admire the cut, it never- 
 theless became the colonel. Alas ! how changed are both coat 
 and colonel ! 
 
 There is nothing hurts a man's vanit\- so much as the 
 conviction that he is getting fat. So long as he retains his 
 figure and activity he may be any age, but when this 
 " too, too sohd flesh won't melt," 
 
 when relentless beef will load the neck, back, reins, loins — all 
 the places that used to be mentioned in Moore's once indelicate 
 almanack — a dreadful conviction comes over him that — to put 
 it in the mildest form — lie is not so young as Jic was. 
 
 Against this terrible admission Colonel Codshead has long 
 borne up stoutly and manfully. — He will not admit that he is 
 an ounce heavier than he was twentj- 3-ears ago, and all because 
 by dint of extreme exertion and compression he can manage to 
 squeeze himself into the clothes he wore then. It certainly 
 says much for the elasticity and the accommodating nature of 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 293 
 
 human raiment that the clothes which then encased our hero, 
 will now contain a carcase almost half as big again. Pride 
 feels no pain, they say, and that is lucky, or our colonel would 
 be in the height of suffering at the present moment, for the 
 once easy, well-fitting coat is now as tight as the parchment on 
 a drum-head — indeed, all his clothes are in a corresponding 
 state of uneasiness. 
 
 The coat is one of the few instances we have met with of a 
 scarlet coat being absolutely shabby without bearing any 
 apparent marks of wear. A hunting coat generally fails at the 
 laps, which acquire a fine buckram-like feel and plum-coloured 
 hue, to the enhancement of the rest of the garment. The 
 Colonel's coat has gone down altogether. It has no more sign 
 of wear — horse wear at least — than an omnibus cad's, or an 
 old Vauxhall waiter's. There is something healthy, sporting, 
 and pleasing in the sight of a well-dyed, well-stained, dull- 
 buttoned old coat. We look at it with the sort of reverence 
 that we regard the tattered banners in a church chancel, or in 
 a baronial hall. We respect the old rag for what it has done ; 
 but a frowsy, dusty, faded, fiannelly, bath-bricky-looking thing 
 like the Colonel's, suggests a finger and thumb to the nose 
 more than anything else ; yet it has seen service — drawing- 
 room, dining-room, ball-room service, but little — very little- 
 out-of-door work. 
 
 The history of a hunting coat, from the matter-of-course 
 fall on the first launch, down to the ultimate dismissal as "too 
 bad even for a wet day," would furnish a fine theme for the 
 pen of the biographer of the " fox," or any other gentleman 
 short of a subject. The Colonel's coat, we don't think, ever 
 got the initiatory fall ; it has been an upstanding one all its 
 life. Some men pass with the ladies for great sportsmen 
 because they never get falls ; the dear creatures never imagin- 
 ing for a moment that they never get them because they never 
 give their horses a chance of giving them them. So, again, 
 
•Jlt4 THE in XTING FIELD 
 
 some ladies, when they hear of Captain Fearnought or Mr. 
 Daredevil getting two or three tumbles a-day, immediately set 
 them down as desperate tailors, imagining, of course, that they 
 tumble off. To adapt the doctrine of hunting mischances to 
 the " meanest capacity," the horses should be described as 
 getting the falls and not the men. But let us paint away at 
 the Colonel, for he covers a great breadth of canvas. 
 
 The most forlorn-looking things in a hunting field are a pair 
 of old tight moleskin breeches, bursting at the knees. How 
 Colonel Codshead ever got his great uncompromising legs 
 wheedled into his, passes our comprehension. Were it not for 
 the danger that would attend the performance in consequence 
 of the frailty of the article, we should imagine that he had had 
 recourse to the old expedient of being slung into them, as it is 
 said the booted dandies of George the Third's time used to be 
 into theirs, when an exquisite giving an order to his leather 
 breeches maker added these emphatic words, " Mind, if I can 
 get into them I won't have them." Colonel Codshead's mole- 
 skins have seen many seasons — they are far anterior to the 
 coat — indeed we remember thinking, when it was launched, that 
 it would have been as well if he had carried his attentions a 
 little lower, and got himself a pair of new breeches also. Since 
 then the button-holes have been acting the part of a boy's nick- 
 stick prior to the holidays. Each succeeding season has scored 
 a rent until there is not a button-hole without a darn. The 
 whole ten buttons look as if they were ready to fly off at a 
 moment's notice. Tremendous work it must have been getting 
 them coaxed together ! The boots are quite of a piece with 
 the breeches, with wh(.)m, however, they do not seem on 
 visiting terms ; a great interregnum — supplied certainly with a 
 protuberance of most puddingej' calf — inter\-ening between 
 them and the moleskins. Spurs he doesn't sport — they might 
 be dangerous. 
 
 Colonel Codshead's anonymous-coloured, collar-marked. 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 295 
 
 horse, is of a piece with his master— a great plethoric, over-fed 
 creature, incapable of exertion if his rider wished it. Indeed 
 the evenness of condition of the two is the only point we can 
 praise; and certainly it is much more sensible for men to 
 regulate their horse's strength to their own, than to strive for that 
 tip-top condition, the property and prerogative of stout nerves. 
 What is the use of having a horse equal to double the exertion 
 the rider is capable of ? The Colonel's horse, in the palmy days 
 of machiners, would always have commanded forty pounds, 
 for he has size and strength enough for a wheeler ; indeed we 
 do not know but he might fetch forty pounds now, prices being 
 somewhat up. He is a dull, inanimate, heavy-countenanced, 
 ugly-looking animal, rendered still worse from having been 
 badly clipped, and being now in that state of transition so trying 
 to all horses, the half-way house between his two coats. A badly 
 clipped horse looks wretched on a frosty, or cold, drying day. 
 
 There is something about hunters— indeed about horses that 
 have any pretensions to that character— that shows itself 
 before you come to the real hedging and ditching work. The 
 horse that evinces no increased pleasure or activity of action 
 on changing from hard ground to grass, has seldom any seeds 
 of the chase in his composition. His/orie is harness. The 
 horse that puts his feet into ruts, grips, and water furrows, 
 instead of hitching himself over them as it were, will be very 
 apt to do the same in the field, and it is perfectly notorious 
 that a man may break his neck at a small place as well as at a 
 large one. Indeed, we believe, if the catalogue of accidents 
 was canvassed, it would be found that the majority of them 
 have happened at small places. Horses either do not see them 
 or will not give themselves the trouble to clear them. Hence 
 men who hunt in parts of Essex, and other widely-ditched 
 countries, declare that their formidable-looking leaps are the 
 safest— a comfortable theory to those who can bring themselves 
 to believe it. 
 
•2Wi THE inxTixc; fij:li) 
 
 Codshead is always " wanting a horse." There are a good 
 man}' men of this sort in the world, men who are always on 
 the look out, but who t/cvfr buy. In introducing Captain 
 Shabbyhounde to our readers in a former chapter, we com- 
 mented upon the " I'll sell you a horse " figure of speech some- 
 times adopted by 3-oung men, or would-be great sportsmen, and 
 knowing ones, and the " Do you know of a horse that \vill suit 
 me ? " is the corresponding figure of speech for the other end 
 of life — adopted either b}' desperately cautious men, or men 
 who just ask the question because they think it is fine to ask 
 about a horse, or from want of something to say. It seems an 
 absurd sort of question- — for how are we to know what will suit 
 another man. Half the people in this world don"t know what 
 will suit themselves A quick tailor or bootmaker, they say, 
 will measure a man with his eye, and perhaps a horse-dealer 
 may have the same knack at guessing what will suit a customer ; 
 but the generality of people who are bored with the " do you 
 know of a horse that will suit me ? " question have no such 
 ability. To be sure, if one sees a great pudding-headed, snuffy- 
 nosed, wabbling-gutted fellow stumping about, we may say 
 " that man's only fit for a cob, or for water carriage ; " but the 
 bulk of horse-wanters have no particularising mark, no charac- 
 teristic, or indicating symptoms. It is onlvin the hunting field 
 that riders can be classed. There one can say, such and such 
 a horse will suit such and such a man ; because we see what 
 both can do, as well as what both " can't do," or won't try 
 to do. 
 
 If you were to show Colonel Codshead a hundred and fifty- 
 horses he would pick a hole in each. Indeed people are tired 
 of showing him them, and to say that you know a man who 
 wants a horse, and named Colonel Codshead, is enough to 
 provoke a smile on the face of the owner. Young Tom Rapid, 
 who is always in a hurry, having nothing whatever to do, 
 always greets our hero with, " Well, Cod, how are you ? " 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAl) 207 
 
 adding, in the same breath, "/ don't knoiu of a horse that will 
 suit you." 
 
 But hark ! our Master greets the Colonel. Let us hear 
 what passes. Ten to one but it is the old stor}-. 
 
 Master, loquitur. — " Good morning, Colonel Codshead ; glad 
 to see you among us at last." 
 
 "Good morning, sir," replies Codshead; "glad to find my- 
 self out, I assure you ; quite refreshing after the toils and 
 fatigues of office." 
 
 Master. — "Oh, ah, I forgot, I've the honour of addressing 
 the Mayor of Turtleton (Master raising his hat as he speaks), 
 I hope we shall see more of you ; though the season, I am 
 sorry to say, is about over." 
 
 " More's the pity," replies Codshead ; " I was in hopes to 
 have had some good spring hunting." 
 
 "Not this season, I'm afraid," replies the Master; "too dry 
 — fallows flying — farmers making up their fences." 
 
 Codshead. — " Well, better luck next time : must begin early 
 next year." 
 
 " Do," replies the Master. 
 
 " Buy three or four good horses, and hunt regularly," rejoins 
 Codshead. 
 
 " That's your sort ! " replied the Master. 
 
 " Never feel so well as I do after a good day's hunting," adds 
 Codshead, bumping himself in the saddle. 
 
 " Fine healthy amusement," observes our Master. 
 
 " You don't know of a horse that will suit one, do you ? " 
 asks Codshead — (hurrah ! we knew it would come). 
 
 " Not at present," replies our Master, with a smile, having 
 had an inward wager himself as to whether Codshead would 
 ask the question or not. 
 
 There are many Codsheads in the world — man}- men who 
 fancy they would like hunting amazingly when they can't get 
 it, and who never trouble it when it is to be had. Scarlet coats 
 
298 THE HUNTING FHLLI) 
 
 have a vast of lies to answer for. The Colonel, like his horse, 
 has not the slightest natural inclination for hunting — indeed it 
 is rather a punishment to him than otherwise — he hunts for the 
 sake of the society and the good dinners it procures him. 
 After that, we need scarcely say the Colonel is a bachelor. 
 Now, a married colonel, and a bachelor colonel, though born in 
 the same year perhaps, are very different aged people in female 
 estimation ; and our Colonel — albeit, but a yeomanry one — 
 ranks rather as one of those pretty boyish colonels peculiar to 
 the "Guards," than one of the hobbling, frosty-pated, wound- 
 scarred old cocks of the Peninsula or Waterloo. 
 
 A woman's foxhunter and a man's foxhunter are ver}' 
 different things. If a man in a red coat is always at a woman's 
 beck and call — alwajs ready with something to say (a feat, by 
 the wa}-, not in the accomplishment of all) — alwa3'S ready to 
 dance attendance at their carriage sides when they go to see 
 the hounds throw off — always careless of the hounds for the 
 sake of their companj' — they think him a most agreeable, en- 
 gaging, capti\'ating man — just what a foxhunter ought to be, 
 and when the "pasteboards" go out such a man is sure to be 
 remembered. 
 
 The man's foxhunter is one who adores the ladies, delights in 
 their societ}-, would ride a hundred miles in the wet to serve 
 them (on a non-hunting day), but from the greatest beaut\- of 
 whom the joyous Tally Ho! would draw him like a shot. 
 Women like deeds of daring, and the man who would leap 
 turnpike gates, garden walls, spiked palisades, and such-like 
 trifles, would find favour in their eyes for the madness, while 
 the sportsman would set such a performer down for a fool. 
 
 We need not say that Codshead is a woman's foxhunter, any 
 more than that he is not a likely bird to attempt any eccentrici- 
 ties in the leaping waj'. He gets out of that scrape by profess- 
 ing to be one of the " has beens '' — " used to be a desperate 
 rider — would leap almost anything." He is only a "has 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 299 
 
 been " in the riding way though ; in other respects he looks 
 upon himself as the pink of perfection, and truly it says little 
 for a neighbourhood where such a slushbucket is tolerated. 
 
 Yet he is not only tolerated, but run after. His red coat far 
 oftener appears above a pair of black shorts than above the 
 darned moleskins, while the glorious amplitude of calf now 
 bagging over the too tight top, like an overgrown omelette 
 souffle over a small dish, procures for him the appellation of a 
 " monstrous fine man." Somebody once told him that he was 
 like George the Fourth, and he has dressed the character ever 
 since — puffy, clean shave all round, with a profusion of wiggy- 
 looking curls at the side of his broad-banded, broad-bound, 
 broad-brimmed hat. We wonder how many Princes and 
 George the Fourths we have seen in the course of our time ? 
 
 Codshead is in request among the women, who have a very 
 favourite maxim, " that a man is never too old to marrj-." 
 Comfortable assurance ! 
 
 To be sure Codshead's age varies a good deal, according to 
 the views and prospects of the speaker. A mamma, with a 
 " fairish chance" daughter will kindly put him down at forty, 
 while another with small, or diminished hopes, will run him 
 up to sixty. Still, if there is a dinner going on within ten 
 miles of Turleton, Codshead is sure of an invite. Single men 
 are always in request even though they are as big as — 
 
 '"Two single gentlemen rolled into one.'" 
 
 This year he has shown forth in redoubled splendour — Mayor 
 of Turtleton, as well as Colonel Codshead, and the consequent 
 good living is visible alike on his carcase and on his counte- 
 nance. His hunting serves to bring him in dinners. Very few 
 appearances in a red coat procure a man the reputation of a 
 foxhunter among the non-hunting portion of the community, 
 and the politeness of a well-judging world always associates 
 good society with the sport. Thus then, if Mr. Closefist 
 
300 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 objects to having our Colonel invited to dinner, insisting that 
 he is nothing but a great overgrown sponge, Mrs. Closefist will 
 retaliate that he is a man in the xery first society, a man who 
 visits everybody, a great man with the Scourcountr\- hounds, 
 and Codshead comes, if in the hunting season, of course in his 
 red coat. Women and mackerel are all for scarlet. 
 
 But what a place Turleton must be when Codshead is its 
 great authority on hunting. He is the Nimrod of the place. 
 Somehow burgesses are seldom built for boots or saddles. 
 They sit their horses, as they do their stools, with firmness, 
 ease and grace — /.';//// t/uy begin to move, and then it"s all up 
 with them or rather all dozvti. Colonel Codshead returns thanks 
 for the toast, " Success to foxhunting," far oftenerthan he puts 
 the success of it io the proof. He is a slow, pompous, broken- 
 winded speaker — he looks like one. " Gentlemen,'" says he, 
 for it is the same thing over and over again ; " gentlemen," says 
 he, looking especial wise, " I beg to return you my best (gasp) 
 thanks for the (gasp) honour you have done me in drinking my 
 (gasp) health in connection with foxhunting (gasp). Gentle- 
 men, it is a (gasp) sport, gentlemen (gasp), peculiar to (gasp) 
 Britons, and dignified (gasp) with the (gasp) of the greatest 
 (gasp) men of the (gasp) day [applause]. I hope (gasp) I shall 
 never live (gasp) to see the (gasp) day when it will be (gasp) 
 other than (gasp) popular. It brings the (gasp) peer in connec- 
 tion with the (gasp) peasant, and binds all its (gasp) followers 
 up in social (gasp) harmony." 
 
 But let us dismiss the great puffy porpoise, and talk about 
 something else. He will soon dismiss himself if they find a fox. 
 This day, however, is to qualify him to talk of hunting for the 
 summer. Alack-a-day ! talking of it will be the most any of us 
 can do for some time. However, never mind, we have had a 
 glorious season — wonderful and curious in weather, and cer- 
 tainly more than an average one in point of sport. \\'e hope 
 our readers have laid in a good stock of consolation for its 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 301 
 
 close, by having made the most of it while it lasted. Cub 
 hunting was late, owing to the harvest; indeed, in some 
 countries they would scarcely have any ; but when hunting did 
 begin we had a rare and continuous run of it. Hounds could 
 never be said to be fairly stopped, till just as many were think- 
 ing of stopping themselves towards the latter end of March, 
 for, though there were occasional checks in particular districts, 
 yet, as a whole, they were never brought to a stand-still, as 
 they are in decided frosts or regular snow-storms. The 
 weather was various— in most parts fine, in many unseason- 
 ably so. 
 
 At Chiswick the meteorological register kept at the gardens 
 of the Horticultural Society gave a state of weather unprece- 
 dented for many years in December and January, in which 
 latter month Covent-garden exhibited quite a spring-like ap- 
 pearance—primroses, violets (sweet-scented), cowslips, ane- 
 mones, and many of the flowers which in mild seasons usually 
 bloom in the month of February being seen in profusion. The 
 fine weather extended throughout the country. 
 
 The northern papers of the end of January spoke of the 
 mildness of the atmosphere producing a premature effect on 
 vegetation, and said that the thrushes were warbling forth 
 their " wood notes wild" to welcome the return of spring, and 
 altogether it was a most unusually open season. 
 
 The absence of frost was one of its striking characteristics, 
 and with the absence of frost may be noticed the almost total 
 absence of accidents. We never remember a season with so 
 few— no necks, no limbs, scarcely a collar-bone broken. This 
 shows that hunting is not a dangerous amusement if people 
 will only follow it rationally. It makes all the difference in the 
 world whether a man falls on the flags or on a feather bed. It 
 is of no use contending with the adverse elements, nor is there 
 any pleasure in trying to force a season unnaturally into the 
 spring. That man is the best sportsman who knows when to 
 
302 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 leave off. But to the close of the season, for we are no 
 advocates for the family slaughtering of " Mayfoxes." 
 
 \\'inter slipped away beautifully, to the delight of foxhunters 
 and the Wenham Lake Ice Company, and the dismay of 
 "native industry" among the confectioners and salmon 
 picklers. But for the "woodcocks," peculiar to Christmas, we 
 should never have known it had been here. We are not un- 
 reasonable in our desires, and if we get the \'ear fairly 
 hunted out, and a few daj-s for the boys at Christmas, we never 
 grumble at a fortnight's frost or so ; but this year the weather 
 was kinder than we even desired — January was open from end 
 to end — whole thirty-one days — a bumper month. There might 
 be a sprinkling of snow here and there, and a night or two's 
 frost, but as a whole, hounds were never stopped. February 
 we have recorded. The early part of the last week of that 
 month was as full of warmth and vegetation as man}- ordinary 
 Mays or Junes. The trees were all budding, the hedges were 
 all bursting into leaf, and gentlemen rode up to their horses' 
 girths in turnip-tops. 
 
 Our " oldest inhabitant" — for all discreet authors keep an 
 oldest inhabitant of their own — our oldest inhabitant always 
 shook his head, however, when he looked in upon us, and 
 we observed upon the extraordinarj- fineness of the season, and 
 the fact of winter having forgotten us. " Don't halloo before 
 you are clear of the wood," the old gentleman used to say, for 
 he was a hunter in his youth, though when that youth was 
 nobody knows. " You II catch it jct" he used to sa\-, in the 
 oracular style peculiar to old gentlemen speaking what they 
 think parables. 
 
 Well, we will let him have his fling through January, 
 for we thought it likely we should " ctrtch it," and we 
 backed him well into February too, but when the birds 
 began to sing and Covent-garden to blow, why we thought 
 it was time to follow the fashion, and throw "■ previous 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 303 
 
 opinions " to the winds ; so the next time the old cock 
 called, we began to crow over him. " Well, where's winter ? " 
 said we; "where's all the bad weather you promised us?' 
 " Young man," replied he, gravely (we are only sixty-three), 
 " young man," replied he, knitting his shaggy, snow-white 
 brows, " I have lived a long time in the world, and I never 
 knew Death, the Tax-gatherer, or an English winter forget 
 to come. I don't mean to say," continued he, "that we 
 shall have it all in the Mc-tro-po-lis, but I mean to say that 
 winter is not over yet." With that he resumed his cocked 
 hat and cane, and went across the water to the other " un- 
 dying one," at Astley's. 
 
 Old gentlemen don't like to be la,ughed at — young ones 
 neither, sometimes — and we saw no more of our "oldest 
 inhabitant " till the middle of March. The season in the 
 meantime had been quiescent, no great advance in vegetation, 
 but no check to what had arrived. As the " old 'un " had 
 rather inconvenienced us by his absence, having had some 
 questions put about events that occurred shortly before the 
 great fire of London, a scene at which he was particularly 
 active, we did not think it prudent to broach the subject of the 
 truant winter, and the " oldest inhabitant " having got 
 through the arrear of antiquarian questions, took his departure 
 in the hurried way people do when there's a disagreeable topic 
 they don't want mentioned. 
 
 Hunting, we reckoned, was fast winding up. March has 
 never much ingratiated itself with us as a hunting month. It 
 sounds harsh and repulsive, speaks rather of high winds, hard 
 dusty roads, and flying fallows, than of that delightful, sloppy, 
 spongy, splash-my-boots state of things peculiar to the legitimate 
 chase. 
 
 Third week in March, and spring slowly, though steadily on 
 the advance. This "oldest inhabitant " is getting " too old," 
 thought we, for he had looked in at our publisher's, on 
 
304 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 Saturday (the 14th), and reiterated his conviction that we 
 should catcJi it yet. 
 
 " We really believe \ve may have too old an oldest 
 inhabitant," continued we, thrusting our hands, a la D' Israeli, 
 into our breeches pockets, and pacing about our apartment. 
 If we knew where to lay hands on one from a hundred to a 
 hundred and fifty years old, we really think we would "shelf" 
 this oldest inhabitant, for he is evidently getting in arrear of 
 the times. 
 
 A change then came o'er the spirit of our dream. 
 
 All our northern and midland letters of the i8th of March, 
 spoke of the withering influence of the preceding day. They 
 said the weather was cutting cold, with every appearance of a 
 fall. When people talk of a fall, in relation to the weather, it 
 always means "snow" — rain they designate by its proper 
 title. We would not have met our " oldest inhabitant " that 
 day for something. Not that the old man would have exulted 
 over us, for Widdicombe and he are far removed above the 
 scornful passions and prejudices of the world ; but our own 
 conscience would have upbraided us for doubting the accuracy 
 of the ancient. Straightway we went to the leather-breeched 
 ancient on Snow-hill, and bought our " oldest inhabitant " 
 half a hundred weight of fleecy hosiery. Nor was the present 
 unseasonable, for the Scotch, northern, and midland papers of 
 that week's end brought up direful accounts of hurricanes, 
 tempests, and tremendous snow-storms, accompanied by 
 nipping frosts. At Newcastle-upon-Tyne, \\here the civiliza- 
 tion of railway shoots across the island to Carlisle, the black- 
 faced ones were uncommonly well powdered. It appears by 
 the prints of that region, that her Majesty's mail-bags are 
 conveyed onward to " Auld Reekie " by means of coaches and 
 horses, and they talked of si.x horses being necessary on parts 
 of the road. Such doings sound queer in our raihvaj'-netted 
 
COLONEL CODSHEAD 305 
 
 world. However, the storm came, and though we escaped in 
 " Me-tro-po-Hs," as our ancient calls it, there was plenty of it 
 in the country, and it was cold enough in town. So the 
 prophecy of the ancient was fulfilled, and he has risen in our 
 estimation in consequence. Never will we believe flowers, 
 thrushes, lambs, or anything of the sort again, in preference to 
 our own " oldest inhabitant." What with the hosiery and this 
 notice, we trust our friend will think we have made the amende 
 honorable. 
 
 A snow-storm is a punishing thing; it puts a stop to 
 everj'thing. As we said before, we can stand it at Christmas, 
 but at no other time. At Christmas we can console ourselves 
 with the thoughts that it is seasonable — that as we must have 
 it, it is better to have it at the right time, and be done with it 
 — that the horses want rest, and we draw our chairs round the 
 fire, and look forward to resuming the field with redoubled 
 zeal. 
 
 But a March storm, while it checks hunting and blights all 
 our floricultural hopes and expectations, presents no bright 
 prospect in view. Go when it will, hunting, we feel, cannot 
 return, at least not in the genuine, natural, other half of the 
 thing, sort of way. 
 
 The only consolation about a March storm — at least one late 
 on in the month — is that they never last. They are like frosts 
 in November, which are sometimes uncommonly keen and 
 iron-bound at night, and yet extremely wet and sloppy in the 
 morning. When a March storm gets the turn of its complaint, 
 it generally subsides very fast. A day of cold, bitter, blustering 
 storm will be succeeded by one of balmy sunshine, that melts 
 the snow in half the time it takes in the earlier months. So it 
 was this year, though snow-wreaths might be seen on the 
 higher grounds in the month of April. Strange to say, April 
 was a better hunting month this year than March. It was 
 wet, and cold, and splashy enough in all conscience. 
 
 X 
 
306 
 
 THE HUNTING FIELD 
 
 The season, so prosperous during its continuance, closed, 
 we are happy to say, with fewer drawbacks and derangements 
 to future foxhunting than generally attends the finish of each 
 year. As some advertising tradespeople are always dissolving 
 partnership, or retiring from business to get in their debts, so 
 some few hunts brought their " stock " to market, most likely 
 for the purpose of weeding the studs or of getting parties to 
 " buck up " in the way of subscription. These objects being 
 accomplished, the " firms " resumed business, in some cases, 
 perhaps, with a change of " foreman," or cutter-out — we 
 mean, whipper-in. None of the great hunts were affected 
 with the "spring cough," and we trust they are now all about 
 taking the field again with undiminished vigour and long 
 enduring permanence. 
 
LONDON 
 PRINTED DV GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, 
 
 ST. John's house, clerkenwell, e.c. 
 
Webster Family Library of Veterinary Medicine 
 Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at 
 Tufts University 
 200 Westboro Road 
 North Grafton, MA 01536 
 
v-if. i .* . 
 
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