YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

FROM THE COLLECTION MADE BY
CHARLES SHELDON B.A. 1890
OF BOOKS ON NATURAL HISTORY
EXPLORATION -HUNTING & FISHING

GIFT OF FRANCIS P. GARVAN
B.A. 1 897

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE
OR COUNTRY LIFE AND PURSUITS IN
GLOUCESTERSH IRE

By j. ARTHUR GIBBS

"Go, little booke; God send thee good passage,
And specially let this be thy prayere
Unto them all that thee will read or hear,
Where thou art wrong, after their help to call,
Thee to correct in any-part or all," Geoffrey Chaucer.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1S9S

Ede a
QSZ S3%

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

PREFACE.

' I ^O those of my readers who have ever lived
-'- beside a stream, or in an ancient house
or time-honoured college, there will always be a
peculiar charm in silvery waters sparkling beneath
the summer sun. To you the Gothic building, with
its carved pinnacles, its warped gables, its muUioned
casements and dormer windows, the old oak within,
the very inglenook by the great fireplace where the
old folks used to sit at home, the ivy trailing round
the grey walls, the jessamine, roses, and clematis that
in their proper seasons clustered round the porch, —
to you all these things will have their charm as long
as you live. Therefore, if these pages appeal not to
some such, it will not be the subject that is wanting,
but the ability of the writer.
It is not claimed for my Cotswold village that it
is one whit prettier or pleasanter or better in any
way than hundreds of other villages in England ; I
seek only to record the simple annals of a quiet, old-

vi PREFACE.
fashioned Gloucestershire hamlet and the country
within walking distance of it. Nor do I doubt that
there are manor houses far more beautiful and far
richer in history even within a twenty-mile radius of
my own home. For instance, the ancient house of
Chavenage by Tetbury, or in the opposite direction,
where the northern escarpments of the Cotswolds
rise out of the beautiful Evesham Vale, those historic
mediaeval houses of Southam and Postlip.
It is often said that in books like these we paint
arcadias that never did and never could exist on earth.
To this I would answer that there are many such
abodes in country places, if only our minds are such
as to realise them. And, above all, let us be optimists
in literature even though we may be pessimists in
life. Let us have all that is joyous and bright in our
books, and leave the trials and failures for the realities
of life. Let us in our literature avoid as much as
possible the painful side of human nature and the
pains and penalties of human weakness ; let us
endeavour to depict a state of existence as far as
possible approaching the Utopian ideal, though
not necessarily the Nirvana of the Buddhists nor the
paradise of fools ; let us look not downwards into the
depths of black despair, but upwards into the starry
heavens ; let us gaze at the golden evening brighten
ing in the west. Richard Jefferies has taught us that

PREFACE. vii
such a literature is possible ; and if we read his best
books, we may some day be granted that fuller soul
he prayed for and at length obtained. Would that
we could all hear, as he heard, the still small voice
that whispers in the woods and among the wild
flowers and the spreading foliage by the brook !
To any one who might be thinking of becoming for
the time being " a tourist," and in that capacity visit
ing the Cotswolds, my advice is, " Don't." There is
really nothing to see. There is nothing, that is to say,
which may not be seen much nearer London. And I
freely confess that most of the subjects included in
this book are usually deemed unworthy of consider
ation even in the district itself. Still, there are a few
who realise that every county in England is more or
less a mine of interest, and for such. I have written.
Realising my limitations, I have not gone deeply into
any single subject ; my endeavour has been to touch
on every branch of country life with as light a hand
as possible — to amuse rather than to instruct. For,
as Washington Irving delightfully sums up the
matter : "It is so much pleasanter to please than to
instruct, to play the companion rather than the
preceptor. What, after all, is the mite of wisdom
that I could throw into the mass of knowledge? or
how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be
safe guides for the opinions of others? But in

viii PREFACE
writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in my
own disappointment. If, however, I can by any
lucky chance rub out one wrinkle from the brow of
care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of
sorrow ; if I can now and then penetrate through
the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a bene
volent view of human nature, and make my reader
more in good humour with his fellow beings and
himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have written
in vain."
The first half of Chapter II. originally appeared in
the Pall Mall Magazine. Portions of Chapters VII.
and VIII., and "The Thruster's Song," have also
been published in Baily's Magazine. My thanks are
due to the editors for permission to reproduce them.
Chapter XII. owes its inspiration to Mr. Madden's
excellent work on Shakespeare's connection with
sport and the Cotswolds, the " Diary of Master
William Silence." We have no local tradition of
any kind about Shakespeare.
I am indebted to Miss E. F. Brickdale for the
pen-and-ink sketches, and to Colonel Mordaunt for
his beautiful photographs. Three of the photographs,
however, are by H. Taunt, of Oxford, and a similar
number are by Mr. Gardiner, of Fairford.
September 1898.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
PREFACE ... ..... V

CHAPTER I.
FLYING WESTWARDS ...... I
The Thames Valley— The Old White Horse— Enter
ing the Cotswolds. CHAPTER II.
A COTSWOLD VILLAGE . . . . . .II
Far from the Madding Crowd — An Old Farmhouse
and Its Occupants — The Manor House — Inscription
on Porch — Interior of the House — The Garden — A
Fairy Spring — The Village Club — Labouring Folk
— Village Politics — The Trout Stream — Flowing
Seawards — ViUage Architecture — The Charm of
Antiquity — The Spirit of Sacrifice — Wayside
Crosses — Tithe Barns. CHAPTER III.
VILLAGE CHARACTERS . . . . . -39
Quaint Hamlet Folk — The Village Impostor — Rural
Economy — Stories of the People — A Curious
Analogy — Tom Peregrine, the Keeper — A Standing

X CONTENTS. PAGE
Dish — A Great Character — Peregrine's Accomplish
ments and Proclivities — Farmers and Foxes —
Concerning Churchwardens — The Village Quack —
An Excellent Prescription — His Lecture — How the
Old Fox was Found — A Good Sort — Heroes of the
Hamlet — Political Meetings — Humours of the Poll
— Gloucestershire Farmers.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS, WITH SOME
ANCIENT SONGS AND LEGENDS ... 69
Strange Travellers — Smoking Concerts — The Carter's
Song — Village Choirs — The Chedworth Band —
Sense of Humour of the Natives — Their Geography
"a Bit Mixed" — A Large Family — Noblesse Oblige
— Rustic Legends — Names of Fields — The Cots
wold Dialect — How to Talk It — An Ancient Ballad
— Tom Peregrine Recites — Roger Plowman's Ex
cursion — An Expensive Luncheon — Oxtail Soup —
" The Turmut Hower." CHAPTER V.
ON THE WOLDS ....... 98
Varied Amusements — Nature on the Hills — The
Mysteries of Scent — Partridge-Shooting — A Mixed
Bag — Plover — Pigeon-Shooting with Decoys — Bird
Life— Sunset on the Downs — A Wild, Deserted
Country — An Old Dog Fox.
CHAPTER VI.
A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS . . . . I20
An October IVIeet— Cub-Hunting— The Old Fox
Again ! A Fast Gallop over the Walls— The Charm
of Uncertainty— Fliers of the Hunt— A Narrow
Escape— A Check — A Reliable Hound— Failure of
Scent — An Excellent Tonic.

CONTENTS. xi
CHAPTER VII. PAGE
A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM . . . -134
Loch Leven, Trout — Curious Capture of an Eel — The
Author Catches a Red-Herring — Macomber Falls —
A Sad Episode — South Country Streams — Course
of the Coin — Charles Kingsley on Fishing — A May-
Fly Stream — Evening Fishing — Dry-Fly Dogmas —
Flies for the Coin — Scarcity of Poachers — An
Evening Walk by the River — Spring's Delights.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP . . . . -153
Derby Day on the Coin — A Good Sportsman — -The
Right Fly — Pleasures of the Country — Peregrine's
Quaint Expressions — Sport with the Olive Dun —
A Fine Trout — Effects of Sheep- Washing — A Good
Basket — Life by the Brook — A Summer's Night —
In the Heart of England. CHAPTER IX.
BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN . . . I76
Curious Names — The Windrush — Burford Priory—
An Empty Shell— The Kingmaker — Lord Falkland
— Speaker Lenthall — Bibury Races — An Old
'Tradition — Valued Relics — Burford Church — Mr.
Oman's Discovery — Burford during the Civil Wars.

CHAPTER X.
A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS . . . I96
The Old Coaching Days — Fairford — Anglo-Saxon
Relics — Hatherop — Coln-St.-Aldwyns — The
"Knights Templar" of Quenington — A Haunt of
Ancient Peace — Bibury Village — Ancient Barrows

xii CONTENTS. PAGE
—The Prehistoric Age— Deserted .Villages— The
Philosopher's Stone— True Nobleness— On Battues
—Roman Remains— Chedworth Woods— An Old
Manor House. CHAPTER XI.
COTSWOLD PASTIMES ...... 224
Whitsun Ale — Sports of Various Kinds — The Pere
grine Family at Cricket — Prehistoric Cricket — A
Bad Ground— A " Pretty " Ball— Charles Dickens
on Cricket — Dumkins and Podder, Limited — How
Dumkins Hit a " Sixer" — Downfall of " Podder" —
Bourton-on-the-Water C.C— A Plague of Wasps —
The Treatment of Cricket Grounds— The Author's
Recipe — Reflections on Modern Cricket.
CHAPTER XII.
THE COTSWOLDS THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO . 249
The Centre of Elizabethan Sport — A Digression on
South Africa — The Halo of Association — A Day's
Stag-Hunting in 1592 — A Benighted Sportsman —
" A Goodly Dwelling and a Rich " — An Old English
Gentleman — Shakespeare on Hounds^He De
scribes the Run — The Death of the Stag — The
Ancestral Peregrine — Bacon not Wanted — A
"Black Ousel"— The Charm of Music— Shake
speare's Dream — A Hawking Expedition — Peregrine,
the Parson, and the Poet — Methods and Language
of Falconry — A Flight at a Heron — Peregrine Views
a Fox.

CHAPTER XIII.
CIRENCESTER .......
Roman Remains — The Corinium Museum — The
Church — Cirencester House — The Park — The
Abbey — The " Mop " or Hiring Fair — A Great Hunt-

277

CONTENTS.
ing Centre — A Varied Country — The Badminton
Hounds — Lord Bathurst's Hounds — The Cotswold
Hounds — Charles Travess — A Born Genius — The
Cricklade Hounds — The Right Sort of Horse — The
Oaksey District — The Heythrop Hounds — A De
fence of Hard Riding — A Day in the Vale — A
Hunting Poem.

CHAPTER XIV.
SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS . . . . . 311
Habits of Moorhens — Mallard and Swan — Nuthatches
— Woodpeckers — Humane Traps — Badgers — Fox-
terriers — Scotch Deerhounds — Retrievers — Cray
fish — The Rookery — Jackdaws — Foxes — Artificial
Earths — Fox among Sheep — Foxes and Fowls —
Poultry Claims — Observations on Scent — The
Hygrometer — How Trout are Netted — Scarcity of
Otters — Water- Voles.

CHAPTER XV.
THE PROMISE OF MAY ...... 34O
Wild Flowers— Cottage Gardens— The Paths of
Literature — Description of a Horse — Beauty
of Trees — Their Loss Irreparable as the Loss of
Friends — A Fine Type of Englishman — Lines in
Memory of W. D. Llewelyn.

CHAPTER XVI.
SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS . . - 3S6
A Walk in the Fields — Hedgerow Flowers — The
Brookside — By "the Pill" — Remarks on Gray — A
Fine Piece of Miniature Scenery — The Cricket
Ground — The Book of Nature — At the Ford —
Habits of Observation — In the Conyger Wood —

CONTENTS.
The Home of the Kingfisher — A Limestone Quarry
—The Great Stone Floor of the Earth— Nature's
Endless Cycle — Beauty of the Ash — Hedgehogs —
Trout and Snake — Sunset on the Hills.

CHAPTER XVII.
AUTUMN ........ 381
Remarks on Country Life — Thrashing — The Flail —
Gipsies — Harvest Feasts — Fifty Years Ago — The
Wolds in Autumn — By the Stream — Wildfowl —
Migration of Birds — Lapwings — Winter Visitants
— Thunderstorms — Glow- Worms — A Brilliant
Meteor — Night on the Hills — The "Blowing-
Stone '' — Christmas Day on the Cotswolds — A
Solar Halo — Hamlet Festivities — Tom Peregrine
Baffled— The Mummers Play— The Victorian Era —
The True Days of " Merrie England " — Carpe Diem.

CHAPTER XVIII.
WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN ....
A Glorious Panorama — Peregrine as Secretary — The
Light of Setting Suns — Conclusion.

APPENDIX.
GEORGE RIDLEr's OVEN
INDEX ,

411

419
425

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

A COTSWOLD MANOR HOUSE .
STOKE POGES CHURCH
THE OLD MANOR HOUSE .
INSCRIPTION ON PORCH OF MANOR HOUSE
INTERIOR OF MANOR HOUSE
IN THE GARDEN
COTSWOLD COTTAGES
A FARMHOUSE BY THE COLN
AN OLD COTTAGE
THE HAMLET .
ON THE WOLDS
OXEN PLOUGHING .
THE OLD CUSTOMER
THE OLD MILL, ABLINGTON
THE COLN NEAR BIBURY
A BRIDGE OVER THE COLN
A DISH OF FISH
BURFORD PRIORY .
BURFORD PRIORY .
THE MANOR HOUSE, COLN-ST.-ALDWYNS
BIBURY STREET
ARLINGTON ROW
VILLAGE CRICKETERS XV

Frontispiece I
II
Facing 14.
„ 16
26
• 39
Facing 42
. . 69
Facing 78
. . 98
Facing io6
. 120
. 134
Facing 140
¦ IS3
Facing 172
. 176
Facing 186
. 196
Facing 206
„ 212
. 224

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

HAWKING . . . .
BIBURY COURT ....
THE ABBEY GATEWAY, CIRENCESTER
MARKET-PLACE, CIRENCESTER .
AN OLD BARN
THE " PILL " BRIDGE
IN BIBURY VILLAGE
SIDE VIEW OF MANOR HOUSE
BIBURY MILL 
BELOW THE " PILL "
ABLINGTON MANOR ....
AN OLD-FASHIONED LABOURING COUPLE
COLN-ST.-ALDWYNS ....

• 249
Facing 258
¦ 277
Facing 282
. 311
Facing 314
• 340
Facing 342
• 356
Facing 366
. . 381
Facing 388
. 411

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE.

CHAPTER I.

FLYING WESTWARDS.
LONDON is becoming miserably hot and dusty ;
everybody who can get away is rushing off,
north, south, east, and west, some to the seaside, others
to pleasant country houses. Who will fly with me
westwards to the land of golden sunshine and silvery
trout streams, the land of breezy uplands and valleys
nestling under limestone hills, where the scream of
the railway whistle is seldom heard and the smoke
I

2 FLYING WESTWARDS. [Ch.
of the factory darkens not the long summer days?
Away, in the smooth " Flying Dutchman " ; past
Windsor's glorious towers and Eton's playing-fields ;
past the little village and churchyard where a century
and a half ago the famous " Elegy " was written,
and where, hard by " those rugged elms, that yew-
tree's shade," yet rests the body of the mighty poet,
Gray. How those lines run in one's head this bright
summer evening, as from our railway carriage we
note the great white dome of Stoke House peeping
out amid the elms ! whilst every field reminds us of
him who wrote those lilting stanzas long, long ago.
" Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade !
Ah, fields, beloved in vain !
Where once my careless childhood strayed,
A stranger yet to pain :
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow ;
As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring."
But soon we are flashing past Reading, where
Sutton's nursery gardens are bright with scarlet and
gold, and blue and white ; every flower that can be
made to grow in our climate grows there, we may be
sure. But there is no need of garden flowers now, when
the fields and hedges, even the railway banks, are
painted with the lovely blue of wild geraniums and
harebells, the gold of birdsfoot trefoil and Saint
John's wort, and the white and pink of convolvulus
or bindweed. We are passing through some of the

I.] THE THAMES VALLEY. 3
richest scenery in the Thames valley. There,
on the right, is Mapledurham, a grand mediaeval
building, surrounded by such a wealth of stately
trees as you will see nowhere else. The Thames
runs practically through the grounds. What a
glorious carpet of gold is spread over these meadows
when the buttercups are in full bloom ! Now comes
Pangbourne, with its lovely weir, where the big
Thames trout love to lie. Pangbourne used to be
one of the prettiest villages on the river ; but its
popularity has spoilt it.
As we pass onwards, many other country houses —
Purley, Basildon, and Hardwick — with their parks
and clustering cottages, add their charm to the view.
There are the beautiful woods of Streatley : hanging
copses clothe the sides of the hills, and pretty villages
nestle amid the trees. But soon the scene changes :
the glorious valley Father Thames has scooped
out for himself is left behind ; we are crossing the
chalk uplands. On all sides are vast stretches of
unfenced arable land, though here and there a tiny
village with its square-towered Norman church peeps
out from an oasis of green fields and stately elm
trees. On the right the Chiltern Hills are seen in the
background, and Wittenham Clump stands forth —
a conspicuous object for miles. The country round
Didcot reminds one very much of the north of
France : between Calais and Paris one notices the
same chalk soil, the same flat arable fields, and the
same old-fashioned farmhouses and gabled cottages.
But now we have entered the grand old Berkshire
vale. " Fields and hedges, hedges and fields ; peace

4 FLYING WESTWARDS. [Ch.
and plenty, plenty and peace. I should like to take
a foreigner down the vale of Berkshire in the end
of May, and ask him what he thought of old
England." Thus wrote Charles Kingsley forty years
ago, when times were better for Berkshire farmers.
But the same old fields and the same old hedges
still remain — only we do not appreciate them as
much as did the author of " Westward Ho ! "
Steventon, that lovely village with its gables and
thatched roofs, its white cottage walls set with
beams of blackest oak, its Norman church in the
midst of spreading chestnuts and leafy elms, appears
from the railway to be one of the most old-fashioned
spots on earth. This vale is full of fine old trees ;
but in many places the farmers have spoilt their
beauty by lopping off the lower branches because
the grass will not grow under their wide-spreading
foliage. It is only in the parks and woodlands that
the real glory of the timber remains.
And now we may notice what a splendid hunting
country is this Berkshire vale. The fields are large
and entirely grass ; the fences, though strong, are
all " flying " ones — posts and rails, too, are frequent
in the hedges. Many a fine scamper have the old
Berkshire hounds enjoyed over these grassy pastures,
where the Rosy Brook winds its sluggish course ; and
we trust they will continue to do so for many years
to come. Long may that day be in coming when
the sound of the horn is no longer heard in this
delightful country !
High up on the hill the old White Horse soon
appears in view, cut in the velvety turf of the

I.] THE WHITE HORSE HILL. 5
rolling chalk downs. But, in the words of the old
ballad, " The ould White Horse wants zettin' to rights."
He wants "scouring" badly. A stranger, if shown
this old relic, the centre of a hundred legends, famous
the whole world over, would find it difficult to
recognise any likeness to a fiery steed in those
uncertain lines of chalk. Nevertheless, this is the
monument King Alfred made to commemorate his
victory over the Danes at Ashdown. So the tradi
tion of the country-side has had it for a thousand
years, and shall a thousand more.
The horse is drawn as galloping. Frank Buckland
took the following measurements of him : The total
length is one hundred and seventy yards ; his eye is
four feet across ; his ear fifteen yards in length ; his
hindleg is forty-three yards long. Doubtless the full
proportions of the White Horse are not kept scoured
nowadays ; for a few weeks ago I was up on the
hill and took some of the measurements myself.
I could not make mine agree with Frank Buckland's :
for instance, the ear appeared to be seven yards only
in length, and not fifteen ; so that it would seem
that the figure is gradually growing smaller. It is
the head and forelegs that want scouring worst of
all. There is little sign of the trench, two feet deep,
which in Buckland's time formed the outline of the
horse ; the depth of the cutting is now only a matter
of a very few inches.
The view from this hill is a very extensive one,
embracing the vale from Bath almost to Reading

6 FLYING WESTWARDS. [Ch.
the whole length of the Cotswold Hills, as well as
the Chilterns, stretching away eastwards towards
Aylesbury, and far into Buckinghamshire. Beneath
your feet lie many hundred thousand acres of green
pastures, varied in colour during summer and autumn
by golden wheat-fields bright with yellow charlock
and crimson poppies. It has been said that eleven
counties are visible on clear days.
The White Horse at Westbury, further down the
line, represents a horse in a standing position. He
reflects the utmost credit on his grooms ; for not
only are his shapely limbs " beautifully and wonder
fully made," but the greatest care is taken of him.
The Westbury horse is not in reality nearly so large
as this one at Uffington, but he is a very beautiful
feature of the country. I paid him a visit the other
day, and was surprised to find he was very much
smaller than he appears from the railway. Glancing
over a recent edition of Tom Hughes' book, " The
Scouring of the White Horse," I found the following
lines : —
"In all likelihood the pastime of 1857 will be the
last of his race; for is not the famous Saxon (or
British) horse now scheduled to an Act of Parliament
as an ancient monument which will be maintained
in time to come as a piece of prosaic business, at
the cost of other than Berkshire men reared within
sight of the hill ? "
Alas ! it is too true. There has been no pastime
since 1857.
It would have been a splendid way of com
memorating the " diamond jubilee " if a scouring

I.] SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. 7
had been organised in 1897. Forty years have
passed since the last pastime, with its backsword
play and " climmin a greasy pole for a leg of mutton,"
its race for a pig and a cheese ; and, oddly enough,
the previous scouring had taken place in the year
of the Queen's accession, sixty-one years ago. It
would be enough to make poor Tom Hughes turn
in his grave if he knew that the old White Horse
had been turned out to grass, and left to look after
himself for the. rest of his days !
Those were grand old times when the Berkshire,
Gloucestershire, and Somersetshire men amused them
selves by cracking each other's heads and cudgel-
playing for a gold-laced hat and a pair of buckskin
breeches ; when a flitch of bacon was run for by
donkeys ; and when, last, but not least, John Morse,
of Uffington, "grinned agin another chap droo hos
[horse] collars, a fine bit of spwoart, to be sure, and
made the folks laaf" I here quote from Tom
Hughes' book, " The Scouring of the White Horse,"
to which I must refer my readers for further
interesting particulars.
There are some days during summer when the
sunlight is so beautiful that every object is invested
with a glamour and a charm not usually associated
with it. Such a day was that of which wc write.
As we were gliding out of Swindon the sun was
beginning to descend. From a Great Western
express, running at the rate of sixty miles an hour
through picturesque country, you may watch the
sun setting amidst every variety of scenery. Now
some hoary grey tower stands out against the intense

8 , FLYING WESTWARDS. [CH.
brightness of the western sky ; now a tracery of
fine trees shades for a time the dazzling light ; then
suddenly the fiery furnace is revealed again, reflected
perhaps in the waters of some stream or amid the
reeds and sedges of a mere, where a punt is moored
containing anglers in broad wideawake hats. Gradu
ally a dark purple shade steals over the long range
of chalk hills ; white, clean-looking roads stand out
clearly defined miles away on the horizon ; the
smoke that rises straight up from some ivy-covered
homestead half a mile away is bluer than the evening
sky — a deep azure blue. The horizon is clear in the
south, but in the north-west dark, but not forbidding
clouds are rising ; fantastic cloudlets float high up
in the firmament ; rooks coming home to roost are
plainly visible several miles away against the brilliant
western sky.
This Great Western Railway runs through some
of the finest bits of old England. Not long ago, in
travelling from Chepstow to Gloucester, we were
fairly amazed at the surpassing beauty of the views.
It was May-day, and the weather was in keeping
with the occasion. The sight of the old town of
Chepstow and the silvery Wye, as we left them be
hind us, was fine enough ; but who can describe the
magnificent panorama presented by the wide Severn
at low tide ? Yellow sands, ghttering Hke gold in the
dazzling sunshine, stretched away for miles ; beyond
these a vista of green meadows, with the distant
Cotswold Hills rising out of dreamy haze ; waters
of chrysolite, with fields of malachite beyond ; the
azure sky overhead flecked with clouds of pearl and

I.] ENTERING THE COTSWOLDS. 9
opal, and all around the pear orchards in full
bloom. While on the subject of scenery, may I enter a
protest against the change the Great Western Railway
has lately made in the photographs which adorn their
carriages ? They used to be as beautiful as one could
wish ; lately, however, the colouring has been lavished
on them with no sparing hand. These " photo
chromes " are unnatural and impossible, whereas the
old permanent photographs were very beautiful.
At Kemble, with its old manor house and stone-
roofed cottages, we say goodbye to the Vale of White
Horse ; for we have entered the Cotswolds. Stretch
ing from Broadway to Bath, and from Birdlip to
Burford, and containing about three hundred square
miles, is a vast tract of hill country, intersected by
numerous narrow valleys. Probably at one period
this district was a rough, uncultivated moor. It is
now cultivated for the most part, and grows excellent
barley. The highest point of this extensive range
is eleven hundred and thirty-four feet, but the
average altitude would not exceed half that height.
Almost every valley has its little brook. The district
is essentially a " stone country " ; for all the houses
and most of their roofs are built of the local limestone,
which lies everywhere on these hills within a few
inches of the surface. There is no difficulty in obtain
ing plenty of stone hereabouts. The chief character
istics of the buildings are their antiquity and Gothic
quaintness. The air is sharp and bracing, and the
climate, as is inevitable on the shallow, porous soil
of the oolite hills, wonderfully dry and invigorating.

lo FLYING WESTWARDS. [CH. I-
" Lands of gold have been found, and lands of spices
and precious merchandise ; but this is the land of
healthy Thus wrote Richard Jefferies of the downs,
and thus say we of the Cotswolds.
And now our Great Western express is gliding
into Cirencester, the ancient capital of the Cotswold
country. How fair the old place seems after the dirt
and smoke of London ! Here town and country are
blended into one, and everything is clean and fresh
and picturesque. The parish church, as you view it
from the top of the market-place, has a charm unsur
passed by any other sacred building in the land. In
what that charm lies I have often wondered. Is it
the marvellous symmetry of the whole graceful pile,
as the eye, glancing down the massive square tower
and along the pierced battlements and elaborate
pinnacles, finally rests on the empty niches and
traceried oriel windows of the magnificent south
porch? I cannot say in what the charm exactly
consists, but this stately Gothic fane has a grandeur
as impressive as it is unexpected, recalling those
wondrous words of Ruskin's :
" I used to feel as much awe in gazing at the build
ings as on the hills, and could believe that God had
done a greater work in breathing into the narrowness
of dust the mighty spirits by whom its haughty walls
had been raised and its burning legends written, than
in lifting the rock of granite higher than the clouds of
heaven, and veiling them with their various mantle
of purple flower and shadowy pine."

The Old Manor HoiLse

CHAPTER II.

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE.

I.
THE village is not a hundred miles from London,
yet "far from the madding crowd's ignoble
strife." A green, well-wooded valley, in the midst of
those far-stretching, cold-looking Cotswold Hills, it
is like an oasis in the desert.
Up above on the wolds all is bleak, dull, and
uninteresting. The air up there is ever chill ; walls
of loose stone divide field from field, and few houses
are to be seen. But down in the valley all is fertile
and full of life. It is here that the old-fashioned
villagers dwell. How well I remember the first time

12 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [CH.
I came upon it ! One fine September evening,
having left all traces of railways and the ancient
Roman town of Cirencester some seven long miles
behind me, with wearied limbs I sought this quiet,
sequestered spot. Suddenly, as I was wondering how
amid these never ending hills there could be such a
place as I had been told existed, I beheld it at my
feet, surpassing beautiful ! Below me was a small
village, nestling amid a wealth of stately trees. The
hand of man seemed in some bygone time to have
done all that was necessary to render the place
habitable, but no more. There were cottages, bridges,
and farm buildings, but all were ivy clad and time
worn. The very trees themselves appeared to be
laden with a mantle of ivy that was more than they
could bear. Many a tall fir, from base to topmost
twig, was completely robed with the smooth, five-
pointed leaves of this rapacious evergreen. Through
the thick foliage, of elm and ash and beech, I could
just see an old manor house, and round about it, as
if for protection, were clustered some thirty cottages.
A murmuring of waters filled my ears, and on
descending the hill I came upon a silvery trout
stream, which winds its way down the valley, broad
and shallow, now gently gliding over smooth gravel,
now dashing over moss-grown stones and rock. The
cottages, like the manor house and farm buildings, are
all built of the native stone, and all are gabled and
picturesque. Indeed, save a few new cottages, most
of the dwellings appeared to be two or three hundred
years old. One farmhouse I noted carefully, and I
longed to tear away the ivy from the old and

II.] AN OLD FARMHOUSE. 13
crumbling porch, to see if I could not discern some
half-effaced inscription telling me the date of this
relic of the days of " Merrie England."
This quaint old place appeared older than the rest
of the buildings. On enquiry, I learnt that long, long
ago, before the present manor house existed, this was
the abode of the old squires of the place ; but for
the last hundred years it had been the home of the
principal tenant and his ancestors — yeomen farmers
of the old-fashioned school, with some six hundred
acres of land. The present occupants appeared to be
an old man of some seventy years of age and his
three sons. Keen sportsmen these, who dearly love
to walk for hours in pursuit of game in the autumn,
on the chance of bagging an occasional brace of
partridges or a wild pheasant (for everything here is
wild), or, in winter, when lake and fen are frostbound,
by the river and its withybeds after snipe and
wildfowl — for the Cotswold stream has never been
known to freeze !
In this small hamlet I noticed that there were no
less than three huge barns. At first I thought they
were churches, so magnificent were their proportions
and so delicate and interesting their architecture.
One of these barns is four hundred years old.
Fifty years ago, what with the wool from his sheep
and the grain that was stored in these barns year by
year, the Cotswold farmer was a rich man. Alas !
Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis ! One
can picture the harvest home, annually held in the
barn, in old days so cheery, but now often nothing
more than a form. Here, however, in this village, I

14 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
learnt that, in spite of bad times, some of the old
customs have not been allowed to pass away, and
right merry is the harvest home. And Christmastide
is kept in real old English fashion ; nor do the
mummers forget to go their nightly rounds, with
their strange tale of " St. George and the dragon."
As I walk down the road I come suddenly upon the
manor house — the " big house " of the village. Long
and somewhat low, it stands close to the road, and is
of some size. Over the doorway of the porch is the
following inscription, engraven on stone in a recess : —
" Plead . thou . my . cavse ; oh . Lord."
"by . JhON . COXWEL . AnO . DOMENY . IS90."
Underneath this inscription, and immediately over
the entrance, are five heads, elaborately carved in
stone. In the centre is Queen Elizabeth ; to the
right are portrayed what I take to be the features of
Henry VIII. ; whilst on the left is Mary. The other
two are uncertain, but they are probably Philip of
Spain and James I.
I was enchanted with the place. The quaint old
Elizabethan gables and sombre bell-tower, the old-
fashioned entrance gates, the luxuriant growth of
ivy, combined together to give that air of peace,
that charm which belongs so exclusively to the
buildings of the middle ages. Knowing that the
house was for the time being unoccupied, I walked
boldly into the outer porch, meaning to go no further.
But another inscription over the solid oak door
encouraged me to enter :
"PORTA PATENS ESTO, NULLI CLAUDARIS HONESTO.''

IL] THE MANOR HOUSE. 15
I therefore opened the inner door with some
difficulty, for it was heavy and cumbersome, and
found myself in the hall. Although nothing re
markable met my eye, I was delighted to find
everything in keeping with the place. The old-
fashioned furniture, the old oak, the grim portraits
and quaint heraldry, all were there. I was much
interested in some carved beams of black oak, which
I afterwards learnt originally formed part of the
magnificent roof of the village church. When the
roof was under repair a few years back, these beams
were thrown aside as rotten and useless, and thus
found their way into the manor house. Every atom
of genuine old work of this kind is deeply interesting,
representing as it does the rude chiselling which
hands that have long been dust in the village
churchyard wrought with infinite pains. That oak
roof, carved in rich tracery, resting for ages on
arcades of dog-tooth Norman and graceful Early
English work, had echoed back the songs of praise
and prayer that rose Sunday after Sunday from the
lips of successive generations of simple country
folk at matins and at evensong, before the strains of
the Angelus had been hushed for ever by the Re
formation. And who can tell how long before the
Conquest, and by what manner of men, were planted
the trees destined to provide these massive beams
of oak ?
In the centre of the hall was a round table, with
very ancient-looking, high-backed chairs scattered
about, of all shapes and sizes. Portraits of various
degrees of indifferent oil painting adorned the walls

i6 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch-
of the hall and staircase. Somebody appeared to
have been shooting with a catapult at some of the
pictures. One old gentleman had a shot through
his nose ; and an old fellow with a hat on, over the
window, had received a pellet in the right eye ! *
A copy of the Magna Charta, a suit of mediaeval
armour, several rusty helmets (CromweUian and
otherwise), antlers of several kinds of deer, and a
variety of old swords, pistols, and guns were the
objects that chiefly attracted my attention. The
walls were likewise adorned with a large number of
heraldic shields.
I like to see coats-of-arms and escutcheons hanging
up in churches and in the halls of old country houses,
for the following simple reasons. There is meaning
in them — deep, mystic meaning, such as no ordinary
picture can boast. Every quartering on that ancient
shield emblazoned in red, black, and gold has a legend
attached to it. Hundreds of years ago, in those
splendid mediaeval times — nay, farther back than
that, in the dim, mysterious, dark ages — each of those
quarterings was a device worn by some brave knight
or squire on his heavy shield. It was his cognizance
in the field of battle and at the tournament. It was
borne at Agincourt perhaps ; at Cregy, or Poitiers, or
in the lists for some " faire ladye " ; and it is a token
of ancient chivalry, an emblem of the days that
have been and never more will be. It was doubtless
the sight of those eighteen great hatchments which
' The writer, in a fit of infantile insanity, being then aged
about nine, was discovered in the very act of committing this
assault on his ancestors some twenty years ago, in Hertfordshire.

11.] INSIDE THE MANOR HOUSE. 17
Still hang in the little church at Stoke Poges that
inspired Gray to attune his harp to such lofty strains.
" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power.
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave.
Await alike the inevitable hour :
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.''
Among other old masters was a portrait of the " John
Coxwel" who built the house, by Cornelius Jansen,
dated 161 3. The house did not appear remarkable
either for size or grandeur ; yet there is always
something particularly pleasing to me to alight
unexpectedly on buildings of this kind, and to find
that although they are obscure and unknown, they
are on a small scale as interesting to the antiquarian
as Knole, Hatfield, and other more famous mediaeval
houses. Some lattice windows, evidently at some
time out of doors, but now on the inner walls, showed
that in more recent times the house had been en
larged, and the old courtyard walled in and made
part of the hall. Over one of these windows is the
inscription, " Post tenebras lux!' The part I liked
best, however, was the old-fashioned passage, with
its lattice windows and musty dungeon savour,
leading to the ancient kitchen and to a little oak-
panelled sitting-room : but, knocking my head
severely against the oak beam in the doorway, I
nearly brought the whole ceiling down, a catastrophe
which they tell me has happened before now in this
rather rickety old manor house. Opening a door on
the other side of the house, I passed out into the
garden. How characteristic of the place ! — a broad
terrace running along the whole length of the house,
2

i8 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
and beyond that a few flower beds with the old
sundial in their midst. Beyond these a lawn, and
then grass sweeping down to the edge of the river,
some hundred yards away. Beyond the river again
more grass, but of a wilder description, where the
rabbits are scudding about or listening with pricked
ears ; and in the background a magnificent hanging
wood, crowning the side of the valley, with a large
rookery in it. I was much struck with the different
tints of the foliage ; for although autumn had not
yet begun to turn the leaves, the different shades of
green were most striking. A gigantic ash tree on
the far side of the river stood out in bold relief, its
lighter leaves being in striking contrast to the dark
firs in the background. Then walnut and hazel, beech
and chestnut all offered infinite variety of shape and
foliage. The river here had been broadened to a
width of some ninety feet, and an island had been
made. The place seemed to be a veritable sports
man's paradise ! Dearly would Isaac Walton have
loved to dwell here ! From the windows of the old
house he would have loved to listen to the splash
of the trout, the cawing of the rooks, and the quack
of the waterfowl, while all the air is filled with the
cooing of doves and the songs of birds. At night
he could have heard the murmuring waterfall amid
a stillness only broken at intervals by the scream
of the owl, the clatter of the goatsucker, or the weird
barking of the foxes : for not two hundred yards
from the house and practically in the garden, is a fox
earth that has never been without a litter of cubs
for forty years !

IL] AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN. 19
In an ivy-covered house in the stable-yard I saw
a very large number of foxes' noses nailed to
boards of wood — as Sir Roger de Coverley used to
nail them. They appeared to have been slain by
one Dick Turpin, huntsman to the Vale of White
Horse hounds, some thirty or forty years ago, when
a quondam master of those hounds lived in this old
place. What a charm there is in an old-fashioned English
garden ! The great tall hollyhocks and phlox, the
bright orange marigolds and large purple poppies.
The beds and borders crammed with cloves and
many-coloured asters, the sweet blue of the corn
flower, and the little lobelias. Zinneas, too, of all
colours ; dahlias, tall stalks of anenome japonica, and
such tangled masses of stocks ! As I walked down
by the old garden wall, whereon lots of roses hung
their dainty heads, I thought I had never seen grass
so green and fresh looking, except in certain parts
of Ireland.
But the wild flowers by the silent river pleased
me best of all. Such a medley of graceful, fragrant
meadow-sweet, and tall, rough-leaved willow-herbs
with their lovely pink flowers. Light blue scorpion-
grasses and forget-me-nots were there too, not only
among the sword-flags and the tall fescue-grasses
by the bank, but little islands of them dotted about
all over the brook. Thyme-scented water-mint,
with lilac-tinted spikes and downy stalks, was
almost lost amongst the taller wild flowers and the
" segs " that fringed the brook-side.
There are no flowers like the wild ones ; they last

20 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
right through the summer and autumn — yet we can
never have enough of them, never cease wondering
at their marvellous delicacy and beauty.
Darting straight up stream on the wings of the soft
south wind comes a kingfisher clothed in priceless
jewelry, sparkling in the sun : sapphire and amethyst
on his bright blue back, rubies on his ruddy breast, and
diamonds round his princely neck. Monarch he is of
silvery stream, and petty tyrant of the silvery fish.
I was told by a labourer that the trout ran from a
quarter of a pound to three pounds, and that they
average one pound in weight ; that in the " may-fly "
season a score of fish are often taken in the day by
one rod, and that the method of taking them is by
the artificial fly, well dried and deftly floated over
feeding fish. These Cotswold streams are fed at
intervals of about half a mile by the most beautiful
springs, and from the rock comes pouring forth an
everlasting supply of the purest and clearest of water.
I was shown such a spring in a withybed hard by
the old manor house. I saw nothing at first but a
still, transparent pool, nine feet deep (they told me) ;
it looked but three ! But as I gaze at the beautiful
fernlike weeds at the bottom, they are seen to be
gently fanned by the water that rises — never failing
even in the hottest and driest of summers — from the
invisible rock below. The whole scene — the silent
pool at my feet, the rich, well-timbered valley, with its
marked contrast to the cold hills that overlook it 
reminded me forcibly of Whyte-Melville's lines at the
conclusion of the most impressive poem he ever
wrote : " The Fairies' Spring " :

II.] A FAIRY SPRING. 21
"And sweet to the thirsting lips of men
Is the spring of tears in the fairies' glen."
Out of this fairy spring was taken quite recently,
but not with the "dry" fly — for no fish could be
deceived in water of such stainless transparency — a
trout that weighed three pounds and a half He was
far and away the most beautiful trout we ever saw ;
as silvery as a salmon that has just left the sea, he
was a worthy denizen of the secluded depths of that
crystal spring, still welling up from the pure lime
stone rock in the heart of the Cotswold Hills, as it
has for a thousand years.
I was told that the place was still owned by the
descendants of the pious John Coxwell who built the
manor house and commemorated it by the quaint
inscription over the porch in 1590. Doubtless the
architecture of all our Elizabethan manor houses in
the shape of a letter E owes its origin to the first
letter in the name of that great queen.
That year was a fitting time for the building of
" those haunts of ancient peace " that have ever since
beautified the villages of rural England. Not two
years before men's minds had been stirred to a pitch
of deep religious enthusiasm by what was then
regarded throughout all England as a divine miracle
— the destruction of the Spanish Armada. Scarce
three years had passed since the war with Scotland
had terminated in the execution of the ill-fated Mary
Queen of Scots. It is difficult for us, at the close of
this nineteenth century, to realise the feelings of our
ancestors in those times of daily terror and anxiety.
And when men were daily executed, and human life

22 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
was held as cheap as we now value a sheep or an
ox, no wonder John Coxwell was pious, and no
wonder he engraved that pious inscription over those
crumbling walls.
In the year 1590 there was a lull in those tem
pestuous times, and men were able to turn for a while
from the strife of battle and the daily fear of death
and cultivate the arts of peace.
Thus this stately little manor house was reared, and
many like it throughout the kingdom ; and there it
still stands, and will stand long after the modern
building has fallen to the ground. For not without
much hard toil and sweat of brow did our forefathers
erect these monuments of " a day that is dead " ; and
they remain to testify to the solid masonry and
laborious workmanship of ancient times.
The descendants of this John Coxwell Hve on
another property of theirs some twelve miles away ;
it is nearly seventy years since they have inhabited
this old house. I was pleased to find, however,
that the present occupiers look after the labouring
classes ; that what rabbits are killed on the
manor are not sold, but distributed in the village.
There is an old ivy-clad building in the grounds,
only a few paces from the manor house. This is the
village club. Here squire, farmer, and labourer are
accustomed to meet on equal terms. I was somewhat
surprised to see on the club table the Times, the Pall
Mall Gazette, and other papers. These wonderful
specimens of nineteenth-century literature contrast
strangely with a place that in many respects has
remained unchanged for centuries.

II.] THE VILLAGE CLUB. 23
There are few labourers in England, even in these
days, who have the opportunity — if they will take
it — of reading the Times' report of every speech made
in parliament. Perhaps, some day, will come forth
from this hamlet
''Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood " ;
one who from earliest youth has kept himself in
touch with the politics of the day, and has fitted
himself to sit in the House of Commons as the
representative of his class. There are still a few
" little tyrants " in the fields in all parts of England,
but they are very much scarcer than was the case
fifty years ago.
I was much pleased with a conversation 1 had
with an old-fashioned labouring man who, though
not past middle age, appeared to be incapacitated
from work owing to a " game leg," and whom I found
sitting under a walnut tree in the manor grounds
hard by the brook. He informed me that there was
bagatelle at the club for those who liked it, and all
sorts of games, and smoking concerts : that it was
a question who was the best bagatelle player in
the club ; but that it probably lay between the squire
and his head gardener, though Tom, the carter, was
likely to run them close ! I was glad to find so much
good feeling existing among all classes of this little
community, and was not surprised to learn that this
was a contented and happy village.
In this description of " a Cotswold village " we
have been looking on the bright side of things, and

24

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.

there is, thank Heaven ! many a place, mutato nomine,
that would answer to it. Alas ! that there should
be another side to the picture, which we would fain
leave untouched.
Gloucestershire, nay England, is full of old manor
houses and fair, smiling villages ; but in many parts
of the country we see buildings falling out of repair
and deserted mansions. Would that we knew the
remedy for agricultural depression ! But let us not
despair. '' The future hides in it
Gladness and sorrow;
We press still thorow,
Nought that abides in it
Daunting us, — onward ! "
It is a sad thing when the "big house" of the village
is empty. The labourers who never see their squire
begin to look upon him as a sort of ogre, who exists
merely to screw rents out of the land they till. Those
who are dependent on land alone are often the men
who do their duty best on their estates, and, poor
though they may be, they are much beloved. But it
is to be feared that in some parts of England men who
are not suffering from the depression — rich tenants of
country houses and the like — are apt to take a some
what limited view of their duty towards their poorer
neighbours. To be sure, the good ladies at the " great
house " are invariably " ministering angels " to the
poor in time of sickness, but even in these democratic
days there is too great a gulf fixed between all classes.
Let all those who are fortunate enough to live in such
a place as we have attempted to describe remember

II.] VILLAGE POLITICS. 25
that a kind word, a shake of the hand, the occasional
distribution of game throughout the village, and a
hundred other small kindnesses do more to win the
heart of the labouring man than much talk at election
times of Small Holdings, Parish Councils, or Free
Education. A tea given two or three times a year by the squire
to the whole village, when the grounds are thrown
open to them, does much to lighten the dulness of
their existence and to cheer the monotonous round
of daily toil. It is often thoughtlessness rather than
poverty that prevents those who live in the large
house of the village from being really loved by those
around them. There are many instances of unpopular
squires whose faces the cottagers never behold, and
yet these men may be spending hundreds of pounds
each year for the benefit of those whose affection they
fail to gain.
Alas ! that there should exist in so many country
places that class feeling that is called Radicalism,
It is perhaps fortunate that under the guise of politics
what is really nothing else but bitterness and discon
tent is hidden and prevented from being recognised
by its true name.
There are many country houses that are shut up
for the greater part of the year for other reasons than
agricultural depression, often because the owner, while
preferring to reside elsewhere, is too proud to let
the place to a stranger. This should not be. Let
these rich men who own large houses and great
estates live in those houses and on those estates, or
endeavour to find a tenant. We repeat that the land-

26 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
owners who really feel the stress of bad times for the
most part do their duty nobly. They have learnt
it in the severe school of adversity. It is the richer
class that we should like to see taking a greater
interest in their humble neighbours ; and their power
is great. The possessor of wealth is too often the
tacit upholder of the doctrine of laissez faire.
The times we live in will no longer allow it. Let us
be up and doing. In many small ways we may do
much to promote good fellowship, and bitterness and
discontent shall be no longer known in the rural
villages of England. II.
In the dead of winter these old grey houses of the
Cotswolds are a little melancholy, save when the sun
shines. But to every variety of scenery winter is
the least becoming season of the year, though the
hoar frost or a touch of snow will transform a whole
village into fairyland at a moment's notice. Then
the trout stream, which at other seasons of the year
is a never failing attraction, running as it does for
the most part through the woods, in mid winter
seldom reflects the light of the sun, and looks cold
and uninviting. One may learn much, it is true, of
the wonders of nature in the dead time of the year
by watching the great trout on the spawn beds as
they pile up the gravel day by day, and store up
beautiful, transparent ova, of which but a ten-
thousandth part will live to replenish the stock for
future years. But the delight of a clear stream is
found in the spring and summer ; then those cool.

n.] THE TROUT STREAM. 27
shaded deeps and sparkling eddies please us by their
contrast to the hot, burning sun ; and we love, even if
we are not fishermen, to linger by the bank 'neath
the shade of ash and beech and alder, and watch the
wonderful life around us in the water and in the air.
As you sit sometimes on a bench hard by the Coin,
watching the crystal water as it pours down the
artificial fall from the miniature lake in the wild
garden above, you may make a minute calculation
of the day and hour that that very water which is
flowing past you now will reach London Bridge, two
hundred miles below. Allowing one mile an hour as
the average pace of the current, ten days is, roughly
speaking, the time it will take on its journey. And
when one reflects that every drop that passes has its
work to do, in carrying down to the sea lime and
I know not how many other ingredients, and in
depositing that lime and all that it picked up on
its way at the bottom of the ocean, to help perhaps
in forming the great rolling downs of a new continent
— after this island of ours has ceased to be — one
cannot but realise that in all seasons of the year
a trout stream is a wonderfully interesting and
instructive thing.

TO THE COLN.
Flow on, clear, fresh trout stream, emblem of purity
and perfect truth ; thou hast accomplished a mighty
work, thou hast a mighty work to do. Who can
count the millions of tons of lime that thou hast
borne down to the sea in far-off Kent ? Thou hast

28 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
indeed " strength to remove mountains," for day by
day the soil that thou hast taken from these limestone
hills is being piled up at the mouth of the great
historic river, and some day perchance it shall become
rolling downs again. Fed by clear springs, thou shalt
gradually steal thy way along the Cotswold valleys,
draining foul marshes, irrigating the sweet meadows.
Thou shalt turn the wheels and grind many a
hundred sacks of corn ere to-morrow's sun is set.
And then thou shalt change thy name. No longer
silvery Coin, but mighty Thames, shalt thou be called ;
and many a fair scene shall gladden thy sight as
thou slowly passest along towards thy goal.
Smiling meadows and Gloucestershire vales will
soon give place to fair Berkshire villages, and, further
on, to those glorious spires and courts of Oxford ;
and here shalt thou make many friends — friends who
will evermore think kindly of thee, ever associate
thy placid waters with all that they loved best and
held dearest during their brief sojourning in those
old walls which tower above thy banks. A few short
miles, and thou shalt pass a quiet and sacred spot —
sacred to me, and dear above all other spots ; for
close to that little village church of Clifton Hampden,
and close to thee, we laid some years ago the mortal
body of a noble man. And when thou stealest
gently by, and night mists rise from off thy glassy
face, be sure and drop a tear in silvery dew upon
the moss-grown stone I know so well. And then
pass on to Eton, fairest spot on earth. Mark well
the playing-fields, the glorious trees, and Windsor
towering high. Here shalt thou be loved by many

II.] FLOWING SEAWARDS. 29
a generous heart, and youth and hope and smiling
faces greet thee, as they long since greeted me. Ah
well ! those friendships never could have been made
so firm and lasting mid any other scenes save under
thy wide-spreading elms, beloved Eton.
But onwards, onwards thou must glide, from scenes
of tranquil beauty such as these. The flag which
sails o'er Windsor's stately towers must soon be lost
to sight. Thy course once more through silent fields
is laid ; but not for long ; for, Hampton Court's fair
palace passed, already canst thou hear the wondrous
roar of unceasing footsteps in the busy haunts of men.
Courage ! thy goal is nearly reached : already thou
art great, and greater still shalt thou become. Thy
once transparent waters shall be merged with salt.
Thus shalt thou be given strength to bear great
ships upon thy bosom, and thine eyes shall behold
the greatest city of the whole wide world. Nay,
more ; thou shalt become the most indispensable
part of that city — its very life-blood, of a value not
to be measured by gold. Thou makest England
what it is.
Flow on, historic waters, symbolic of all that is
good, all that is great — flow on, and do thy glorious
work until this world shall cease ; bearing thy
mighty burden down towards the sea, showing
mankind what can be wrought from small beginnings
by slow and patient labour day by day.

Even in winter I do not know any scene more
pleasing to the eye than the sight of a Cotswold

30 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
hamlet nestling amid the stately trees in the valley,
if you happen to see it on a fine day. And if there
has been a period of rainy, sunless weather for a
month past, you are probably all the more ready to
appreciate the changed appearance which everything
wears. If that peaceful, bright aspect had been
habitual, you would never have noticed anything
remarkable to-day. It is this very changeful nature
of our English climate which gives it more than half
its charm.
But the great attraction of this country lies in its
being one of the few spots now remaining on earth
which have not only been made beautiful by God,
but in which the hand of man has erected scarcely
a building which is not in strict conformity and good
taste. One cannot walk through these Cotswold
hamlets without noticing that the architecture of
the country in past ages, as well as in the present
day to a certain degree, shows obedience to some
of those divine laws which Ruskin has told us ought
to govern all the works of man's hand.
" The spirit of sacrifice," " the lamp of truth " are
manifest in the ancient churches and manor houses,
as well as in the humble farmhouses, cottages, and
even the tithe barns of this district. Two thirds of
the buildings are old, and, as Ruskin has beautifully
expressed it : " The greatest glory of a building is
not in its stones, nor in its gold. Its glory is in its
age, and in that deep sense of voicefulness, of stern
watching, of mysterious sympathy, nay, even of
approval or condemnation, which we feel in walls
that have long been washed by the passing waves of

II.] THE CHARM OF ANTIQUITY. 31
humanity. It is in their lasting witness against men,
in their quiet contrast with the transitional character
of all things, in the strength which, through the lapse
of seasons and times, and the decline and birth of
dynasties, and the changing of the face of the earth,
and of the limits of the sea, maintains its sculptured
shapeliness for a time insuperable, connects forgotten
and following ages with each other, and half consti
tutes the identity, as it concentrates the sympathy,.
of nations ; — it is in that golden stain of time that
we are to look for the real light and colour and
preciousness of architecture ; and it is not until a
building has assumed this character, till it has been
entrusted with the fame and hallowed by the deeds
of men, till its walls have been witnesses of suffering
and its pillars rise out of the shadow of death, that
its existence, more lasting as it is than that of the
natural objects of the world around it, can be gifted
with even so much as these possess of language and
of life."
If we would seek a lesson in sacrifice from the men
who lived and laboured here in the remote past, we
can learn many a one from those deep walls of
native stone, and that laborious workmanship which
was the chief characteristic of the toil of our simple
ancestors. " All old work, nearly, has been hard
work ; it may be the hard work of children, of
barbarians, of rustics, but it is always their utmost."
They may have been ignorant of the sanitary laws
which govern health, and ill advised in some of the
sites they chose, but they grudged neither hand
labour nor sweat of brow ; they spent the best years

32

A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.

of their lives in the erection of the temples where we
still worship and the manor houses we still inhabit.
It is not claimed that there is much ornamental
architecture to be found in these Cotswold buildings ;
it is something in these days if we can boast that
there is nothing to offend the eye in a district which
is less than a hundred miles from London. There is
no other district of equal extent within the same
radius of which as much could be said.
"Jam pauca aratro jugera regiae
Moles relinquent."
But here all the houses are picturesque, great and
small alike. And there are here and there pieces of
work which testify to the piety and faith of very
early days : fragments of inscriptions chiselled out
more than fifteen hundred years ago — such as the four
stones at Chedworth, discovered some thirty years
ago, together with many other interesting relics of the
Roman occupation, by a gamekeeper in search of a
ferret. On these stones were found the Greek letters
% and p, forming the sacred monogram " C.H.R."
Fifteen hundred years had not obliterated this simple
evidence of ancient faith, nor had the devastation of
the ages impaired the beauty of design, nor marred
the harmony of colouring of those delicate pavements
and tesserae with which these wonderful people loved
to adorn their habitations. Since this strange dis
covery the diligent research of one man has rescued
from oblivion, and the liberality of another now protects
from further injury, one of the best specimens of a
Roman country house to be found in England. Far

IL] RELICS OF THE PAST. 33
away from the haunts of men, in the depths of the
Chedworth woods, where no sound save the ripple of
the Coin and the song of birds is heard, rude buildings
and a museum have been erected ; here these ancient
relics are sheltered from wind and storm for the sake
of those who lived and laboured in the remote past,
and for the benefit and instruction of him, be he
casual passer-by or pilgrim from afar, who cares to
inspect them.
The ancient Roman town of Cirencester, too, affords
many historical remains of the same era. But it is
to the part which English hands and hearts have
played towards beautifying the Cotswold district
that I would fain direct attention ; to the stately
Abbey Church of Cirencester and its glorious south
porch, with its rich fan-tracery groining within and
its pierced battlements and pinnacles without ; to
the arched gateway of twelfth century work, the sole
remnant of that once famous monastery — the mitred
Abbey of St. Mary — founded by the piety of the first
Henry, and overthrown by the barbarity of the last
king of that name, who ordained " that all the edifices
within the site and precincts of the monastery should
be pulled down and carried away " ; — it is to the
glorious windows of Fairford Church — the most beau
tiful specimens remaining to us of glass of the early
part of the sixteenth century — and to many an ancient
church and mediaeval manor house still standing
throughout this wide district, " to point a moral or
adorn a tale," that we must look for traces of the
exquisite workmanship of English hands in bygone
days, " the only witnesses, perhaps, that remain to us
3

34 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
of the faith and fear of nations. All else for which
the builders sacrificed has passed away — all their
living interests and aims and achievements. We
know not for what they laboured, and we see no
evidence of their reward. Victory, wealth, authority,
happiness — all have departed, though bought by
many a bitter sacrifice. But of them, and their life,
and their toil upon earth, one reward, one evidence
is left to us in those grey heaps of deep-wrought
stone. They have taken with them to the grave
their powers, their honours, and their errors ; but they
have left us their adoration." ^
Too many of our modern buildings are a sham
from beginning to end — sham marble, sham stone
work, sham wallpapers, sham wainscoting, sham
carpets on the ground, and sham people walking
about on them : even the very bookcases are sham.
In these old Cotswold houses we have the reverse.
The stonework is real, and the material is the best
of its kind — good, honest, native stone. The oak
wainscoting is real, though patched with deal and
painted white in recent times. The same pains in
the carving are apparent in those parts of the house
which are never seen except by the sei-vants, as in
the important rooms. And so it is with all the work
of three, four, and five hundred years ago. The
builders may have had their faults, their prejudices,
and their ignorances, — their very simplicity may have
been the means of saving them from error, — but they
were at all events truthful and genuine.
In many villages throughout the Cotswolds are
' Ruskin, " Seven Lamps of Architecture."

II.] WAYSIDE CROSSES. 35
to be seen ancient wayside crosses of exquisite
workmanship and design. These were for the most
part erected in the fourteenth century. One of the
best specimens of the kind stands in the market
place of old Malmesbury, hard by the ancient
monastery there. The date of this cross is A.D.
1480. Leland remarks upon it as follows : " There
is a right faire and costely peace of worke for poor
market folks to stand dry when rayne cummeth ;
the men of the towne made this peace of worke
in hominum memorid." Malmesbury, by the bye,
is just outside the Cotswold district.
At Calmsden — a tiny isolated hamlet near North
Cerney — is a grey and weather-beaten wayside cross
of beautiful Gothic workmanship, erected (men say)
by the Knights Templar of Quenington ; and there
are ancient crosses or remnants of them at Cirencester,
Eastleach, Harnhill, Rendcombe, Stow-on-the-Wold,
and many other places in the district. But few
of these old village crosses still stand intact in their
pristine beauty. May they never suffer the terrible
fate of a very beautiful one which was erected in
the fourteenth century at Bristol ! Pope, writing a
century and a half ago, describes it as " a very fine
old cross of Gothic curious work, but spoiled with
the folly of new gilding it, that takes away all the
venerable antiquity."
Happily there is no likelihood of the ancient
crosses in the Cotswolds being decorated by a coat
ing of gold. The precious metal is all too scarce
there, even if the good taste of the country folk did
not prohibit it.

36 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch.
I have spoken before of the ancient barns. Every
hamlet has one or more of these grand old edifices,
and there are often as many as three or four in
a small village. In some of these large barns the tithe
was gathered together in kind, until rather more than
sixty years ago it was converted into a rent charge.
Tithe was made on all kinds of farm produce.
The vicar's man went into the cornfields and placed
a bough in every tenth " stook " ; then the titheman
came with the parson's horses and took the stuff
away to the barn. The tithe for every cock in the
farmyard was three eggs ; for every hen, two eggs.
Besides poultry, geese, pigs, and sheep, the parson
had a right to his share of the milk, and even of the
cheeses that were made in his parish.
In an ancient manuscript which the vicar of Bibury
lately acquired, and which contains the history of
his parish since the Conquest, are set down some
interesting and amusing details concerning tithe and
the cash compensations that had been paid time out
of mind. The entries form part of a diary kept by
a former incumbent, and were made nearly two
hundred years ago.
" For every new Milch Cow three pence.
" For every thorough Milch Cow one penny.
" N.B. Nothing is paid for a dry cow, and there
fore tithe in kind must be paid for all fatting
cattle.
" For every calf weaned a half penny.
" For every calf sold four pence or the left shoulder.
" For every calf killed in the family Tour pence or
the left shoulder.

II.] TITHE BARNS. 37
" I have heard that one or two left shoulders of
veal were paid to the widow Hignall at Arlington
when she rented the tithes of Dr. Vannam, but /
have received none!'
Then follows an annual account of the value of
the tithes of the parish (about five thousand acres),
from 1763 to 1802, by which it appears that the year
1800 was the best during these four decades. Here
is the entry : —
" i8cx) The crops of this year were very deficient,
but corn of all sort sold at an extraordinary high
price. I made of my tithes and living this year clear
;£^i,200 ; from the dearness of labourers the outgoing
expenses amounted to ;£^900 in addition."
The worst year seems to have been 1766, when the
parson only got £"^60 clear of all expenses ; but even
this was not bad for those days.
The architecture of the Cotswold barns is often very
beautiful. The pointed windows, massive buttresses,
and elaborate pinnacles are sufficient indications of
their great age and the care bestowed on the building.
Some of the interiors of these Gothic structures have
fine old oak roofs.
The cottages, too, though in a few instances sadly
deficient in sanitary improvements and internal
comfort, are not only picturesque, but strong and
lasting. Many of them bear dates varying from
1600 to 1700.
It is evident that in everything they did our
ancestors who lived in the Elizabethan age fully
realised that they were working under the eye of
'¦ a great taskmaster." This spirit was the making

38 A COTSWOLD VILLAGE. [Ch. II.
of the great men of that day, and in great part
laid the foundation of our national greatness. The
glorious churches of Cirencester, Northleach, Burford,
and Bibury, and the ancient manor houses scattered
throughout the Cotswolds are fitting monuments
to the men who laboured to erect them. Would
that space allowed a detailed account of all these
old manor houses ! Enough has been said, at all
events, to show that there are places little known
and little cared for in England where you may still
dwell without, every time you go out of doors, being
forcibly reminded of the utilitarian spirit of the age.

CHAPTER III.

VILLAGE CHARACTERS.

" If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede ye tent it ;
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes.
And, faith, he'll prent it." R. Burns.
EVERY village seems to possess its share of
quaint, curious people ; but I cannot help
thinking that our little hamlet has a more varied
assortment of oddities than is usually to be met
with in so small a place.
First of all there is the man whom nobody ever
sees. Although he has lived in robust health for the
past twenty years in the very centre of the hamlet,
39

40

VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.

his face is unknown to half the inhabitants. Twice
only has the writer set eyes on him. When a
political contest is proceeding, he becomes compara
tively bold ; at such times he has even been met with
in the bar of the village " public," where he has been
known to sit discussing the chances of the candidates
like any ordinary being. But an election is absolutely
necessary if this strange individual is to be drawn out
of his hiding-place. The only other occasion on which
we have set eyes on him was on a lovely summer's
evening, just after sunset : we observed him peeping
at us over a hedge, for all the world like the
" Spectator " when he was staying with Sir Roger
de Coverley. He is supposed to come out at sun
set, like the foxes and the bats, and has been seen in
the distance on bright moonlight nights striding over
the Cotswold uplands. If any one approach him,
he hurries away in the opposite direction ; yet he
is not queer in the head, but strong and in the
prime of life.
Then there is that very common character " the
village impostor." After having been turned away
by half a dozen different farmers, because he never
did a stroke of work, he manages to get on the sick-
list at the "great house." Long after his ailment
has been cured he will be seen daily going up to the
manor house for his allowance of meat ; somehow
or other he " can't get a job nohow." The fact is,
he has got the name of being an idle scoundrel, and
no farmer will take him on. It is some time before
you are able to find him out ; for as he goes decidedly
lame as he passes you in the village street, he generally

III.] THE VILLAGE IMPOSTOR. 41
manages to persuade you that he is very ill. Like
a fool, you take compassion on him, and give him
an ounce of " baccy " and half a crown. For some
months he hangs about where he thinks you will
be passing, craving a pipe of tobacco ; until one day>
when you are having a talk with some other honest
toiler, he will give you a hint that you are being
imposed on.
When a loafer of this sort finds that he can get
nothing more out of you, he moves his family and
goods to some other part of the country ; he then
begins the old game with somebody else, borrowing
a sovereign off you for the expense of moving. As
for gratitude, he never thinks of it. The other day
a man with a " game leg," who was, in spite of his
lameness, a good example of " the village impostor,"
in taking his departure from our hamlet, gave out
" that there was no thanks due to the big 'ouse for
the benefits he had received, for it was writ in the
manor parchments as how he was to have meat three
times a week and blankets at Christmas as long as
he was out of work."
It is so difficult to discriminate between the good and
the bad amongst the poor, and it is impossible not to
feel pity for a man who has nothing but the work
house to look forward to, even if he has come down
in the world through his own folly. To those who
are living in luxury the conditions under which the
poorer classes earn their daily bread, and the
wretched prospect which old age or ill health presents
to them, must ever offer scope for deep reflection
and compassion.

•42

VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.

At the same time it must bfe remembered that
in spite of" hard times " and " low prices," as affecting
the farmers, the agricultural labourer is better off to
day than he has ever been in past times. Food is
very much cheaper and wages are higher. The
farmers seem to be more liberal in bad times than
in good. It is the same in all kinds of business.
Except injustice there is no more hardening in
fluence in the affairs of life than success. It seems
often to dry up the milk of human kindness in the
breast, and make us selfish and grasping.
- In the good times of farming there was doubtless
much cause for discontent amongst the Cotswold
labourers. The profits derived from farming were
then quite large. The tendency of the age, however,
was to treat the labouring man as a mere machine,
instead of his being allowed to share in the general
prosperity. (" Hinc illae lacrymae.") Now things
are changed. Long-suffering farmers are in many
<:ases paying wages out of their fast diminishing
capital. Many of them would rather lose money
than cut down the wages.
Then again agricultural labourers who are unable
to find work go off to the coal mines and big towns ;
some go into the army ; others emigrate. So that
the distress is not so apparent in this district as the
badness of the times would lead one to expect.
The Cotswold women obtain employment in the
fields at certain seasons of the year ; though poorly
paid, they are usually more conscientious and hard
working than the men.
Most of the cottages are kept scrupulously clean ;

III.] RURAL ECONOMY. 43
they have an air of homely comfort which calls
forth the admiration of all strangers. The children,
too, when they go to church on Sundays, are dressed
with a neatness and good taste that are simply
astonishing when one recalls the income of a labourer
on the Cotswolds — seldom, alas ! averaging more than
fourteen shillings a week. A boy of twelve years of
age is able to keep himself, earning about five shillings
per week. Cheerful and manly little chaps they are.
To watch a boy of fourteen years managing a couple
of great strong cart-horses, either at the plough or
with the waggons, is a sight to gladden the heart
of man.
It is unfortunate that there are not more orchards
attached to the gardens on the Cotswolds. The
reader will doubtless remember Dr. Johnson's advice
to his friends, always to have a good orchard attached
to their houses. " For," said he, " I once knew a
clergyman of small income who brought up a family
very reputably, which he chiefly fed on apple
dumplings!' Talking of clergymen, I am reminded of some
stories a neighbour of ours — an excellent fellow —
lately told me about his parishioners on the Cotswolds.
One old man being asked why he Hked the vicar,
made answer as follows : " Why, 'cos he be so scratchy
after souls!' The same man lately said to the parson,
*' Sir, you be an hinstrument " ; and being asked
what he meant, he added, " An hinstrument of good
in this place."
This old-fashioned Cotswold man was very fond
of reciting long passages out of the Psalms : indeed,

44

VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.

he knew half the Prayer-book by heart ; and one day
the hearer, being rather wearied, exclaimed, " I must
go now, for it's my dinner-time." To whom replied
the old man, " Oh ! be off with thee, then ; thee thinks
more of thee belly than thee God."
An old bedridden woman was visited by the parson,
and the following dialogue took place :—
" Well, Annie, how are you to-day? "
" O sir, I be so bad ! My inside be that comical
I don't know what to do with he ; he be all on the
ebb and flow."
The same clergyman knew an old Cotswold
labourer who wished to get rid of the evil influence
of the devil. So Hodge wrote a polite, though firm,
epistle, telling his Satanic Majesty he would have no
more to do with him. On being asked where he
posted his letter, he replied : " A' dug a hole i' the
ground, and popped un in there. He got it right
enough, for he's left me alone from that day to
this." The Cotswold people are, like their country, healthy,
bright, clean, and old-fashioned ; and the more
educated and refined a man may happen to be, the
more in touch he will be with them — not because
the peasants are educated and refined, so much as
because they are not half-educated and half-rehned,
but simple, honest, god-fearing folk, who mind their
own business and have not sought out many inven
tions. I am referring now to the labourers, because
the farmers are a totally different class of men. The
latter are on the whole an excellent type of what
John Bull ought to be. The labouring class, however.

III.] A CURIOUS ANALOGY.

45

still maintain the old characteristics. A primitive
people, as often as not they are " nature's gentlemen."
In the simple matter of dress there is a striking
resemblance between the garb of these countrj'
people and that of the highly educated and refined.
It is an acknowledged principle, or rather, I should
say, an unwritten law, in these days — at all events as
far as men are concerned — that to be well dressed
all that is required of us is not to be badly dressed.
Simplicity is a sine qua non ; and we are further
required to abstain from showing bad taste in the
choice of shades and colours, and to wear nothing
that does not serve a purpose. To simple country
folk all these things come by nature. They never
trouble their heads about what clothes they shall
wear. The result is, the eye is seldom offended in
old-fashioned country places by the latest inven
tions of tailors and hatters and the ridiculous
changes of fashion in which the greater part of
the civilised world is wont to delight. Here are
to be seen no hideous "checks," but plain, honest
clothes of corduroy or rough cloth in natural colours ;
no absurd little curly "billycocks," but good, strong
broad-brimmed hats of black beaver in winter to
keep off the rain, and of white straw in summer
to keep off the heat. No white satin ties, which always
look dirty, such as one sees in London and other
great towns, but broad, old-fashioned scarves of many
colours or of blue " birdseye " mellowed by age. The
fact is that simplicity — the very essence of good taste
— is apparent only in the garments of the ^^j^-dressed
and the poorest-dxes's.ed people in England. This is

46 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
one more proof of the truth of the old saying,
" Simplicity is nature's first step, and the last of art."
The greatest character we ever possessed in the
village was undoubtedly Tom Peregrine, the keeper.
"A man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again."
The eldest son of the principal tenant on the manor,
and belonging to a family of yeoman farmers who
had been settled in the place for a hundred years,
he suddenly found that "he could not a-bear farm
ing," and took up his residence as "an independent
gentleman " in a comfortable cottage at the gate of
the manor house. Then he started a " sack " business
— a trade which is often adopted in these parts by
those who are in want of a better. The business
consists in buying up odds and ends of sacks, and
letting them out on hire at a handsome profit. He
was always intensely fond of shooting and fishing ;
indeed, the following description which Sir Roger de
Coverley gave the " Spectator " of a " plain country
fellow who rid before them," when they were on their
way to the assizes, suits him exactly. " He is a
yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year ; and
knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a
week. He would be a good neighbour if he did not
destroy so many partridges : in short, he is a very
sensible man, shoots flying, and has been several
times foreman of the petty jury."
Perhaps with regard to the " shoots flying " the
reservation should be added, that should he have seen
a covey of partridges " bathering " in a ploughed field

III.] TOM PEREGRINE, THE KEEPER.

47-

within convenient distance of a stone wall or thick
fence, he might not have been averse to knocking over
a brace for supper on the ground. And we had
almost forgotten to explain that it was for the manor-
house table that he used to knock down a dinner with
his gun twice or thrice a week, and not his own —
for, some years ago, he persuaded the squire to take
him into his service as gamekeeper. When we came
to take up our abode at the manor, we found that he
was a sort of standing dish on the place. Such a keen
sportsman, it was explained, was better in our service
than kicking his heels about the village and on his
father's farm as an independent gentleman. And so
this is how Tom Peregrine came into our service.
For my part I liked the man ; he was so delightfully
mysterious. And the place would never have been the
same without him ; for he became part and parcel
with the trees and the fields and every living thing.
Nor would the woods and the path by the brook and
the breezy wolds ever have been quite the same if his
quaint figure had no longer appeared suddenly there.
Many a time was I startled by the sudden apparition
of Tom Peregrine when out shooting on the hill ; he
seemed to spring up from the ground like " Heme
the Hunter" —
"Shaggy and lean and shrewd. With pointed ears
And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur,
His dog attends him."
The above lines of Cowper's exactly describe the
keeper's Irish terrier ; the dog was almost as deep and
mysterious as the man himself When in the woods,

¦48 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
Tom's attitude and gait would at times resemble the
movements of a cock pheasant : now stealing along
for a few yards, listening for the slightest sound of
any animal stirring in the underwood ; now standing
on tiptoe for a time, with bated breath. Did a
blackbird — that dusky sentinel of the woods— utter
her characteristic note of warning, he would whisper,
" Hark ! " Then, after due deliberation, he would
add, " 'Tis a fox ! " or, " There's a fox in the grove,"
and then he would steal gently up to try to get a
glimpse of reynard. He never looked more natural
than when carrying seven or eight brace of partridges,
four or five hares, and a lease of pheasants ; it was a
labour of love to him to carry such a load back to the
village after a day's shooting. In his pockets alone
he could stow away more game than most men can
conveniently carry on their backs.
He was the best hand at catching trout the country
could produce. With a rod and line he could pull
them out on days when nobody else could get a
"rise." He could not understand dry-fly fishing,
always using the old-fashioned sunk fly. " Muddling
work," he used to call the floating method of fly
fishing. But Tom Peregrine was cleverer with the landing-
net than with the rod. Any trout he could reach
with the net was promptly pulled out, if we particu
larly wanted a fish. Then he would talk all day about
any subject under the sun : politics, art, Roman
antiquities, literature, and every form of sport were
discussed with equal facility.
One day, when I was engaged in a slight contro-

Ill-] A GREAT CHARACTER. 49
versy with his own father, the keeper said to me :
" I shouldn't take any notice whatever of him " ;
then he added, with a sigh, " These Gloucestershire
folk are comical people."
" Ah ! 'tis a wise son that knows his own father
in Gloucestershire, isn't it, Peregrine ? " said I, putting
the Shakespearian cart before the horse.
" Yes, it be, to be sure, to be sure," was the reply.
" I can't make 'em out nohow ; they're funny folk
in Gloucestershire."
He gave me the following account of the
"chopping" of one of our foxes: "I knew there
was a fox in the grove ; and there, sure enough, he
was. But when he went toward the "bruk," the
hounds come along and give him the meeting; and
then they bowled him over. It were a very comical
job ; I never see such a job in all my life. I knew it
would be a case," he added, with a chuckle.
The fact is, with that deadly aversion to all the
vulpine race common to all keepers, he dearly loved
to see a fox killed, no matter how or where ; but to
see one " chopped," without any of that " muddling
round and messing about," as he delighted to call
a hunting run, seemed to him the very acme of
satisfaction and despatch.
And here it may be said that Tom Peregrine's
name did not bely him. Not only were the keen
brown eye and the handsome aquiline beak marked
characteristics of his classic features, but in tempera
ment and habit he bore a singular resemblance to
the king of all the falcons. Who more dehghted in
striking down the partridge or the wild duck ? What
4

so

VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.

more assiduous destroyer of ground game and vermin
ever existed than Tom Peregrine ? There never was
a man so happily named and so eminently fitted to
fulfil the destinies of a gamekeeper.
Who loves to trap the wily stoat ?
Who loves the plover's piping note?
Who loves to wring the weasel's throat?
Tom Peregrine.
What time the wintry woods we walk,
No need have we of lure or hawk ;
Have we not Tom to tower and talk ?
Tom Peregrine ?
When to the withybed we spy,
A hungry hern or mallard fly,
" Bedad ! we'll bag un by and by,''
Tom Peregrine.
"Creep up wind, sir, without a sound.
And bide thy time neath yonder ' mound,'
Then knock un over on the ground,"
Tom Peregrine.
And so one might go on ad infinitum.
A more amusing companion or keener fisherman
never stepped. He had all sorts of quaint Gloucester
shire expressions, which rolled out one after the
other during a day's fishing or shooting. Then he
was very fond of reading amusing pieces at village
entertainments, often copying the broad Gloucester
shire dialect ; apparently he was not aware that
his own brogue smacked somewhat of Gloucester
shire too. At home in his own house he was
most friendly and hospitable. If he could get you
to " step in," he would offer you gooseberry, ginger,
cowslip, and currant wine, sloe gin, as well as the

III.] THE WORSHIP OF TITLES. 51
juice of the elder, the blackberry, the grape, and
countless other home-brewed vintages, which the
good dames of Gloucestershire pride themselves on
preparing with such skill. Very excellent some of
these home-made drinks are.
The British farmer is remarkably fond of a lord.
If you wanted to put him into a good temper for a
month, the best plan would be to ask a lord to shoot
over his land, and tell him privately to make a great
point of shaking the honest yeoman by the hand, and
all that kind of thing. . By the bye, I was once told by a
coachman that he was sure the Bicester hounds were
a first-rate pack, for he had seen in the papers that
no less than four lords hunted with them. There is
httle harm in this extraordinarily widespread admira
tion for titles ; it is common to all nations. We can
all love a lord, provided that he be a gentleman. The
gentlemen of England, whether titled or untitled, are
in thought and feeling a very high type of the human
race. But the man I like best to meet is he who
either by natural insight or by the trained habit of
his mind is able to look upon all mortals with eyes
unprejudiced by outward show and circumstance,
judging them by character alone. Such a man may
not be understood or be awarded the credit due
to him as " lord of the lion heart " and despiser of
sycophants and cringers. The habit of mind, never
theless, is worth cultivating ; it will be so very useful
some day, when mortal garments have been put off
and the vast inequalities of destiny adjusted, and we
all stand unclothed before the Judge.
Tom Peregrine was not a " great frequenter of

52 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
the church"; indeed, both father and son often
remarked to me that " 'Twas a pity there was not a
chapel of ease put up in the hamlet, the village church
being a full mile away." However, when Tom was
ailing from any cause or other he immediately sent for
the parson, and told him that he intended in future
to go to church regularly every Sunday. Shakespeare
would have enquired if he was troubled " about some
act that had no relish of salvation in't." " Thomas,
he's a terrible coward [I here quote Mrs. Peregrine].
He can't a-bear to have anything a-wrong with him ;
yet he don't mind killing any animal." He made a
tremendous fuss about a sore finger he had at one
time ; and when the doctor exclaimed, like Romeo,
" Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be much," Tom
Peregrine replied, with much the same humour as
poor Mercutio : " No, 'tis not so deep as a well,
nor so wide as a church door ; but 'tis enough." I
do not mean to infer that he quoted Shakespeare,
but he used words to the same effect. If asked
whether he had read Shakespeare, he might possibly
have given the same reply as the young woman in
High Life Below Stairs :
"Kitty: Shikspur? Shikspur ? Who wrote it? No, I
never read Shikspur.
" Lady B. : Then you have an immense pleasure to come!'
Let it be said, however, that in many respects Tom
was an exceedingly well-informed and clever man.
The family of Peregrines were noted, like Sir Roger
de Coverley, for their great friendliness to foxes ; and
to their credit let it be said that they have preserved
them religiously for very many years. I scarcely ever

III.] FARMERS AND FOX-HUNTING. 53
heard a word of complaint from them. All honour
to those who neither hunt nor care for hunting, yet
who put up with a large amount of damage to crops
and fences, as well as loss of poultry and ground
game, and yet preserve the foxes for a sport in
which they do not themselves take part.
When conversing with me on the subject of pre
serving foxes, old Mr. Peregrine would wax quite
enthusiastic. " You should put a barley rick in the
Conygers, and thatch it, and there would always
be a fox," he would remark. All this I hold to be
distinctly creditable. For what is there to prevent
a farmer from pursuing a selfish policy and warning
the whole hunt off his land ?
The village parson is quite a character. You do
not often see the like nowadays. An excellent man
in every way, and having his duty at heart, he is one
of the few Tories of the old school that are left to us.
Ruling his parish with a rod of iron, he is loved and
respected by most of his flock. In the Parish Council,
at the Board of Guardians, his word is law. He
seldom goes away from the village save for his annual
holiday, yet he knows all that is going on in the great
metropolis, and will tell you the latest bit of gossip
from Belgravia. He has a good property of his own
in Somersetshire, but to his credit let it be said that
his affections are entirely centred in the little Cotswold
village, which he has ruled for a quarter of a century.
" Full loth were him to cursS for his tithes,
But rather would be given out of doubt
Unto his poorS parishens about
Of his off'ring, and eke of his substance.

54 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch,
He could in Httle thing have suffisance.
Wide was his parish and houses far asunder,
But he ne left not for no rain nor thunder
In sickness and in mischief to visit
The farthest in his parish much and lit,
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staft,
This noble ensample to his sheep he gaf,
That first he wrought and afterwards he taught."
Chaucer.
Sermons are not so lengthy in our church as they
were three hundred years ago. Rudder mentions
that a panson of the name of Winnington used to
preach here for two hours at a time, regularly turning
the hour-glass ; for in those days hour-glasses
were placed near the pulpit, and the clergy used to
vie with each other as to who could preach the
longest. I do not know if Mr. Barrow was ever
surpassed in this respect. History relates that
he succeeded in emptying his church of the whole
congregation, including the Lord Mayor and Alder
men of London — one man only (an apprentice)
remaining to the bitter end. Misguided laymen
used to amuse themselves in the same way. Foz-
brooke mentions that one Will Hulcote, a zealous
lay preacher after the Reformation, used to mount
the pulpit in a velvet bonnet, a damask gown, and a
gold chain. What an ass he must have looked ! This
reminds me that at the age of twenty-four I accepted
the office of churchwarden of a certain country parish.
I do not recommend any of my readers to become
churchwardens. You become a sort of acting aide-
de-camp to the parson, liable to be called out on duty
at a moment's notice. No ; a young man might with

III.] CONCERNING CHURCHWARDENS. 55
some advantage to others and credit to himself
take upon himself the office of Parish Councillor,
Poor Law Guardian, Inspector of Lunatic Asylums,
High Sheriff, or even Public Hangman ; but save, oh,
save us from being churchwardens ! To be obliged
to attend those terrible institutions called " vestry
meetings," and to receive each year an examination
paper from the archdeacon of the diocese pro
pounding such questions as, " Do you attend church
regularly ? If not, why not ? " etc., etc., is the
natural destiny of the churchwarden, and is more
than human nature can stand : in short, my advice
to those thinking of becoming churchwardens is,
" Don't," with a very big D.
According to the " Diary of Master William
Silence," in the olden times a pedlar would occasion
ally arrive at the church door during the sermon, and
proceed to advertise his wares at the top of his voice.
Whereupon the parson, speedily deserted by the
female portion of his congregation and by not a few
of the other sex, was obliged to bring his discourse to
a somewhat inglorious conclusion.
We learn from the same work that the church
wardens were in the habit of disbursing large sums
for the destruction of foxes. When a fox was
marked to ground the church bell was rung as a
signal, summoning every man who owned a pickaxe,
a gun, or a terrier dog, to lend a hand in destroying
him. We are talking of two or three hundred years
ago, when the stag was the animal usually hunted by
hounds on the Cotswolds and in other parts of
England.

56 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
Our village is a favourite meet of the V.W.H.
foxhounds. An amusing story is told of a former
tenant of the court house — a London gentleman,
who rented the place for a time. He is reported to
have made a special request to the master of the
hounds, that when the meet was held at " the Court,"
" his lordship " would make the fox pass in front of
the drawing-room windows, " For," said he, " I have
several friends coming from London to see the hunt."
In a hunting district such as this the owners and
occupiers of the various country houses are usually
enthusiastic devotees of the chase. The present
holder of the " liberty " adjoining us is a fox-hunter
of the old school. An excellent sportsman and a
wonderful judge of a horse, he dines in pink the
best part of the year, drives his four-in-hand with
some skill, and wears the old-fashioned low-crowned
beaver hat.
We have many other interesting characters in our
village ; human nature varies so delightfully that just
as with faces so each individual character has some
thing to distinguish it from the rest of the world.
The old-fashioned autocratic farmer of the old school
is there of course, and a rare good specimen he is of
a race that has almost disappeared. Then we have
the village lunatic, whose mania is " religious enthu
siasm." If you go to call on him, he will ask you " if
you are saved," and explain to you how his own
salvation was brought about. Unfortunately one of
his hobbies is to keep fowls and pigs in his house
so that fleas are more or less numerous there, and
your visits are consequently few and far between.

III.] THE VILLAGE QUACK. 57
The village " quack," who professes to cure every
complaint under the sun, either in mankind, horses,
dogs, or anything else by means of herbs, buttonholes
you sometimes in the village street. If once he starts
talking, you know that you are " booked " for the day.
He is rather a " bore," and is uncommonly fond of
quoting the Scriptures in support of his theories.
But there is something about the man one cannot
help liking. His wonderful infallibility in curing
disease is set down by himself to divine inspira
tion. Many a vision has he seen. Unfortunately
his doctrines, though excellent in theory, are seldom
successful in practice. An excellent prescription
which I am informed completely cured a man of
indigestion is one of his mixtures "last thing at
night" and the first chapter of St. John carefully
perused and digested on top.
I called on the old gentleman the other day,
and persuaded him to give me a short lecture.
The following is the gist of what he said : " First
of all you must know that the elder is good for any
thing in the world, but especially for swellings. If
you put some of the leaves on your face, they will
cure toothache in five minutes. Then for the nerves
there's nothing like the berries of ivy. Yarrow makes
a splendid ointment ; and be sure and remember
Solomon's seal for bruises, and comfrey for ' hurts '
and broken bones. Camomile cures indigestion, and
ash-tree buds make a stout man thin. Soak some
ash leaves in hot water, and you will have a drink
that is better than any tea, and destroys the ' gravel.'
Walnut-tree bark is a splendid emetic ; and mountain

58 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
flax, which grows everywhere on the Cotswolds, is
uncommon good for the ' innards.' 'Ettles [nettles]
is good for stings. Damp them and rub them on to a
'wapse' sting, and they will take away the pain
directly." On my suggesting that stinging nettles
were rather a desperate remedy, he assured me that
" they acted as a blister, and counteracted the ' wapse.'
Now, I'll tell you an uncommon good thing to pre
serve the teeth," he went on, " and that is to brush
them once or twice a week. You buys a brush at
the chymists, you know ; they makes them specially
for it. Oh, 'tis a capital good thing to cleanse the
teeth occasionally ! "
He wound up by telling me a story of a celebrated
doctor who left a sealed book not to be opened till
after his death, when it was to be sold at auction.
It fetched six hundred pounds. The man who paid
this sum was horrified on opening it to find it only
contained the following excellent piece of advice :
" Always remember to keep the feet warm and the
head cool."
As I said good-bye, and thanked him for his
lecture, he said : " Those doctors' chemicals destroy
the ' innards.' And be sure and put down rue for the
heart; and burdock, 'tis splendid for the liver."
Nor must mention be omitted of old Isaac Sly, a
half-witted labouring fellow with a squint in one eye
and blind of the other, who at first sight might appear
a bad man to meet on a dark night, but is harmless
enough when you know him ; he haunts the lanes at
certain seasons of the year, carrying an enormous flag,
and invariably greets you with the intelligence that

III. A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 59
he will bring the flag up next Christmas the same as
usual, according to time-honoured custom. He is
the last vestige of the old wandering minstrels of
bygone days, playing his inharmonious concertina in
the hall of the manor house regularly at Christmas
and at other festivals.
Nor must we forget dear, honest Mr. White, the
kindest and most pompous of men, who, after fulfilling
his destiny as head butler in a great establish
ment, and earning golden opinions from all sorts
and conditions of men, finally settled down to a
quiet country life in a pretty cottage in our village,
where he is the life and soul of every convivial
gathering and beanfeast, carving a York ham or a
sirloin with great nicety and judgment. He has
seen much of men and manners in his day, and
has a fund of information on all kinds of subjects.
Having plenty of leisure, he is a capital hand at
finding the whereabouts of outlying foxes ; and
once earned the eternal gratitude of the whole
neighbourhood by starting a fine greyhound fox,
known as the " old customer," out of a decayed and
hollow tree that lay in an unfrequented spot by the
river. He poked him out with a long pole, and gave
the " view holloa " just as the hounds had drawn all
the coverts " blank," and the people's faces were as
blank as the coverts ; whereupon such a run was
enjoyed as had not been indulged in for many a long
day. But what of our miller — our good, honest gentleman
farmer and miller — now, alas ! retired from active
business ? What can I say of him ? I show you a

6o VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
man worthy to sit amongst kings. A little garrulous
and inquisitive at times, yet a conqueror for all that
in the battle of life, and one of whom it may in truth
be said, " And thus he bore without abuse
The grand old name of gentleman."
As to the morals of the Gloucestershire peasants
in general, and of our village in particular, it may
be said that they are on the whole excellent ; in
one respect only they are rather casual, not to say
prehistoric. The following story gives one a very good idea of
the casual nature of hamlet morals : —
A parson — I do not know of which village, but
it was somewhere in this neighbourhood — paid a
visit to a newly married man, to speak seriously about
the exceptionally premature arrival of an heir. " This
is a terrible affair," said the parson on entering the
cottage. " Yaas ; 'twere a bad job to be sure," replied
the man. " And what will yer take to drink ? "
Let it in justice be said that such episodes are the
exception and not the rule.
Among the characters to be met with in our Cots
wold hamlet is the village politician. Many a pleasant
chat have we enjoyed in his snug cottage, whilst the
honest proprietor was having his cup of tea and bread
and butter after his work. Common sense he has to
a remarkable degree, and a good deal more know
ledge than most people give him credit for. He is
a Radical of course ; nine out of ten labourers are
at heart. And a very good case he makes out for

III.] HEROES OF THE HAMLET. 61
his way of thinking, if one can only put oneself
in his place for a time. We have endeavoured to
convert him to our way of thinking, but the strong,
reflective mind, " lUi robur, et aes triplex
Circa pectus erat,"
is not to be persuaded. He will be true to "the
colour " ; this is his final answer, even if your
arguments overcome for the time being. And you
cannot help liking the man for his straightforward,
self-reliant nature ; he is acting up to the standard
he has set himself all through life.
•' This above all, to thine own self be true.
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.''
And how many there are in the byways of England
acting up to this motto, and leading the lives of heroes,
though their reward is not to be found here !
There is no nobler sight on this earth than to
behold men of all ages doing their duty to the best
of their ability, in spite of manifold hardships and
many a bitter disappointment ; cheerfully and man
fully confronting difficulties of all kinds, and training
up children in the fear and knowledge of God. If
this is not nobleness, there is no such thing on earth.
And it is owing to the vast amount of real, genuine
Christianity that exists among these honest folk
that life is rendered on the whole so cheerful in these
Cotswold villages. Many small faults the peasants
doubtless possess ; such are inseparable from human

62 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
nature. The petty jealousies always to be found
where men do congregate exist here, and as long as
the earth revolves they will continue to exist ; but
underneath the rough, unpolished exterior there is a
reef of gold, far richer than the mines of South
Africa will ever produce, and as immortal as the souls
in which it lies so deeply rooted and embedded.
For the best type of humanity we need not search
in vain among the humble cottages of the hamlets of
England. There shall we find the courageous, brave
souls who " scorn delights and live laborious days," —
men who estimate their fellows at their worth, and
not according to their social position. Blunt and
difficult to lead, not out of hardness of heart or
obstinate pigheadedness, but as Burns has put it :
" For the glorious priviledge
Of being independant."
A few such are to be found in all our rural villages if
one looks for them ; and if they are the exceptions
to the general rule, it must also be remembered that
men with " character " are equally rare amongst the
upper and middle classes.
Talking of village politics, I shall never forget a
meeting held at Northleach a few years ago. It was
at a time when the balance of parties was so even
that our Unionist member was returned by the bare
majority of three votes, only to be unseated a few
weeks afterwards on a recount. Northleach is a very
Radical town, about six miles from my home ; and
when I agreed to take the chair, I little knew what
an unpleasant job I had taken in hand

Ill-] POLITICAL MEETINGS. 63
Our member for some reason or other was unable
to attend. I therefore found myself at 7.30 one
evening facing two hundred " red-hot " Radicals, with
only one other speaker besides myself to keep the
ball a-roUing. My companion was one of those
professional politicians of the baser sort, who call
themselves Unionists because it pays better for the
working-class politician — in just the same way as
ambitious young men among the upper classes some
times become Radicals on the strength of there being
more opening for them on the " Liberal " side.
Well, this fellow bellowed away in the usual
ranting style for about three-quarters of an hour ;
his eloquence was great, but truth was " more
honoured in the breach than in the observance." So
that when he sat down, and my turn came, the
audience, instead of being convinced, was fairly rabid.
I was very young at that time, and fearfully nervous ;
added to which I was never much of a speaker, and,
if interrupted at all, usually lost the thread of my
argument. After a bit they began shouting, " Speak up." The
more they shouted the more mixed I got. When
once the spirit of insubordination is roused in these
fellows, it spreads like wild-fire. The din became so
great I could not hear myself speak. In about five
minutes there would have been a row. Suddenly a
bright idea occurred to me. " Listen to me," I
shouted ; " as you won't hear me speak, perhaps you
will allow me to sing you a song." I had a fairly
strong voice, and could go up a good height ; so I
gave them " Tom Bowling." Directly I started you

64 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
could have heard a pin drop. They gave me a fair
hearing all through ; and when, as a final climax, I
finished up with a prolonged B flat — a very loud and
long note, which sounded to me something between
a " view holloa " and the whistle of a penny steam
boat, but which came in nicely as a sort ot pikce de
resistance, fairly astonishing "Hodge" — their enthu
siasm knew no bounds. They cheered and cheered
again. Hand shaking went on all round, whilst the
biggest Radical of the lot stood up and shouted, " You
be a little Liberal, I know, and the other blokes 'ave
'ired [hired] you." Whether we won any votes that
evening I am doubtful, but certain I am that this
meeting, which started so inauspiciously, was more
successful than many others in which I have taken
part in a Radical place, in spite of the fact that we
left it amid a shower of stones from the boys outside.
I do not think there is anything I dislike more
than standing up to address a village audience on
the politics of the day. Unless you happen to be a
very taking speaker — which his greatest friends could
not accuse the present writer of being — agricultural
labourers are a most unsympathetic audience. They
will sit solemnly through a long speech without even
winking an eye, and your best " hits " are passed by
in solemn silence. To the nervous speaker a httle
applause occasionally is doubtless encouraging ; but
if you want to get it, you must put somebody down
among the audience, and pay them half a crown to
make a noise.
I suppose no better fellow or more suitable
candidate for a Cotswold constituency ever walked

III.] HUMOURS OF THE POLL. 6$
than Colonel Chester Master, of the Abbey ; yet
his efforts to win the seat under the new ballot act
were always unavailing, saving the occasion on which
he got in by three votes, and then was turned out
again within a month. An unknown candidate from
London — I will not say a carpet-bagger— was able to
beat the local squire, entirely owing to the very fact
that he was a stranger.
There is a good deal of chopping and changing
about among the agricultural voters, in spite of a
general determination to be true to the " yaller "
colour or the " blue," as the case may be. As I
passed down the village street on the day on which
our last election took place, I enthusiastically ex
claimed to a passer-by in whom I thought I recognised
one of our erstwhile firmest supporters, " We shall have
our man in for a certainty this time." " What — in
the brook ! " replied the turncoat, with a glance at the
stream, and not without humour, his face purple with
emotion. This was somewhat damping ; but the hold of
the paid social agitator is very great in these country
places, and it is scarcely credible what extraordinary
stories are circulated on the eve of an election to
influence the voters. At such times even loyalty is
at a discount. At a Tory meeting a lecturer was
showing a picture of Gibraltar, and expatiating on
the English victory in 1704, when Sir George Rooke
won this important stronghold from the Spaniards.
" How would you like any one to come and take your
land away ? " exclaimed a Radical, with a great show
of righteous indignation. And his sentiments received
the applause of all his friends. S

66 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch.
In these matters, and in the spirit of independence
generally, country folk have much altered. No longer
can it be said, as Addison quaintly puts it in the
Spectator, that " they are so used to be dazzled with
riches that they pay as much deference to the under
standing of a man of estate as of a man of learning ;
and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how
important soever it may be, that is preached to them,
when they know there are several men of five hundred
a year who do not believe it."
In such-like matters the labourers now show a vast
deal of common sense, and the only wonder is that
whilst paying but little deference either to men of
estate or men of learning, they yet allow themselves
to be "bamboozled" by the promises and claptrap
of the paid agitator.
Narrow and ignorant as is the Toryism commonly
displayed in country districts, it is yet preferable,
from the point of view of those whose motto is cequam
memento, etc., to the impossible Utopia which the
advanced Radicals invariably promise us and never
effect. A word now about the farmers of Gloucester
shire. It is often asked. How do the Cotswold farmers
live in these bad times ? I suppose the only reply
one can give is the old saw turned upside down:
They live as the fishes do in the sea ; the great ones
eat up the little ones. The tendency, doubtless, in
all kinds of trade is for the small capitalists to go to
the wall.
Some of the farmers in this district are yeoman

III.] GLOUCESTERSHIRE FARMERS. 67
princes, not only possessing their own freeholds, but
farming a thousand or fifteen hundred acres in
addition. Mr. Game, of Aldsworth, is a fine specimen
of this class. He makes a speciality of the original
pure-bred Cotswold sheep, and his rams being famous,
he is able to do very well, in spite of the fact that
there is little demand for the old breed of sheep, the
mutton being of poor quality and the wool coarse
and rough. Mr. Game carries off all the prizes at
"the Royal" and other shows with his magnificent
sheep. A cross between the Hampshire downs
and the Cotswold sheep has been found to give
excellent mutton, as well as fine and silky wool. The
cross breed is gradually superseding the native sheep.
Mr. Hobbs, of Maiseyhampton, is famous for his
Oxford downs. These sheep are likewise superior
to the Cotswold breed.
Barley does uncommonly well on the light lime
stone soil of these hills. The brewers are glad to get
Cotswold barley for malting purposes. Fine sainfoin
crops are grown, and black oats likewise do well.
The shallow, porous soil requires rain at least once
a week throughout the spring and summer. The
better class of farmer on these hills does not have at
all a bad time even in these days. Very often they
lead the lives of squires, more especially in those
hamlets where there is no landowner resident. Hunt
ing, shooting, coursing, and sometimes fishing are
enjoyed by most of these squireens, and they
are a fine, independent class of Englishman, who
get more fun out of life than many richer men.
They will tell you with regard to the labourers

68 VILLAGE CHARACTERS. [Ch. III.
that the following adage is still to be depended
upon : — " 'Tis the same with common natures :
Use 'em kindly they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well."

CHAPTER IV.
THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS, WITH SOME
ANCIENT SONGS AND LEGENDS.
AVERY marked characteristic of the village
peasant is his extraordinary honesty. Not
one in ten would knock a pheasant on the head with
his stick if he found one on his allotment among the
cabbages. Rabbit poachers there are, but even these
are rare ; and as for housebreaking and robbery, it
simply does not exist. The manor house has a
tremendous nail-studded oak door, which is barred
at night by ponderous clamps of iron and many
other contrivances ; but the old-fashioned windows
could be opened by any moderately skilful burglar
69

70 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
in half a minute. There is absolutely nothing to
prevent access to the house at night, whilst in the
daytime the doors are open from " morn till dewy
eve." Most of the windows are innocent of shutters.
When in Ireland recently, I noticed that the gates
in every field were immensely strong, generally of
iron, with massive pillars of stone on either side ;
but in spite of these precautions there was usually a
gap in the hedge close by, through which one might
safely have driven a waggon. This reminded one
of the Cotswold manor house and its strongly barri
caded oak door, surrounded by windows, which any
burglar could open " as easy as a glove," as Tom
Peregrine would say.
A strange-looking traveller, with slouching gait and
mouldy wideawake hat, passes through the hamlet
occasionally, leading a donkey in a cart. This is
one of the old-fashioned hawkers. These men are
usually poachers or receivers of poached goods. They
are not averse to paying a small sum for a basket of
trout or a few partridges, pheasants, hares or rabbits
in the game season ; whilst in spring they deal in a
small way in the eggs of game birds. As often as not
this class of man is accompanied by a couple of
dogs, marvellously trained in the art of hunting the
coverts and " retrieving " a pheasant or a rabbit which
may be crouching in the underwood. Hares, too, are
taken by dogs in the open fields. One never finds
out much about these gentry from the natives. Even
the keeper is reticent on the subject. " A sart of a
harf-witted fellow " is Tom Peregrine's description of
this very suspicious-looking traveller.

IV.] POACHERS' DOGS. 71
The better sort of carrier, who calls daily at the
great house with all kinds of goods and parcels from the
big town seven miles off, is occasionally not averse to
a little poaching in the roadside fields among the hares.
The carriers are a great feature of these rural villages ;
they are generally good fellows, though some of them
are a bit too fond of the bottle on Saturday nights.
The dogs employed by poachers are taught to
keep out of sight and avoid keepers and such-like folk.
They know as well as the poacher himself the nature
of their trade, and that the utmost secrecy must be
observed. To see them trotting demurely down the
road you would never think them capable of doing
anything wrong. A wave of the hand and they are
into the covert in a second, ready to pounce like a
cat on a sitting pheasant. One short whistle and
they are at their master's heels again. If in carrying
game in their mouths they spied or winded a keeper,
they would in all probability contrive to hide them
selves or make tracks for the high road as quickly
as possible, leaving their spoil in the thick underwood,
" to be left till called for."
But to return once more to the honest Cotswold
labourer. Occasionally a notice is put up in the
village as follows : —
" There will be a dinner in the manor grounds on
July — . Please bring knives and forks.''
These are great occasions in a Cotswold village.
Knives and forks mean meat ; and a joint of mutton is
not seen by the peasants more than " once in a month
of Sundays." Needless to say, there is not much
opportunity of studying the language of the country

72 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
as long as the feast is progressing. " Silence is
golden " is the motto here whilst the viands are being
discussed ; but afterwards, when the Homeric desire
of eating and drinking has been expelled, an adjourn
ment to the club may lead to a smoking concert,
and, once started, there are very few Cotswold men
who cannot sing a song of at least eighteen verses.
For three hours an uninterrupted stream of music
flows forth, not only solos, but occasionally duets,
harmoniously chanted in parts, and rendered with the
utmost pathos. It cannot be said that Gloucestershire
folk are endowed with a large amount of musical
talent; neither their "ears" nor their vocal chords are
ever anything great, but what they lack in quality
they make up in quantity, and I have listened to as
many as forty songs during one evening^some of
them most entertaining, others extremely dull. The
songs the labourer most delights in are those which
are typical of the employment in which he happens
to be engaged. Some of the old ballads, handed
down from father to son by oral tradition, are very
excellent. The following is a very good instance
of this kind of song ; when sung by the carter to a
good rollicking tune, it goes with a rare ring, in spite
of the fact that it lasts about a quarter of an hour.
There would be about a dozen verses, and the chorus
is always sung twice at the end of each verse, first
by the carter and then by the whole company.
" Now then, gentlemen, don't delay harmony,"
Farmer Peregrine keeps repeating in his old-fashioned,
convivial way, and thus the ball is kept a-rolling half
the night.

THE CARTER'S SONG.
JIM, THE CARTER LAD.
" My name is Jim, the carter lad —
A jolly cock am I ;
I always am contented,
Be the weather wet or dry.
I snap my finger at the snow,
And whistle at the rain ;
I've braved the storm for many a day,
And can do so again.
(JOhorus.)
" Crack, crack, goes my whip,
I whistle and I sing,
I sits upon my waggon,
I'm as happy as a king.
My horse is always willing ;
As for me, I'm never sad :
There's none can lead a jollier life
Than Jim, the carter lad.
'" My father was a carrier
Many years ere I was born,
And used to rise at daybreak
And go his rounds each morn.
He often took me with him.
Especially in the spring.
I loved to sit upon the cart
And hear my father sing.
Crack, crack, etc.
" I never think of politics
Or anything so great ;
I care not for their high-bred talk
About the Church and State.
I act aright to man and man,
And that's what makes me glad ;
You'll find there beats an honest heart
In Jim, the carter lad.
Crack, crack, etc.

74 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
" The girls, they all smile on me
As I go driving past.
My horse is such a beauty,
And he jogs along so fast.
We've travelled many a weary mile,
And happy days have had ;
For none can lead a jollier life
Than Jim, the carter lad.
Crack, crack, etc.
" So now I'll wish you all good night
It's time I was away ;
For I know my horse will weary
If I much longer stay.
To see your smiling faces.
It makes my heart quite glad.
I hope you'll drink your kind applause
To Jim, the carter lad.
Crack, crack, etc.''
The village choirs do very well as long as their
organist or vicar is not too ambitious in his choice of
music. There is a fatal tendency in many places to
do away with the old hymns, which every one has
known from a boy, and substitute the very inferior
modern ones now to be found in our books. This is
the greatest mistake, if I may say so. A man
is far more likely to sing, and feel deeply when he is
singing, those simple words and notes he learnt long
ago in the nursery at home. And there is nothing
finer in the world than some of our old English
hymns. I appeal to any readers who have known what it
is to feel deeply ; and few there are to whom this
does not apply, if some of those moments of their
lives, when the thoughts have soared into the higher

IV.] VILLAGE MUSICIANS. 75
regions of emotion, have not been those which
followed the opening strain of the organ as it quietly
ushered in the old evening hymn, "Abide with me,
fast falls the eventide," or any other hymn of the
same kind. It is the same in the vast cathedral
as in the little Norman village church. There are
fifty hymns in our book which would be sufficient
to provide the best possible music for our country
churches. The best organists realise this. Joseph
Barnby always chose the old hymns ; and you
will hear them at Westminster and St. Paul's. The
country organist, however, imagines that it is his
duty to be always teaching his choir some new and
difficult tune ; the result in nine cases out of ten
being " murder " and a rapid falling off in the
congregation. The Cotswold folk on the whole are fond of music,
though they have not a large amount of talent for
it. The Chedworth band still goes the round of the
villages once or twice a year. These men are the
descendants of the "old village musicians," who,
to quote from the Strand Musical Magazine for
September 1897, "led the Psalmody in the village
church sixty years ago with stringed and wind
instruments. Mr. Charles Smith, of Chedworth,
remembers playing the clarionet in Handel's Zadok
the Priest, performed there in 1838 in honour of
the Queen's accession." He talks of a band of twelve,
made up of strings and wood-wind.
I am bound to say that the music produced by
the Chedworth band at the present day, though
decidedly creditable in such an old-world village,.

76 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
is rather like the Roman remains for which the
district is so famous ; it savours somewhat of the
prehistoric. But when the band comes round and
plays in the hall of our old house on Christmas Eve,
I have many a pleasant chat with the Chedworth
musicians ; they are so delightfully enthusiastic, and
so grateful for being allowed to play. When I gave
them a cup of tea they kept repeating, " A thousand
thanks for all your kindness, sir."
It is inevitable that men engaged day by day
and year by year in such monotonous employ
as agricultural labour should be somewhat lacking
in acuteness and sensibility ; in no class is the
hereditary influence so marked. Were it other
wise, matters would be in a sorry pass in country
places, for discontent would reign supreme ; and
once let "ambition mock their useful toil," once
their sober wishes learn to stray, how would the
necessary drudgery of agricultural work be accom
plished at all ? In spite, however, of this marked
characteristic of inertness — hereditary in the first
place, and fostered by the humdrum round of daily
toil on the farm — there is sometimes to be found
a sense of humour and a love of merriment that is
quite astonishing. A good deal of what is called
knowledge of the world, which one would have
thought was only to be acquired in towns, nowadays
penetrates into remote districts, so that country folk
often have a good idea of "what's what.'' I once
overheard the following conversation :
" Who's your new master, Dick ? He's a bart., ain't
he?"

IV.] SENSE OF HUMOUR. 77
" Oh no," was the reply ; " he's only a fumped-up
iubilee knight ! "
Sense of humour of a kind the Cotswold labourer
certainly has, even though he is quite unable to see
a large number of apparently simple jokes. The
diverting history of John Gilpin, for instance, read at
a smoking concert, was received with scarce a smile.
Old Mr. Peregrine lately told me an instance of the
extraordinary secretiveness of the labourer. Two
of his men worked together in his barn day after
day for several weeks. During that time they never
spoke to each other, save that one of them would
always say the last thing at night, " Be sure to shut
the door."
Oddly enough they thoroughly appreciate the
humour of the wonderful things that went on fifty and
a hundred years ago. The old farmer I have just
mentioned told me that he remembers when he used
to go to church fifty years ago, how, after they had all
been waiting half an hour, the clerk would pin a notice
in the porch, " No church to-day ; Parson C  got
the gout."
As with history so also with geography, the
Cotswold labourer sometimes gets " a bit mixed."
" 'Ow be they a-gettin' on in Durbysher ? " lately
enquired a man at Coln-St.-Aldwyns.
To him rephed a righteously indignant native of
the same village, " I've 'card as 'ow the English army
'ave killed ten thousand Durvishers (Dervishes)."
" Bedad ! " answered his friend, " there won't be
many left in Durbysher if they goes on a-killin' un
much longer."

78 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
Another story lately told me in the same village
was as follows : —
An old lady went to the stores to buy candles,
and was astonished to find that owing to the Spanish-
American war "candles was riz."
" Get along ! " she indignantly exclaimed. " Don't
tell me they fights by candlelight!'
One of the cheeriest fellows that ever worked for
us was a carter called Trinder. He was the father of
twenty-one children — by the same wife. He never
seemed to be worried in the slightest degree by
domestic affairs, and was always happy and healthy
and gay. This man's wages would be about twelve
shillings a week : not a very large sum for a man
with a score of children. Then it must be remem
bered that the boys would go off to work in the fields
at a very early age, and by the time they were ten
years old they would be keeping themselves. A
large family like this would not have the crushing
effect on the labouring man that it has on the poor
curate or city clerk. Nevertheless, one cannot help
looking upon the man as a kind of hero, when one
considers the enormous number of grandchildren and
descendants he will have. On being asked the other
day how he had contrived to maintain such a quiver
ful, he answered, " I've always managed to get along
all right so far ; I never wanted for vittals, sir, any
how." This was all the information he would give.
Talking of "vittals," the only meat the labouring man
usually indulges in is bacon. His breakfast consists
of bread and butter, and either tea or cocoa. For his
dinner he relies on bread and bacon, occasionally only

(2

IV.] COTSWOLD LABOURING FOLK. 79
bread and cheese. In the winter he is home by five,
and once more has tea, or cocoa, or beer. Coffee is
very seldom seen in the cottages. During the short
days there is nothing to do but go to bed in the
evening, unless a walk of over a mile to the village inn
is considered worth the trouble. But being tired and
leg weary, a long walk does not usually appeal to
the men after their evening meal ; so to bed is the
order of the day, — and, thank Heaven ! " the sleep of
a labouring man is sweet." In the longer days of
spring and summer there is plenty to do in the
allotments ; and on the whole the allotments acts
have been a great blessing to the labourers.
It is during the three winter months that penny
readings and smoking concerts are so much appre
ciated in the country. Too much cannot be done in
this way to brighten the life of the village during the
cold, dark days of December and January, for the
labouring man hates reading above all things.
Perhaps the fact that these simple folk do not read
the newspapers, or only read those parts in which
they have a direct interest — such as paragraphs
indulging in socialistic castles in the air — has its
advantages, inasmuch as it allows their common
sense full play in all other matters, unhampered as
it is (except in this one weak point of socialism) by
the prejudices of the day. So that if one wanted to
get an unprejudiced opinion on some great question
of right or wrong, in the consideration of which
common sense alone was required — such a question,
for instance, as is occasionally cropping up in these
times in our foreign policy — one would have to go to

8o THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
the very best men in the country, namely, those
amongst the educated classes who think for them
selves, or to men of the so-called lowest strata of
society, such as these honest Cotswold labourers ;
because there is scarcely one man in ten among the
reading public who is not biassed and confused by
the manifold contradictions and political claptrap of
the daily papers, and led away by side issues from a
clear understanding of the rights of every case. Our
free press is doubtless a grand institution. As with
individuals, however, so ought it to be with nations.
Let us, in our criticisms of the policy of those who
watch over the destinies of other countries, whilst
firmly upholding our rights, strictly adhere to the
principle of noblesse oblige. The press is every day
becoming more and more powerful for good or evil ;
its influence on men's minds has become so marked
that it may with truth be said that the press rules
public opinion rather than that public opinion rules
the press. But the writers of the day will only fulfil
their destiny aright by approaching every question
in a broad and tolerant spirit, and by a firm reliance,
in spite of the prejudices of the moment, on the
ancient faith of noblesse oblige. However, the unan
imity recently shown by the press in upholding our
rights at Fashoda was absolutely splendid.
The origin of the names of the fields in this district
is difficult to trace. Many a farm has its "barrow
ground," called after some old burial mound .situated
there ; and many names like Ladbarrow, Cocklebarrow,
etc., have the same derivation. " Buryclose," too, is a
name often to be found in the villages ; and skeletons

IV.] RUSTIC LEGENDS. 8i
are sometimes dug up in meadows so called. A
copse, called Deadman's Acre, is supposed to have
received its name from the fact that a man died there,
having sworn that he would reap an acre of corn
with a sickle in a day or perish in the attempt. It
is more likely, however, to be connected with the
barrows, which are plentiful thereabouts.
Oliver Cromwell's memory is still very much re
spected among the labouring folk. Every possible
work is attributed to his hand, and even the names
of places are set down to his inventive genius. Thus
they tell you that when he passed through Aldsworth
he did not think very much of the village (it is
certainly a very dull little place), so he snapped his
fingers and exclaimed, " That's all 'e's worth ! " On
arriving at Ready Token, where was an ancient inn,
he found it full of guests ; he therefore exclainied,
" It's already taken ! " Was ever such nonsense heard ?
Yet these good folk believe every tradition of this
kind, and delight in telling you such stories. Ready
Token is a bleak spot, standing very high, and having
a clump of trees on it ; it is therefore conspicuous
for miles ; so that when this country was an open
moor, Ready Token was very useful as a landmark
to travellers. Mr. Sawyer thinks the name is a cor
ruption from the Celtic word " rhydd " and the Saxon
" tacen," meaning " the way to the ford," the place
being on the road to Fairford, where the Coin is
crossed. One of the chief traditions of this locality, and
one that doubtless has more truth in it than
most of the stories the natives tell you relates
6

82 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
that two hundred years ago people were frequently
murdered at Ready Token inn when returning with
their pockets full of money from the big fairs at
Gloucester or Oxford. A labouring friend of mine
was telling me the other day of the wonderful dis
appearance of a packman and a "jewelrer," as he
called him. For very many years nothing was heard
of them, but about twenty years ago some " skelling-
tons " were dug up on the exact spot where the inn
stood, so their disappearance was accounted for.
This same man told me the following story about
the origin of Hangman's Stone, near Northleach : —
" A man stole a ' ship ' [sheep], and carried it tied
to his neck and shoulders by a rope. Feeling rather
tired, he put the ' ship ' down on top of the ' stwun '
[stone] to rest a bit ; but suddenly it rolled off the
other side, and hung him — broke his neck."
Hangman's Stone may be seen to this day. The
real origin of the name may be found in Fozbrooke's
History of Gloucestershire. It was the place of
execution in Roman times.
" As illuminations in cases of joy, dismissal from
the house in quarrels, wishing joy on New Year's
Day, king and queen on twelfth day (from the
Saturnalia), holding up the hand in sign of assent,
shaking hands, etc., are Roman customs, so were
executions just out of the town, where also the
executioner resided. In Anglo-Saxon times this
officer was a man of high dignity."
A very common name in Gloucestershire for a field
or wood is "conyger" or " conygre." It means the
abode of conies or rabbits.

IV.] NAMES OF FIELDS. 83
Some farms have their " camp ground " ; and there,
sure enough, if one examines it carefully, will be found
traces of some ancient British camp, with its old
rampart running round it. But what can be the
derivation of such names as HorsecoUar Bush Fur
long, Smoke Acre Furlong, West Chester Hull,
Cracklands, Crane Furlong, Sunday's Hill, Latheram,
Stoopstone Furlong, Pig Bush Furlong, and Bare
legged Bush?
Names like Pitchwells, where there is a spring ;
Breakfast Bush Ground, where no doubt Hodge has
had his breakfast for centuries under shelter of a
certain bush ; Rickbushes, and Longlands are all more
or less easy to trace. Furzey Leaze, Furzey Ground,
Moor Hill, Ridged Lands, and the Pikes are all names
connected with the nature of the fields or their
locality. Leaze is the provincial name for a pasture, and
Furzey Leaze would be a rough " ground," where
gorse was sprinkled about. The Pikes would be
a field abutting on an old turnpike gate. The word
" turnpike " is never used in Gloucestershire ; it is
always " the pike." A field is a " ground," and a fence
or stone wall is a " mound." The Cotswold folk do
not talk about houses ; they stick to the old Saxon
termination, and call their dwellings " housen " ; they
also use the Anglo-Saxon " hire " for hear. The word
" bowssen," too, is very frequently heard in these parts ;
it is a provincialism for a stall or shed where oxen are
kept. " Boose " is the word from which it originally
sprang. A very expressive phrase in common use
is to " quad " or " quat " ; it is equivalent to the

84 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
word " squat." Other words in this dialect are
" sprack," an adjective meaning quick or lively ; and
" frem " or " frum," a word derived from the Anglo-
Saxon " fram," meaning fresh or flourishing. The
latter word is also used in Leicestershire. Drayton,
who knew the Cotswolds, and wrote poetry about
the district, uses the expression "frim pastures."
" Plym " is the swelling of wood when it is immersed
in water ; and " thilk," another Anglo-Saxon word,
means thus or the same.
A mole in the Gloucestershire dialect is an " oont "
or "woont." A barrow or mound of any kind is a
" tump." Anything slippery is described as " slick " ;
and a slice is a " sliver." " Breeds " denotes the brim
of a hat, and a deaf man is said to be " dunch " or
" dunny." To " glowr " is to stare — possibly con
nected with the word " glare."
Two red-coated sportsmen, while hunting close to
our village the other day, got into a small but deep
pond. They were said to have fallen into the " stank,"
and got " zogged " through : for a small pond is a
" stank,'' and to be " zogged " is equivalent to being
soaked. " Hark at that dog ' yoppeting ' in the covert !
I'll give him a nation good 'larroping' when I catch
him ! " This is the sort of sentence a Gloucestershire
keeper makes use of. To " larrop " is to beat.
Oatmeal or porridge is always called " grouts " ; and
the Cotswold native does not talk of hoisting a ladder,
but " highsting " is the term he uses. The steps of the
ladder are the "rongs." Luncheon is "nuncheon."
Other words in the dialect are " caddie " = to hum-

IV.] THE COTSWOLD DIALECT. 85
bug ; " cham " = to chew ; " barken " = a homestead ;
and " bittle " = a mallet.
Fozbrooke says that the term "hopping mad" is
applied to people who are very angry; but we do
not happen to have heard it in Gloucestershire. Two
proverbs that are in constant use amongst all classes
are, " As sure as God's in Gloucestershire," and, " 'Tis
as long in coming as Cotswold 'berle' " (barley). The
former has reference to the number of churches and
religious houses the county used to possess, the latter
to the backward state of the crops on the exposed
Cotswold Hills. To meet a man and say, " Good-
morning, nice day," is to " pass the time of day with
him." Anything queer or mysterious is described
as " unkard " or " unket " ; perhaps this word is a
provincialism for " uncouth." A narrow lane or path
between two walls is a "tuer" in Gloucestershire
vernacular. Another local word I have not heard
elsewhere is "eckle," meaning a green woodpecker
or yaffel. The original spelling of the word was
" hic-wall." In these days of education the real old-
fashioned dialect is seldom heard ; among the older
peasants a few are to be found who speak it, but in
twenty years' time it will be a thing of the past.
The incessant use of " do " and "' did," and the
changing of o's into a's are two great characteristics
of the Gloucestershire talk. Being anxious to be
initiated into the mysteries of the dialect, I button
holed a labouring friend of mine the other day, and
asked him to try to teach it to me. He is a great
exponent of the language of the country, and, like
a good many others of his type, he is as well satisfied

86 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
with his pronunciation as he is with his other
accomplishments. The fact is that
" His favourite sin
Is pride that apes humility."
It is your grammar, not his, which is at fault. In
the following verses will be found the gist of what
he told me : —
" If thee true ' Glarcestershire ' would know,
I'll tell thee how us always zays un;
Put ' I ' for ' me,' and ' a ' for ' o '
On every possible occasion.
" When in doubt squeeze in a ' w ' —
' Stwuns,' not ' stones.' And don't forget, zur,
That ' thee ' must stand for ' thou ' and ' you ' ;
' Her ' for ' she,' and vice versa.
" Put ' V ' for ' f ' ; for ' s ' put ' z ' ;
' Th ' and ' t ' we change to ' d,' —
So dry an' kip this in thine yead,
An' thou wills't talk as plain as we."
The student in the language of the Cotswolds
should study a very ancient song entitled " George
Ridler's Oven." Strange to say, there is little or
nothing in it about the oven, but a good deal of the
old Gloucestershire talk may be gleaned from it. It
begins like this :
GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN.
A RIGHT FAMOUS OLD GLOUCESTERSHIRE BALLAD.
"The Stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns,
The stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns!'
This is sung like the prelude to a grand orchestral

IV.] .\N ANCIENT BALLAD. 87
performance. Beginning somewhat softly, Hodge
fires away with a gravity and emotion which do him
infinite credit, each succeeding repetition of the
word " stwuns " being rendered with ever-increasing
pathos and emphasis, until, like the final burst of
an orchestral prelude, with drums, trumpets, fiddles,
etc., all going at the same time, are at length ushered
in the opening lines of the ballad.
" The stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler's oven,
And thauy qeum from the Bleakeney's Ouaar;
And Gaarge he wur a jolly ould mon,
And his yead it graw'd above his yare.
" One thing of Gaarge Ridler's I must commend,
And that wur vor a notable theng ;
He mead his braags avoore he died,
Wi' any dree brothers his zons zshou'd zeng.
" There's Dick the treble and John the mean
(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace) ;
And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,
And therevoore he would zing the beass.
" Mine hostess's moid (and her neaum 'twur Nell),
A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well;
I lov'd her well — good reauzon why,
Because zshe lov'd my dog and I.
" My dog has gotten zitch a trick
To visit molds when thauy be zick ;
When thauy be zick and like to die.
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I.
" My dog is good to catch a hen,—
A duck and goose is vood vor men ;
And where good company I spy,
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I.

88 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
" Droo aal the world, owld Gaarge would bwoast,
Commend me to merry owld England mwoast ;
While vools gwoes scramblin' vur and nigh,
We bides at whoam, my dog and I.
" Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag,
Wi' their vifteen neames vor a puddin' bag ;
Two tongues I knows ne'er towld a lie,
And their wearers be my dog and I.
" My mwother told I when I wur young.
If I did vollow the strong beer pwoot,
That drenk would pruv my auverdrow,
And meauk me wear a thzreadbare cwoat.
" When I hev dree zixpences under my thumb.
Oh, then I be welcome wherever I qeum ;
But when I hev none, oh, then I pass by, —
'Tis poverty pearts good company.
" When I gwoes dead, as it may hap,
My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap
In vouled earms there wool us lie.
Cheek by jowl, my dog and I."
GLOSSARY.
stwuns = stones. pleace = p\ace.
t/7iaar= quarry. pwoot=pevfter.
yare^hair. yeal=a\e.
avoor =he[ore. yeum = come.
auwn = own. graw'd = grew.
furrin = foreign . braags = brag.
greauve = grave. zshou'fl= should.
thauy = they. beass = hass.
yead= head. auverdroiv — overthrow.
mead= made. vouled earms = folded arms.
dree = three. zitch = such.
The song itself is as old as the hills, but I have
taken the liberty of appending a glossary, in order

IV.] TOM PEREGRINE RECITES. 89
that my readers may be spared the trouble of making
out the meaning of some of the words. It was a long
time before it dawned upon me that " vouled earms "
meant " folded arms " ; " auverdrow " likewise was
very perplexing. Like many of the old ballads, it
sounds like a rigmarole from beginning to end ; but
there is really a great deal more in it than meets the
eye. George Ridler is no less a personage than King
Charles I., and the oven represents the cavalier party.
(See Appendix.)
Such songs as these are deeply interesting from the
fact that they are handed down by oral tradition
from father to son, and written copies are never seen
in the villages. The same applies to the play the
mummers act at Christmas-time ; all has to be learnt
from the preceding generation of country folk. But
the great feature of our smoking concerts and village
entertainments has always been the reading of Tom
Peregrine. This noted sportsman, who writes one
of the best hands I ever saw, has kindly copied out
a recitation he lately gave us. It relates to the
adventures of one Roger Plowman, a Cotswold man
who went to London, and is taken from a book,
compiled some years ago by some Ciceter men,
entitled " Roger Plowman's Excursion to London."
It was read at a harvest home given by old
Mr. Peregrine in his huge barn, an entertainment
which lasted from six o'clock till twelve. I trust
none of my readers will be any the worse for
reading it. Tom Peregrine declares that when he
first gave it at a penny reading some years ago,
one or two of the audience had to be carried out in

90 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
hysterics— they laughed so much ; and another man
fell backwards off his chair, owing to the extreme
comicality of it. The truth is, our versatile keeper is
a wonderful reader, and speaking as he does the true
Gloucestershire accent, in the same way as some of the
squires spoke it a century or more ago, it is extremely
amusing to hear him copying the still broader dialect
of the labouring class. He has a tremendous sense of
humour, and his epithet for anything amusing is
" Foolish." " 'Tis a splendid tale ; 'tis so desperate
foolish," he would often say.
ROGER PLOWMAN'S JOURNEY TO LONDON.
Monday marnin' I wur to start early. Aal the
village know'd I wur a-gwain, an' sum sed as how
I shood be murthur'd avoor I cum back. On Sunday
I called at the manur 'ouse an' asked cook if she hed
any message vor Sairy Jane. She sed :
" Tell Sairy Jane to look well arter 'e, Roger, vor
you'll get lost, tuck in, an' done vor."
" Rest easy in yer mind, cook," I zed ; " Roger is
toughish, an' he'll see thet the honour o' the old
county is well show'd out and kep' up."
Cook wished me a pleasant holiday.
I started early on Monday marnin', 'tarmined to
see as much as possible. I wur to walk into Cizzeter,
an' vram thur goo by train to Lunnon.
I wur delighted wi' Cizzeter. The shops an' buildin's
round the market-pleace wur vine ; an' the church
wur grand ; didn't look as how he wur built by
the same sort of peeple as put the shops up.
When the Roomans an' anshunt Britons went to

IV] ROGER PLOWMAN'S EXCURSION. 91
church arm-in-arm it wur always Whitsuntide, an'
arter church vetched their banners out wi' brass
eagles on, an' hed a morris dance in the market-pleace.
The anshunt Britons never hed any tailory done, but
thay wur all artists wi' the paint pot. The Con-
sarvatives painted thurselves bloo, and the Radicals
yaller, an' thay as danced the longest, the Roomans
sent to Parlyment to rool the roost.
I wur show'd the pleace wur the peeple started vor
Lunnon. I walked in, an' thur wur a hole in the
purtition, an' I seed the peeple a-payin' thur money
vor bits o' pasteboord. I axed the mon if he could
take I to Lunnon.
He sed, " Fust, second, or thurd ? "
I sed, " Fust o' course, not arter ; vor Sairy Jane
uU be waitin'."
He sed 'twer moor ner a pound to pay.
I sed the paason sed 'twer about eight shillin'.
" That's thurd class," he sed ; an' that thay ud aal
be in Lunnon at the same time.
So I paid thurd class, an' he shuved out sum
pasteboord, an' I put it in my pocket, an' walked out ;
an' thur wur a row o' carridges waitin' vor Lunnon ;
an' off we went as fast as a racehoss.
I heerd sum say thay wur off to Cheltenham,
Gloucester, Tewkesbury, North Wales ; an' I sed to
meself, " I be on the rong road. Dang the buttons
o' that little pasteboord seller ! he warn't a ' safe
mon' to hev to do wi'."
I enquired if the peeple hed much washin' to do
for the railway about here, an' thay wanted to know
what I required to know vor.

92 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
I sed because thur wur such a long clothesline
put up aal the way along. An' thay aal bust out a-
larfin,' an' sed 'twur the tallergraph; an' one sed as how
if the Girt Western thought as how 'twould pay better,
thay ud soon shet up shop, an' take in washin'.
Never in aal me life did I go at such a rate under
and awver bridges an droo holes in the 'ills. We
wur soon at Swindon, wur a lot wur at work as
black as tinkers. We aal hed to get out, an' a chap
in green clothes sed we shood hev to wait ten minits.
Thur wur a lot gwain into a room, an' I seed they
wur eatin' and drinkin' ; so I ses to meself, " I be
rayther peckish, I'll go in an' see if I can get
summut." So in I goes ; an' 'twer a vine pleace, wi'
sum nation good-looking gurls a-waitin'.
" I'll hev a half-quartern loaf," I sed.
" We doan't kip a baker's shop," she sed. " Thur's
cakes, an' biskits, an' sponge cakes."
" Hev 'e got sum good bacon, raythur vattish ? "
I sed. " No, sur ; but thur's sum good poork sausingers
at sixpence."
" Hand awver the pleat, young 'ooman," I sed,
"an' I'll trubble you vor the mustard, an' salt, an'
that pleat o' bread an' butter, an' I'll set down an' hev
a bit of a snack."
The sausingers wur very good, an' teasted moorish
aal the time ; but the bread an' butter wur so nation
thin that I had to clap dree or vour pieces together
to get a mouthful. I didn't seem to want a knife
or vork, but the young 'ooman put a white-handled
knife an' silver vork avoor me.

IV.] AN EXPENSIVE LUNCHEON.

93

The pleat o' bread an' butter didn't hold out vor
the sausingers, so I hed another pleat o' bread an'
butter, an' wur getting on vine. I seem'd to want
summut to wet me whistle, an' wur gwain to order a
quart o' ale, when I heers a whistle an' a grunt
vram a steamer, an' out I goos ; an', begum ! he
wur off.
I beckuned to the chap to stop the train, wi'
me vork as I hed jest stuck into the last sausinger.
I hed clapt a good mouthful in, or I could hev
hollur'd loud enough vor him to heer. The train
didn't stop, an' the vellers in green laughed to see I
wur left in the lurch, as I tell'd them that Sairy Jane
would be sure to meet the Lunnon train. Thay sed
I could go in an' vinish the sausingers now, an' that
wur what I intended to do.
I asked the young 'ooman for a bottle o' ale,
when she put a tallish bottle down wi' a beg head ;
an' as I wur dry I knocked the neck off, an' the ale
kum a-fizzing out like ginger pop,— an' 'twer no use
to try to stop the fizzle. I had aal I could get in a
glass, an' it zeemed goodish. She soon run back wi'
another bottle in her hand, an' I tell'd her 'twer pop
she hed put down.
" What hev you bin an' dun, sur ? " she sed ; " that
wur a bottle o' Moses's shampane, at seven shillin's
an' sixpence a bottle."
I tell'd her 1 know'd 'twer nothin' but pop, as it
fizzled so. Thur wur two or dree gentlemen in, an'
thay larfed at the fizzle an' I. It seemed to meak me
veel merryish, an' I zed, "What's to pay, young
'ooman ? "

94 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch
She sed, " Thirteen shillin's, sur."
" Thirteen scaramouches I " I sed. " What vor ? "
" Seven sausingers, dree and sixpence ; twenty-
vour slices o' bread an' butter, two shillin's ; an' a
bottle of shampane, seven and sixpence ; — kums to
thirteen shillin's," she sed.
"Yer tell'd me as how the sausingers wur six
pence," I sed ; " an' the slices o' bread ud cut off a
tuppeny loaf"
She sed the sausingers wur sixpence each, an'
twenty-vour slices o' bread an' butter wur a penny
each — two shillin's.
I sed, " Do 'e call that reysonable, young 'ooman ?
'cause I hain't a-gwain to pay thirteen shillin's vor't,
an' lose me train, an' disappoint Sairy Jane.
Thirteen shillin's vor two or dree sausingers, a few
slices o' bread an' butter, an' a bottle o' pop — not vor
Roger, if he knows it."
Up kums a chap an' ses, " Be you gwain to pay
vor wat you hev hed ? "
" To be sure I be. Thur's sixpence vor the
sausingers, tuppence vor bread an' butter, an' drep-
pence the pop,— that meaks 'leven pence " ; an' I
drows down a shillin', and ses, " Thur's the odd penny
vor the young 'ooman as waited upon me."
" You hed thirteen shillin's worth o' grub an'
shampane, an' you'll hev to pay twelve shillin's moor,
or I shall take 'e away an' lock 'e up vor the night,"
he sed.
" Do 'e thenk as how you could do aal that, young
man ? " I sed. " No disrespect to 'e though, vor that
don't argify ; but I could ketch hold on 'e by the

IV.] SWINDLEUM STATION.

95

scroff o' yer neck an' the seat o' yer breeches, an'
pitch 'e slick into the roadway among the iron."
" Look heer, Meyster Turmot, you'll hev to pay
twelve shillin' moor avoor you gwoes out o' heer, or
Lunnon won't hold 'e to-night."
I know'd Sairy Jane ud be a-waitin', an' as he
sed the train were moast ready, I drows down a
suverin', an' hed the change, an' as I wur a-gwain
out I hollurs out as how I shood remember Swindleum
stashun. I heer'd the lot a-larfin, an' hed moast a
mind to go in an' twirl me ground ash among um
vor thur edification.
I wur soon on the road agen, a-gwain like a house
a-vire, an' thur wur more clotheslines aal the way
along on pwosts.
Wen we got nearish to Lunnon I seed sum girt
beg round barrels painted black.^ I axed a chap
what thay wur, an' he sed that thay wur beg barrels
o' stingo, an' thur wur pipes laid on to the peeple's
housen vor thay to draw vram.
I sed that wur very good accommodashun to hev
XXX laid on vor use.
We soon druv into the beggest pleace I wur ever
in since I wur born'd. Thay sed 'twer Paddington,
an' that I wur to get out, vor they wurn't a-gwain
to drive no furder. I hed paid to go to Lunnon, an'
thay shood drive all the way when thay wur paid
avoor'and. I wur tell'd Paddington wur the Lunnon stashun
by a porter, an' I look'd round vor Sairy Jane, as she
sed as how her ud be heer at one o'clock ; and porter
' Gasometers.

96 THE LANGUAGE OF THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
sed 'twer then dree o'clock, an' likely Sairy Jane had
gone away. Drat thay sausingers as mead I too
late vor the train !
I set down to wait for Sairy Jane, as I didn't
know her directions, an' hed left the letter she sent
at whoam. Arter waitin' for a long while I started
out, an' 'oped to see her in sum part o' Lunnon.
Another story Tom Peregrine is fond of reading
to us relates how a labouring man was recommended
to get some oxtail soup to strengthen him. He
goes into the town and sees " Oxikali Soap " written
up on a shop window. He buys a cake of it, makes
his wife boil it up in the pot, and then proceeds
to drink it for his health. When he has taken a
spoonful or two and found it very unpleasant, his
wife makes him finish it up, saying it is sure to do
him good ; and she consoles him with the assurance
that all medicine is nasty.
At the harvest home in the big barn, after the
applause which followed Tom Peregrine's recitation
had died away, a sturdy carter stood up and sang
a very old Gloucestershire song, which runs as
follows : —
THE TURMUT HOWER.
"I be a turmut hower,
Vram Gloucestershire I came ;
My parents be hard-working folk,
Giles Wapshaw be my name.
The vly, the vly,
The vly be on the turmut,
An' it be aal me eye, and no use to try
To keep um off the turmut.

THE TURMUT HOWER.
"Zum be vond o' haymakin',
An' zum be vond o' mowin'.
But of aal the trades thet I likes best
Gie I the turmut howin'.
The vly, etc.
" 'Twas on a summer mornin',
Aal at the brake o' day,
When I tuck up my turmut hower,
An' trudged it far away.
The vly, etc.
" The vust pleace I got work at,
It wus by the job,
But if I hed my chance agen,
I'd ra3rther go to quod.
The vly, etc.
"The next pleace I got work at,
'Twer by the day,
Vor one old Varmer Vlower,
Who sed I wur a rippin' turmut hower.
The vly, etc.
" Sumtimes I be a-mowin',
Sumtimes I be a-plowin',
Gettin' the vurrows aal bright an' clear
Aal ready vor turmut sowin'.
The vly, etc.
"An' now my song be ended
I 'ope you won't call encore ;
But if you'll kum here another night,
I'll seng it ye once more.
The vly, etc."

^ v-"'^ iy __^ ¦'^-' .'ncHi/f • -y- v"''W(* \- >/!. -!¦'%¦¦'>¦'

On ike Wolds

CHAPTER V.

ON THE WOLDS.

TIME passes quickly for the sportsman who
has the good fortune to dwell in the merry
Cotswolds. Spring gives place to summer and
autumn to winter with a rapidity which astonishes
us as the years roll on.
So diversified are the amusements that each season
brings round that no time of year lacks its own
characteristic sport. In the spring, ere red coats and
" leathers " are laid aside by the fox-hunting squire,
there is the best of trout-fishing to be enjoyed in the
Coin and Windrush — streams dear to the heart of
the accomplished expert with the " dry " fly. In
spring, too, are the local hunt races at Oaksey and

Ch. v.] VARIED AMUSEMENTS. 99
Sherston, at Moreton-in-the-Marsh and Andovers-
ford. Pleasant little country gatherings are these
race meetings, albeit the bond-fide hunter has little
chance of distinguishing himself between the flags
in any part of England nowadays. The Lechlade
Horse Show, too, is a great institution in the V.W.H.
country at the close of the hunting season.
Annually at Whitsuntide for very many centuries
" sports " have been held in all parts of the country.
It is said that they are the floralia of the Romans.
Included in these sports are many of those amuse
ments of the middle ages of which Ben Jonson
sang: " The Cotswold with the Olympic vies
In manly games and goodly exercise."
Horse-racing is a great feature in the programme
of these Whitsuntide festivities.
The " may-fly " carnival among the trout, together
with lots of cricket matches, make the time pass all
too quickly for those who spend the glorious summer
months in the Cotswolds. By the time the Cirencester
Horse Show is over, the cubs are getting strong and
mischievous. Directly the corn is cut the hounds
are out again in the lovely September mornings.
By this time partridges are plentiful, and must be
shot ere they get too wild. So year by year the
ball is kept rolling in the quiet Cotswold Hills ; the
days go by, yet content reigns amongst all classes.
"Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ;
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way."

loo ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
Then there is so much to do indirectly connected
with sport of all kinds, if you live in a Cotswold
village. Woods and fox coverts must be kept in
good order, so that there may always be cover to
shelter game and foxes. Cricket grounds afford
unlimited scope for labour and experiment.
If you either own or rent a trout stream there is
no end to the improvements that can be made with
a little time and labour. Deep holes or even lakes
may be dug, great stones and fir poles may be
utilised, to form eddies and waterfalls and homes
for the trout. By means of a little stocking with
fresh blood a stream may often be turned from
a worthless piece of water into a splendid fishery.
There is no limit to the articles of food which can
be imported. Gammari, or fresh-water shrimps,
caddis and larvae, and various species of weeds
which nourish insects and snails — notably the chara
flexilis from Loch Leven — may all be procured and
transplanted to your water. The beautiful springs
which feed the Coin at various intervals, where the
watercress grows freely, would be of great service
in forming lakes ; there is so much poor marshy
land even in the fertile valleys that might be utilised
with advantage and profit for the purpose of trout
preserving. Talking of watercress, this is a branch of farming
which appears to be somewhat neglected on the
banks of the Coin. The villagers tell you that water
cress, like the oyster, is good in every month with an
" r " in it : so that all through the year, save in May,
June, July, and August, watercress may be picked

v.] A NEST OF QUAILS. loi
and sent to market. But the proprietor of water
cress beds attaches little importance to the fact that
he possesses large beds of this wholesome and repro
ductive plant, and you will not see it on his table
once in a month of Sundays. In London one eats
watercress all the year round, more especially, in the
months without an " r," but it does not come from the
Cotswolds. There is not much covert shooting on these hills.
The country is so open and the coverts so small
and deficient in underwood that pheasant preserving
on a large scale is not practicable ; for this reason the
preservation of foxes is the first consideration. At
Stowell, Sherborne, Rendcombe, Barnsley, and Ciren
cester, as well as on a few other large estates, a large
head of game is reared ; while foxes are plentiful too.
But the owners and occupiers of most of the manors
are content to rely on nature to supply them with
game in due season.
However, for those gunners who, like the writer,
are both unskilful and unambitious, the shooting
obtained on the Cotswold Hills is very enjoyable.
In September from ten to twenty brace of partridges
are to be picked up, together with what hares a man
cares to shoot, and a few rabbits. Then landrails
or corncrakes, and last, but not least, an occasional
quail, are usually included in the bag. Quails are
rather partial to this district ; during the first
fortnight of September a few are generally shot on
the manor we frequent. On August 17th this year
we found a nest containing five young quails about
half-grown.

I02 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
But the real pleasure connected with this kind of
sport lies in the sense of wildness. The air is almost
as good a tonic as that of the Scotch moors, whilst
there is the additional satisfaction of being at home
in September instead of flying away to the North,
and having to put up with all the discomfort of a
long railway journey each way.
There is no time of year one would sooner spend
at home on Cotswold than the month of September.
Nature is then at her best : the cold, bleak hills are
clothed with the warmth of golden stubble ; the
autumnal haze now softens the landscape with those
lights and shades which add so much of loveliness
and sense of mystery to a hill country ; the rich
aftermath is full of animal life ; birds of all descrip
tions are less wild and more easily observed than is
the case later on, when the pastures and downs have
been thinned by frost and there is no shelter left.
Now you may see the kestrels hovering in mid air,
and the great sluggish heron wending his ethereal
way to the upper waters of the trout stream. You
watch him till he drops suddenly from the heavens,
to alight in the little valley which lies a short mile
away, invisible amid the far-stretching tablelands.
Occasionally, too, a marsh-harrier may be met with,
but this is a rara avis even in these outlandish
parts. Peregrine falcons are uncommon too, though
one may yet see a pair of them now and then if one
keeps a sharp look-out at all times and seasons.
There are wimbrels and curlews that have been shot
here during recent years stuffed and hung up in
glass cases in old Mr. Peregrine's house.

v.] SEPTEMBER IN THE FIELDS. 103
Of Other birds which are becoming scarcer year by
year in England, the kingfishers are not uncommon
in these parts ; you will often see the brilliant little
fellow dart past you as you walk by the stream in
summer. Water-ousels or dippers are scarce ; we
have seen but one specimen in the last three years.
In September, as you walk over the fields, the
Cotswolds are seen at their best. Somehow or other
a country never looks so well from the roads as it
appears when you are in the fields. The man who
prefers the high road had better not live in the
Cotswolds ; for these roads, mended as they are
with limestone in the more remote parts of the
district, become terribly sticky in winter, while the
grass fields and stubbles are generally as dry as a
bone. There is but a small percentage of clay in
the soil, but a good deal of lime, and five inches
down is the hard rock ; therefore this light, stony
soil never holds the rain, but allows it to percolate
rapidly through, even as a sieve. When the sun is
hot after a frost the ploughs " carry " certainly, but
this is because they dry so quickly ; they seldom
remain thoroughly wet for any length of time.
Consequently, in hunting, the feet of hounds, horses,
and even of foxes pick up the sticky, arable soil,
instead of splashing through it, and scent is spoiled
thereby. Doubtless the lime in the soil adds to its
stickiness. It is amusing to watch a fox " break "
covert and make his way over a plough which
" carries " : he travels very badly ; we have seen him
fail to jump a sheep hurdle at the first attempt.
Fortunately for the fox, the hounds are also handi-

104 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
capped by these conditions, and scent is wretched.
This might appear at first sight to show that the
scent of foxes is chiefly given off from their feet
We can recall few occasions on which a plough that
" carried " held a " burning scent." But little though
we know of the mysteries of " scent," it is generally
agreed that the "steaming trail" emanates chiefly
from the body and breath of a fox, even though on
certain days there is no evidence of any scent, save
on the ground. It is probable, however, that on light
ploughlands evaporation is so great when the sun
is shining (unless the wind is sufficiently cold to
counteract the heat of the sun and prevent rapid
evaporation) that all scent from the body and breath
of the fox, save that which happens to cling to the
ground, is borne upwards and lost in the upper air.
The hounds therefore have to fall back on whatever
scent may remain clinging to the soil, those occasions
of course excepted when the great density or gravity
of the air prevents scent from rising and dispersing,
and causes it to hang breast high.
After some years of careful experiment with the
hygrometer and barometer, and after an intricate
investigation of scent (that mysterious matter which
is given off from the skin and breath of foxes), I
have come to the conclusion that if we could get
an Isaac Newton to " whip in " to a Tom Firr for
about a twelvemonth, we might very likely come to
know all about it. In standing on ground whereon
"angels fear to tread," I am fully aware that I
speak as a fool. But let me state that it is on the
barometer that I now place my somewhat limited

v.] THE MYSTERIES OF SCENT. 105
reliance on a hunting morning, and not on the
hygrometer, on the weight of the column of air on
a given point of the surface of the earth, rather
than on the state of the evaporations, the relative
humidity, and the dew point. And I have noticed
that the best scenting days have been those when
the thermometer has given readings from 38° up to
46° Fahrenheit in the shade. A high and steady
glass, an almost imperceptible east or north-east
wind, with the ground soaked with moisture and
no frost during the previous night, is the only
combination of conditions under which scent on the
grass is a moral certainty. On the other hand, a low
and unsteady glass, a warm, gusty south or west
wind, with a hot sun, following a frost, or a day with
cold showers, with bright, sunny intervals, or during
the afternoon (but not always the morning) before a
storm of wind or rain, — such are the conditions which
make so many of our attempts to hunt the fox by
scent a miserable farce ; yet even on these days
hounds may run during some part of the day. When
the barometer is thoroughly unsettled there may be
light local currents, perfectly imperceptible to man,
yet felt by cows and sheep — currents created like
winds by a variation of temperature in different
parts of any given field, and which will scatter
the scent and spoil the sport. These currents, rapid
evaporation combined with a lack of steady atmos
pheric pressure, and that sticky state of soil which
on ploughed land invariably follows a frost, and in
a lesser degree affects grass, causing a fox to take
his pad scent on with him (all the particles that do

jo6 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
not cling to the ground having been diffused and
lost in the air), — these are the curses of modern
hunting fields and the chief causes of bad scenting
days. After September is past the shooting man will
not get very much sport on the Cotswolds, as far
as the partridges are concerned, for they are not
numerous enough to be worth driving ; they soon
become as wild as they can possibly be. On Hatherop
and some other estates good partridge driving is
enjoyed. The farmers are very fond of shooting
them under a " kite," — this, as it is hardly necessary
to explain, is an artificial representation of the hawk.
It is flown high up in the air at some distance ahead
of the guns. The birds, seeing what they take to
be a very large and savage-looking hawk hovering
above them, ready to pounce down at a moment's
notice, become frightened, and lie crouching in the
hedges and turnips, until they almost have to be
kicked up by the sportsmen. But when once they
do get up they fly straight away, nor do they come
back for a long time. This mode of shooting is all
very well once in a way, but if indulged in habitually
it scares the birds, driving them on to other manors.
Not having seen it successfully carried out, we are
not fond of the method, but there are good sportsmen
in these parts who advocate it. Some maintain that
this cannot be called a really sportsmanlike way of
shooting partridges, though there is doubtless room
for two opinions on the question.
Later on in the autumn, when November frosts
begin to attract snipes to the withybeds and water

v.] A SMALL, MIXED BAG.

107

meadows by the Coin, the unambitious gunner may
often enjoy the charm of a small and select mixed
bag. Two of us went out for an hour last winter before
breakfast, having been informed that a woodcock
was lying in an ash copse by the river. We got
the woodcock — a somewhat rara avis in small, isolated
coverts on the hills ; in addition, the bag contained
one snipe, one wild duck, two pheasants, six rabbits, a
pigeon, a heron, and some moorhens. Now this was
very good sport, because it was totally unexpected.
The majority of shooting people might not think
much of so small a bag, but it must be remembered
that the charm of this kind of shooting is its wildness.
It seems rather hard to kill herons, but anybody
who has tried to preserve trout will agree that herons
are the greatest enemies with which the trout-fisher
has to contend. One heron will clear a shallow
stream in a very short time. When the floods are
out, trout fall a ready prey to these rapacious birds.
The kingfishers likewise have a very good time. The
fish will gorge themselves with worms picked up on
the inundated meadows, until they are so full that
the worms actually begin falling out of their mouths.
I picked several up last autumn which had been
stabbed, I suppose, by a heron. They were un
harmed, save for a small round hole, as if made by
a bullet ; there was no other mark on them. But
when taken up, the worms came out of their mouths
by the score 1 Kingfishers are carefully preserved, in
spite of their destructiveness, but one must draw the
line at herons.

io8 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
Waiting for wild duck coming into the " spring " on
a frosty night is cold work, but very good fun. They
breed here in fair numbers, and fly away in August.
But when the ground becomes " scrumpety," as the
natives say, with the first severe frost, back they
come from the frozen meres to their old home ; and
if one can keep out of sight (and this is no easy
matter in December) many a shot can be obtained
in the withybeds by the river. Teal and widgeon
may be shot occasionally in the same manner.
Sometimes, when you are upon the hills with Tom
Peregrine, the keeper, trying to pick up a brace or two
of partridges for the house, he will suddenly say,
" Quad down ! " then, throwing himself on to his
hands and knees in breathless anxiety, he will begin
whistling for " all he knows." You imitate him to
the best of your ability, and soon, if you are lucky,
an enormous flock of golden plover flash over you.
Four barrels are fired almost instantaneously, and
the deadly " twelve-bore " of your companion is seldom
fired in vain.
Green plover, or lapwings, are numerous enough
on the Cotswolds. They are wonderfully difficult to
circumvent, nevertheless. You crouch down under
a wall, while your men go ever so far round to
drive them to you ; but it is the rarest thing in
the world to bag one. Their eggs are very diffi
cult to find in the breeding season. It is the male
bird that, like a terrified and anxious mother, flies
round and round you with piteous cries ; the female
bird, when disturbed, flies straight away.
Pigeon-shooting with decoys is a very favourite

v.] A "SIGHT" OF DEAD PIGEONS. 109
amusement among the Cotswold farmers. They
manage to bag an enormous quantity in a hard
winter, sometimes getting over a hundred in a day.
Wood-pigeons come in thousands to the stubble
fields when the beech nuts have come to an end.
Large flocks of them annually migrate to England
from Northern Europe. Crouching in a hedge or
under a wall, you may enjoy as pretty a day's spot
as ever fell to the lot of mortal man. A few dead
birds are placed on the stubble to attract the flocks,
and a grand variety of flying shots may be obtained
as the wood-pigeons fly over. The year 1897 was re
markable for this shooting. Between November 20th
and 30th two of our farmers killed close on a
thousand of these birds. Some of them doubtless
were potted on the ground. Tom Peregrine re
marked that " he never saw such a sight of dead
pigeons. The cheese-room up at the farm was full
of them." The vast flocks that blacken the skies
for a few short weeks in November disappear as
suddenly as they come. After November they are
no more seen.
There would be many more partridges were it not
for the rooks and magpies. Hedges wherein the
birds can hide their nests are few and far between in
the wall country, so the keen-eyed rook spies out
many a nest in the spring of the year. For this
reason and because they eat the corn, the farmers
hate them. We cannot share their feelings. We
should be sorry to see the old rookery in the garden
diminished in the slightest degree. Jays and mag
pies are terribly numerous ; they are rare egg-stealers.

no ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
We have seen as many as twelve of the latter lately
flying all together. Magpies are difficult to get at ;
they will sit perched upon the topmost twigs of the
trees, but will invariably fly away belore you get
within shot.
It is interesting to rear a few pheasants annually.
There is no bird which gives more delight, even if
fairly tame ; their beautiful colouring and cheerful
crowing are always pleasant in the garden and woods
around your house. If you feed them every day, they
will come regularly up to the very door ; and with
them come the swans, waddling up from the water,
looking very much out of their element. Sometimes,
too, a moorhen will join the party ; whilst two little
wild ducks, the sole survivors of a brood of sixteen,
which were attacked and killed by a stoat, will take
food right out of the mouths of the good-natured old
swans. Peacocks I would not care to have round
the house ; but there is nothing more in touch with
English country life than the glorious red, green, and
brown colouring of a " fine " cock pheasant strutting
proudly across the lawn on his way to his roosting-
place in the firs, contrasting as he does with the
majestic form and snowy plumage of the stately
swans, which glide about the silent Coin at the
bottom of the garden — the incarnation of grace and
symmetry. Truly some of the most common of
animals are also the most beautiful.
Besides the rooks, there is another bird which the
farmers love to wage incessant war upon. The other
day I received the following message .printed on the
back of a postcard : —

v.] BIRD LIFE. Ill
"A meeting will be held at the Swan Hotel, Bibury,,
on Friday, November 13th, at 6.30 p.m., to arrange about
starting a Sparrow Club for the district."
" What is a Sparrow Club ?" \ anxiously enquired
the other day of a labouring man, a particular friend
of mine, whom I happened to fall in with on his way
to chapel. He answered that it was a club for killing
sparrows when they get too numerous — paying boys
a farthing a head for every bird they catch, and
giving prizes for the greatest number killed. Boys
may often be seen out at night, with long poles and
nets attached to them, catching sparrows in the trees;
But my friend tells me that the way he Hkes to catch
them is to go into a barn at night with a lantern.
"You must hold the lantern under your coat so as
to half screen the light, and the birds will fly at the
light and settle on your shoulders." He tells me you
can pick them off your clothes by the dozen. I have
never tried it, certainly, as, personally, I have no
quarrel with the sparrows. I was disappointed that
the " Sparrow Club," for which a great public meeting
had to be convened, was not of a more exciting
nature. One was led to believe by the importance
of the printed postcard that some good old English
custom was about to be revived.
A farmer has just brought me in a peregrine
falcon that he shot this morning. He is of course
very proud of the achievement. It is useless to argue
with him on the question of preserving birds that are
becoming scarce in England. He considers that a
rara avis such as this, which is "here to-day and

112 ON THE WOLDS [Ch.
gone to-morrow," is a prize which does not often fall
to the lot of the gunner ; it must be bagged at all
hazards. Nor is it easy to answer the argument
which he seldom fails to put forth, that if he doesn't
shoot it, somebody else will.
Talking of rare birds, I shall never forget seeing a
wild swan come sailing up the Coin during a very
hard frost two years ago. Two of us were out after
wild duck, and it was a grand sight to watch this
magnificent bird winging his way rapidly up stream
at a height of about fifty yards. It is rare indeed to
see them in these parts, though the vicar of Bibury
tells me that seven wild swans were once seen on the
Coin near that village ; but this was some years ago.
On the same authority I learn that a Solan goose, or
gannet, has been known to visit this stream. Tom
Peregrine shot one a few years back ; also a puffin,
a bird with a parrot-like beak and of the auk tribe.
Wild geese frequently pass over us, following the
course of the stream.
On a bright, warm day in October, such a day as
we usually have a score or more of in the course of
our much-abused English autumn, it is pleasant to
take one's gun and, leaving behind the quiet, peaceful
valley and the old-world houses of the Cotswold
hamlet, to ascend the hill and seek the great, rolling
downs, a couple of miles away from any sign of
human habitation. You may get a shot at a
partridge or a wood-pigeon as you go. Hares you
might shoot, if you cared to, in every field. But on
the other hand you will be equally well pleased if
your gun is not fired off, for it is peace and quiet that

v.] SUNSET ON THE DOWNS. 113
you are really in search of, — the noise of a shot and
the jar of a gun do not suit your present mood.
After walking for half an hour you come to a bit
of high ground, where you have often stood before,
and, resting your gun against a wall, you gaze at the
view beyond.
" Quocunque adspicias, nihil est nisi gramen et aer."
Nothing particularly striking, perhaps, is visible to
the eye, yet to my mind there is a charm about it
which the pen is quite unable to describe. Below is
a wide expanse of undulating downland, divided into
fifty-acre fields by means of loose, uncemented walls
of grey stone. The grass is green for the time of year,
and scattered about are horses, cattle, and sheep,
contentedly nibbling the short fine turf In the
midst of mile upon mile of rolling downs stands forth
prominently one field of plough, of the richest brown
hue ; whilst six miles away a long belt of tall trees,
half hidden by haze, marks the outline of Stowell
Park. Save for one ivy-covered homestead, miles
away on the right, nothing else is in sight.
It is past five o'clock, and the sun, which has
been shining brightly all day, with that genial
warmth which one only fully appreciates as the
winter approaches, is beginning to descend. It is
the lights and shades which play over this wide
stretch of open country which makes the landscape
look so beautiful. And when the wreaths of white,
woolly clouds begin to glow round their furthermost
edges like coals of fire on a frosty night, with all
the promise of a brilliant sunset, this stretch of hill

114 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
and plain wears an aspect which, once seen, you
will never forget. It takes your thoughts away into
the great unknown — the infinite, — that mysterious
world which is ever around us, and which seems
nearer when we are looking at a beautiful sunset
or a beautiful view than at any other time in this
life, save, for ought we know, during the last few
moments of our earthly existence. And although
no human habitation is anywhere to be seen, the
air is full of the spirits of bygone generations and
of bygone races of men. There are traces of
humanity in all directions, wherever your eye may
gaze, but they are the traces of a forgotten people.
Yonder semicircular ridge was once the rampart
of an ancient British town ; though, save in the
tangled copse hard by, where the plough has never
been at work, it is fast disappearing. Many a stone
lying about the camp bears unmistakable marks
of fire.
A glance of the eye westwards, and your thoughts
are carried back to the Roman invasion ; for scarce
five miles off lies the ancient Roman villa of Ched
worth. Then, again, tradition has it that a mile
away from this spot, and close to the old manor
house, skirmishes were fought in later days, at
the time the Civil Wars were raging, when many a
chivalrous cavalier and many a stern, unbending
Puritan lay dead on yonder field, or, maybe, was
carried into the old house to linger and to die in
the very room in which you slept last night. Every
where in England are battlefields ; but they are, in
the words of De Quincey, " battlefields that nature

v.] TRACES OF A FORGOTTEN PEOPLE. 115
has long ago reconciled to herself with the sweet
oblivion of flowers."
This very mound on which you are standing,
is it not the burying-place of a race which dwelt
on the Cotswolds full three thousand years ago ?
And were not human remains found here a few
years back, when this, in common with many other
barrows hard by, was opened, and an underground
chamber discovered therein — the earthly resting-place
of the bones of the unknown dead ?
" The silence of deep eternities, of worlds from
beyond the morning stars — does it not speak to thee ?
The unborn ages, — the old graves, with their long-
mouldering dust, — the very tears that wetted it, now
all dry, — do not these speak to thee what ear hath
not heard ? " " Solemn before us
Veiled the dark Portal —
Goal of all mortal.
Stars silent rest o'er us,
Graves under us silent."
Well has Carlyle translated the great German
poet. And the old barrows that lie scattered over
these wide-stretching downs are not dumb ; they
are continually speaking to us of those things " which
ear hath not heard " ; and at no time have they more
to tell than at the close of a mild, peaceful day in
October, when all else, save for the faint tinkling
of the distant sheep-bells, is silent as death, and
the sun, ere once more disappearing, is shedding a
solemn glow over the deserted, mysterious uplands
of the Cotswold Hills.

ii6 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
But the partridges are "calling" all around, and
a covey actually passes over your head. Your sport
ing instincts begin to revive, and you take up your
gun and proceed to stalk that covey, stealing round
under a wall. Then you suddenly remember that
the V.W.H. hounds meet in your village to-morrow
and you begin wondering whether they will once
again find the great dog fox that several times last
season led you over the wide, open country that
now lies mapped out before you. Your fox, too,
one of a litter you came upon two springs ago, in a
little spinney not half a mile from where you are
standing now, stub-bred and of the greyhound stamp,
fleet of foot and lithe of limb. Each time the hounds
had come to draw he was at home in the covert on
the brow of the hill which shelters the old manor
house you inhabit from the cold blast of winter.
Here he loved to dwell, and hunt moorhens and
dabchicks and water-rats all night long by the banks
of silvery Coin. But on three occasions within six
weeks, no sooner did the hounds enter the wood
than a shrill scream proclaimed him away on the far
side. You were mounted on a good horse, and were
away as soon as the pack. And then for thirty
minutes the "old customer" cantered away over
those broad pastures, hounds and horses tearing after
him on a breast-high scent, but never gaining an inch
of ground. Two leagues were quickly traversed ere
yonder distant belt of trees was reached, where the
dry leaves lay rotting on the ground, and there was
not an atom of scent. So he saved his life, and the
tired, mud-bespattered sportsmen vow that there

v.] A WILD, DESERTED COUNTRY. 117
never was such a run seen before, so thrilling is the
ecstasy of " pace " and so enchanting the stride of
a well-bred horse.
'Tis a wild, deserted tract of country that stretches
from Cirencester right away to the north of Warwick
shire. For fifty miles you might gallop on across
those undulating fields, and meet no human being
on your way. We have ridden forty miles on end
along the Fosseway, and, save in the curious half-
forsaken old towns of Moreton-in-the-Marsh and
Stow-on-the-Wold, we scarcely met a soul on the
journey. What a marvellous work was that old
Roman Fosseway ! Raised high above the level of
the adjoining fields, it runs literally "as straight as
an arrow " through the heart of the grassy Midlands.
And what a rare hunting country it passes through !
We saw but one short piece of barbed wire in our
journey of over forty miles. Now that farming is
no longer remunerative, the whole country seems to
be given up to hunting. Depend upon it, it is
this sport alone that circulates money through this
deserted land.
Time was when the uplands of Gloucestershire
were almost entirely under the plough, when good
scenting days seldom gladdened the heart of the
hunting man, and when, in a ride over the Cotswold
tableland, the excitement of a fast gallop on grass
was an impossibility. Those were the days when
land at thirty shillings an acre was eagerly sought
after and the wheat crop amply repaid those who
cultivated it. Now, alas ! farms are to be had for
the asking, rent free ; but nobody will take them.

ii8 ON THE WOLDS. [Ch.
and the country is rapidly going back to its original
uncultivated state. The farmer, neyertheless, does
not lose heart.
To lay down such light land into permanent pasture
does not pay ; it is therefore left to its own devices,
with the result that in a short time weeds and moss
and rough grasses spring up — less unprofitable than
ploughed fields, and almost as favourable for hunting
the fox as the fair pastures of the Vale of Aylesbury.
However, " Nihil est ab omni
Parte beatum."
There are other things to be done in this life
besides riding across country in the wake of the
flying pack, glorious and exhilarating though the
pastime be ; and the sooner these great wastes of
unprolific land are once more transformed into wheat-
growing plough, the better will it be for all of us.
So you stroll dreamily homewards, musing on these
things, and wondering whether you will have another
glorious gallop to-morrow. You will just go round
by that spinney to see if the earth you gave orders
to be stopped up is properly closed. But stop !
What is that lying curled up under the wall not ten
yards off? See, he stirs! he rises lazily and looks
round ! 'Tis the very fox ! Long and lean and
wiry is he, fine drawn and sleek as a trained race
horse, with a brush nearly two feet long ! Brown as
the ploughed field you were looking at just now, save
for the tip of his brush, which is white as snow. He
trots off along the wall, offering the easiest of broad-

v.] AN OLD DOG FOX 119
side shots if you were villain enough to take advantage
of it. He does not hurry ; he stops and looks round
after a bit, as much as to say, " I trust you." But
when you steal cautiously towards him he once more
lollops along. You follow, to see where he goes to
when he has jumped over the high wall into the next
field. But he does not jump over, but on to the wall,
and there he sits looking at you until you are once
more nearly up to him ; then he disappears the
other side, and you run up and peep over. He is
nowhere to be seen ! You look along the wall for
a hole into which he could have popped, but in vain.
You stoop down and try to track him by scent and
the mark of his pad, but all to no purpose ; and from
that day to this you have never discovered what
became of him.

"the old customer,'

CHAPTER VI.

A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS.

" Waken, lords and ladies gay.
To the greenwood haste away ;
We can show you where he lies.
Fleet of foot and tall of size." Sir Walter Scott.
THE next morning you are up betimes, for the
hounds meet at the house at nine o'clock. You
are not sorry on looking out of your window to see
that a thick mist at present envelopes the country.
With the ground in the dry state it is in, this mist,
accompanied as it is by a heavy dew, is your only
chance of a scent. How else could they hunt the
jackal in India if it was not for this dew ? Thus
reflecting, you recall pleasant recollections of gallops
over hard ground with the Bombay hounds, and

Ch. VI.] THE MEET. 121
comfort yourself with the thought that the ground
here to-day cannot be as hard as that Indian soil.
You are soon into your breeches and boots and down
to breakfast. In the dining-room a large party is
already assembled, for there are five men and two
ladies turning out from the house, whilst one or two
keen sportsmen have already put in an appearance
from afar.
The hounds turn up punctual to the appointed
time. How beautiful and majestic they look as they
suddenly come into sight amid beech and ash and
walnut, whilst the bright pageant advances leisurely
and in order over the ancient ivy-covered bridge
which spans the silent river, where the morning mist
still hangs, and the grass shines white with silvery
dew. In good condition they look, too — a credit to
their huntsman, who evidently has not neglected
giving them plenty of exercise on the roads during
the summer. You greet the genial master ; then in
answer to his enquiry as to where you would like
him to draw, you point to the hanging wood on the
brow of the hill, and tell him that as you heard them
barking there this very morning it is a certain find.
No sooner are the words out of your mouth than
a holloa breaks the silence of the early morn : the
gardener has " viewed " a cub within a hundred yards
of the house. Desperately bold are the cubs at this
time of year, before they have been hunted. Their first
experience of being " stopped out " for the night does
not seem to have frightened them at all. They have
been kicking up a rare shindy most of the night in
the covert close to the house.

122 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
"Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play.''
By to-night they will have become sadder and wiser
beings. Several people will be glad of this, the
keeper included : for the fowls have suffered lately ;
there have also been one or two well-planned and
carefully thought out sallies on the young pheasants —
without much damage, however. Not long ago a bold
young cub spent some time in breaking open the lid
of one of the coops, in which were some late pheasants.
He actually forced the wire netting from the roof of
the coop, although it was firmly nailed to the wood
work. But he could not quite get his head in, for
when the keeper arrived on the scene at five o'clock
a.m., there he was, clawing and scratching at the birds.
His efforts met with no success, however, for not a
single bird was badly injured, though some damage
might have been done if Master Reynard had not
been interrupted at this critical moment. Young
cubs are, like puppies, very mischievous. There are
plenty of rabbits about, and they are the food foxes
like best ; poultry and pheasants are pursued and
killed out of pure love of mischief
We must return to the hounds. Our huntsman
wisely determines not to go to the holloa, for he
prefers to let the young entry draw for their game.
Besides which, if this cub has gone away, he is one of
the right sort, and does not require schooling. For
as we all know, one of the objects of cub-hunting is
to teach the young foxes that if they don't leave the
covert when the hounds are thrown in, they will get

VI.] CUB-HUNTING. 123
a rare dusting. So, the hounds having been taken to
the " up-wind " end of the wood, the huntsman begins
drawing steadily " down wind." Let them have every
chance now ; it will be quite early enough to begin
drawing up wind when the leaf is off and Reynard
has got a bit shy. Blood is an excellent thing for
young hounds, nay, for all hounds, early in the season ;
but we don't want to chop any cubs before they know
where they are or what it all means.
And soon the whole valley re-echoes with hound
music, as the pack come crashing towards us through
the thick underwood. We get a splendid view of
the proceedings — for the covert is a long, narrow strip
of about ten acres, running in the shape of a bow
round the hill immediately above the place where we
are stationed. There is another small wood of about
the same size on the other side of the little valley.
For this our fox makes, the hounds dashing close after
him through the brook. Round and round they go,
and it is evident that this cub (unlike several of his
brethren who have taken their departure, viewed by
the whole field, but not holloaed at) does not intend
to face the open country. Scent is good in covert,
perhaps because there are at present few of those
dry leaves on the ground that spoil scent after the
" fall of the leaf " ; the result is, we kill a cub. This
will be a lesson to the rest of the family when they
return to-night and discover the fearful end that
befalls foxes that " hang in covert." Another cub
having gone to ground in a rabbit-hole, the keeper
is given injunctions to have this hole, together with
any other large ones he can find, stopped up, after

124 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
allowing a day or two to pass, especially making
sure, by the use of terriers and also by the tracks,
that he does not stop any cubs in.
We now leave the home coverts and start away
for a withybed about a mile up the river, where we
are told there is a litter. Here, however, we do not
find, though it is the likeliest place in the world for
a fox. As the hounds dash into the withybed a
whole string of wild ducks get up, circle round us,
and then fly straight away up stream in the shape of
the letter V — a sight unsurpassed if you happen to
be a lover of nature.
Our next draw is an isolated artificial gorse of
about six acres. If we find here, we must have a
gallop, for there is no covert of any size within a
four-mile radius ; a fine open country lies all around ;
walls to jump and large fields of fifty acres apiece
to gallop over. There is some light plough, but each
year the plough gets scarcer, for the Cotswolds are
rapidly being allowed to tumble back into grass or,
rather, into weeds.
A great proportion of the stone- wall country here
abouts consists of downs divided into large enclosures ;
when the walls are low there is no reason why the
pace should not be almost as good as it is in an
unenclosed country. Happily to-day we seem to be
in for a quick thing, for before the whip has had time
to get to the end of the covert, hounds are away,
without a sound, and we start off fully two hundred
yards behind them.
The old fox, for a fiver ! But there is no stopping
them ; so, knowing the country and the earth he is

VI.] THE OLD FOX AGAIN! 125
making for, you make tracks, as hard as your horse
can pelt, in the direction in which the hounds are
going, and very soon they turn to you, and you find
yourself almost alongside of them. They are running
" mute," with their noses several inches off the ground ;
it almost looks as if they had " got a view " of him.
But this is not the case. Scent is " breast high."
Two old hounds that you know well — Crusty and
Governor — are leading, though you are glad that one
or two you do not know (evidently some of this
year's entry) are not far behind.
The country, which has so far been rather hilly,
now opens out into a flat tableland. You fly on,
thankful that you are on a thoroughbred, and that he
is in good condition. It pays well to keep a horse
" up " all the summer in this country, for some
of the quickest things of the season take place in
October. Scent is often good at this time of the
year, because the fields are full of keep : there is
plenty of rough grass about. Later on they will be
pared down by sheep, and the frost will make them
as bare as a turnpike road. Then again that abomina
tion, a " carrying " plough, is not so likely to be met
with in October ; the white frosts are not severe enough.
Later on they are a constant source of annoyance to
a huntsman, and invariably cause a check.
But your horse, well bred and fit though he be, is
doing all he can to live with the hounds. Fortunately,
you know that he is too good to chance a wall, even
when blown. At the pace hounds are going you
have not much time to trot slowly at the walls in
the orthodox fashion ; you must take them as they

126 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
come, high and low alike, at a fair pace, taking a
pull a few strides before your mount takes off. Oh,
how exhilarating is a gallop in this fine Cotswold air
in the cool autumnal morning ! and what a splendid
view you get of hounds ! Here are no tall fences
to hide them from your sight and to tempt a fox
to run the hedgerows, no boggy woodlands where
your horse flounders up to his girths in yellow
clay, no ridge and furrow, and no deep ploughed
fields. What is the charm which belongs so exclusively to
a fast and straight " run " over this wild, uncultivated
region ? It does not lie in the successful negotiation
of Leicestershire " oxers," Aylesbury " doubles," or
Warwickshire " stake-and-bound " fences, for there
need be no obstacle greater than an occasional four-
foot stone wall. Perhaps it lies partly in the fact that
in a run over a level stone-wall country, where the
enclosures are large and the turf sound, given a good
fox and a " burning scent," hounds and horses travel
at as great a pace as they attain in any country
in England. Here, moreover, if anywhere, is to
be found the " greatest happiness for the greatest
number," the maximum of sport with the minimum of
danger ; the fine, free air of the high-lying Cotswold
plains ; the good fellowship engendered when all can
ride abreast ; the very muteness of the flying pack ;
the onslaught of a light brigade, or of " a flying
squadron under the Admiral of the Red '' sailing away
over a sea of grass towards a region almost untrodden
by man ; the long sweeping stride of a well-bred
horse ; the unceasing twang of the horn to encourage

VI.] THE CHARM OF UNCERTAINTY. 127
flagging hounds beaten off by the pace and those
which got left behind at the start ; lastly, the glorious
uncertainty ! Can it last ? Where will it all end ?
Shall we run " bang into him " in the open, or will he
beat us in yonder cold scenting woodland standing
boldly forth on the skyline miles ahead ? All these
things add a peculiar fascination to a fast run over
this wild country.
Sooner or later there is a sudden check, a couple of
sharp turns, and the spell is gone. Hounds may run
back ever so well, to the very covert whence an hour
ago they forced him. The pleasure of watching them
work out a scent, growing rapidly colder, may indeed
be left to us ; but the glorious possibilities, which
lasted as long as a gallant though invisible " quarry "
was leading us straight away from home into un
familiar regions, have passed away ; the record run,
which we thought had really commenced at last, far,
far into the unknown land, into the country leading
to nowhere, is not yet attained, — probably it never
will be, for it existed in the human imagination
alone during that thrilling thirty-minutes' burst,
and was beyond the compass of foxes, horses, and
hounds. As a set off to this it must be admitted that fast
runs do not take place every day on these hills.
Perhaps there will not be more than half a dozen
" clinkers " in a season with a " two -day-a- week "
pack. For this reason, as regards all-round sport, the
wall country cannot compare with a vale : a stranger
might hunt there for three weeks in March, and at
the end of that time take himself off in disappoint-

128 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
ment and disgust, declaring these fast-flying runs
he had heard so much about to be an invention and
a myth, and the wall country only fit for fools and
funkers. For good scenting days in this hill country
are few and far between, and a bad day in the wall
district is the poorest fun imaginable. For this the
field have generally themselves to thank, since they
will not give the hounds a chance.
But there is a burning scent this morning, as there
generally is when the dew is just going off. For
twenty-five minutes hounds do not check once. The
earth our fox has been making for is fortunately
closed. This causes a moment's uncertainty among
the hounds, but not a check, for they drive straight
onwards, and it is evident that he is making for some
earths five miles away in a neighbouring hunt's
territory, which instinct tells him will be open.
There they go, old T. K. and J. A., and several
ladies, past masters in the craft of crossing a country
with the maximum of elegance and skill and the mini
mum of risk to their horses, themselves, or their friends.
Though the hounds are travelling at their greatest
possible pace, they ride alongside them, looking as
cool as cucumbers (too cool, I think, for their own
enjoyment ; for the more excitable though less ex
perienced rider probably enjoys himself more). Note
how each wall, varying in height from three to four
and a half feet, is taken at a steady pace by those well-
schooled horses ; even a five-foot wall, coped with
sharp, jagged stones pointing straight upwards, does
not turn them one hair's breadth from the Hne. And
please note also that each has two hands on the reins,

VI.] A NARROW ESCAPE. 129
and no whip hand flung high in the air, or elbows
thrust outwards, you gentlemen who are fond of
painting pictures of hunting scenes for the press !
A good rider sitting at his ease on horseback,
"As if an angel dropped down from the clouds
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship^'''
resembles a skilful musician seated at a piano or an
organ. There is the same kind of communication
between the man and the instrument, whereby the
stricken chords respond to the hghtest touch of the
master, who guides as with a silken thread the keys
that set the trembling strings in motion. For the
rider's keys are curb and snaffle, and his hands, by
means of the bridle, control the sensitive bars of his
horse's mouth — the most harmonious, delicate organ
yet discovered on earth, but too often, alas ! thumped
and banged on to such an awful extent by unsym
pathetic, heavy hands, as to become considerably out
of tune, whereby discord occasionally reigns supreme
instead of sweet melodious harmony.
Goodness gracious! what's up? Our horse, which
has never refused before, has stopped dead at a wall.
We stand up in the stirrups and peep over, and there
below us is a narrow but deep quarry, a veritable
death trap for the unwary sportsman. This is
indeed a merciful escape ; and how can we be too
thankful that a horse — wise, sagacious animal that
he is — has been endowed with an extraordinary
instinct whereby he can smell danger, even though
9

I30 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
he cannot see it. Writing of this — one of the
numerous escapes a merciful dispensation of Provi
dence has granted us in the hunting field — we are
reminded that no less than five good men and
true have been killed suddenly with the V.W.H.
hounds during the last eighteen years. The list
commences with George Whyte Melville, prince of
hunting men, who broke his neck in a ploughed field
in 1878. And it is a very remarkable fact that
Mr. Noel Smith was killed in 1896, on precisely the
same day — viz., the first Thursday of December —
as that on which Whyte Melville lost his life eighteen
years before.
But soon after crossing a road, hounds suddenly
check. After casting themselves beautifully forward
right- and left-handed until they have completed a
half circle, they throw up their heads and look round
for the huntsman. By a sort of instinct, the result
of previous observation, the foremost riders anticipated
that check, and did not follow hounds over the
road, though one or two later arrivals press forward
rather too eagerly. The huntsman, who is not far
off, seeing at a glance that there is no other cause
for checking, as the hounds are in the middle of a
large grass field, immediately decides that the fox
has turned sharp down wind (he has been running
up wind all the way), and casts his hounds left-
handed and back towards the lane without much
delay. "And now," to quote from Mr. Madden's "Diary
of Master William Silence," " may be seen the advan
tage of a good character honestly won." Crusty is

VI.] A CHECK. 131
busy " feathering " down the road, and as he is an
absolutely reliable hound, the rest of the pack are
not long in coming back to him, and soon, cheered
by their huntsman, they are in full cry again.
Our fox has run the road for a quarter of a mile.
This manoeuvre has probably saved his life, for it has
given him time to get his breath back. In addition
to this, the instant Reynard turned down wind the
scent changed from a very good one to a most
indifferent one. How often this happens in a run !
And it is one of the fox-hunter's chief consolations
that there is scarcely a day throughout the season
on which a run is impossible, if only a fox will set
his head resolutely up wind, just as in a ringing run
there is a certain amount of consolation in the
thought that a fox must travel up wind part of
the way.
It is evident that, being beaten, Reynard has given
up all idea of going for the earths three miles away.
He is beginning, like all tired foxes, to twist and turn.
There is no scent on the road ; the hounds are there
fore laid on in a grass field, and feather across it in
an uncertain sort of way. This gives an opportunity
to a sportsman who has just arrived by the road to
proclaim that "as usual they are hunting hares."
However, there is some pretty hunting done by the
pack up a hedgerow and across a ploughed field ; but
with scent growing less and less, as is always the case
with a tired, twisting fox, we do not get along very
fast. Hares are jumping up in all directions, and a
terrible nuisance they are on this sort of occasion !
That hounds will stick to their fox, twist and turn

132 A GALLOP OVER THE WALLS. [Ch.
though he may, in spite of hares, is a fact that is
often proved in this country, when a lucky view has
once more put them on good terms with the hunted
fox, at a time when half the field have been crying
" hare." But when a fox's scent has gradually dimin
ished until it tends to vanishing point, it is useless to
attempt to hunt him. This appears to be the case
this morning, for the sun has scattered the mists, and
has been shining the last ten minutes with tremendous
vigour. We are glad when the master decides to
give it up, for we hope to have some more runs with
this old fox later on in the season. Hounds and
horses have had enough for the time of year. So we
turn our horses' heads to the cool breeze that is ever
present on the Cotswolds, making the climate there
one of the most delightful in the world in summer
and autumn. And as we ride slowly homeward
over the hill, past golden stubble fields, there is much
that is picturesque to be seen on all sides : for some
late barley is not yet gathered in ; horses, drawing
great yellow waggons, and old-fashioned Cotswold
labourers are busy amongst the sheaves ; and there is
an air of activity and animation in the fields that
is absent a month or two later. Bleak and desolate
does this country sometimes look in winter, though
when the sun shines it is fair enough. And suddenly,
as we ride along, a lovely valley is seen below : old-
world farmhouses and gabled cottages come into view,
nestling amid stately elms and beech trees already
touched by autumn's hand. As we gradually descend
the hill, everything looks more beautiful than ever
this morning ; for we have had a gallop. For to-day

VI.] AN EXCELLENT TONIC. 133
at least we shall be in a thoroughly good temper.
Whatever the morrow may bring forth, everything
will appear to-day in the best possible light. Such
an excellent tonic is a fast gallop over the walls for
banishing dull care away.

CHAPTER VII.
A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM.
" We may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said ol strawberries :
' Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God
never did ; and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more
calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.'" — The Cotnpleat Angler.
VERY few trout we have caught this season ('98)
are pink-fleshed when cooked. Last year
there were a good number. The reason probably is
that they have not been feeding on the fresh- water
shrimps or crustaceans, owing to the abundance of
olive duns and other flies that have been on the
water. Last winter, being so mild, was very favourable
for the hatching out of fly in the spring. A hard
winter doubtless commits sad havoc among the caddis
134

Ch. VII.] LOCH LEVEN TROUT. 135
and larvze at the bottom of the river ; the trout, not
being able to get much fly, are then compelled to fall
back on the crustaceans. The food in these lime
stone rivers is so plentiful that the fish are able to
pick and choose from a very varied bill of fare. This
is the reason they are so difficult to catch. One is
not able to increase the stock of trout to any great
extent, thereby making them easier to catch, because
the fish one introduces into the water are apt to crowd
together in one or two places, with the result that
they are far too plentiful in the shallows, where there
is little food, and too scarce in the deeper water. Of
the Loch Leven trout, turned in two years ago as
yearlings, more than two- thirds inhabit the quick-
running, gravelly reaches ; in consequence, they have
grown very little. The few that have stayed in the
deeper water have done splendidly ; they are now
about three-quarters of a pound in weight. No fish,
not even sea trout, fight so well as these bright,
silvery " Loch Levens." They have cost us no
end of casts and flies already this season, — not yet
a month old. Experience proves, however, that
ordinary salmo fario, or common brook trout, are
the best for turning down ; for the Loch Leven trout
require deep water to grow to any size.
When a boy, I made a strange recovery of an eel
that I had hooked and lost three weeks before. I
was fishing with worms in a large deep hole in Surrey.
My hook was a salmon fly with the feathers clipped
off. I hooked what I believed to be an eel, but he
broke the line through getting it entangled in a stick
on the bottom. Three weeks afterwards, when fishing

136 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
in the same fashion and in the same place, the line
got fixed up on the bottom. I pulled hard and a
stick came away. On that stick, strange to say, was
entangled my old gut casting-line, and at the end of
the line was an eel of two pounds' weight ! On cutting
him open, there, sure enough, was the identical clipped
salmon fly ; it had been inside that eel for three weeks
without hurting him. This sounds like a regular
angler's yarn, and nobody need believe it unless he
likes ; nevertheless, it is perfectly true. I had got
" fixed up " in the same stick that had broken my line
on the previous occasion.
That fish have very little sense of feeling is proved
time after time. There is nothing unusual in catching
a jack with several old hooks in his mouth. With
trout, however, the occurrence is more rare. Last
season my brother lost a fly and two yards of gut
through a big trout breaking his tackle, but two
minutes afterwards he caught the fish and recovered
his fly and his tackle. We constantly catch fish during
the may-fly time with broken tackle in their mouths.
Who does not recollect the rapturous excitement
caused by the first fish caught in early youth? My
first capture will ever remain firmly impressed on the
tablet of the brain, for it was a red herring — " a
common or garden," prime, thoroughly salted "red
herring " ! It came about in this way. At the age
of nine I was taken by my father on a yachting
expedition round the lovely islands of the west coast
of Scotland. We were at anchor the first evening
of the voyage in one of the beautiful harbours of
the Hebrides, and, noticing the sailors fishing over the

VII.] A CURIOUS CAPTURE. 137
side of the boat, I begged to be allowed to hold
the line. Somehow or other they managed to get a
" red herring " on to the hook when my attention was
diverted ; so that when I hauled up a fish that in the
darkness looked fairly silvery my excitement knew
no bounds. After the sailors had taken it off the
hook, and given it a knock on the head, I rushed
down with it into the cabin, where my father and
three others were dining. Throwing my fish down
on to the table, I delightedly exclaimed, " Look
what I have caught, father ; isn't it a lovely fish ? " I
could not understand the roars of laughter which
followed, as one of the party, with a horrified glance
at my capture, shouted, " Take it away, take it away ! "
Non redolet sed olet. Oddly enough, although after
this I caught any amount of real live fish, I never
realised until months afterwards how miserably I had
been taken in by the boat's crew on that eventful
night. Not long afterwards, whilst fishing with a worm
just below the falls at Macomber, in the Highlands,
I made what was for a small boy a remarkable catch
of sea trout. I forget the exact number, but I know
I had to take them back in sacks. They were
"running" at the time, and it was very pretty to see
them continually jumping up the seven-foot ladder
out of the Spean into the Lochy. Underneath this
ladder, where the water boiled and seethed in a
thousand eddies, hundreds of trout lay ready to jump
up the fall. Into this foaming torrent I threw my
heavily leaded bait. No sooner was the worm in the
water than it was seized by a fine sea trout. Some

138 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
of them were nearly two pounds ; and although I had
a strong casting-line, they were often most difficult
to land, for a series of small cataracts dashed down
amongst huge rocks and slippery boulders, until, a
hundred feet below, the calm, deep Macomber pool
was reached. As the fish, when hooked, would often
dash down this foaming torrent into the pool below,
they gave a tremendous amount of play before they
were landed. There was an element of danger about
it, too, as a false step might have led to ugly com
plications amongst the rocks, over which the water
came pouring down at the rate of ten miles an hour.
A boy of twelve years old, as I was then, would not
have stood a chance in that roaring torrent. A
terrible accident happened here a few years afterwards.
A party went from the house, where I always stayed,
to fish at Macomber Falls. There were four ladies
and two men. Whilst they were sitting eating their
luncheon at this romantic spot, an argument arose
as to whether a man falling into the seething pool
below the fall would be drowned or not. The water
was only about two feet deep ; but the place was a
miniature whirlpool, and, once started down the pent-
in torrent, a man would be dashed along the rocky
bed and carried far out into the deep Macomber pool
beyond. A gentleman from Lincolnshire argued that
in would be impossible for any one to be drowned in
such shallow water. This was at lunch. Little did
he imagine that within half an hour his theory would
be put to the test. But so it was ; for whilst he was
standing on the rocks fishing, with a large overcoat
on, he slipped and fell in. His fishing-line became

VII.] A SAD EPISODE. 139
entangled round his legs, and he was borne away at
the mercy of the current. Unfortunately only ladies
were present, his friend having gone down stream.
Twice he clutched hold of the rocky bank opposite
them, but it was too slippery, and his hold gave way.
A man jumping across the chasm might possibly
have saved him by risking his own life, for it was
only fourteen feet wide ; but it would have been
madness for any of the ladies to have attempted it.
So the poor fellow was drowned in two feet of water,
before their eyes, and in spite of their brave endeavours
to save him. He must have been stunned by repeated
blows from the rocks, or else I think he would have
baffled successfully with the torrent. The overcoat
must have hampered him most dreadfully. It was a
terrible affair, reminding one of the death of " young
Romilly " in the Wharfe, of which Wordsworth tells
in that beautiful poem, the " Force of Prayer."
Bolton Abbey, as everybody knows, was built hard
by, on the river bank, by the sorrowful mother, in
honour of her boy.
" That stately priory was reared ;
And Wharf, as he moved along
To matins, join'd a mournful voice,
Nor failed at evensong."
How many a beautiful spot in the British Isles has
been endowed with a romance that will never entirely
die away owing to some catastrophe of this kind L
Macomber Falls are very beautiful indeed, but one
cannot pass the place now without a shudder and
a sigh.

.!4o A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
It has been said that " the test of a river is its
power to drown a man." There is doubtless a peculiar
grandeur about the roaring torrent ; but to me there
is a still greater charm in the gentle flow of a south
country trout stream, such as abound in Hampshire,
Wiltshire, and in the Cotswolds. I do not think the
Coin is capable of drowning a man, though one of
the Peregrine family told me the other day that the
only two men who ever bathed in our stream died
soon afterwards from the shock of the intensely cold
water ! But then, it must be remembered that the
old prejudice against " cold water " still lingers
amongst the country folk of Gloucestershire ; so that
this story must always be taken cum grano salis.
There are few trout streams to our mind more
delightful from the angler's point of view than the
Gloucestershire Coin. Rising a few miles from
Cheltenham, it runs into the Thames near Lechlade,
and affords some fifteen miles or more of excellent
fishing. The scenery is of that quiet and homely
type that belongs so exclusively to the chalk and
limestone streams of the south of England.
From its source to the point at which it joins the
Isis, the Coin flows continuously through a series
of parks and small well-wooded demesnes, varied
with picturesque Cotswold villages and rich water
meadows. It swells out into fishable proportions
just above Lord Eldon's Stowell property, steals
gently past his beautiful woods at Chedworth and the
Roman villa discovered a few years ago, then onward
through the quaint old-world villages of Fossbridge

VII.] COURSE OF THE COLN. I4«
to Winson and Coln-St.-Dennis. Though not a
hundred miles from London, this part of Gloucester
shire is one of the most primitive and old-fashioned
districts in England. Until the new railway between
Andover and Cheltenham was opened, four years ago,
with a small station at Fosscross, there were many
inhabitants of these old-world villages who had never
seen a train or a railway. Only the other day, on,
asking a good lady, the wife of a farmer, whether she
had ever been in London, I received the reply, " No,
but I've been to Cheltenham." This in a tone of
voice that meant me to understand that going to
Cheltenham, a distance of about sixteen miles, was
quite as important an episode in her life as a visit to
London would have been.
On leaving Winson the Coin widens out con
siderably, and for the next two miles becomes
the boundary between Mr. Wykeham-Musgrave's
property of Barnsley and the manor of Ablington.
It flows through the picturesque hamlet of Ablington,
within a hundred yards of the old Elizabethan manor
house, over an artificial fall in the garden, and passes
onward on its secluded way through lovely woodland
scenery, until it reaches the village of Bibury ; here
it runs for nearly half a mile parallel with the main
street of the village, and then enters the grounds of
Bibury Court. I know no prettier village in England
than Bibury, and no snugger hostelry than the Swan.
The landlady of this inn has a nice little stretch of
water for the use of those who find their way to
Bibury ; and a pleasanter place wherein to spend a
few quiet days could not be found. The garden and

142 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
old court house of Bibury are sweetly pretty, the
house, like Ablington, being three hundred years old ;
the stream passes within a few yards of it, over
another waterfall of about ten feet, and soon reaches
WiUiamstrip. Here, again, the scenery is typical of
rural England in its most pleasing form ; and the
village of Coln-St.-Aldwyns is scarcely less fascin
ating than Bibury.
After leaving the stately pile of Hatherop Castle
and WiUiamstrip Park on the left, the Coin flows
silently onwards through the delightful demesne of
Fairford Park. Here the stream has been broadened
out into a lake of some depth and size, and holds
some very large fish. Another mile and Fairford
town is reached, another good specimen of the
Cotswold village — for it is a large village rather
than a town — with its lovely church, famous for its
windows, its gabled cottages, and comfortable Bull
Inn. There are several miles of fishing at the Bull,
as many an Oxonian has discovered in times gone
by, and we trust will again.
From what we have said, it will easily be gathered
that this stream is unsurpassed for scenery of that
quiet, homely type that Kingsley eulogises so enthu
siastically in his " Chalk Stream Studies," and I am
inclined to agree with him in his preference for it
over the grander surroundings of mountain streams :
" Let the Londoner have his six weeks every year
among crag and heather, and return with lungs
expanded and muscles braced to his nine months'
prison. The countryman, who needs no such change
of air and scene, will prefer more homelike, though

VII.] KINGSLEY ON SOUTH COUNTRY STREAMS. 143
more homely, pleasures. Dearer to him than wild
cataracts or Alpine glens are the still hidden streams
which Bewick has immortalised in his vignettes and
Creswick in his pictures. The long grassy shallow,
paved with yellow gravel, where he wades up between
low walls of fern-fringed rock, beneath nut and oak
and alder, to the low bar over which the stream
comes swirling and dimpling, as the water-ouzel flits
piping before him, and the murmur of the ringdove
comes soft and sleepy through the wood, — there, as
he wades, he sees a hundred sights and hears a
hundred tones which are hidden from the traveller
on the dusty highway above.''
But chacun d son goUt ! Let us now see what sort
of sport may be had in the Coin. To begin with,
it must be described as a " may-fly "stream. This
means, of course, that there is a tremendous rise of
fly early in June, with the inevitable slack time before
and after the may-fly time.
But there is much pleasant angling to be had at
other times. The season begins at the end of March,
when a few small fish are rising, and may be caught
with the March brown or the blue and olive duns.
Few big fish are in condition until May, but much
fun can be had with the smaller ones all through
April. The half-pounders fight splendidly, and give
one the idea, on being hooked, of pulling three times
their real weight. The April fishing, at all events
after the middle of the month, is very delightful in
this river. One does not actually kill many fish, for
a large number are caught and returned.
In May, when the larger fish begin to take up their

144 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
places for the summer, one may expect good sport.
This season, however, has been very disappointing ;
and, judging by the way the fish were feeding on the
bottom for the first fortnight of the month, one is led
to expect an early rise of the may-fly. Until the " fly
is up," the April flies, especially the olive dun, are all
that are necessary. For a couple of weeks before the
" fly-fisher's carnival " sport is always uncertain.
If the wind is in a good quarter, sport may be had ;
but should it be east, the trout will not leave the
caddis, with which the bed of the river is simply alive
at this time. Of late years good sport has been
obtained at the latter end of May with small flies.
The may-fly generally comes up on the higher reaches
about the last week in May, or about June ist,
though at Fairford, lower down, it is a week earlier.
A good season means a steady rise of fly, lasting for
nearly three weeks, but with no great amount of fly
on any one day. A bad may-fly season means, as
a rule, a regular " glut " of fly for three or four days,
so that the fish are stuffed full almost to bursting
point, and will not look at the natural fly afterwards,
much less at your neatly " cocked " artificial one.
Large bags can, of course, be made on certain days
in the may-fly season ; but I do not know of any
better than one hundred and six fish in three days,
averaging one pound apiece.
Sport, however, is not estimated by the number of
fish taken, and there is no better day's fun for the real
fisherman than killing four or five brace of good fish
when the trout are beginning to get tired of the fly,
but are still to be caught by working hard for them.

VII.] EVENING FISHING. 145
The " alder " will often do great execution at this time,
and a small blue dun is sometimes very killing in the
morning or evening.
After the " green-drake " has lived his short life
and disappeared, there is a lull in the fishing, and the
sportsman may with advantage take himself off to
London to see the Oxford and Cambridge cricket
match. All through July and August, when the water
gets low and clear, the best and largest fish may be
taken from an hour before sunset up to eleven o'clock
at night by the red palmer. Although it savours
somewhat of poaching, I confess to a weakness for
evening and night fishing. The cool water meadows,
the setting sun, with its golden glow on the water, add
a peculiar charm to fishing at this time of day in the
hot summer months. And then — the splash of your
fish as you hook him ! How magnified is the sound
in the dim twilight, when you cannot see, but can only
hear and feel your quarry ! And what satisfaction to
know that that great " logger-headed " two-pounder,
that was devouring goodness knows how many year
lings and fry daily, is safe out of the water and in your
basket !
On rainy days in these months good sport may be
had with the wet fly ; and in September a yellow dun,
or a fly that imitates the wasp, will kill, if only you
can keep out of sight, and place a well-dried fly right
on the fish's nose.
The dry fly and up stream is of course the orthodox
method of fishing in this as in other south-country
chalk or limestone streams. No flogging the water
indiscriminately all the way up, but marking your fish
10

146 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
down, and stalking him, is the real game. For those
who fish " wet " sport is not so good as it used to be,
owing to the " schoolmaster being abroad " amongst
trout as well as amongst men ; but on certain windy
days this method is the only one possible. There is
a good deal of prejudice against the " chuck-and-
chance-it " style among the advocates of the dry-fly
method of fishing. That a man who fishes with a
floating fly should be set down as a better sportsman
than one who allows his fly to sink is, to my thinking,
a narrow-minded argument, and one, moreover, that
is not borne out by facts. True, in some clear chalk
streams the fish can only be killed with the dry fly ;
and in such cases it is unsportsmanlike to thrash the
water — in the first place, because there is no chance
of catching fish, and in the second, in the interest of
other anglers, because it is likely to make the fish shy.
And therefore it is a somewhat selfish method of
fishing. But let those accomplished exponents of the art of
fishing who are too fond of applying the epithet
" poacher " to all those who do not fish in their
own particular style remember that there are but
few streams in England sluggish enough for dry-
fly fishing ; consequently many first-rate fishermen
have never acquired the art. The dry-fly angler
has no more right to consider himself superior as
a sportsman to the advocate of the old-fashioned
method than the county cricketer has to consider
himself superior to the village player. In both cases
time and practice have done their work ; but the
best fishermen and the most practised exponents

VII.] DRY-FLY FISHING. 147
of the game of cricket are very often inferior to
their less distinguished brethren as sportsmen. At
the same time, were I asked which of all our
English sports requires the greatest amount of per
severance, the supremest delicacy of hand, the most
assiduous practice, and the most perfect control of
temper, in order that excellence may be attained, I
would unhesitatingly answer, " Dry-fly fishing on
a real chalk stream " ; and I would sooner have one
successful day under such conditions than catch fifty
trout by flogging a Scotch burn.
In the Coin the fish run largest at Fairford, where
the water has been deepened and broadened ; and
there three-pounders are not uncommon. Then at
Hatherop and WiUiamstrip there are some big fish.
Higher up the trout run up to two and a half pounds ;
and the average size of fish killed after May ist is,
roughly speaking, one pound. The higher reaches are
very much easier to fish, for the following reason : at
Bibury, and at intervals of about half a mile all the way
down, the river is fed by copious springs of transparent
water ; the lower down you go, and the more springs
that fall into the river, the more glassy does it become.
The upper reaches of this river may be described as
easy fishing. The water, when in good trim, is of a
whey colour, though after June it becomes low and
very clear. The flies I have mentioned are the only
ones really necessary, and if the fish will not take
them they will probably take nothing. They are, to
sum up :
(i) March Brown.
(2) Olive Dun.

148 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
(3) Blue Dun.
(4) May-fly.
(5) Alder.
(6) Palmer.
" Wykeham's Fancy" and the "Grey Quill Gnat" are
the only other flies that need be mentioned. The
former has a great reputation on the river, but we
ourselves have used it but little.
The food on the Coin is most abundant, and to this
must be attributed the extraordinary size of the fish
as compared with the depth and bulk of water. That
one hundred and fifty brace of trout, averaging a
pound in weight, are taken with rod and line each
year on a stretch of water two miles in length, and
varying in depth from two to three feet, with a few
deep holes, the width of the water being not more
than thirty feet for the most part, is sufficient proof
that there is abundance of food in the river.
Where the water is shallow we have found great
advantage accrue by putting in large stones and fir
poles, to form ripples and also homes for the fish.
By this means shallow reaches can be made to hold
good fish, and the eddies and ripples make them easy
to catch. The stones add to the picturesqueness of
the stream, for they soon become coated with moss,
and give the idea in some places of a rocky Scotch
burn. A pleasant variety of fishing is thus obtained ;
for at one time you are throwing a dry fly on to the
still and unruffled surface of the broader reaches, and
a hundred yards lower down you may have to use a
wet fly in the narrower and quicker parts, where the
stones cause the water to " boil up " in all directions,

VII.] SCARCITY OF POACHERS. 149
and the eddies give a chance to those who are un
initiated into the mysteries of dry-fly angling.
The large fish prefer sluggish water, but in these
artificial ripples fish may be caught on days on which
the stream would be unfishable under ordinary circum
stances. It would be invidious to make comparisons
between the Coin and the Hampshire rivers — ^the
Itchen and the Test, — these are larger rivers, with
larger fish, and they require a better fisherman than
those stretches of the Coin that we are dealing with,
although the lower reaches of the latter stream are
difficult enough for most people.
Otters used to be considered scarce on the River
Coin, but two have lately been trapped in the parish
of Bibury. With pike and coarse fish we are not
troubled on the upper reaches, though lower down
they exist in certain quantities. Of poachers I
trust I may say the same. Rumour has sometimes
whispered of nets kept in Bibury and elsewhere, and
of midnight raids on the neighbouring preserves ;
but though I have walked down the bank on many a
summer night, I have never once come upon anything
suspicious, not even a night-line. The Gloucestershire
native is an honest man. He may think, perhaps,
that he has nothing to learn and cannot go wrong,
but burglaries are practically unknown, and poaching
is not commonly practised.
To sum up, the River Coin affords excellent sport
amid surroundings seldom to be found in these days.
The whole country reminds one of the days of Merrie
England, so quaint and rural are the scenes. The
houses and cottages are all built of the native stone,

150 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch.
which can be obtained for the trouble of digging, so
there is no danger of modern villas or the inroads of
civilisation spoiling the face of the country. And
moreover, these country people, being simple in their
tastes, have never endeavoured to improve on the old
style of building ; the newer cottages, with their
pointed gables, closely resemble the old Elizabethan
houses. The new stone soon tones down, and every
house has a pretty garden attached to it.
I have just returned from a stroll by the river, with
my rod in hand, on the look-out for a rise. Not a
fish was stirring. It is the middle of May, and this
glorious valley is growing more and more glorious
every day. An evening walk by the stream is
delightful now, even though you may begin to wonder
if all the fish have disappeared. The air is full of
joyful sounds. The cuckoo, the corncrake, and the
cock pheasant seem to be vieing with each other ; but,
alas ! nightingales there are none. As I come round
a bend, up get a mallard and a duck, and beautiful
they look as they swing round me in the dazzling
sunlight. A little further on I come upon a whole
brood of nineteen little wild ducks. The old mothers
are a good deal tamer now than they were in the
shooting season. Many a time have they got up, just
out of shot, when I was trying to wile away the time
during the great frost with a little stalking. A
kingfisher shoots past ; but I have given up trying to
find her nest. There is a brood of dabchicks, and, a
little further on, another family of wild duck.
The spring flowers are just now in their flush of
pride and glory. Clothing the banks, and reflected

VII.] SPRING'S DELIGHTS. 151
everywhere in the blue waters of the stream, are
great clusters of marsh marigolds painting the
meadows with their flaming gold ; out of the decayed
" stoles " of trees that fell by the water's edge years
and years ago springs the " glowing violet " ; here
and there, as one throws a fly towards the opposite
bank, a purple glow on the surface of the stream
draws the attention to a glorious mass of violets on
the mossy bank above ; myriads of dainty cuckoo
flowers, "With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head.
And every flower that sad embroidery wears,"
are likewise to be seen. Farther away from the
stream's bank, on the upland lawn and along the
hedge towards the downs, the deep purple of
the hyacinth and orchis, and the perfect blue of the
little eyebright or germander speedwell, are visible
even at a distance. In a week the lilac and sweet
honeysuckle will fill the air with grateful redolence.
Ah ! a may-fly. But I know this is only a false
alarm. There are always a few stray ones about at
this time ; the fly will not be " up " for ten days at
least. When it does come, the stream, so smooth and
glcissy now, will be " like a pot a-boiling," as the
villagers say. You would not think it possible that a
small brook could contain so many big fish as will
show themselves when the fly is up.
In conclusion, we will quote once more from dear
old Charles Kingsley, for what was true fifty years ago
is true now — at all events, in this part of Gloucester
shire ; and may it ever remain so !

152 A COTSWOLD TROUT STREAM. [Ch. VII.
" Come, then, you who want pleasant fishing days
without the waste of time and trouble and expense
involved in two hundred miles of railway journey, and
perhaps fifty more of highland road ; come to pleasant
country inns, where you can always get a good dinner ;
or, better still, to pleasan'i country houses, where
you can always get good society — to rivers which
always fish brimful, instead of being, as these
mountain ones are, very like a turnpike road for three
weeks, and then like bottled porter for three days — to
streams on which you have strong south-west breezes
for a week together on a clear fishing water, instead
of having, as on these mountain ones, foul rain spate
as long as the wind is south-west, and clearing water
when the wind chops up to the north, — streams, in a
word, where you may kill fish four days out of five
from April to October, instead of having, as you will
most probably in the mountain, just one day's sport
in the whole of your month's holiday."

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP.

" Just in the dubious point where with the pool
Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils
Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow.
There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly."
Thomson's Seasons.
WHEN does the may- fly come, the gorgeous
succulent may-fly, that we all love so well in
the quiet valleys where the trout streams wend their
silent ways ?
It comes " of a Sunday," answers the keeper, who
would fain see the prejudice against fishing "on the
Sabbath" scattered to the four winds of heaven. He
IS3

154 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
thinks it very contrary of the fly that it should
invariably come up " strong " on the one day in the
week on which the trout are usually allowed a rest.
" 'Tis a most comical job, but it always comes up
thickest of a Sunday," he frequently exclaims. Then,
if you press him for further particulars, he grows
eloquent on the subject, and tells you as follows :
"We always reckons to kill the most fish on
'Durby day.' 'Tis a most singular thing, but the
' Durby day ' is always the best."
Now, considering that Derby day is a movable
feast, saving that it always comes on a Wednesday,
there would appear to be no more logic in this state
ment than there is in the one about the fly coming
up strong on a Sunday. However, so deep rooted is
the theory that the Derby and the cream of the may
fly fishing are inseparably associated that we have
come to talk of the biggest rise of the season as
" the Derby day," whatever day of the week it may
happen to be.
Thus Tom Peregrine, the keeper, when he sees the
fly gradually coming up, will say : " I can see how it
will be — next Friday will be Durby day. You must
' meet ' the fly that day ; ' be sure and give it the
meeting,' sir. We shall want six rods on the water
on Friday." He is so desperately keen to kill fish
that he would sooner have six rods and moderate
sport for each fisherman than three rods and good
sport all round. Wonderfully sanguine is this fellow's
temperament :
"A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays
And confident to-morrows."

VIIL] DERBY DAY ON THE COLN. 155
It is always "just about a good day for fishing"
before you start ; and if you have a bad day, he
¦consoles you with an account of an extraordinary
day last week, or one you are to have next week.
Sometimes it was last season that was so good ; " or
it will be a splendid season next year," for some
reason or other only known to himself.
Three good anglers are quite sufficient for two
miles of fishing on the best of days. Experience has
taught us that " too many cooks spoil the broth "
«ven in the may-fly season.
I shall never forget a most lamentable, though
somewhat laughable, occurrence which took place five
years ago. Foolishly responding to the entreaties
of our enthusiastic friend the keeper, we actually did
ask five people to fish one " Durby day." As luck
would have it they all came ; but unfortunately a
neighbouring squire, who owns part of the water, but
who seldom turns up to fish, also chose that day, and
with him came his son.- Seven was bad enough
in all conscience, but imagine my feelings when a
waggonette drove up, full of undergraduates from
Oxford : my brother, who was one of the under
graduates, had brought them down on the chance,'
and without any warning. Of course they all wanted
to fish, though for the most part they were quite
innocent of the art of throwing a fly. Result : ten
or a dozen fisherman, all in each other's way ; every
rising fish in the brook frightened out of its wits ;
and very little sport. The total catch for the day
was only thirty trout, or exactly what three rods
ought to have caught.

156 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
These were the sort of remarks one had to put up'
with : " I say, old chap, there's a d  d fellow in a
mackintosh suit up stream ; he's bagged my water " ;.
or, " Who is that idiot who has been flogging away
all the afternoon in one place ? Does he think he's
beating carpets, or is he an escaped lunatic from.
Hp.nwell ? "
The whole thing was too absurd ; it was like a
fishing competition on the Thames at Twickenham..
Since this never-to-be-forgotten day I have come
to the conclusion that to have too few anglers is.
better than too many ; also, alas ! that it is quite
useless to ask your friends to come unless they are
accomplished fishermen. It takes years of practice
to learn the art of catching south-country trout in:
these days, when every fish knows as well as we do-
the difference between the real fly and the artificial-
One might as well ask a lot of schoolboys to a big.
' shoot," as issue indiscriminate invitations to fish.
It is a prochronism to talk of the May-dy ; for, as
a matter of fact, the first ten days of June usually
constitute the may-fly season. Of late years the rise
has been earlier and more scanty than of yore. There
are always several days, however, during the rise
when all the biggest fish in the brook come out fromi
their homes beneath the willows, take up a favourable
place in mid stream, and quietly suck down fly after
fly until they are absolutely stuffed. To have fished
on one of these days in any well-stocked south-
country brook is something to look back upon for
many a long day. Ina reach of water not exceeding
one hundred yards in length there will be fish enough

VIIL] A GOOD SPORTSMAN. 157
to occupy you throughout the day. You may catch
seven or eight brace of trout, none of which are under
a pound in weight, where you did not believe any
large ones existed. The fact is, the larger fish of a
trout stream are more like rats in their habits than
anything else ; they stow themselves away in holes
in the bank and all sorts of inconceivable places, and
are as invisible by day as the otter itself
That man derives the greatest enjoyment from this
annual carnival among the trout who has been tied
to London all through May, sweltering in a stuffy
office and longing for the country. Though his
sympathies are bound up heart and soul in country
pursuits, he has elected to " live laborious days " in
the busy haunts of men. He does it, though he hates
it ; for he has sufficient insight to know that self-
denial in some form or other is the inevitable destiny
of mortal man : sooner or later it has to be undergone
by all, whether we like it or not.
" Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit
Ab dis plura feret "
Horace never wrote anything truer than that,
though we are not to suppose that the second line
will necessarily come true in this life.
We will imagine that our friend is a briefless
barrister, but a fine, all-round sportsman ; a crack
batsman, perhaps, at Eton and Oxford, or one of
whom it might be said :
" Give me the man to whom nought comes amiss,
One horse or another, that country or this —
Who through falls and bad starts undauntedly still
Rides up to the motto, ' Be with them I will.' "

158 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
There may be good sportsmen enough enjoying life
throughout the country villages of Merrie England,
but in my humble opinion the best sportsmen must be
sought in stifling offices in London, or serving " their
country and their Queen " under the burning sun of a
far country, or maybe in the reeking atmosphere of the
East End, or as missionaries in that howling wilderness
the inhospitable land of " the heathen Chinee.''
Sitting in his dusty chambers, poring over grimy
books and legal manuscripts, our " briefless " friend
receives a telegram which he has been expecting
rather anxiously the last few days. As brief as he is
"briefless," it brings a flush to his cheek which has
not been seen there since that great run with the
hounds last Christmas holidays. " The fly is up ;
come at once." These are the magic words ; and no
time is lost in responding to the invitation, for, as
prearranged, he is to start for Gloucestershire directly
the wire arrives.
There is no need to rush off to Mr. Farlow and buy
up his stock of may-flies ; for though he does not tie
his own flies, our angling friend has a goodly stock
of them neatly arranged in rows of cork inside a black
tin box ; and, depend upon it, they are the right
ones. Many a fisherman goes through a lifetime without
getting the right flies for the water on which he
angles. It is ten to one that those in the shops are
too light, both in the body and the wing ; the may
flies usually sold are likewise much too big. About
half life-size is quite big enough for the artificial fly,
and as a general rule they cannot be too dark.

VIIL] DRY-FLY EQUIPMENT. 159
Some years ago we caught a live fly, and took it
up to London for the shopman to copy. " At last,"
we said to ourselves, " we have got the right thing."
But not a bit of it. The first cast on to the water
showed us that the fly was utterly wrong. It was
far too light. The fact is, the insect itself appears
very much darker on the water than it does in the
air. But the artificial fly shows ten times lighter as
it floats on the stream than it does in the shop
window. Dark mottled grey for your wings, and a brown
hackle, with a dark rather than a straw-coloured
body, is the kind of fly we find most killing on the
upper Coin. Of course it may be different on other
streams, but I suspect there is a tendency to use too
light a fly everywhere, save among those who have
learnt by experience how to catch trout. As Sir
Herbert Maxwell has proved by experiment, trout
have no perception of colour except so far as the fly
is light or dark. He found dark blue and red flies
just as killing as the ordinary may-fly.
For the dry-fly fisherman equipment is half the
battle. Show me the man who catches fish ; ten to
one his rod is well balanced and strong, his line
heavy, though tapered, and his gut well selected and
stained. The fly-book stamps the fisherman even
more truly than the topboot stamps the fox-hunter.
Nor does the accomplished expert with the dry fly
disdain with fat of deer to grease his line, nor with
paraffin to dress his fly and make it float. But he
keeps the paraffin in a leather case by itself, so
that his coat may not remain redolent for months.

i6o WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
From top to toe he is a fisherman. His boots are
thick, even though he does not require waders ; on
his knees are leather pads to ward off rheumatism ;
whilst on his head is a sober-coloured cap — not a
white straw hat flashing in the sunlight, and scaring
the timid trout to death.
Thus appears our sportsman of the Inner Temple
not twelve hours after we saw him stewing in his
London chambers. What a metamorphosis is this !
Just as the may-fly, after two years of confinement
as a wretched grub in the muddy bed of the stream,
throws off its shackles, gives its wings a shake, and
soars into the glorious June atmosphere, happy to
be free, so does the poor caged bird rejoice, after
grubbing for an indefinite period in a cramped
cell, to leave darkness and dirt and gloom (though
not, like the may-fly, for ever), and flee away on
wings the mighty steam provides until he finds
himself once again in the fresh green fields he
loves so well. And truly he gets his reward. He
has come into a new world — rather, I should say,
a paradise ; for he comes when meadows are green
and trees are at their prime. Though the glory of
the lilac has passed away, the buttercup still gilds
the landscape ; barley fields are bright with yellow
charlock, and the soft, subdued glow of sainfoin gives
colour to the breezy uplands as of acres of pink
carnations. On one side a vast sheet of saffron, on
the other a lake of rubies, ripples in the passing
breeze, or breaks into rolling waves of light and
shade as the fleecy clouds sweep across azure skies.
He comes when roses, pink and white and red, are

VIIL] HOMELY FARE. i6i
just beginning to hang their dainty heads in modest
beauty on every cottage wall or cluster round the
ancient porch ; when from every lattice window in
the hamlet (I wish I could say every open window)
rows of red geraniums peep from their brown pots
of terra-cotta, brightening the street without, and.
filling the cosy rooms with grateful, unaccustomed
fragrance ; when the scent of the sweet, short-livedi
honeysuckle pervades the atmosphere, and the faces
of the handsome peasants are bronzed as those of
dusky dwellers under Italian skies.
" No daintie flowre or herbe that grows on ground ;
No arborett with painted blossoms drest,
And smelling sweete, but there it might be found,
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al around."
E. Spenser.
What a pleasant country is this in which to spend
a holiday ! How white are the limestone roads !
how fresh and invigorating is the upland air ! The
old manor house is deserted, its occupants having
gone to London. But a couple of bachelors can be
happy in an empty house, without servants and
modern luxuries, as long as the may-fly lasts. It is
pleasant to feel that you can dine at any hour you
please, and wear what you please. The good lady
who cooks for you is merely the wife of one of the
shepherds ; but her cooking is fit for a king ! What
dinner could be better than a trout fresh from the
brook, a leg of lamb from the farm, and a gooseberry
tart from the kitchen garden? For vegetables you
may have asparagus — of such excellence that you
II

i62 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
scarcely know which end to begin eating — and new
potatoes. For my part, I would sooner a thousand times live
on homely fare in the country than be condemned
to wade through long courses at London dinner
parties, or, worse still, pay fabulous prices at " Willis's
Rooms," the " Berkeley," or at White's Club.
What a comfort, too, to be without housemaids to
tidy up your papers in the smoking-room and shut
your windows in the evening ! How healthful to
sleep in a room in which the windows have been wide
open night and day for months past !
Sport is usually to be depended upon in the may
fly time, as long as you are not late for the rise.
Of late years the fly has " come up " so early and in
such limited quantities that but few fishermen were
on the water in time.
We are apt to grumble, declaring that the whole
river has gone to the bad ; that the fish are smaller
and fewer in numbers than of yore, — but is this borne
out by facts ? The year 1 896 was no doubt rather a
failure as regards the may-fly ; but as I glance over
the pages of the game-book in which I record as
far as possible every fish that is killed, I cannot
help thinking that sport has been very wonderful,
take it all round, during six out of seven seasons.
It is a lovely day during the last week in May.
There has been no rain for more than a fortnight ;
the wind is north-east, and the sun shines brightly, —
yet we walk down to the River Coin, anticipating
a good day's sport among the trout : for, during
the may-fly season, no matter how unpropitious the

VIIL] PEREGRINE'S QUAINT EXPRESSIONS. 163
weather may appear, sport is more of a certainty
on this stream than at any other time of year.
Early in the season drought does not appear to
have any effect on the springs ; we might get no
rain from the middle of April until half-way through
June, and yet the water will keep up and remain
a good colour all the time. But after June is " out,"
down goes the water, lower and lower every week ; no
amount of rain will then make any perceptible in
crease to the volume of the stream, and not until
the nights begin to lengthen out and the autumnal
gales have done their work will the water rise again
to its normal height. If you ask Tom Peregrine why
these things are so, he will only tell you that after
a few gales the " springs be frum!' The word
" frum," the derivation of which is, Anglo-Saxon,
"fram," or " from " = strong, flourishing, is the local
expression for the bursting of the springs.
Our friend Tom Peregrine is full of these quaint
expressions. When he sees a covey of partridges
dusting themselves in the roads, he will tell you
they are " bathering." A dog hunting through a
wood is always said to be " breveting." " I don't
like that dog of So-and-so's, he do ' brevet ' so," is a
favourite saying. The ground on a frosty morning
" scrumps " or " feels scrumpety," as you walk across
the fields ; and the partridges when wild are " teert."
All these phrases are very happy, the sound of the
words illustrating exactly the idea they are intended
to convey. Besides ordinary Gloucestershire expres
sions, the keeper has a large variety that he has
invented for himself

l64 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
When the river comes down clear, it is invariably
described as hke looking into a gin bottle, or " as
clear as gin." A trout rising boldly at a fly is said to
" ' quap ' up," or " boil up," or even " come at it like
a dog." The word " mess " is used to imply disgust
of any sort : " I see one boil up just above that
mess of weed " ; or, if you get a bit of weed on the
hook, he will exclaim, " Bother ! that mess of weed has
put him down." Sometimes he remarks, " 'Tis these
dreadful frostis that spiles everything. 'Tis enough
to sterve anybody." When he sees a bad fisherman
at work, he nods his head woefully and exclaims,
" He might as well throw his 'at in ! " Then again, if
he is anxious that you should catch a particular
trout, which cannot be persuaded to rise, he always
says, " Terrify him, sir ; keep on terrifying of him.''
This does not mean that you are to frighten the fish ;
on the contrary, he is urging you to stick to him till
he gets tired of being harassed, and succumbs to
temptation. All these quaint expressions make this
sort of folk very amusing companions for a day's
fishing. It is eleven o'clock ; let us walk down stream
until we come to a bend in the river where the
north-east wind is less unfavourable than it is in most
parts. There is a short stretch of two hundred yards,
where, as we fish up stream, the breeze will be
almost at our backs, and there are fish enough to
occupy us for an hour or so ; afterwards, we shall
have to " cut the wind " as best we can.
As we pass down stream the pale olive duns
are hatching out in fair numbers, and a few fish

VIIL] THE OLIVE DUN. 165
are already on the move. What lovely, delicate
things are these duns ! and how " beautifully and
wonderfully are they made " I If you catch one you
will see that it is as delicate and transparent as it
can possibly be. Not even the may-fly can compare
with the dun. And what rare food for trout they
supply! For more than six weeks, from April ist,
they hatch out by thousands every sunny day. The
may-fly may be a total failure, but week after week
in the early spring you may go down to the river
side with but one sort of fly, and if there are fish
to be caught at all, the pale-winged olive dun will
catch them ; and in spite of the fact that there are
a few may-flies on the water, it is with the little
duns that we intend to start our fishing to-day
The trout have not yet got thoroughly accustomed
to the green-drake, and the " Durby day " will not
be here for a week. It is far better to leave them
" to get reconciled " to the new fly (as the keeper
would put it) ; they will " quap " up all the better in a
few days if allowed, in angling phraseology, " to get
well on to the fly."
On arriving at the spot at which we intend com
mencing operations, it is evident that the rise has
begun. Happily, everything was in readiness. Our
tapered gut cast has been wetted, and a tiny-
eyed fly is at the end. The gut nearest the hook is
as fine as gut can possibly be. Anything thicker
would be detected, for a spring joins the river at
this point and makes the water rather clear. Higher
up we need not be so particular. There is a fish
rising fifteen yards above us ; so, crouching low

166 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
and keeping back from the bank, we begin casting.
A leather kneecap, borrowed from the harness-
room, is strapped on to the knee, and is a good
precaution against rheumatism. The first cast is
two feet short of the rise, but with the next we hook
a trout. He makes a tremendous rush, and runs
the reel merrily. We manage to keep him out of the
weeds and land him — a silvery " Loch Leven," about
three-quarters of a pound, and in excellent condition.
Only two years ago he was put into the stream with
five hundred others as a yearling. The next two
rising fish are too much for us, and we bungle them.
One sees the line, owing to our throwing too far
above him, and the other is frightened out of his life
by a bit of weed or grass which gets hitched on to
the barb of the hook, and lands bang on to his nose.
These accidents will happen, so we do not swear,
but pass on up stream, and soon a great brown tail
appears for a second just above some rushes on the
other side. Kneeling down again, we manage, after
a few casts — luckily short of our fish — to drop the fly
a foot above him. Down it sails, not " cocking " as
nicely as could be wished, but in an exact line for his
nose. There is a slight dimple, and we have got him.
For two or three minutes we are at the mercy of our
fish, for we dare not check him — the gut is too fine.
But, lacking condition, he soon tires, and is landed.
He is over a pound and a half, and rather lanky ; but
kill him we must, for by the size of his head we can
see that he is an old fish, and as bad as a pike for
eating fry. Two half-pounders are now landed in
rapid succession, and returned to the water. Then

VIIL] THE BIG FISH. 167
we hook a veritable monster ; but, alas ! he makes a
terrific rush down stream, and the gut breaks in the
weeds. Of course he is put down as the biggest fish
ever hooked in the water. As a matter of fact, two
pounds would probably " see him." Putting on
another olive dun, we are soon playing a handsome
bright fish of a pound, with thick shoulders and a
small head. And a lovely sight he is when we get
him out of the water and knock him on the head.
We now come to a place where some big stones
have been placed to make ripples and eddies, and the
stream is more rapid. Glad of the chance of a rest
from the effort of fishing " dry," which is tiring to
the wrist and back, we get closer to the bank, and
flog away for five minutes without success. Suddenly
we hear a voice behind, and, looking round, see our
mysterious keeper, who is always turning up un
expectedly, without one's being able to tell where
he has sprung from. " The fish be all alive above
the washpool. I never see such a sight in all my
life ! " he breathlessly exclaims.
" All right," we reply ; " we'll be up there directly.
But let's first of all try for the big one that lies just
above that stone."
" There's one up ! . . . There's another up ! The
river's boiling," says our loquacious companion.
" That's the big fish," we reply, vigorously flogging
the air to dry the fly ; for when there is a big fish
about, one always gives him as neatly a " cocked " fly
as is possible.
" Must have him ! Bang over him ! " exclaims
Tom Peregrine excitedly.

i68 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
But there is no response from the fish.
" Keep terrifyi7tg of him, keep terrifying of him,"
whispers Tom ; " he's bound to make a mistake sooner
or later." So we try again, and at the same moment
that the fly floats down over the monster's nose he
moves a foot to the right and takes a live may-fly
with a big roll and a flop.
" Well, I never ! Try him with a may-fly, sir,"
says Peregrine.
Thinking this advice sound, we hastily put on the
first may-fly of the season ; and no sooner have we
made our cast than, as Rudyard Kipling once said to
the writer, there is a boil in the water " like the launch
of a young yacht," a tremendous swirl, and we are
fast into a famous trout. Directly he feels the
insulting sting of the hook he rushes down stream
at a terrific rate, so that the line, instead of being
taut, dangles loosely on the water. We gather the
line through the rings in breathless haste — there is no
time to reel up — and once more get a tight strain on
him. Fortunately there are no weeds here ; the
current is too rapid for them. Twice he jumps clean
out of the water, his broad, silvery sides flashing in
the sunlight. At length, after a five minutes' fight,
during which our companion never stops talking,
we land the best fish we have caught for four
years. Nearly three pounds, he is as " fat as
butter," as bright as a new shilling, with the
pinkest of pink spots along his sides, and his
broad back is mottled green. The head is small,
indicating that he is not a "cannibal," but a real,
good-conditioned, pink-fleshed trout. And it is rare

VIIL] PEREGRINE ON THE ROMANS. 169
in May to catch a big fish that has grown into
condition. We have now four trout in the basket. " A pretty
dish of fish," as Peregrine ejaculates several times
as we walk up stream towards the washpool. For
thirty years he has been about this water, and has
seen thousands of fish caught, yet he is as keen
to-day as a boy with his first trout. As we pass
through a wood we question him as to a small stone
hut, which appeared to have fallen out of repair.
" Oh ! " he replied, " that was built in the time of
the Romans " ; and then he went on to tell us how a
great battle was fought in the wood, and how, about
twenty years ago, they had found " a great skeleton
of a man, nearly seven feet long " — a sure proof, he
added, that the Romans had fought here.
As a matter of fact, there are several Roman villas
in the neighbourhood, and there was also fighting
hereabouts in the Civil Wars. But half the country
folk look upon everything that happened more than a
hundred years ago as having taken place in the time
of the Romans; and Oliver Cromwell is to them as
mythical a personage and belonging to an equally
remote antiquity as Juhus Caesar. The Welsh people
are just the same. The other day we were shown a
huge pair of rusty scissors whilst staying in Brecon-
shire. The man who found them took them to the
*' big house " for the squire to keep as a curiosity, for,
^' no doubt,'' he said, " they once belonged to some
great king " !
To our disgust, on reaching the upper water we
found it as thick as pea-soup. Sheep-washing had

170 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
been going on a mile or so above us. Never having
had any sport under these conditions in past times,
we had quite decided to give up fishing for the
day ; but Tom Peregrine, who is ever sanguine,
swore he saw a fish rise. To our astonishment, on
putting the fly over the spot, we hooked and landed
a large trout. Proceeding up stream, two more were
quickly basketed. When the water comes down as
thick as the Thames at London Bridge, after sheep
washing, the big trout are often attracted out of their
holes by the insects washed out of the wool ; but they
will seldom rise freely to the artificial fly on such
occasions. To-day, oddly enough, they take any fly
they can see in the thick water, and with a " coch-y-
bondu " substituted for the may-fly, as being more
easily seen in the discoloured water, any number of
fish were to be caught. But there is little merit and,
consequently, little satisfaction in pulling out big
trout under these conditions, so that, having got
seven fish, weighing nine pounds, in the basket, we
are satisfied.
As a rule, it is only in the may-fly season that the
biggest fish rise freely ; an average weight of one
pound per fish is usually considered first-rate in the
Coin. On this day, however, although the may-fly was
not yet properly up, the big fish, which generally
feed at night, had been brought on the rise by the
sheep-washing. All the way home we are regaled with impossible
stories of big fish taken in these waters, one of which,
the keeper says, weighed five pounds, " all but a penny
piece." As a matter of fact, this fish was taken out

VIIL] A GOOD DISH OF FISH. 171
of a large spring close to the river ; and it is very
rarely that a three-pounder is caught in the Coin
above Bibury, whilst anything over that weight is
not caught once in a month of Sundays. Last
January, however, a dead trout, weighing three
pounds eight ounces, was found at Bibury Mill, and
a few others about the same size have been taken
during recent years. At Fairford, where the stream
is bigger, a five-pounder was taken during the last
may-fly. We are pleased to find that our friend from London
who has been fishing the same water, has done
splendidly ; he has killed six brace of good trout,
besides returning a large number to the water. With
a glow of satisfaction he
" Tells from what pool the noblest had been dragg'd ;
And where the very monarch ot the brook,
After long struggle, had escaped at last." Wordsworth.
We laid our combined bag on the cool stone floor
in the game larder ;
" And verily the silent creatures made
A splendid sight, together thus exposed ;
Dead, but not sullied or deformed by death.
That seem'd to pity what he could not spare."
Wordsworth.
But the killing of trout is only a small part of the
pleasure of being here when the may-fly is up. How
pleasant to live almost entirely in the open air 1
after the day's fishing is over to rest awhile in the
cool manor house hard by the stream, watching from
the window of the oak- panelled little room the

172 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. lCh.
wonders of creation in the garden through which the
river flows ! Now, from the recesses of the overhang
ing boughs on the tiny island opposite, a moorhen
swims forth, cackhng and pecking at the water as
she goes. She is followed by five little balls of black
fur — her red-beaked progeny ; they are fairly revelling
in the evening sunlight, diving, playing with each
other, and thoroughly enjoying life.
Up on the bough of the old fir, bearing its heavy
mantle of ivy from base to topmost twig, and not
twenty yards from the window, a thrush sits and
sings. You must watch him carefully ere you assure
yourself that those sweet, trilling notes of peerless
music come from that tiny throat. A rare lesson in
voice production he will teach you. Deep breathing,
headnotes clear as a bell and effortless, as only
three or four singers in Europe can produce them,
without the slightest sense of strain or throatiness —
such are the songs of our most gifted denizens of the
woods. What a wondrous amount of life is visible on an
evening such as this ! Among the fast-growing nettles
beyond the brook scores of rabbits are running to
and fro, some sitting up on their haunches with ears
pricked, some gamboling round the lichened trunk of
the weeping ash tree.
Out of the water may-flies are rising and soaring
upwards to circle round the topmost branches of the
firs. Looking upwards, you may see hundreds of
them dancing in unalloyed delight, enjoying their
brief existence in this beaiitiful world.
Birds of many kinds, swallows and swifts, sparrows.

^
*,

(2

a °
a <

VIIL] A SUMMER'S NIGHT. 173.
fly-catchers, blackbirds, robins and wrens, all and
sundry are busy chasing the poor green-drakes. As
soon as the flies 'emerge from their husks and hover
above the surface of the stream, many of them are
snapped up. But the trout have " gone down," — they
are fairly gorged for the day ; they will not trouble
the fly any more to-night.
And then those glorious bicycle rides in the long
summer evenings, when, scarcely had the sun gone
down beyond the ridge of rolling uplands than the
moon, almost at the full, and gorgeously serene, cast
her soft, mysterious light upon a silent world. One
such night two anglers, gliding softly through the
ancient village of Bibury, dismounted from their
machines and stood on the bridge which spans the River
Coin. Below them the peaceful waters flowed silently
onwards with all the smoothness of oil, save that ever
and anon rays of silvery moonlight fell in streaks of
radiant whiteness upon its glassy surface.
From beneath the bridge comes the sound of
busy waters, a sound, as is often the case with running
water, that you do not hear unless you listen for it
carefully. Close by, too, at the famous spring, crystal
waters are welling forth from the rock, pure and
stainless as they were a thousand years ago. All else
is silent in the village. The sky is flecked by myriads.
of tiny cloudlets, all separate from each other, and
mostly of one shape and size ; but just below the
brilliant orb, which floats serene and proud above
the line of mackerel sky, fantastic peaks of clouds,.
like far-off snow-capped heights of rugged Alps,.
are pointing upwards.

174 WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP. [Ch.
Suddenly there comes a change. A fairy circle of
prismatic colour is gathering round the moon,
beautifying the scene a thousandfold ; an inner girdle
of hazy emerald hue immediately surrounds the
lurid orb, which is now seen as " in a glass darkly " ;
whilst encircling all is a narrow rim of red light,
like the rosy hues of the setting sun that have
scarcely died away in the west. The beauty of this
lunar rainbow is enhanced by the framework of
shapely ash trees through whose branches it is seen.
Along the river bank, nestling under the hanging
wood, are rows of old stone cottages, with gables
warped a little on one side. One light shines forth
from the lattice window of the ancient mill ; but in
the cool thick-walled houses the honest peasants are
slumbering in deep, peaceful sleep.
" Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep.
The river glideth at his own sweet will ;
Dear God, the very houses seem asleep.'' Wordsworth.
We are in the very heart of England. What a
contrast to London at night, where many a poor
fellow must be tossing restlessly in the stifling
atmosphere !
As we return towards the old manor house the
nightjar, or goat-sucker, is droning loudly, and a
nightingale — actually a nightingale ! — is singing in the
copse. These birds seldom visit us in the Cotswolds.
In the deserted garden the scent of fresh-mown
hay is filling the air, and
" The moping owl doth to the moon complain
Of such as wander near her secret bowfer. '

VIIL] A STRANGE PHENOMENON. 175
As we go we pluck some sprigs of fragrant honey
suckle and carry them indoors. And so to bed,
passing on the broad oak staircase the weird picture
of the man who built this rambling old house more
than three hundred years ago.
There is a plain everyday phenomenon connected
with pictures, and more especially photographs, which
must have been noticed time after time by thousands
of people ; yet I never heard it mentioned in conversa
tion or saw it in print. I allude to the extraordinary
sympathy the features of a portrait are capable of
assuming towards the expression of countenance of
the man who is looking at it. There is something at
times almost uncanny in it. Stand opposite a
photograph of a friend when you are feeling sad,
and the picture is sad. Laugh, and the mouth ot
your friend seems to curl into a smile, and his eyes
twinkle merrily. Relapse into gloom and despon
dency, and the smile dies away from the picture.
Often in youth, when about to carry out some design
or other, I used to glance at my late father's portrait,
and never failed to notice a look of approval or con
demnation on the face which left its mark on the
memory for a considerable time. The countenance
of the grim old gentleman in the portrait on the
stairs ("^ETATIS SU^ 92. 1614 A.D. ") wore a distinct
air of satisfaction to-night as I passed by on my way
to bed ; he always looks pleased after there has been
a good day with the hounds, and likewise in the
summer when the may-fly is up.

CHAPTER IX.

BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN.
BURFORD and Cirencester are two typical
Cotswold towns ; and perhaps the first-named
is the most characteristic, as it is also the most remote
and old-world of all places in this part of England. It
was on a lovely day in June that we resolved to go
and explore the ancient priory and glorious church
of old Burford. A very slow train sets you down at
Bampton, commonly called Bampton-in-the-Bush,
though the forest which gave rise to the name has
long since given place to open fields.
There are many other curious names of this
type in Gloucestershire and the adjoining counties.
Villages of the same name are often distinguished
175

Ch. IX.] DESCRIPTIVE NAMES. 177
from each other by these quaint descriptions of their
various situations. Thus :
Moreton-in-the-Marsh distinguishes from More-
ton-on-Lug.
Bourton-on-the-Water distinguishes from Bour-
ton-on-the-Hill.
Stow-on-the-Wold distinguishes from Stowe-
Nine-Churches.
Then we find
Shipston-on-Stour and Shipton-under-Which-
wood.
Hinton-on-the-Green and Hinton-in-the-Hedges.
Aston-under-Hill and Aston-under-Edge.
It may be noted in passing that the derivation of
the word " Moreton-in-the-Marsh " has ever been the
subject of much controversy. But the fact that the
place is on the ancient trackway from Cirencester to
the north, and also that four counties meet here, is
sufficient reason for assigning Morton-hen-Mearc ( = )
" the place on the moor by the old boundary " as
the probable meaning of the name.
We were fortunate enough to secure an outside
seat on the rickety old " 'bus " which plies between
Bampton and Burford, and were soon slowly travers
ing the white limestone road, stopping every now and
then to set down a passenger or deposit a parcel
at some clean-looking, stone-faced cottage in the
straggling old villages.
It was indeed a glorious morning for an expedition
into the Cotswolds. The six weeks' drought had just
given place to cool, showery weather. A light wind
from the west breathed the fragrance of countless wild
12

178 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
flowers and sweet may blossom from the leafy hedges,
and the scent of roses and honeysuckle was wafted
from every cottage garden. After a month spent
amid the languid air and depressing surroundings of
London, one felt glad at heart to experience once
again the grand, pure air and rural scenery of the
Cotswold Hills.
What strikes one so forcibly about this part of
England, after a sojourn in some smoky town, is its
extraordinary cleanliness.
There is no such thing as dirt in a limestone
country. The very mud off the roads in rainy
weather is not dirt at all, sticky though it undoubtedly
is. It consists almost entirely of lime, which, though
it burns all the varnish off your carriage if allowed
to remain on it for a few days, has nothing repulsive
about its nature, like ordinary mud.
How pleasant, too, is the contrast between the
quiet, peaceful country life and the restless din and
never-ceasing commotion of the " busy haunts of men " !
As we pass along through villages gay with flowers,
we converse freely with the driver of the 'bus, chiefly
about fishing. The great question which every one
asks in this part of the world in the first week in
June is whether the may-fly is up. The lovely
green-drake generally appears on the Windrush about
this time, and then for ten days nobody thinks
or talks about anything else. Who that has ever
witnessed a real may-fly " rise " on a chalk or lime
stone stream will deny that it is one of the most
beautiful and interesting sights in all creation ?
Myriads of olive-coloured, transparent insects, almost

IX.] THE WINDRUSH. 179
as large as butterflies, rising out of the water, and
floating on wings as light as gossamer, only to live
but one short day ; great trout, flopping and rolling
in all directions, forgetful of all the wiles of which
they are generally capable; and then, when the
evening sun is declining, the female fly may be seen
hovering over the water, and dropping her eggs time
after time, until, having accomplished the only pur
pose for which she has existed in the winged state,
she falls lifeless into the stream. But though these
lovely insects live but twenty-four hours, and during
that short period undergo a transformation from the
sub-imago to the imago state, they exist as larvse in
the bed of the river for quite two years from the time
the eggs are dropped. The season of 1 896 was one
of the worst ever known on some may-fly rivers ;
probably the great frost two winters back was the
cause of failure. The intense cold is supposed to have
killed the larvze.
The Windrush trout are very large indeed ; a five-
pound fish is not at all uncommon. The driver of
the 'bus talked of monsters of eight pounds having
been taken near Burford, but we took this cum grano
salis. After a five-mile drive we suddenly see the pic
turesque old town below us. Like most of the villages
of the country, it lies in one of the narrow valleys
which intersect the hills, so that you do not get a
view of the houses until you arrive at the edge of
the depression in which they are built.
Having paid the modest shilling which represents
the fare for the five miles, we start off for the priory.

i8o BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
There was no difficulty in finding our way to it. In
all the Cotswold villages and small towns the "big
house" stands out conspicuously among the old
cottages and barns and farmhouses, half hidden as
it is by the dense foliage of giant elms and beeches
and chestnuts and ash ; nor is Burford Priory an
exception to the rule, though its grounds are guarded
by a wall of immense height on one side. And then
once more we get the view we have seen so often on
Cotswold ; yet it never palls upon the senses, but
thrills us with its own mysterious charm. Who can
ever get tired of the picture presented by a gabled,
mediaeval house set in a framework of stately trees,
amid whose leafy branches the rooks are cawing and
chattering round their ancestral nests, whilst down
below the fertilising stream silently fulfils its never-
ceasing task, flowing onwards everlastingly, caring
nothing for the vicissitudes of our transitory life and
the hopes and fears that sway the hearts of successive
generations of men ?
There the old house stands " silent in the shade " ;
there are the " nursery windows," but the " children's
voices " no longer break the silence of the still summer
day. Everywhere — in the hall, in the smoking-room,
where the empty gun-cases still hang, and in "my
lady's bower," " Sorrow and silence and sadness
Are hanging over all."
Until we arrived within a few yards of the front door
we had almost forgotten that the place was a ruin ;
for though the house is but an empty shell, almost

IX.] BURFORD PRIORY. i8i
as hollow as a skull, the outer walls are absolutely
complete and undamaged. At one end is the beauti
ful old chapel, built by " Speaker " Lenthall in the
time of the Commonwealth. There is an air of
sanctity about this lovely white freestone temple
which no amount of neglect can eradicate. The
roof, of fine stucco work, has fallen in ; the elder
shrubs grow freely through the crevices in the broken
pavement under foot, — and yet you feel bound to
remove your hat as you enter, for "you are stand
ing on holy ground."
" EXUE CALCEOS, NAM TERRA EST SANCTA."
Over the entrance stands boldly forth this solemn
inscription, whilst angels, wonderfully carved in white
stone, watch and guard the sacred precincts. At the
north end of the chapel stands intact the altar,
and, strangely enough, the most perfectly preserved
remnants of the whole building are two white stone
tablets plainly setting forth the Ten Commandments.
The sun, as we stood there, was pouring its rays
through the graceful muUioned windows, lighting
up the delicate carving, — work that is rendered
more beautiful than ever by the " tender grace of
a day that is dead," — whilst outside in the deserted
garden the birds were singing sweetly. The scene
was sadly impressive ; one felt as one does when
standing by the grave of some old friend. As we
passed out of the chapel we could not help reflecting
on the hard-heartedness of men fifty years ago, who
could allow this consecrated place, beautiful and fair as

i83 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [CH
it still is, to fall gradually to the ground, nor attempt
to put forth a helping hand to save it ere it crumbles
into dust. How ungrateful it seems to those whose
labour and hard, self-sacrificing toil erected it two
hundred and fifty years ago ! Those men of whom
Ruskin wrote : " All else for which the builders sacri
ficed has passed away ; all their living interests and
aims and achievements. We know not for what they
laboured, and we see no evidence of their reward.
Victory, wealth, authority, happiness, all have departed,
though bought by many a bitter sacrifice."
It should be mentioned, however, that Mr. R.
Hurst is at the present time engaged in a laudable
endeavour to restore this chapel to its original state.
Inside the house the most noteworthy feature of
interest is a remarkably fine ornamental ceiling.
Good judges inform us that the ballroom ceiling at
Burford Priory is one of the finest examples of old
work of the kind anywhere to be seen. The room
itself is a very large and well-proportioned one ; the
oak panels, which completely cover the walls, still bear
the marks of the famous portraits that once adorned
them. Charles I. and Henry Prince of Wales, by
Cornelius Jansen ; Queen Henrietta Maria, by Van
dyke ; Sir Thomas More and his family, by Holbein ;
Speaker Lenthall, the former owner of the house ;
and many other fine pictures hung here in former
times. The staircase is a fine broad one, of oak.
But now let us leave the inside of the house,
which ought to be so beautiful and bright, and is
so desolate and bare, for it is of no great age, and
let us call to mind the picture which Waller painted.

IX.] THE "KINGMAKER." 183
engravings of which used to adorn so many Oxford
rooms : " The Empty Saddle." For, standing in
the neglected garden we may see the very terrace
and the angle of the house which were drawn so
beautifully by him. Then, as we stroll through the
deserted grounds towards the peaceful Windrush,
where the great trout are still sucking down the
poor short-lived may-flies, let us try to recollect what
manner of men used to walk in these peaceful gardens
in the old, stirring times.
Little or nothing is known of the monastery which
doubtless existed somewhere hereabouts prior to the
dissolution in Henry VIII.'s reign.
Up to the Conquest the manor of Burford was
held by Saxon noblemen. It is mentioned in
Doomsday Book as belonging to Earl Aubrey ;
but the first notable man who held it was Hugh
le Despencer. This man was one of Edward II.'s
favourites, and was ultimately hung, by the queen's
command, at the same time that Edward was com
mitted to Kenilworth Castle. Burford remained with
his descendants till the reign of Henry V., when
it passed by marriage to a still more notable man, in
the person of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, the
" kingmaker." Space does not allow us to romance
on the part that this great warrior played in the
history of those times ; Lord Lytton has done that
for us in his splendid book, " The Last of the Barons."
Suffice it to say that he left an undying fame to
future generations, and fell in the Wars of the
Roses when fighting at the battle of Barnet against
the very man he had set on the throne. The alms-

i84 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
houses he built for Burford are still to be seen hard
by the grand old church.
" For who lived king, but I could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow ?
Lo, now my glory's smear'd in dust and blood !
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my lands.
Is nothing left me, but my body's length ! "
3 King Henry VI., V. ii.
In the reign of Henry VIII. this manor, having
lapsed to the Crown, was granted to Edmund
Harman, the royal surgeon. Then in later days
Sir John Fortescue, Chancellor of the Exchequer to
Queen Elizabeth, got hold of it, and eventually sold
it to Sir Lawrence Tanfield, a great judge in those
times. The latter was buried " at twelve o'clock in
the Night " in the church of Burford ; and there is a
very handsome aisle there and an immense monument
to his memory. The Tanfield monument, though
somewhat ugly and grotesque, is a wonderful example
of alabaster work. The cost of erecting it and the
labour bestowed must have been immense. It was
this knight who built the great house of which the
present ruins form part, and the date would probably
be about 1600. But in 1808 nearly half the original
building is supposed to have been pulled down, and
what was allowed to remain, with the exception of
the chapel, has been very much altered.
It was in the time of Lucius Carey's (second Lord
Falkland) ownership of this manor that the place
was in the zenith of its fame. This accomplished man,
whose father had married Chief Justice Tanfield's

IX.] LORD FALKLAND. 185
only daughter, succeeded his grandfather in the year
1625. He gathered together, either here or at Great
Tew, a few miles away, half the literary celebrities
of the day. Ben Jonson, Cowley, and Chillingworth
all visited Falkland from time to time. Lucius
Carey afterwards became the ill-fated King Charles's
Secretary of State, an office which he conscientiously
filled until his untimely death.
Falkland left little literary work behind him of any
mark, yet of no other man of those times may it
be said that so great a reputation for ability and
character has been handed down to us. Novelists
and authors delight in dwelling on his good qualities.
Even in this jubilee year of 1 897 the author of " Sir
Kenelm Digby '' has written a book about the
Falklands. Whyte Melville, too, made him the hero
of one of his novels, describing him as a man in
whose outward appearance there were no indications
of the intellectual superiority he enjoyed over his
fellow men. Indeed, as with Arthur Hallam in our
own times, so it was with Falkland in the mediaeval
age. Neither left behind them any work of their
own by which future generations could realise their
abilities and almost godlike charm, yet each has
earned a kind of immortality through being honoured
and sung by the pens of the greatest writers of his
respective age.
That great, though somewhat bombastic, historian.
Lord Clarendon, tells us that Falkland was " a person
of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge,
of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversa
tion, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and

i86 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity
and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand
upon this odious and accursed Civil War than that
single loss, it must be most infamous and execrable
to all posterity." From the same authority we learn
that although he was ever anxious for peace, yet he
was the bravest of the brave. At the battle of
Newbury he put himself in the first rank of Lord
Byron's regiment, when he met his end through a
musket shot. " Thus," says Clarendon, " fell that
incomparable young man, in the four-and-thirtieth
year of his age, having so much despatched the true
business of life that the eldest rarely attain to that
immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into
the world with more innocency."
When it is remembered that Falkland was not a
soldier at all, but a learned scholar, whose natural
proclivities were literature and the arts of peace, his
self-sacrifice and bravery cannot fail to call forth
admiration for the man, and we cannot but regret
his untimely end.
King Charles was several times at Burford, for it
was the scene of much fighting in the Civil Wars.
It was in the year 1636 that Speaker Lenthall
purchased Burford Priory. He was a man of note in
those troublous times, and even Cromwell seems to
have respected him ; for, although the latter came
down to the House one day with a troop of mus
keteers, with the express intention of turning the
gallant Speaker out of his chair, and effected his
object amid the proverbial cries of " Make way for
honester men ! " yet we find that within twelve months

IX.] SPEAKER LENTHALL. 187
the crafty old gentleman had once more got back
again into the chair, and remained Speaker during the
Protectorate of Richard Cromwell. He declared on
his deathbed that, although, like Saul, he held the
clothes of the murderers, yet that he never consented
to the death of the king, but was deceived by
Cromwell and his agents.
The priory remained in the Lenthall family up to
the year 1821. At the present time it belongs to the
Hurst family.
We have now briefly traced the history of the
manor from the time of the Conquest, and, doubtless,
all the men whose names occur have spent a good
deal of time on this beautiful spot.
Alas that the garden should be but a wilderness !
The carriage drive consists of rich green turf In a
summer-house in the grounds John Prior, Speaker
Lenthall's faithful servant, was murdered in the year
1697. The Earl of Abercorn was accused of the
murder, but was acquitted.
In addition to King Charles I., many other royal
personages have visited this place. Queen Elizabeth
once visited the town, and came with great pomp.
The Burgesses' Book has a note to the effect that
in 1663 twenty-one pounds was paid for three saddles
presented to Charles II. and his brother the Duke of
York. Burford was celebrated for its saddles in those
days. It was a great racing centre, and both here
and at Bibury (ten miles off) flat racing was constantly
attracting people from all parts. Bibury was a sort
of Newmarket in old days. Charles II. was at Burford
on three occasions at least.

i88 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
It was in the year 1681 that the Newmarket spring
meeting was transferred to Bibury. Parliament was
then sitting at Oxford, some thirty miles away ; so
that the new rendezvous was more convenient than
the old. Nell Gwynne accompanied the king to
the course. For a hundred and fifty years the
Bibury club held its meetings here. The oldest
racing club in England, it still flourishes, and will
in future hold its meetings near Salisbury.
In 1695 King William III. came to Burford in
order to influence the votes in the forthcoming
parliamentary election. Macaulay tells us that two
of the famous saddles were presented to this monarch,
and remarks that one of the Burford saddlers was
the best in Europe. William III. slept that night at
the priory. The famous " Nimrod," in his " Life of
a Sportsman," gives us a picture, by Aiken, of Bibury
racecourse, and tells us how gay Burford was a
hundred years ago :
" Those were Bibury's very best days. In addition
to the presence of George IV., then Prince of Wales,
who was received by Lord Sherborne for the race
week at his seat in the neighbourhood, and who
every day appeared on the course as a private gentle
man, there was a galaxy of gentlemen jockeys, who
alone rode at this meeting, which has never since
been equalled. Amongst them were the Duke of
Dorset, who always rode for the Prince ; the late
Mr. Delme-Radcliffe ; the late Lords Charles Somerset
and Milsington ; Lord Delamere, Sir Tatton Sykes,
and many other first-raters.
" I well remember the scenes at Burford and all

IX.] BIBURY RACES. 189
the neighbouring towns after the races were over.
That at Burford ' beggars ' description ; for, inde
pendently of the bustle occasioned by the accommo
dation necessary for the club who were domiciled
in the town, the concourse of persons of all sorts and
degrees was immense."
Old Mr. Peregrine told me the other day that during
the race week the shopkeepers at Bibury village used
to let their bedrooms to the visitors, and sleep on
the shop board, while the rest of the family slept
underneath the counter.
Ah well ! Tempora mutantur! " Nimrod " and his
" notables " are all gone.
" The knights' bones are dust.
And their good swords rust.
Their souls are with the saints, I trust."
And whereas up to fifty years ago Burford was a
rich country town, famous for the manufacture of
paper, malt, and sailcloth — enriched, too, by the
constant passage of numerous coaches stopping on
their way from Oxford to Gloucester — it is now little
more than a village — the quietest, the cleanest, and
the quaintest place in Oxfordshire. Perhaps its
citizens are to be envied rather than pitied :
" bene est cui deus obtulit
Parca, quod satis est, manu."
Let US go up to the top of the main street, and sit
down on the ancient oak bench high up on the hill,
whence we can look down on the old-world place
and get a birdseye view of the quaint houses and

190 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
the surrounding country. And now we may exclaim
with Ossian, " A tale of the times of old ! The deeds
of days of other years ! " For yonder, a mile away
from the town, the kings of Mercia and Wessex
fought a desperate battle in the year A.D. 685. Quite
recently a tomb was found there containing a stone
coffin weighing nearly a ton. The bones of the warrior
who fought and died there were marvellously complete
when disturbed in their resting-place — in fact, the
skeleton was a perfect one.
" Whose fame is in that dark green tomb ? Four
stones with their heads of moss stand there. They
mark the narrow house of death. Some chief of fame
is here ! Raise the songs of old ! Awake their
memory in the tomb."^
Tradition has it that this was the body of a great
Saxon chief, Aethelhum, the mighty standard-bearer
of the Mercian King Ethelbald. It was in honour of
this great warrior that the people of Burford carried
a standard emblazoned with a golden dragon through
the old streets on midsummer eve, annually, for nigh
on a thousand years. We are told that it was only
during last century that the custom died out.
How beautiful are some of the old houses in the
broad and stately High Street !
The ancient building in the centre of the town is
called the " Tolsey " ; it must be more than four hun
dred years old. The name originated in the custom
of paying tolls due to the lord of the manor in the
building. There are some grand old iron chests here ;
one of these old boxes contains many interesting
' Ossian.

IX.] VALUED RELICS. igi
charters and deeds, some of them bearing the signa
tures of chancellors Morton, Stephen Gardiner, and
Ellesmere. There are letters from Elizabeth, and
an order from the Privy Council with Arlington's
signature attached. " The stocks" used to stand on
the north side of this building, but have lately
been removed. Then the houses opposite the Tolsey
are as beautiful as they possibly can be. They are
fifteenth century, and have oak verge-boards round
their gables, carved in very delicate tracery.
Another house has a wonderful cellar, filled with
grandly carved stonework, like the aisle of a church ;
this crypt is probably more than five hundred years
old. Perhaps this vaulted Gothic chamber is a
remnant of the old monastery, the site of which is
not known. Close by is an ancient building, now
turned into an inn ; and this also may have been
part of the dwelling-place of the monks of Burford.
From the vaulted cellar beneath the house, now occu
pied by Mr. Chandler, ran an underground passage,
evidently connected with some other building.
How sweetly pretty is the house at the foot of the
bridge, as seen from the High Street above ! The
following inscription stands out prominently on the
front : — " SYMON WYSDOM ALDERMAN
THE FyRST founder OF THE SCHOLE
IN Burford gave the? Tenemenes
IN A.D. 1577."
The old almshouses on the green by the church

192 BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
have an inscription to the effect that they were
founded by Richard Earl of Warwick (the king
maker), in the year 1457. They were practically
rebuilt about seventy years ago ; but remnants of
beautiful Gothic architecture still remain in the old
stone belfry, and here and there a piece of tracery
has been preserved. In all parts of the town one
suddenly alights upon beautiful bits of carved stone —
an Early English gateway in one street, and lancet
doorways to many a cottage in another. Oriel
windows are also plentiful. Behind the almshouses
is a cottage with massive buttresses, and everywhere
broken pieces of quaint gargoyles, pinnacles, and
other remnants of Gothic workmanship are to be
seen lying about on the walls and in odd corners.
A careful search would doubtless reveal many a fine
piece of tracery in the cottages and buildings. At
some period, however, vandalism has evidently been
rampant. Happening to find our way into the back
premises of an ancient inn, we noticed that the coals
were heaped up against a wall of old oak panelling.
And now we come to the most beautiful piece of
architecture in the place — the magnificent old church.
It is grandly situated close to the banks of the
Windrush, and is more like a cathedral than a
village church. The front of the porch is worked with
figures representing our Lord, St. Mary Magdalene,
and St. John the Evangelist ; but the heads were un
fortunately destroyed in the Civil Wars. Inside the
porch the rich fan-tracery, which rises from the
pilasters on each side, is carved with consummate
•skill.

IX.] A GRAND OLD CHURCH. 193
Space does not allow us to dwell on the grandeur
of the massive Norman tower, the great doorway
at the western entrance with its splendid moulding,
the quaint low arch leading from nave to chancel,
and the other specimens of Norman work to be seen
in all parts of this magnificent edifice. Nor can we
do justice to the glorious nave, with its roof of oak ;
nor the aisles and the chancel ; nor the beautiful
Leggare chapel, with its oak screen, carved in its
upper part in fifteenth-century tracery, its faded
frescoes and ancient altar tomb. The glass of the
upper portion of the great west window and the
window of St. Thomas' chapel are indeed " labyrinths
of twisted tracery and starry light" such as would
delight the fastidious taste of Ruskin. Several pages
might easily be written in describing the wonderful
and grotesque example of alabaster work known as
the Tanfield tomb. The only regret one feels on
gazing at this grand old specimen of the toil of
our simple ancestors is that it is seldom visited save
by the natives of rural Burford, many of whom,
alas ! must realise but little the exceptional beauty
and stateliness of the lovely old church with which
they have been so familiar all their lives.
About two years ago Mr. Oman, Fellow of All
Souls', Oxford, made a remarkable discovery. When
staying at the vicarage he happened to notice an old
box in the pew he occupied in the church, and on
opening it documents were revealed which had lain
hidden for centuries. One of these was a deed or
charter signed by " the great kingmaker " himself ;
it was in the form of a letter, and had reference
13

194 BURFORDj A COTSWOLD TOWN. [Ch.
to the gift of almshouses he made to Burford in
1 45 7 AJD. The boldly written " R. I. Warrewyck "
at the end is the only signature of the kingmaker's
known to exist save the one at Belvoir. In this letter
prayers are besought for the founder and the Countess
Anne his wife, whilst attached to it is a seal with
the arms of Neville, Montacute, Despencer, and
Beauchamp. On the font in the church is a roughly chiselled
name : "ANTHONY SEDLEY. 1649. Prisner."
Not only prisoners, but even their horses, were shut
up in these grand old churches during the Civil Wars.
This Anthony Sedley must have been one of the
three hundred and forty Levellers who were im
prisoned here in 1649.
The register has the following entry : —
" 1649. Three soldiers shot to death in Burford
Churchyard, buried May 17th."
Burford was the scene of a good deal of fighting
during the Civil Wars. On January ist, 1642, in the
dead of night. Sir John Byron's regiment had a sharp
encounter with two hundred dragoons of the Parlia
mentary forces. A fierce struggle took place round
the market cross, during which Sir John Byron was
wounded in the face with a poleaxe. Cromwell's
soldiers, however, were routed and driven out of the
town. In the parish register is the following entry : —
" 1642. Robert Varney of Stowe, slain in Burford
and buried January ist

THE CIVIL WARS AND BURFORD. 195
" 1642. Six soldiers slain in Burford, buried 2nd
January. " 1642. William Junks slain with the shot of
musket, buried January loth.
" 1642. A soldier hurt at Cirencester road was
buried." Many other entries of the same nature are to be
seen in the parish register.
The old market cross of Burford has indeed seen
some strange things. Mr. W. J. Monk, to whose
" History of Burford '' I am indebted for valuable
information, tells us that the penance enjoined on
various citizens of Burford for such crimes as buying
a Bible in the year 1521 was as follows : —
" Everyone to go upon a market day thrice about
the market of Burford, and then to stand up upon
the highest steps of the cross there, a quarter of an
hour, with a faggot of wood upon his shoulder.
" Everyone also to beare a faggot of wood before
the procession on a certain Sunday at Burford from
the Quire doore going out, to the quire doore going
in, and once to bear a faggot at the burning of a
heretic. " Also none of them to hide their mark >i< upon
their cheek (branded in)," etc., etc.
" In the event of refusal, they were to be given up
to the civil authorities to be burnt."

CHAPTER X.

A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS.

"In Gloucestershire
These high, wild hills and rough, uneven ways
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome.''
King Richard II.
IT cannot be said that there are many pleasant
walks and drives in the Cotswold country,
because, as a rule, the roads run over the bleak table
land for miles and miles, and the landscape generally
consists of ploughed fields divided by grey stone
walls ; the downs I have referred to at different times
are only to be met with in certain districts. Once
upon a time the whole of Cotswold was one vast
sheep walk from beginning to end. It was about a
195

Ch. X.] COACHING DAYS. 197
hundred and fifty years ago that the idea of enclosing
the land was started by the first Lord Bathurst. Early
in the eighteenth century he converted a large tract
of downland round Cirencester into arable fields ;
his example was soon followed by others, so that by
the middle of last century the transformation of three
hundred square miles of downs into wheat-growing
ploughed fields had been accomplished. It is chiefly
owing to the depression in agricultural produce that
there are any downs now, for they merely exist
because the tenants have found during the last twenty
years that it does not pay to cultivate their farms,
hence they let a large proportion go back to grass.
But there is one very pleasant walk in that part
of the Cotswolds we know best, and this takes you
up the valley of the Coin to the Roman villa at
Chedworth. The distance by road from Fairford to the Ched
worth woods is about twelve miles ; and at any time
of the year, but more especially in the spring and
autumn, it is a truly delightful pilgrimage.
And here it is worth our while to consider for a
moment how tremendously the abolition of the stage
coach has affected places like Fairford, Burford, and
other Cotswold towns and ¦villages. It was through
these old-world places, past these very walls and
gables, that the mail coaches rattled day after day
when they " went down with victor}' " conveying the
news of Waterloo and Trafalgar into the heart of
merry England. In his immortal essay on " The
English Mail Coach," De Quincey has told us how
between the years 1805 and 181 5 it was worth paying

198 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
down five years of life for an outside place on a
coach " going down with victory." " On any night
the spectacle was beautiful. The absolute perfection
of all the appointments about the carriages and the
harness, their strength, their brilliant cleanliness,
their beautiful simplicity — but more than all, the
royal magnificence of the horses — were what might
first have fixed the attention. But the night before
us is a night of victory : and behold ! to the ordinary
display what a heart-shaking addition ! horses, raen,
carriages, all are dressed in laurels and flowers, oak
leaves and ribbons.'' The brilliancy of the royal
liveries, the thundering of the wheels, the tramp of
those generous horses, the sounding of the coach
horn in the calm evening air, and last, but not least,
the intense enthusiasm of travellers and spectators
alike, as amid such cries as " Salamanca for ever ! "
" Hurrah for Waterloo ! " they cheered and cheered
again, letting slip the dogs of victory throughout
those old English villages, — all these things must have
united the hearts of the classes and masses in one
common bond, rendering such occasions memorable
f or ever in the hearts of the simple country folk. In
small towns like Burford and Northleach, situated
five or six miles from any railway station, the pros
perity and happiness of the natives has suffered
enormously by the decay of the stage coach ; and
even in smaller villages the cheering sound of the
horn must have been very welcome, forming as it
did a connecting link between these remote hamlets
of Gloucestershire and the great metropolis a hundred
miles away.

X.] FAIRFORD. 199
Fairford Church is known far and wide as contain
ing the most beautiful painted glass of the early part
of the sixteenth century to be found anywhere in
England. The windows, twenty-eight in number,
are usually attributed to Albert Diirer ; but Mr. J. G.
Joyce, who published a treatise on them some twenty
years ago, together with certain other high authorities,
considered them to be of English design and work
manship. They would doubtless have been destroyed
in the time of the Civil Wars by the Puritans had they
not been taken down and hidden away by a member
of the Oldysworth family, whose tomb is in the
middle chancel.
John Tame, having purchased the manor of Fairford
in 1498, immediately set about building the church.
He died two years later, and his son completed the
building, and also erected two other very fine churches
in the neighbourhood — those at Rendcombe and
Barnsley. He was a great benefactor to the Cotswold
country. Leland tells us that the town of Fairford
never flourished " before the cumming of the Tames
into it."
You may see John Tame's effigy on his tomb,
together with that of his wife, and underneath these
pathetic lines: " For thus, Love, pray for me.
I may not pray more, pray ye :
With a pater noster and an ave :
That my paynys relessyd be."
If I remember rightly his helmet and other parts of
his armour still hang on the church wall. Leland

200 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
describes Fairford as a " praty uplandish towne,"
meaning, I suppose, that it is situated on high ground.
It is certainly a delightful old-fashioned place — a very
good type of what the Cotswold towns are like.
Chipping-Campden and Burford are, however, the
two most typical Cotswold towns I know.
In the year 1850 a remarkable discovery was made
in a field close to Fairford. No less than a hundred
and fifty skeletons were unearthed, and with them a
large number of very interesting Anglo-Saxon relics,
some of them in good preservation. In many of the
graves an iron knife was found lying by the skeleton ;
in others the bodies were decorated with bronze
fibute, richly gilt, and ornamented in front. Mr. W.
Wylie, in his interesting account of these Anglo-
Saxon graves, tells us that some of the bodies were
as large as six feet six inches ; whilst one or two
warriors of seven feet were unearthed. All the
skeletons were very perfect, even though no signs of
any coffins were to be seen. Bronze bowls and various
kinds of pottery, spearheads of several shapes, a large
number of coloured beads, bosses of shields, knives,
shears, and two remarkably fine swords were some
of the relics found with the bodies. A glass vessel,
coloured yellow by means of a chemical process in
which iron was utilised, is considered by Mr. Wylie
to be of Saxon manufacture, and not Venetian or
Roman, as other authorities hold.
Whether this is merely an Anglo-Saxon burial-
place, or whether the bodies are those of the warriors
who fell in a great battle such as that fought in
A.D. 577, when the Saxons overthrew the Britons and

X.] ANGLO-SAXON RELICS. 201
took from them the cities of Gloucester, Cirencester,
and Bath, it is impossible to determine. The natives
are firmly convinced that the skeletons represent the
slain in a great battle fought near this spot ; but this
is only tradition. At all events, the words of
prophecy attributed to the old Scotch bard Ossian
have a very literal application with reference to this
interesting relic of bygone times : " The stranger
shall come and build there and remove the heaped-
up earth. An half-worn sword shall rise before him.
Bending above it, he will say, ' These are the arms
of the chiefs of old, but their names are not in
song.' " The " heaped-up " earth has long ago
disappeared, for there are no "barrows" now to
be seen. Cottages stand where the old burial
mounds doubtless once existed, and all monumental
evidences of those mighty men — the last, perhaps,
of an ancient race — have long since been destroyed
by the ruthless hand of time.
The manor of Fairford now belongs to the Barker
family, to whom it came through the female line
about a century ago.
We must now leave Fairford, and start on our
pilgrimage to the Roman villa of Chedworth. At
present we have not got very far, having lingered at
our starting-point longer than we had intended.
The first two miles are the least interesting of the
whole journey ; the Coin, broadened out for some
distance to the size of a lake, is hidden from our view
by the tall trees of Fairford Park. It was along this
road that John Keble, the poet used to walk day by
day to his cure at Coln-St.-Aldwyns. His home was

202 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch
at Fairford. Two eminent American artists have
made their home in Fairford during recent years-
Mr. Edwin Abbey and Mr. J. Sargent, both R.A's.
Close by, too, at Kelmscott, dwelt William Morris,
the poet.
On reaching Quenington we catch a glimpse of the
river, whilst high up on the hill to our right stands
the great pile of Hatherop Castle. This place, the
present owner of which is Sir Thomas Bazley,
formerly belonged to the nunnery of Lacock. After
the suppression of the monasteries it passed through
various heiresses to the family of Ashley. It was
practically rebuilt by William Spencer Ponsonby,
first Lord de Mauley ; his son, Mr. Ashley Ponsonby,
sold it to Prince Duleep Singh, from whom it passed
to the present owner. Sir Thomas Bazley has done
much for the village which is fortunate enough to
claim him as a resident ; his estate is a model of
what country estates ought to be, unprofitable though
it must have proved as an investment.
As we pass on through the fair villages of
Quenington and Coln-St.-Aldwyns we cannot help
noticing the delightful character of the houses from a
picturesque point of view ; in both these hamlets there
are the same clean-looking stone cottages and stone-
tiled roofs. Here and there the newer cottages are
roofed with ordinary slate ; and this seems a pity.
Nevertheless, there still remains much that is
picturesque to be seen on all sides. Roses grow in
every garden, clematis relieves with its rich purple
shade the walls of many a cosy little dwelling-house,
and the old white mills, with their latticed windows

X.] COLN-ST.-ALDWYNS. 203
and pointed gables, are a feature of every tiny hamlet
through which the river flows.
" How gay the habitations that adorn
This fertile valley! Not a house but seems
To give assurance of content within,
Embosom'd happiness, and placid love."
Wordsworth.
The beautiful gabled house close to the Norman
church of Coln-St.-Aldwyns is the old original
manor house. Inside it is an old oak staircase,
besides other interesting relics of the Elizabethan age.
For many years this has been a farmhouse, but it has
recently been restored by its owner. Sir Michael
Hicks-Beach, the present Chancellor of the Exchequer,
who intends to make it his country abode. A piece
of carved stone with four heads was discovered by
the workmen engaged in the restoration, and is to be
placed over the front door. It is doubtless a remnant
of an old monastery, and dates back to Norman times.
WiUiamstrip House and Park lie on your right-
hand side as you leave the village of " Coin " behind
you. This place also belongs to Sir Michael Hicks-
Beach ; it has always seemed to us the beau-ideal
of an English home. A medium-sized, comfortable
square house of the time of George I., surrounded by
some splendid old trees, in a park not too large, a
couple of miles or so of excellent trout-fishing, very
fair shooting, and good hunting would seem to be
a combination of sporting advantages that few
country places enjoy. WiUiamstrip came into the
family of the present owner in 1784. The three
parishes of Hatherop, Quenington, and Coln-St.-

204 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
Aldwyns practically adjoin each other. Each has
its beautiful church, the Norman doorways in that
of Quenington being well worth a visit. Close to
the church of Quenington are the remnants of an
ancient monastery.
The " Knights Templar " of Quenington were
famous in times gone by. There is a fine entrance
gate and porch on the roadside, which no doubt led
to the abbey.
There is little else left to remind us of these
Knights Templar. Here and there are an old lancet
window or a little piece of Gothic tracery on an ancient
wall, an old worm-eaten roof of oak or a heap of
ruined stones on a moat-surrounded close, — these are
all the remnants to be found of the days of chivalry
and the monks of old.
We have now two rather uneventful miles to
traverse between Coln-St.-Aldwyns and Bibury, for
we must once more leave the valley and set out
across the bleak uplands. On the high ground we
have the advantage of splendid bracing air at all
events. The hills have a charm of their own on a
fine day, more especially when the fields are full
of golden corn and the old-fashioned Cotswold men
are busy among the sheaves.
And very soon we get a view which we would
gladly have walked twenty miles to see. Down
below us and not more than half a mile away is the
fine old Elizabethan house of Bibury, standing out
from a background of magnificent trees. Close to
the house is the grey Norman tower of the village
church, which has stood there for more than six

X.] A HAUNT OF ANCIENT PEACE. 205
centuries. Nestling round about are the old stone-
roofed cottages, like those we have seen in the other
villages we have passed through. A broad reach of
the Coin and a grand waterfall enhance the quiet
and peaceful beauty of the scene. But this description
falls very short of conveying any adequate idea of
the truly delightful effect which the old grey buildings
set in a framework of wood and water present on
a fine autumnal afternoon.
Never shall I forget seeing this old place from the
hill above during one September sunset. There was
a marvellous glow suffused over the western sky,
infinitely beautiful while it lasted ; and immediately
below a silvery mist had risen from the surface of the
broad trout stream, and was hanging over the old
Norman tower of the church. Amid the rush of the
waterfall could be heard the distant voices of
children in the village street. Then on a sudden
the church clock struck the hour of six, in deep,
solemn tones. Against the russet-tinted woods in
the background the old court house stood out grey
and silent under the shadow of the church tower,
preaching as good a sermon as any I ever heard.
"An English home, grey twilight poured
On dewy pastures, dewy trees.
Softer than sleep, — all things in order stored,
A haunt of ancient peace."
Bibury Court is a most beautiful old house. Son'ie
of it dates back to Henry VIII.'s time. The njost
remarkable characteristic of its interior is a very fine
carved oak staircase. The greater part of this house
was built in the year 1623 by Sir Thomas Sackville.

2o6 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [CH.
It was long the seat of the Creswell family, before
passing by purchase to the family of the present
owner — Lord Sherborne. The fine old church has
some Saxon work in it, whilst the doorways and
many other portions are Norman. Its delightful
simplicity and brightness is what pleases one most.
On coming down into the village, one notices a little
square on the left, not at all like those one sees in
London, but very picturesque and clean looking. In
the olden times were to be seen in many villages
little courts of this kind ; in the centre of them was
usually a great tree, round which the old people
would sit on summer evenings, while the children
danced and played around. Gilbert White speaks of
one at Selborne, which he calls the " Plestor." The
original name was " Pleystow," which means a play
place. We have noticed them in many parts of
the Cotswold country. Here, too, children are
playing about under the shade of some delightful
trees in the centre of the miniature square, whilst the
variegated foliage sets off the gabled cottages which
form three sides of it.
I have often wondered, as I stood by these chest
nut trees, whether there is any architecture more
perfect in its simplicity and grace than that which
lies around me here. Not a cottage is in sight that
is not worthy of the painter's brush ; not a gable or
a chimney that would not be worthy of a place in
the Royal Academy. The little square is bordered
for six months of the year with the prettiest of
flowers. Even as late as December you may see
roses in bloom on the walls, and chrysanthemums

BIBURY STREET.

[To face page 206.

X.] A PRETTY VILLAGE. 207
of varied shade in every garden. Then, as we passed
onwards, " On the stream's bank, and everywhere, appeared
Fair dwellings, single or in social knots ;
Some scattered o'er the level, others perch'd
On the hiU-sides — a cheerful, quiet scene." Wordsworth.
There is a Gothic quaintness about all the buildings
in the Cotswolds, great and small alike, which is very
charming. Bibury is indeed a pretty village. As you
walk along the main street which runs parallel with the
river, an angler is busy " swishing " his rod violently
in the air to " dry " the fly, ere he essays to drop
it over the nose of one of the speckled fario which
abound ; so be careful to step down off the path
which runs alongside the stream, in case you should
put the fish " down " and spoil the sport. And now
on our left, beyond the green, may be seen a line of
gabled cottages called " Arlington Row," a picture of
which by G. Leslie was hung at the Royal Academy
this year (1898).
A few hundred yards on you stop to inspect the
spring which rises in the garden of the Swan Hotel.
It has been said that two million gallons a day is
the minimum amount of water poured out by this
spring. It consists of the rain, which, falling on a
large area of the hill country, gradually finds its
way through the limestone rocks and eventually
comes out here. It would be interesting to trace
the course of some of these underground rivers ;
for a torrent of water such as this cannot flow down
through the soft rock without in the course of

2o8 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
thousands of years, producing caves and grottoes
and underground galleries and all the wonders of
the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, with its stalactite
pillars and fairy avenues and domes — though the
Cotswold caves are naturally on a much smaller
scale. At Torquay and on the Mendip Hills,
as everybody knows, there are caves of wondrous
beauty, carved by the water within the living rock.
Probably within a hundred yards of Bibury spring
there are beautiful hidden caves, such as those funny
little " palaeolithic " men lived in a few thousand
years ago ; but why there have not been more
discoveries of this nature in this part of the Cotswolds
it is difficult to say. There is a cave hereabouts,
men say, but the entrance to it cannot now be
found. There is likewise a Roman villa on the hill
here which has not yet been dug out of its earthy
bed. A hundred years ago a large number of Roman
antiquities were discovered near this village.
We now leave Bibury behind us, and a mile on we
pass through the hamlet of Ablington, which is very
like Bibury on a smaller scale, with its ancient cottages,
tithe barns and manor house ; its springs of transparent
water, its brook, and wealth of fine old trees. We
have no time to linger in this hamlet to-day, though
we would fain pause to admire the old house.
"The pillar'd porch, elaborately embossed;
The low, wide windows with their muUions old ;
The cornice richly fretted of grey stone ;
And that smooth slope from which the dwelling rose
By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers.
And flowering shrubs, protected and adorned."
Wordsworth.

X.] ANCIENT BARROWS. 209
After leaving Ablington we once more ascend the
hill and make our way along an old, disused road,
probably an ancient British track, in preference to
keeping to the highway — in the first place because
it is by far the shortest, and secondly because we
intend to go somewhat out of our way to inspect
two ancient barrows, the resting-place of the chiefs
of old, of whom Ossian (or was it Macpherson ?)'¦
sang : " If fall I must in the field, raise high my
grave. Grey stones and heaped-up earth shall mark
me to future times. When the hunter shall sit by
the mound and produce his food at noon, ' Some
warrior rests here,' he will say ; and my fame shall
live in his praise."
A very large barrow lies about a mile out of our
track to the right hand ; as it is somewhat different
from the other barrows in the neighbourhood, we will
briefly describe it. It is a " long barrow," with the
two horns at one end that are usually associated
with "long" barrows. In the middle of the curve
between these ends stands a great stone about five
feet square, not very unlike our own gravestones,
though worn by the rains of thousands of years.
The mound is surrounded by a double wall of
masonry. At the north end, when it was opened
forty years ago, a chamber was found containing
' In spite of Dr. Johnson and other eminent critics, one cannot
help believing in the genuineness of some of the poems attributed
to Ossian. " The proof of the pudding is in the eating " ; and
those wonderful old songs are too wild and lifelike to have had
their origin in the eighteenth century. Macpherson doubtless
enlarged upon the originals, but he must have had a good
foundation to work upon. 14

2IO A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
human bones. It is supposed that this mound was
the burying-place of a race which dwelt on Cotswold
at least three thousand years ago. From the nature
of the stone implements found, it is conjectured that
the people who raised it were unacquainted with the
use of metal.
Now we will have a look at another barrow a few
fields away. This is a mound of a somewhat later age ;
for it was raised over the ashes of a body or bodies that
had been cremated. It was probably the Celts who
raised this barrow. The other day it was opened for
a distinguished society of antiquaries to inspect ; they
found that in the centre were stones carefully laid,
encircling a small chamber, whilst the outer portions
were of ordinary rubble. Nothing but lime-dust
and dirt was found in the chamber ; but in the
course of thousands of years most of these barrows
have probably been opened a good many times by
Cotswold natives in search of " golden coffins " and
other treasures.
There is a small, round underground chamber
within a short distance of these barrows, which the
natives consider to be a shepherd's hut, put up about
two centuries back, and before the country was
enclosed, as a retreat to shelter the men who looked
after the flocks. It has been declared, however, by
those who have studied the question of burial mounds,
that it was built in very early times, and contained
bodies that had not been cremated. The antiquaries
who came a short time back to view these remains
describe it as " an underground chamber, circular in
shape, and an excellent sample of dry walling. The

X.] THE PREHISTORIC AGE 211
roof is dome-shaped, and gradually projects inwards."
I narrowly escaped taking this " society " for a band
of poachers ; for when out shooting the other day,
somebody remarked, " Look at all those fellows
climbing over the wall of the fox-covert."
Now the fox-covert is a very sacred institution in
these parts ; for it is a place of only four acres, stand
ing isolated in the midst of a fine, open country — so
that no human being is allowed to enter therein save
to " stop the earth " the night before hunting. We
rushed up in great haste, fully prepared for mortal
combat with this gang of ruffians, until, when within
a hundred yards, the thought crossed us that we had
given leave to the Cotswold Naturalist Society to
make a tour of inspection, and that one of the barrows
was in our fox-covert.
Labouring friends of mine often, bring me relics
of the stone age which they have picked up whilst
at work in the fields. Quite recently a shepherd
brought me a knife blade and two flint arrow-heads.
He also tells me they have lately found a " himmige "
up in old Mr. Peregrine's " barn-ground." Tom
Peregrine possesses a bag of old coins of all dates
and sizes, which he tells you with great pride have
been an heirloom in his family for generations.
When we once more resume our pilgrimage along
the track which leads to Chedworth we find ourselves
in a country which is never explored by the tourist.
Far removed from railways and the " busy haunts of
men," it is not even mentioned in the guide-books.
Our way lies along the edge of the hill for the next
few miles, and we look down upon the picturesque

212 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
valley of the Coin. Four villages, all very like those
we have described, are passed in rapid succession.
Winson, Coin Rogers, Coln-St.-Dennis, and Foss
bridge all lie below us as we wend our way west
wards. But although the architecture is of the same
massive yet graceful style, and the old Norman
churches still tower their grand old heads and cast
their shadows over the cottages and farm buildings,
there are no manor houses of note in any of these
four villages, and no well-timbered demesnes ; so
that they are not so interesting as some of those we
have passed through. In all, however, there dwell
the good old honest labouring folk, toiling hard day
by day at " the trivial round, the common task," just
earning enough to scrape up a livelihood, but enjoy
ing few of the amenities of life. The village parsons —
good, pious men — share in the quiet, uneventful life
of their flock. And who shall contemn their lot?
As Horace tells us :
"Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum
Splendet in mensa tenui salinum
Nee leves somnos timor aut cupido
Sordidus aufert."
These four villages were all built two centuries or
more ago, when the Cotswolds were the centre of much
life and activity and the days of agricultural depression
were not known. When we look down on their old,
grey houses nestling among the great trees which
thrive by the banks of the fertilising stream, we can
not but speculate on their future fate. Gradually the
population diminishes, as work gets scarcer and
scarcer. Unless there is an unexpected revival in

X.] DESERTED VILLAGES. 213
prices through some measure of " protection " being
granted by law, or the medium of a great European
war, or some such far-reaching dispensation of Provi
dence, terrible to think of for those who live to see
it, but with all its possibilities of " good arising out
of evil " for future generations, these old villages will
contain scarcely a single inhabitant in a hundred year's
time. This part of the Cotswold country will once
more become a huge open plain, retaining only long
rows of tumbled-down stone walls as evidences of its
former enclosed state ; no longer on Sundays will the
notes of the beautiful bells call the toilers to prayer
and thanksgiving, and all will be desolation. If
only the capitalist or wealthy man of business would
take up his abode in these places, all might be well.
But, alas ! the peace and quiet of such out-of-the-way
spots, with all their fascinating contrast to the smoke
and din of a manufacturing town, have little attraction
for those who are unused to them. And yet there is
much happiness and content in these rural villages.
The lot of those who are able to get work is a thousand
times more supportable than that of the toiling millions
in our great cities. There is less drinking and less
vice among these villagers than there is in any part
of this world that we are acquainted with ; con
sequently you find them cheerful, good-humoured,
and, if they only knew it, happy. Grumble they
must, or they would not be mortal. Ah ! if they
could but realise the blessings of the elixir of life^
pure air, and fresh, clear, spring water, and sun
shine — three inestimable privileges that they enjoy all
the year round, and which are denied to so many of

214 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
the inhabitants of this globe— there would be little
grumbling in the Cotswolds.
" From toil he wins his spirits light,
From busy day -the peaceful night ;
Rich from the very want of wealth
In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.'' Gray.
" But these villages are so dull, and life is so mono
tonous there," is the constant complaint. But what
part of this earth is there, may I ask, that is not dull
to those who live there, unless we drive out dull care
and ennui by that glorious antidote to gloom and
despondency, a fully occupied mind ? There are two
chapters in Carlyle's " Past and Present " that ought
to be printed in letters of gold, set in an ivory frame,
and hung up in the sleeping apartment of every man,
woman, and child on the face of this earth. They
are called " Labour " and " Reward." In those few
short pages is embodied the whole secret of content
and happiness for the dwellers in quiet country
villages and smoky towns alike. They contain the
philosopher's stone, which makes men cheerful under
all circumstances, but especially those who are poor
and down-trodden. The secret is a very simple one ;
but if the educated classes are continually losing
sight of it, how much easier is it for those who have
only the bare necessaries of life and few of the com
forts to become deadened to its influence ! It lies
first of all in the realisation of the fact that the
object of life is not to get, still less to enjoy, riches
and pleasure. It teaches for the thousandth time
that the humblest and the highest of us alike are

X.] TRUE NOBLENESS. 215
immortal souls imprisoned for threescore years and
ten in a tenement of clay, preparing for a better and
higher existence. It reverses the position of things
on earth — placing the crown of kings on the head
of the toiling labourer, and making " the last first
and the first last." Its very essence lies in the dictum
of the old monks, " Laborare est orare " (" Work is
worship ").
It was one of the chief characteristics of the Roman
people in the time of their greatness that their most
successful generals were content to return to the
plough after their wars were over. Thus Pliny in his
" Natural History " remarks as follows : " Then were
the fields cultivated by the hands of the generals them
selves, and the earth rejoiced, tilled as it was by a
ploughshare crowned with laurels, he who guided the
wheel being himself fresh from glorious victories."
And no sooner did honest hand labour become
despised than effeminacy crept in, and this once
haughty nation was practically blotted out from the
face of the earth.
Let the Cotswold labourer realise that to work on
the land, ploughing and reaping, summer and winter,
seedtime and harvest, come weal, come woe, is no
mean destiny for an honest man ; there is scope for
the display of a noble and generous spirit in the
beautiful green fields as well as in the smoky atmos
phere of the east end of London, in a Birmingham
factory, or a Warrington forge.
"What is the meaning of nobleness?" asks
Carlyle. " In a valiant suffering for others did
nobleness ever lie. Every noble crown is, and on

2i6 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
earth will for ever be, a crown of thorns. All true
work is sacred. In all true work, were it but true
hand labour, there is something of divineness. Sweat
of the brow ; and up from that to sweat of the brain,
sweat of the heart ; up to that ' agony of bloody
sweat ' which all men have called divine. Oh, brother,
if this is not worship, then, I say, the more pity for
worship : for this is the noblest thing yet discovered
under God's sky. Who art thou that complainest
of thy Hfe of toil ? Complain not. Look up, my
wearied brother ; see thy fellow workmen there in
God's eternity surviving those, they alone surviving ;
peopling, they alone, the unmeasured solitudes of
Time. To thee Heaven, though severe, is not un
kind. Heaven is kind, as a noble mother ; as that
Spartan mother, saying, while she gave her son his
shield, ' With it, my son, or upon it, thou, too, shalt
return home in honour^to thy far distant home in
honour — doubt it not— if in the battle thou keep thy
shield ! ' Thou in the eternities and deepest death
kingdoms art not an alien ; thou everywhere art a
denizen. Complain not ; the very Spartans did not
complain." Would that the toiling labourer in the Cotswolds
and in our great smoky cities might keep these words
continually before him, so that he might grasp, not
merely the secret of content and happiness in this
life, but the golden key to the immeasurable blessings
of " the sure and certain hope " of that life which is
to come ! Then shall he hear the words :
" King, thou wast called Conqueror ;
In every battle thou bearest the prize."

X.] TOWN VERSUS COUNTRY. 217
Conqueror will he be in life's battle if he follow in
the footsteps of the Spartan of old or of Words
worth's " Happy Warrior " :
" Who, doomed to go in company with pain,
And fear, and bloodshed — miserable train ! —
Turns his necessity to glorious gain."
Finally, the countryman who feels discontented
with his lot — and there are few indeed who do not
occasionally pine for a change of employment —
should go on a railway journey through " the black
country" at night, and mark the fierce light that
reddens the murky skies as the factory fires send
forth their livid flames and clouds of sooty smoke.
He should watch the swarms of long-suffering human
beings going to and fro and in and out like busy
bees around their hive, toiling, ever toiling, round
about the blazing fires. He should spend an hour
in the streets of Birmingham, where, as I passed
through one fine September morning recently on
my way to Ireland, the atmosphere was darkened
and the human lungs stifled by a thick yellow fog.
Or he should go down to the engine-room of a
mighty liner, when it is doing its twenty knots across
the seas, and then think of his own life in the happy
hamlets and the fresh, green fields of our English
country. Coming once more down the hill into the valley
of the Coin, we must cross the old Roman road
known as the Fossway, follow the course of the

2i8 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
stream, and, about a mile beyond the snug little
village of Fossbridge, we reach the great woods
of Chedworth.
These coverts form part of the property of Lord
Eldon. His house of Stowell stands well up on the
hill. It is a grey, square building of some size, placed
so as to catch all the sun and the breezes too, — very
much more healthy and bright than most of the
old houses we have passed, which were built much
too low down in the valley, where the winter sun
beams seldom penetrate and the river mists rise
damp and cold at night. As we walk along the
drive which leads through the woods to the Roman
villa, any amount of rabbits and pheasants are to
be seen. And here take place annually some of
those big shoots which ignorant people are so fond
of condemning as unsportsmanlike, simply because
they have not the remotest idea what they are
talking about. Why it should be cruel to kill a
thousand head in a day instead of two hundred
on five separate days, one fails to understand. As a
matter of fact, the bigger the " shoot " the less cruelty
takes place, because bad shots are not likely to be
present on these occasions, whilst in small " shoots "
they are the rule rather than the exception.
Instead of birds and ground game being wounded
time after time, at big battues they are killed
stone dead by some well-known and acknowledged
good shot. To see a real workman knocking down
rocketer after rocketer at a height which would be
considered impossible by half the men who go
out shooting is to witness an exhibition of skill

X.] ON BATTUES. 219
and correct timing which can only be attained by
the most assiduous practice and the quickest of
eyes. No, it is the pottering hedgerow shooter,
generally on his neighbour's boundary, who is often
unsportsmanlike. We know one or two who would
have no hesitation in shooting at a covey of par
tridges on the ground, when they were within shot
of the boundary hedge ; and if they wounded three
or four and picked them up, they would carry
them home fluttering and gasping, because they are
too heartless to think of putting the wretched
creatures out of their sufferings.
The extensive Roman remains discovered some
years ago in the heart of this forest doubtless formed
the country house of some Roman squire. They are
well away from the river bank, and about three parts
of the way up the sloping hillside. The house faced
£is nearly as possible south-east. In this point, as in
many others, the Romans showed their superiority
of intellect over our ancestors of Elizabethan and
other days. Nowadays we begin to realise that
houses should be built on high ground, and that the
aspect that gives most sun in winter is south-east.
The old Romans realised this fifteen hundred years
ago. In other words, our ancestors in the dark ages
were infinitely behind the Romans in intellect, and
we are just reaching their standard of common sense.
The characteristics of the interior of these old dwell
ings are simphcity combined with refinement and good
taste. And it is worthy of remark that the men who
are ahead of the thought and feeling of the present
day are crying out for more simplicity in our homes

220 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
and furniture, as well as for more refinement and
real architectural merit. No useless luxuries and
nick-nacks, but plenty of public baths, and mosaic
pavements laboriously put together by hard hand
labour, — these are the points that Ruskin and the
Romans hked in common.
With this grandly timbered valley spread beneath
them, no more suitable spot on which to build a
house could anywhere be found. And though the
Romans who inhabited this villa could not from
its windows see the sun go down in the purple
west, emblematic of that which was shortly to set
over Rome, they could see the glorious dawn of a
new day — boding forth the dawn that was already
brightening over England, even as " The old order
changeth, yielding place to new" ; — and they could see
the splendours of the moon rising in the eastern sky.
The principal apartment in this Roman country
house measures about thirty feet by twenty ; it was
probably divided into two parts, forming the dining-
room and drawing-room as well. The tessellated
pavements are wonderfully preserved, though not
quite so perfect as a few others that have been found
in England. With all their beautiful colouring they
are merely formed of different shades of local stone,
together with a little terra-cotta. Perhaps these
pavements, with their rich mellow tints of red sand
stone, and their shades of white, yellow, brown, and
grey, afforded by different varieties of limestone, are
examples of the most perfect kind of work which the
labours of mankind, combined with the softening
influences of time, are able to produce. In one

X. CHEDWORTH ROMAN REMAINS. 221
corner the design is that of.- a man with a rabbit
in his hand ; and no doubt there were lots of rabbits
in these woods in those days, as well as deer and
other wild animals long since extinct.
In these woods of Chedworth the rose bay willow
herbs grow taller and finer than is their wont else
where. In every direction they spring up in hundreds,
painting the woodlands with a wondrously rich purple
glow. Here, too, the bracken thrives, and many a
fine old oak tree spreads its branches, revelling in
the clay soil. On the limestone of the Cotswolds
oaks are seldom seen ; but wherever a vein of clay
is found, there will be the oaks and the bracken.
Every forest tree thrives hereabouts ; and in the
open spaces that occur at intervals in the forest
there grow such masses of wild flowers as are no
where else to be seen in the Cotswold district.
White spiraea, or meadow-sweet, crowds into every
nook and corner of open ground, raising its graceful
stems in almost tropical luxuriance by the brookside.
Campanula and the blue geranium or meadow crane's-
bill, with flowers of perfect blue, grow everywhere
amid the white blossoms of the spiraea. St. John's
wort, with its star-shaped golden flowers, white and
red campion, and a host of others, are larger and
more beautiful on the rich loam than they are on the
stony hills. Even the lily-of-the-valley thrives here.
In the bathroom may be seen an excellent example
of the hypocaust — an ingenious contrivance, by
means of which the rooms were heated with hot air,
which passed along beneath the floors.
In the museum are portions of the skulls of men and

222 A STROLL THROUGH THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
of oxen, the antlers of red deer, oyster shells, knives,
spear-heads, arrow-heads, bits of locks with keys,
and excellent horseshoes, not to speak of such things
as bronze spurs, spoons, part of a Roman weighing-
machine, and a splendid pair of compasses. There
are pieces of earthenware with potter's marks on
them, and red tiles bearing unmistakable marks of
fingering, as well as footprints of dogs and goats ;
these impressions must have been made when the
tiles were in a soft state. But the most interest
ing relics are three freestone slabs, on which are
inscribed the Greek letters % and p. It was Mr.
Lysons who first noticed this evidence of ancient
faith, and he is naturally of the opinion that the
sacred inscription proves that the builder was a
Christian. Another stone in this collection has the
word " PR AS I AT A" roughly chiselled on it.
There was a British king, by name Prasutagus,
said to have been a Christian, and possibly it was
this man who built the old house in the midst of the
Chedworth woods. A mile beyond this interesting
relic of Roman times is the manor house of Cassey
Compton, built by Sir Richard Howe about the
middle of the seventeenth century. It stands on the
banks of the Coin, and in olden times was approached
by a drawbridge and surrounded by a moat. The
farmer by whom it is inhabited tells me that, judging
by the fish-ponds situated close by, he imagines it
was once a monastery. This was undoubtedly the
case, for we find in Fozbrooke that the Archbishop
of York had license to " embattle his house " here in
the reign of Edward I.

X.] A REMOTE MANOR HOUSE. 223
A mosaic pavement, discovered here about 181 1,
was placed in the British Museum.
It is very sad to come upon these remote manor
houses in all parts of the Cotswold district, and to
find that their ancient glory is departed, even though
their walls are as good as they were two hundred
years ago, when the old squires lived their jovial
lives, and those halls echoed the mirth and merriment
which characterised the life of " the good old English
gentleman, all of the olden time."
Other fine old houses in this immediate district which
have not been mentioned are Ampney Park, a Jacobean
house containing an oak-panelled apartment, with
magnificently carved ceiling and fine stone fireplace ;
Barnsley and Sherborne, partly built by Inigo Jones ;
Missarden, Duntisborne Abbots, Kemble, and
Barrington. Rendcombe is a modern house of some
size, built rather with a view to internal comfort than
externa] grace and symmetry.

CHAPTER XI.

COTSWOLD PASTIMES.

IT is not surprising that in those countries which
abound in sunshine and fresh, health-giving air,
the inhabitants will invariably be found to be not
only keen sportsmen, but also accomplished experts
in all the games and pastimes for which England has
long been famous. Given good health and plenty of
work mankind cannot help being cheerful and sociably
inclined ; for this reason we have christened the
district of which we write the " Merrie Cotswolds."
From time immemorial the country people have
delighted in sports and manly exercises. On the
north wall of the nave in Cirencester Church is a
224

Ch. XL] WHITSUN ALE. 225
representation of the ancient custom of Whitsun ale.
The Whitsuntide sports were always a great speciality
on Cotswold, and continue to the present day, though
in a somewhat modified form.
The custom portrayed in the church of Cirencester
was as follows : —
The villagers would assemble together in one of
the beautiful old barns which are so plentiful in every
hamlet. Two of them, a boy and a girl, were then
chosen out and appointed Lord and Lady of the
Yule. These are depicted on the church wall ; and
round about them, dressed in their proper garb,
are pages and jesters, standard-bearer, purse-bearer,
mace-bearer, and a numerous company of dancers.
The reason that a representation of this very secular
custom is seen in the church probably arises from the
fact that the Church ales were feasts instituted for the
purpose of raising money for the repair of the church.
The churchwardens would receive presents of malt
from the farmers and squires around ; they sold the
beer they brewed from it to the villagers, who were
obliged to attend or else pay a fine.
The church house — a building still to be seen in
many villages — was usually the scene of the festivities.
The " Diary of Master William Silence " tells us
that the quiet little hamlets presented an unusually
gay appearance on these memorable occasions. " The
village green was covered with booths. There were
attractions of various kinds. The churchwardens
had taken advantage of the unusual concourse of
strangers as the occasion of a Church ale. Great
barrels of ale, the product of malt contributed by the
15

226 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
parishioners according to their several abilities, were
set abroach in the north aisle of the church, and their
contents sold to the public. This was an ordinary
way of providing for church expenses, against which
earnest reformers inveighed, but as yet in vain so far
as Shallow was concerned. The church stood con
veniently near the village green, and the brisk trade
which was carried on all day was not interrupted
by the progress of divine service." The parson's
discourse, however, appears to have suffered some
interruption by reason of the numbers who crowded
into the aisles to patronise the churchwardens'
excellent ale.
In the reign of James I. one, Robert Dover, revived
the old Olympic games on Cotswold. Dover's Hill,
near Weston-under-Edge, was called after him.
These sports included horse-racing, coursing, cock-
fighting, and such games as quoits, football, skittles,
wrestling, dancing, jumping in sacks, and all the
athletic exercises.
The " Annalia Dubrensia " contain many verses
about these sports by the hand of Michael Drayton,
Ben Jonson, and others.
" On Cotteswold Hills there meets
A greater troop of gallants than Rome's streets
E'er saw in Pompey's triumphs : beauties, too,
More than Diana's beavie of nymphs could show
On their great hunting days."
That hunting was practised here in these days is
evident, for Thomas Randall, of Cambridge, writes in
the same volume :

XL] VARIOUS SPORTS. 227
" Such royal pastimes Cotteswold mountains fill.
When gentle swains visit Anglonicus hill.
When with such packs of hounds they hunting go
As CjTus never woon'd his bugle to."
Fozbrooke tells us that the Whitsuntide sports are
the floralia of the Romans. They are still a great
institution in all parts of the Cotswolds, though Church
ales, like cock-fighting and other barbaric amusements,
have happily long since died out.
Golf and archery are popular pastimes in the merry
Cotswolds. It is somewhat remarkable that this
district has produced in recent years the amateur
lady champions of England in each of these fas
cinating pastimes, Lady Margaret Scott, of Stowell,
being _/"««/£ princeps among lady golfers, whilst Mrs.
Christopher Bowly, of Siddington, even now holds the
same position in relation to the ancient practice of
archery. The ancient art of falconry is still practised in these
parts. Thirty years ago, when Duleep Singh lived at
Hatherop, hawking on the downs was one of his
chief amusements. But the only hawking club here
abouts that we know of is at Swindon, in Wiltshire.
Coursing is as popular as ever among the Cotswold
farmers. These hills have always been noted for the
sport. Drayton tells us that the prize at the coursing
meetings held on the Cotswolds in his day was a
silver-studded collar. Shakespeare, in his Merry
Wives of Windsor alludes to the coursing on
" Cotsall." There is an excellent club at Cirencester.
The hares in this district are remarkably big and
strong-running. The whole district lends itself par-

228 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
ticularly to this sport, owing to the large fields and
fine stretches of open downs. CRICKET.
In an agricultural district such as the Cotswolds it
is inevitable that the game of cricket should be some
what neglected. Men who work day after day in the
open air, and to whom a half-holiday is a very rare
experience, naturally seek their recreations in less
energetic fashion than the noble game of cricket
demands of its votaries. The class who derive most
benefit from this game spring as a rule from towns
and manufacturing centres and those whose work
and interests confine them indoors the greater part
of their time. Among the Cotswold farmers, how
ever, a great deal of interest is shown ; the scores of
county matches are eagerly pursued in the daily
papers ; and if there is a big match on at Cheltenham
or any other neighbouring town, a large number
invariably go to see it. There is some difficulty in
finding suitable sites for your ground in these parts,
for the hill turf is very stony and shallow ; it is not
always easy to find a flat piece of ground handy to
the villages. A cricket ground is useless to the
villagers if it is perched up on the hill half a mile
away. It must be at their doors ; and even then,
though they may occasionally play, they will never
by any chance trouble to roll it. We made a ground
in the valley of the Coin some years ago, and went to
some expense in the way of levelling, filling up
gravel pits, and removing obstructions like cowsheds ;

XL] THE PEREGRINE FAMILY AT CRICKET. 229
but unless we had looked after it ourselves and made
preparations for a match, it would have soon gone
back to its original rough state again. And yet two
of the young Peregrines in the village are wonderfully
good cricketers, and as " keen as mustard " about it ;
though when it comes to rolling and mowing the
ground they are not quite as keen. They will throw
you over for a match in the most unceremonious
way if, when the day comes, they don't feel inclined
to play. We have often tried to persuade these two
young fellows to become professional cricketers, there
being such a poor prospect in the farming line ; but
they have not the slightest ambition to play for the
county, though they are quite good enough, so they
" waste their sweetness on the desert air."
Old Mr. Peregrine, a man of nearly eighty years
of age, is splendid fun when he is watching his
boys play cricket. He goes mad with excitement ;
and if you take them off bowling, however much
the batsmen appear to relish their attack, he won't
forgive you for the rest of the day.
His eldest son, Tom — our old friend the keeper —
generally stands umpire ; he is not so useful to his
side as village umpires usually are, because he hasn't
got the moral courage to give his side " in " when he
knows perfectly well they are " out." The other
day, however, he made a slight error ; for, on being
appealed to for the most palpable piece of " stumping "
ever seen in the cricket field, the ball bouncing back
on to the wicket from the wicket-keeper's pads while
the batsman was two yards out of his ground, he
said, " Not out ; it hit th^ wicket-keeper's pads."

230 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
He imagined he was being asked whether the bats
man had been bowled, and it never occurred to
him that you could be " stumped out " in this way.
Altogether, Cotswold cricket is great fun.
The district is full of memories of the prehistoric
age, and in certain parts of the country prehistoric
cricket is still indulged in. Never shall I forget
going over to Edgeworth with the Winson Cricket
XI. to play a grand match at that seat of Roman
antiquities. The carrier drove us over in his pair-
horse brake — a rickety old machine, with a pony of
fourteen hands and a lanky, ragged -hipped old mare
over sixteen hands high in the shafts together. A
most useful man in the field was the honest carrier,
whether at point or at any other place where the ball
comes sharp and quick ; for, to quote Shakespeare,
" he was a man
Of an unbounded stomach."
The rest of our team included the jovial miller ; two
of the village carpenter's sons — excellent folk ; the
village curate, who captained the side, and stood six
feet five inches without his cricket shoes ; one or
two farmers ; a footman, and a somewhat fat and
apoplectic butler.
The colours mostly worn by the Winson cricketers
are black, red, and gold — a Zingaric band inverted
(black on top) ; their motto I believe to be " Tired,
though united."
As the ground stands about eight hundred feet
above sea level, all of us, but especially the fat butler,
found considerable difficulty in getting to the top of

XL] PREHISTORIC CRICKET. 231
the hill, after the brake had set us down at the village
public. But once arrived, a magnificent view was
to be had, extending thirty miles and more across
the wolds to the White Horse Hill in Berkshire.
However, we had not come to admire the view so
much as to play the game of cricket. We therefore
proceeded to look for the pitch. It was known to
be in the field in which we stood, because a large
red flag floated at one end and proclaimed that
somewhere hereabouts was the scene of combat.
It was the fat butler, I think, who, after sailing
about in a sea of waving buttercups like a veritable
Christopher Columbus, first discovered the stumps
among the mowing grass.
Evident preparations had been made either that
morning or the previous night for a grand match ;
a large number of sods of turf had been taken up
and hastily replaced on that portion of the wicket
where the ball is supposed to pitch when it leaves
the bowler's hand. There had been no rain for
a month, but just where the stumps were stuck a
bucket or two of water had been dashed hastily on
to the arid soil ; while, to crown all, a chain or rib
roller — a ghastly instrument used by agriculturists for
scrunching up the lumps and bumps on the ploughed
fields, and pulverising the soil — had been used with
such effect that the surface of the pitch to the depth
of about an inch had been reduced to dust.
In spite of this we all enjoyed ourselves immensely.
Delightful old-fashioned people, both farmers and
labourers, were playing against us ; quaint (I use the
word in its true sense) and simple folk, who looked

232 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
as if they had been dug up with the other Saxon
and Roman antiquities for which Edgeworth is so
famous. I was quite certain that the man who bowled me
out was a direct descendant of Julius Caesar. He
delivered the ball underhand at a rapid rate. It came
twisting along, now to the right, now to the left ;
seemed to disappear beneath the surface of the soil,
then suddenly came in sight again, shooting past the
block. Eventually they told me it removed the left
bail, and struck the wicket-keeper a fearful blow on
the chest. It was generally agreed that such a ball
had never been bowled before. " 'Twas a pretty ball ! "
as Tom Peregrine pronounced it, standing umpire in
an enormous wideawake hat and a white coat reach
ing down to his knees, and smoking a bad cigar.
" A very pretty ball," said my fellow batsman at the
other wicket. " A d  d pretty ball," I reiterated
sotto voce, as I beat a retreat towards the flag in the
corner of the field, which served as a pavilion.
When I went on to bowl left-handed " donkey-
drops," Tom Peregrine (my own servant, if you
please) was very nearly no-balling me. " For," said
he, " I 'ate that drabby-handed business ; it looks
so awkid. Muddling work, I calls it." But I am
anticipating. As I prepared myself for the fray, and carefully
donned a pair of well-stuffed pads and an enormously
thick woollen jersey for protection, not so much
against the cold as against the "flying ball," it
flashed across me that I was about to personify the
immortal Dumkins of Pickwick fame ; whilst in my

XL] DUMKINS AND PODDER, LIMITED. 233
companion, the stout butler, it was impossible not
to detect the complacent features and rounded form
of Mr. Podder. Up to a certain point the analogy
was complete. Let the Winson Invincibles equal the
All Muggleton C.C, while the Edgeworth Daisy
Cutters shall be represented by Dingley Dell ; then
sing us, thou divine author of Pickwick, the glories
of that never-to-be-forgotten day.
"All Muggleton had the first innings, and the
interest became intense when Mr. Dumkins and Mr.
Podder — two of the most renowned members of that
distinguished club — walked bat in hand to their re
spective wickets. Mr. Luffy, the highest ornament
of Dingley Dell, was pitched to bowl against the
redoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected
to do the same kind office for the hitherto unconquered
Podder. . . . The umpires were stationed behind the
wickets [Tom Peregrine had been suborned for
Winson, and proved the most useful man on the side],
the scorers were prepared to notch the runs. A
breathless silence ensued. Mr. Luffy retired a few
paces behind the wicket of the passive Podder, and
applied the ball to his right eye for several seconds.
Dumkins [the author] confidently awaited its coming
with his eyes fixed on the motions of Mr. Luffy.
' Play ! ' suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew
from his hand straight and swift towards the centre
stump of the wicket. The wary Dumkins was on the
alert ; it fell upon the tip of his bat. . . ."
Here, with deep sorrow, let it be stated that the
writer failed to evince the admirable skill displayed
by his worthy prototype ; the Dumkins of grim reality

234 COTSWOLD PASTIMES [Ch.
was unable to compete with the Dumkins of fiction.
Instead of " sending the ball far away over the heads
of the scouts, who just stooped low enough to let it
fly over them," • I caught it just as it pitched on a
rabbit-hole, and sent it straight up into the air like
a soaring rocket. " Right, right, I have it ! " yelled
bowler and wicket-keeper simultaneously. " Run two,
Podder ; they'll never catch it ! " shouted Dumkins
with all his might. " Catch it in your 'at. Bill ! "
screamed the Edgeworth eleven. Never was such
confusion ! I was already starting for the second run,
whilst my stout fellow batsman was halfway through
the first, when the ball came down like a meteor, and,
narrowly shaving the luckless " Fodder's " head, hit
the ground with a loud thud about five yards distant
from the outstretched hands of the anxious bowler,
who collided with his ally, the wicket-keeper, in the
middle of the pitch. Half stunned by the shock, and
disappointed at his want of success in his attempt to
" judge " the catch, the bowler had yet presence of
mind enough to seize the ball and hurl it madly at
the stumps. But the wicket-keeper being still hors
de combat, it flew away towards the spectators, and
buried itself among the mowing grass. " Come six,
Podder ! " I shouted, amid cries of" Keep on running ! "
"¦ Run it out ! " etc., from spectators and scouts alike.
And run we did, for the umpire forgot to call " lost
ball," and we should have been running still but for
the ingenuity of one of our opponents ; for, whilst all
were busily engaged in searching among the grass,
a red-faced yokel stole up unawares, with an innocent
expression on his face, raced poor " Podder " down the

XI.] DOWNFALL OF "PODDER." 235
pitch, produced the ball from his trouser pocket,
and knocked off the bails in the nick of time. " Out,"
says Peregrine, amid a roar of laughter from the whole
field ; and Mr. " Podder " had to go.
Now came the question how many runs should be
scored, for I had passed my fellow batsman in the
race, having completed seven runs to his five.
Eventually it was decided to split the difference and
call it a sixer ; the suggestion of a member of our
side that seven should be scored to me and five to
Mr. " Podder " (making twelve in all) being rejected
after careful consideration.
Thus, from the first ball bowled in this historic
match there arose the whole of the remarkable events
recorded above. Therein is shown the complete per
formances with the bat of two renowned cricketers ;
for, alas ! in once more trying to play up to the
form of Dumkins, I was bowled " slick " the very
next ball, " as hath been said or sung."
There was much good-natured chaff flying about
during the match, but no fighting and squabbling,
save when a boundary hit was made, when the bats
man always shouted " Three runs," and the bowler
" No, only one." The scores were not high ; but I
remember that we won by three runs, that the
carpenter's son got a black eye, that we had tea in
an old manor house turned into an inn, and drove
home in the glow of a glorious sunset, not entirely
displeased with our first experience of " prehistoric "
cricket. Some of the pleasantest matches we have ever
taken part in have been those at Bourton-on-the-

236 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
Water. Owing to the very soft wicket which he found
on arriving, this place was once christened by a well-
known cricketer Bourton-on-the-Bog. Indeed, it is
often a case of Bourton-?,!;2^£r-the- Water ; but, in spite
of a soft pitch, there is great keenness and plenty of
good-tempered rivalry about these matches. Bourton
is a truly delightful village. The Windrush, like
the Coin at Bibury, runs for some distance alongside
of the village street.
The M.C.C., or " premier club " — as the sporting
press delight to call the famous institution at Lord's
— generally get thoroughly well beaten by the local
club. For so small a place they certainly put a
wonderfully strong team into the field ; on their own
native " bog " they are fairly invincible, though we
fancy on the hard-baked clay at Lord's their bowlers
would lose a little of their cunning.
In the luncheon tent at Bourton there are usually
more wasps than are ever seen gathered together in
one place ; they come in thousands from their nests
in the banks of the Windrush.
If you are playing a match there, it is advisable to
tuck your trousers into your socks when you sit
down to luncheon. This, together with the fact that
the tent has been known to blow down in the middle
of luncheon, makes these matches very lively and
amusing. What more hvely scene could be imagined
than a large tent with twenty-two cricketers and a
few hundred wasps hard at work eating and drink
ing ; then, on the tent suddenly collapsing, the said
cricketers and the said wasps, mixed up with chairs,
tables, ham, beef, salad-dressing, and apple tart, and

XL] A PLAGUE OF WASPS. 237
the various ingredients of a cricket lunch, all struggling
on the floor, and striving in vain to find their way
out as best they can ? Fortunately, on the only
occasion that the tent blew down when we were
present, it was not a good wasp year.
Besides the matches at Bourton, there is plenty
of cricket at Cirencester, Northleach, and other centres
in the Cotswolds. The " hunt " matches are great
institutions, even though hunting people as a rule
do not care for cricket, and invariably drop a catch.
A good sportsman and excellent fellow has lately
presented a cup to be competed for by the village
clubs of this district. This, no doubt, will give a
great impetus to the game amongst all classes ; our
village club has already been revived in order to
compete. Our only fear with regard to the cup
competition is that when you get two elevens on
to a ground, and two umpires, none of whom know
the rules (for cricket laws are the most " misunder-
standable" things in creation), the final tie will
degenerate into a free fight.
Be this as it may, anything that can make the
greatest pastime of this country popular in the
" merrie Cotswolds " is a step in the right direction.
It is pleasing to watch boys and men hard at work
practising on summer evenings. The rougher the
ground the more they like it. Scorning pads and
gloves, they " go in " to bat, and make Herculean
efforts to hit the ball. And this, with fast bowling
and the bumpy nature of the pitch, is a very difficult
thing to do. They play on, long after sunset, —
the darker it gets, and the more dangerous to life

238 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
and limb the game becomes, the happier they are.
We are bound to admit that when we play with
them, a good pitch is generally prepared. It would
be bad policy to endeavour to compete in the game
they play, as we should merely expose ourselves to
ridicule, and one's reputation as the man who has
been known "to play in the papers," as they are
accustomed to call big county matches, would very
.soon be entirely lost.
I was much amused a few years ago, on arriving
home after playing for Somersetshire in some cricket
matches, when Tom Peregrine made up to me
with "a face like a benediction," and asked if I
was the gentleman who had been playing " in the
papers." While on the subject of cricket, for some time
past we have made experiments of all sorts of cricket
grounds, and have come to the conclusion that the
following is the best recipe to prepare a pitch on
a dry and bumpy ground. A week before your
match get a wheelbarrow full of clay, and put it
into a water-cart, or any receptacle for holding water.
Having mixed your clay with water, keep pouring
the mixture on to your pitch, taking c^re that the
stones and gravel which sink to the bottom do not
fall out. When you have emptied your water-cart,
get some more clay and water, and continue pouring
it on to the ground until you have covered a patch
about twenty-two yards long and three yards wide,
always remembering not to empty out the sediment
at the bottom of the water-cart, for this will spoil
all. Then, setting to work with your roller, roll the

XL] A RECIPE FOR A PITCH. 239
clay and water into the ground. Never mind if it
picks up on to the roller : a little more water will
soon put that to rights. After an hour's rolling you
will have a level and true cricket pitch, requiring but
two or three days' sun to make it hard and true as
asphalt. You may think you have killed the grass ;
but if you water your pitch in the absence of rain the
day after you have played on it, the grass will not
die. It is chiefly in Australia that cricket grounds
are treated in this way ; they are dressed with mud
off the harbours, and rolled simultaneously. Such
grounds are wonderfully true and durable.
If the pitch is naturally a clay one, it might be
sufficient to use water only, and roll at the same
time ; but for renovating a worn clay pitch, a little
strong loamy soil, washed in with water and rolled
down will fiU up ah the " chinks " and holes. It will
make an old pitch as good as new.
The reason that nine out of ten village grounds
are bad and bumpy is that they are not rolled soon
enough after rain or after being watered. Roll
and water them simultaneously, and they will be
much improved.
Another excellent plan is to soak the ground with
clay and water, and leave it alone for a week or ten
days before rolling. Permanent benefit will be done
to the soil by this method. For golf greens and
lawn-tennis courts situated on light soil, loam is an
indispensable dressing. Any loamy substance will
vastly improve the texture of a light soil and the
quality of the herbage. Yet it is most difficult to
convince people of this fact. We have known cases

240 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch,
in which hundreds of pounds have been expended
on cricket grounds and golf greens when an applica
tion of clay top-dressing would have put the whole
thing to rights at the cost of a few shillings. One
committee had artificial wells made on every " putting
green " of their golf course, in order to have water
handy for keeping the turf cool and green. What
better receptacle for water could they have found than
a top-dressing of half an inch of loam or clay, retain
ing as it does every drop of moisture that falls in
the shape of dew or rain, instead of allowing it to
percolate through like a sieve, as is the case with an
ordinary sandy soil? Yet this clay dressing, while
retaining water, becomes hard, firm, and as level as a
billiard table on the timely application of the roller.
Those who look after cricket grounds and the
like have seldom any acquaintance with the con
stitution of soils ; they are apt to treat all, whether
sand, light loam, strong loam, heavy clay, or even
peat, in exactly the same way, instead of recollecting
that, as in agriculture, a judicious combination will
alone give us that ideal loam which produces the
best turf, and the best soil for every purpose. I
am quite convinced that our farmers do not realise
how much worthless light land may be improved
by a dressing of clay or loam. Such dressings are
expensive without a doubt, but the amelioration of
the soil is so marked that in favourable localities the
process ought to pay in the long run.
Turning to cricket in general, perhaps the modern
game, as played on a good wicket, is in every respect,
save one, perfection. If only something could be

XL] MODERN CRICKET. 241
done to curtail the length of matches, and rid us of
that awful nuisance the poking, time-wasting bats
man, there would be little improvement possible.
" All the world's a stage," and even at cricket the
analogy holds good. Thus Shakespeare :
"As in a theatre the eyes ol men,
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious.''
So also one may say of some dull and lifeless
cricketer who, after the famous Gloucestershire hitter
has made things merry for spectators and scouts
alike, " enters next " :
"As in a cricket field the eyes of men,
After a we\^-Graced player leaves the sticks,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his batting to be tedious.''
On the other hand, if we sow the wild oats of
cricket — in other words, if we risk everything for the
fleeting satisfaction of a blind " slog " — we shall be
bowled, stumped, or caught out for a moral certainty.
It is only a matter of time.
Perhaps the addition of another stump might help
towards the very desirable end of shortening the
length of matches, and thus enable more amateurs
to take part in them. I cannot agree with those
who lament the improved state of our best English
cricket grounds ; if only the batsmen play a free
game and do not waste time, the game is far more
16

242 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
entertaining for players and spectators alike, when
a true wicket is provided. The heroes of old,
"When Bird and Beldham, Budd, and such as they, —
Lord Frederick, too, once England's chief and flower," —
Astonished all who came to see them play,"
those " scorners of the ground " and of pads and
gloves doubtless displayed more pluck on their
rough, bumpy grounds than is now called forth in
facing the attack of Kortright, Mold, or Richardson.
But on the other hand, on rough grounds much is
left to chance and luck ; cricket, as played on a
billiard-table wicket certainly favours the batsman,
but it admits of a brilliancy and finish in the matter
of style that are 'impossible on the old-fashioned
wicket. Whilst the modern bowler has learnt extra
ordinary accuracy of pitch, the batsman has perfected
the art of " timing " the ball. And what a subtle,
delicate art is correct " timing " ! — the skilful embodi
ment of thought in action, depending for success
on that absolute sympathy of hand and eye which
only assiduous practice, confidence, and a good
digestion can give. And on uncertain, treacherous
ground confident play is never seen. A ball cannot
be " cut " or driven with any real brilliancy of style
when there is a likelihood of its abruptly " shoot
ing " or bumping. No ; if we would leave as little
as possible to chance, our grounds cannot be too
good. Even from a purely selfish point of view,
apart from the welfare of our side, the pleasure
derived from a good " innings " on a first-rate cricket

XL] REFLECTIONS ON CRICKET. 243
ground is as great as that bestowed by any other
physical amusement.
Perhaps one ought not to think of comparing the
sport of fox-hunting, with its extraordinary variety of
incident and surroundings, the study of a lifetime, to
the game of cricket. At the same time, for actual
all-round enjoyment, and for economy, the game
holds its own against all amusements.
Bromley-Davenport has said that given a good
country and a good fox, and a burning scent, the man
on a good horse with a good start, for twenty or thirty
minutes absorbs as much happiness into his mental
and physical organisation as human nature is capable
of containing at one time. This is very true. But how
seldom the five necessary conditions are forthcoming
simultaneously the keen hunting man has learnt from
bitter experience. You will be lucky if the real good
thing comes off once for every ten days you hunt.
In cricket a man is dependent on his own quickness
of hand and eye ; in hunting there is that vital con
tingency of the well-filled purse. " 'Tis money that
makes the mare to go."
Then what a grand school is cricket for some of
the most useful lessons of life ! Its extraordinary
fluctuations are bound to teach us sooner or later
" Rebus angustis animosus atque
Fortis appare."
The rebus angustis are often painfully impressed on
the memory by a long sequence of " duck's eggs " ; and
how difficult is the animosus atque fortis appare when

244 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
we return to the pavilion with a " pair of spectacles "
to our credit !
Then, again, cricketers are taught to preserve a
mind " Ab insolenti temperatam
Laetitia."
We must not permit the Icetitid insolenti to creep
in when we have made a big score. How often do we
see young cricketers over-elated under these circum
stances, and suffering afterwards from temporary
over-confidence and consequent carelessness !
But we must have no more Horace, lest our readers
exclaim, with Jack Cade, " Away with him ! away
with him ! he speaks Latin ! "
Hope, energy, perseverance, and courage, — all these
qualities are learnt in our grand English game. There
is always hope for the struggling cricketer. In no
ether pursuit are energy and perseverance so
absolutely sure of bearing fruit, if we only stick to
it long enough.
The fact is that cricket, like many other things,
is but the image and prototype of life in general.
And the same qualities that, earnestly cultivated in
spite of repeated failure and disappointment, make
good cricketers lead ultimately to success in all the
walks of life. In spite of the improvement in grounds,
cricket is still an excellent school for teaching physical
courage. Many grounds are somewhat rough and
bumpy to field on, beautifully smooth though they
look from the pavilion. We have only to stand " mid-
off " or " point " on a cold day at the beginning of May

XL] THE PAVILION CRITIC. 245
whilst a hard-hitting batsman, well set on a true
wicket, is driving or cutting ball after ball against
our hands and shins, to realise what a capital school
for courage the game is !
How exacting is the critic in this matter of
fielding ! and how delightfully simple the bowling
looks from that admirably safe vantage-ground, the
pavilion ! Just as to a man comfortably stationed
in the grand-stand at Aintree nothing looks easier
than the way in which the best horses in the world
flit over the five-foot fences, leaving them behind
with scarcely an effort, their riders sitting quietly
in the saddle all the while, so does the pavilion
critic pride himself on the way he would have
" cut " that short one instead of merely stopping it,
or blocked that simple ball that went straight on
and bowled the wicket. Everything that is well
and gracefully performed appears easy to the looker-
on. But that ease and grace, whether in the race
horse or in the man, has only been acquired by
months and years of training and practice.
It is seldom that the spectator is able to form a
true and unbiassed opinion as to the varied con
tingencies which lead to victory or defeat in cricket.
The actual players and the umpires are perhaps alone
qualified to judge to what extent the fluctuations of
the game are affected by the vagaries of weather and
ground. For this reason it is well to take newspaper
criticism cum grano salis.
What is the cause of the extraordinary fluctuations
of form which all cricketers, from the greatest to the
least, are more or less subject to? It cannot be set

246 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch.
down altogether to luck, for a run of bad luck, such
as all men have at times experienced, is often com
patible with being in the very best form. A man
who is playing very well at the net often gets out
directly he goes in to bat in a match, whilst many
a good player, who tells you " he has not had a bat
in his hand this season," in his very first innings for
the year makes a big score. In subsequent innings's,
oddly enough, he feels the want of net practice.
Confidence would seem to be the sine qud non for the
successful batsman. Nothing succeeds like success ;
and once fairly started on a sequence of big scores,
the cricketer goes on day by day piling up runs and
•vires acquirit eundo.
Perhaps " being in form " does not depend so much
on the state of the digestion as on the state of the
-mind. Anxiety or excitement, fostered by over-
keenness, usually results in a blank score-sheet. Some
men, like horses, are totally unable to do themselves
credit on great occasions. They go off their feed,
and are utterly out of sorts in consequence. On the
other hand, sheer force of will has often enabled men
to make a big score. Many a good batsman can
recall occasions on which he made a mental resolve
on the morning of a match to make a century, and
did it.
How curious it is that really good players, from
staleness or some unknown cause, occasionally become
absolutely useless for a time ! Every fresh failure
seems to bring more and more nervousness, until,
from sheer lack of confidence, their case becomes
hopeless, and a child could bowl them out. Ah well!

XL] OVER-DEVELOPMENT OF GAMES. 247
we must not grumble at the ups and downs of the
finest game in creation : " every dog will have his
day " sooner or later ; of that we may be sure.
And not the least of the advantages of cricket is
the large number of friends made on the tented field.
For this reason the jolliest cricket is undoubtedly
that which is played by the various wandering clubs.
Whether you are fighting under the banner of the
brotherhood whose motto is " United though untied," ^
or under the flag of the " Red, Black, and Gold," ^ or
with any other of the many excellent clubs that
abound nowadays, you will have an enjoyable game,
whether you make fifty runs or a duck's egg.
County cricket is nowadays a little over done.
Two three-day matches a week throughout the
summer don't leave much time for other pursuits.
A liberal education at a good public school and
university seems to be thrown away if it is to be
followed by five or six days a week at cricket all
through the summer year after year. Most of our best
amateurs realise this, and, knowing that if they go in
for county cricket at all they must play regularly,
they give it up, and are content to take a back seat.
They do wisely, for let us always remember that
cricket is a game and not a business.
On the other hand, much good results from the
presence in county cricket of a leavening of gentle
men ; for they prevent the further development of
professionalism. It is doubtless owing to the "piping
times of peace" England has enjoyed during the past
fifty years that cricket has developed to such an
' The Free Foresters. ' The I Zingari.

248 COTSWOLD PASTIMES. [Ch. XI.
abnormal extent. The British public are essentially
hero worshippers, and especially do they worship
men who show manliness and pluck ; and those
feelings of respect and admiration that it is to be
hoped in more stirring times would be reserved for
a Nelson or a Wellington have been recently lavished
on our Graces, our Stoddarts, our Ranjitsinhjis, and
our Steels.
As long as war is absent, and we " live at home at
ease," so long will our sports and pastimes flourish
and increase. And long may they flourish, more
especially those in which the quality of courage is
essential for success ! It will be a bad day for
England when success in our sports and pastimes no
longer depends on the exercise of pluck and manli
ness ; when hunting gives place to bicycling, and
cricket to golf; when, in fact, the wholesome element
of danger is removed from our recreation and pursuits.
Should, in the near future, the long-talked-of in
vasion of this country by a combination of European
powers become an accomplished fact. Englishmen
may perchance be glad, as the cannon balls and
musket shots are whizzing round their heads, that on
the mimic battlefields of cricket, football, polo, and
fox-hunting they learnt two of the most useful lessons
of life — coolness and courage.

my

HAWKING.

CHAPTER XII.

THE COTSWOLDS THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

NOWADAYS, thanks in a great measure to
Mr. Madden's book, the "Diary of Master
William Silence," it is beginning to dawn on us that
the Cotswolds are more or less connected with the
great poet of Stratford-on-Avon.
Mr. Blunt, in his "Cotswold Dialect," gives no less
than fifty-eight passages from the works of Shake
speare, in which words and phrases peculiar to the
district are made use of Up to the reign of Queen
Anne this vast open tract of downland formed a
happy hunting ground for the inhabitants of all the
surrounding counties. Warwickshire, Oxfordshire,
249

250 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
and Wiltshire, as well as Gloucestershire folk repaired
to the wolds for hunting, coursing, hawking, and other
amusements ; and in olden times, even more than
to-day, Cotswold was, as Burton described it, " a type
of what is most commodious for hawking, hunting,
wood, waters, and all manner of pleasures." There
never was a district so well adapted for stag-hunting.
Nowadays the Cotswold district falls short in one
desideratum, and that a most essential one, of being
a first-rate hunting country. The large extent of
ploughed land and the extreme dryness and poverty
of the soil cause it on four days out of five to carry a
most indifferent scent. But to-day we pursue the
fox ; in Shakespeare's time the stag was the quarry.
And, as hunting men are well aware, the scent given
off by a stag is not only ravishing to hounds, but it
actually increases as the quarry tires, whilst that from
a fox " grows small by degrees and beautifully less."
As with hunting, so also with coursing and
hawking ; the Cotswolds were the grand centre of
Elizabethan sport. Here it was that Shakespeare
marked the falcon " waiting on and towering in her
pride of place." Here he saw the fallow greyhounds
competing for the silver-studded collar.
What an interest and a dignity does a district
such as this draw from even the slenderest association
with the splendid name of William Shakespeare!
For my part I freely confess that scenery, however
grand and sublime, appeals but little to the imagina
tion unless it be hallowed by association or blended
in the thoughts with the recollection of those we have
either loved or admired. Thus in India, in Natal

XIL] THE WOLDS OF SOUTH AFRICA. 251
and Cape Colony, in glorious Ceylon, I could admire
those wonderful purple mountains and that tropical
luxuriance of fertility and verdure ; but I could not
feel them. The boundless wolds of Africa, reminding
one so much of Gloucestershire, yet far grander and
far finer than anything of the kind in England, were
to me a dreary wilderness. Passing through the fine
broken hill country of Natal was like visiting chaos,
a waste, inhospitable land, " Where no one comes
Or hath come since the making of the world."
How well I remember the first sight of the wolds of
South Africa ! It was the hour of uncertain light
that comes before the dawn ; and as our railway
train wound its tortuous course like a snake up the
awful heights that would ultimately end in Majuba
Hill — to which ill-fated spot I was bound — the
billowy waves of rolling down seemed gradually to
change to an immensely rough ocean running moun
tains high, and the mimosa trees dotting the plain for
hundreds of miles appeared like armies of the souls
of all the black men that ever lived on earth since the
world began. There were passes and chasms like
the portals of far-off, inaccessible Paradise,
"With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms."
And then the scene changed. The hills rose like
graves of white men and barrows to the long-
forgotten dead. Great oblong barrows, round Celtic
barrows, and stately sarcophagi. Monumental effigies

252 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Ch.
in alabaster, granite and porphyry ; grim Gothic
castles dating back to the foundation of the world,
and grim Gothic cathedrals with long-drawn aisles,
where the " great organ of Eternity " kept thundering
ceaselessly. For the lightning and the thunder are
powers to be reckoned with in those awful realms of
chaos. And then the scene changed again. There
suddenly uprose weird shapes of giants and leviathans,
huge mammoths and whole regiments of fantastic
monsters that looked like clouds and yet were
mountains ; and there were fortresses and towers of
silence, with vultures hovering over them, and cliffs
and crags and jutting promontories that looked like
mountains, but were really clouds : for the black
clouds and the frowning hills were so much alike that,
save when the lightning shone, you could not say
where the sky ended and the land began. But there
was one gleam of hope in this weird and dismal scene,
for on the farthest verge of the horizon there appeared,
as it were, a lake — such a lake as saw the passing of
Arthur, vanishing in mystery and silently floating
away upon a barge towards the east. It was a lake
of beryl, whose far-off golden shores were set with
rubies and sardonyx, and beyond these, again, were
the more distant waters of the silver sea ; and as
when Sir Bedivere " . . . . saw.
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year, —

XIL] THE HALO OF ASSOCIATION. 253
so over the plains of Africa rose the mighty
Alchemist and great revealer of truth, the scatterer
of dreary darkness and secret night, turning those
shadowy hills to purple and those mystic waters in
the eastern sky to gold.
How different are our feelings when we traverse,
either in reality or in fancy, such parts of the earth
as are deeply blended in our hearts and minds with
old familiar associations ! Whilst wandering through
the Lake District of England, how are we reminded
of Wordsworth and the " Excursion " ! How can we
visit Devonshire and the West Country without sum
moning up pleasant thoughts of Charles Kingsley and
Amyas Leigh ; of the men of Bideford, Sir Richard
Grenville, Kt, and " The little Revenge " ? How
vividly do the Trossachs recall "The Lady of the
Lake " and Walter Scott ! How with Edinburgh do
we connect the sad story of Mary, the ill-fated queen !
At Killarney, or standing amid the Gothic tracery of
Tintern, how do we think on Alfred Tennyson and
" the days that are no more " ! These are only a few
of the places in the British Isles that by universal
consent are hallowed by tender associations. Of those
spots in England which are dear to our hearts for
personal reasons, there are of course hundreds. Every
man has his own peculiar prejudices in this respect.
To some London is the most sacred spot on earth.
And who shall deny that with all her faults London
is not a vastly interesting place ? Is not every street
hallowed by its associations with some great name or
some great event in English history ? Which of us
can stand amid the Gothic tracery and the crumbling

254 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
cloisters of Westminster, or under the shadow of the
old grey towers of Whitehall, without recalling heart-
stirring scenes and " paths of glory that lead but to
the grave " ? Who can stand unmoved on any of the
famous bridges that span the silent river? Dr.
Johnson, who acted up to Pope's well-known motto,
"The proper study of mankind is man,"
thought Fleet Street the most interesting place on
the face of the earth ; and perhaps he was right.
Let us hear what he has to say about this halo of old
association : " To abstract the mind from all local
emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured ;
and would be foolish if it were possible. Whatever
withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever
makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate
over the present, advances us in the dignity of
thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends
be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us in
different and unmoved over any ground which has
been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue."
This, then, is the difference between the plains of
Africa and the hills and valleys of England. The
one is at present a vast inhospitable chaos, the other
a land in which there is scarcely an acre that has not
been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. Such
are the signs by which we are to distinguish Cosmos
from Chaos.
How far into the Cotswold Hills the halo of Strat-
ford-on-Avon's glory may be said to extend it is not
easy to determine. Let us allow at all events that
the reflection from the arc reaches across the whole

XIL] A DAY'S STAG-HUNTING. 255
extent of the wolds as far as Dursley. For here on
the western edge of the Cotswolds it is probable that
Shakespeare spent that portion of his life which
has always been involved in obscurity — the interval
between his removal from Warwickshire and his
arrival in London.
On a fine autumnal evening in the year 1592 a
horseman, mounted on a little ambling nag, neared
the Cotswold village of Bibury. Both man and steed
showed unmistakable signs of weariness. The horse
especially, though of that wiry kind known as the
Irish hobby, hard as iron, and accustomed to long
journeys, evinced by that sober and even dejected
expression of countenance so well known to hunting
men, that he had been ridden both far and fast. The
saddle too, as well as the legs, chest, and flanks of the
nag, appeared wet and mud-stained, as if some brook
had been swum or some deep and muddy river
forded, whilst the left shoulder and knee of the rider
bore marks which told tales of a fall. The personal
appearance of the man was not such as to excite the
interest of the casual passer-by ; for his dress, though
extremly neat, was that worn by clerks and other
townsfolk of the day ; yet a keen observer might
have noticed that the features were those of a man of
uncommon character, in whom, as Carlyle would
have said, a germ of irrepressible force had been
implanted. It had indeed been a glorious day. The hounds,
after meeting close to Moreton-in-the-Marsh, in
Warwickshire, had found a great hart in the forest
near Seizincote, and had hunted him " at force " over

256 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
the deep undrained vale up on to the Cotswold Hills,
away past Stow-on-the-Wold and Bourton-on-the-
Water, towards the great woods of Chedworth. But
the stag, after crossing the Windrush close to Mr.
Dutton's house at Sherborne, had failed to make his
point, and had " taken soil " in a deep pool of the river
Coin, near the little village of Coln-St.-Dennis, where
eventually the mort had sounded. Such a run had
not been seen for many a long day ; for it measured
no less than fourteen miles " as the crow flies," and
about five-and-twenty as the hounds ran. The time
occupied had been close on seven hours. There had
of course been several checks ; but so strong had
been the scent of this hart that, in spite of two " lets "
of some twenty minutes' duration, the pack had been
able to hunt their quarry to the bitter end. Only
two men had seen the end. The pride and chivalry
of Warwickshire, mounted on their high-priced
Flanders mares, their Galway nags, and their splendid
Barbaries, had been hopelessly thrown out of the
chase ; and besides the huntsman, on his plain-bred
little English horse, the only remnant of the field was
our friend with his tough and wiry Irish hobby.
It is five o'clock, and the sun as it disappears
beyond a high ridge of the wolds, is tinging the
grey walls of an ancient Gothic fane with a rosy
glow. This our sportsman does not fail to notice;
but in spite of his keen appreciation of the beauties
of nature, the question uppermost in his mind, as he
jogs along the rough, uneven road or track which
leads to Bibury, is where to spend the night. The
thought of returning home at that late hour does

XII.] A BENIGHTED SPORTSMAN. 257
not enter his head ; for the stag having gone away
in exactly the opposite direction to that from which
the Warwickshire man had set out early in the
morning, there are no less than three-and-thirty
long and weary miles between the hunter and his
home. In the days of good Queen Bess, however,
hospitality was proverbially free, and any decently
set up Englishman was tolerably sure of a welcome
at any of the country houses which were then, as
now, scattered at long intervals over this wild, unculti
vated district. And as he rides round a bend in the
valley, a fair manor house comes into view, pleasantly
placed in a sheltered spot hard by the River Coin.
It was built in the style which had just come into
vogue — the Elizabethan form of architecture ; and
in honour of the reigning monarch its front pre
sented the appearance of the letter E. The windows,
instead of being made of horn, were of glass ; and
tall stone chimneys (a modern luxury but lately
invented) carried away the smoke from the chambers
within. It so happened that at the moment the stranger
was passing, the owner of the house — -a squire of
some sixty years of age, but hale and hearty — was
standing in front of his porch taking the evening air.
This fact the horseman did not fail to notice, and
with a ready eye to the main chance, which showed
its possessor to be a man of no^ ordinary appre
hension, he glanced approvingly at the groined
porch, the richly carved pinnacles above it, and at
the quaint belfry beyond, exclaiming with great
enthusiasm : 17

258 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
"'Fore God, you have a goodly dwelling and a
rich here. I do envy thee thine house, sir."
" Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beggars all," '
was the reply, to which, after a pause, the squire
added, " Marry, good air."
" Ah, 'tis a good air up on these wolds," replied the
sportsman. " But I am a stranger here in Gloucester
shire ; these high wild hills and rough, uneven ways
draw out our miles and make them wearisome.^ How
far is it to Stratford ? "
" Marry, 'tis nigh on forty mile, I warrant. Thou'll
not see Stratford to-night, sir ; thy horse is wappered ^
out, and that I plainly see."
To him replied the stranger wearily :
" ' Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first ? Ail things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoyed. ' " ¦¦
" Hast been with the hounds to-day ? " enquired
the honest squire.
" Ah, sir, and that I have," was the reply ; " and
never have I seen such sport before. For seven
long hours they made the welkin ring, and ran like
swallows o'er the plain.'""
" Please to step in ; we be just a-settin' down to
supper — a cold capon and a venison pasty. I'll tell
' 2 Henry IV., V. iii.
' King Richard IL, II. iii.
' Wappered = tired. A Cotswold word.
* Merchant of Venice, II. vi.
' Titus Andrmiicus, II. ii.

XIL] AN OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 259
my serving man to take thy nag to yonder yard, and
make him comfortable for the night."
" Thanks, sir, I'll take him round myself, and
give the honest beast a drench of barley broth,* and
afterwards, to cheer him up a bit, a handful or two of
dried peas.'"
Whilst the hunter was seeing to his nag, the
squire thus addressed his serving man :
" Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged
hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty tiny kick
shaws, tell William cook."^
Davy : " Doth the hunter stay all night, sir ? "
Squire : " Yes, Davy. I will use him well ; good
sportsmen are ever welcome on Cotswold."
The wants of the Irish hobby having been
thoroughly attended to, and the game little fellow
having recovered in some measure his natural gaiety
of spirits, the squire ushered the stranger into a
long low hall, hung with pikes and guns and bows,
and relics of the chase as well as of the wars. The
stone floor was strewed with clean rushes, and lying
about on tables were trashes, collars, and whips for
hounds, as well as hoods, perches, jesses, and bells for
hawks ; whilst a variety of odds and ends, such as
crossbows and jumping-poles, were scattered about
the apartment. An enormous wood fire blazed at
one end of the hall, and in the inglenook sat a girl
of some twenty summers.
" My daughter, sir," exclaimed the squire ; " as
1 Henry V., III. v.
' Midsummer Night's Dream, IV. i.
» 2 Henry IV., V. i.

26o THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
good a girl as ever lived to make a cheese, brew
good beer, preserve all sorts of wines, and cook a
capon with a chaudron ! Marry ! I forgot to ask
thee thy name ? "
"Oh, my name is Shakespeare — Wilham Shake
speare, sir. I come from Stratford-on-the-Avon, up
to'rds Warwick."
" Shakespy, Shakespy ; a' don't know that name.
Dost bear arms, sir ? "
" I am entitled to them — a spear on a bend sable,
and a falcon for my crest ; but we have not yet
applied to the heralds for the confirmation. And
you, sir ? "
" He writes himself armigero in any bill, warrant,
quittance, or obligation," here put in Davy the serving
man. " Ah, that I do ! and have done any time these
three hundred years.''
" All his successors gone before him hath done it ;
and all his ancestors that come after him may," added
Davy, with pride.
"To be sure, to be sure," said the squire. "Well,
welcome to Cotswold, Master Shakespeare ; good
sportsmen are ever welcome on Cotswold. But tell
me, how didst thou get thy downfall ? "
" The first was at the mound into the tyning by
Master Blackett's house at Iccomb ; old Dobbin
breasted it, and the stones did rattle round mine ears
like a house a-coming down. We made a shard * that
let the rest of 'em through. It was the only wall
that came in the way of the chase to-day. The
' A Cotswold word = breach.

XIL] SHAKESPEARE DESCRIBES THE RUN. 261
second downfall was at the brook by Bourton-
Windrush, I think they call it. Dobbin being a bit
short of wind, and quilting sadly, stuck fast in the
mire, and tumbled on to his nose in scrambling out.
Marry, sir, but 'twas a famous chase ; the like of it I
never saw before. 'Twas grand at first to see the
hart unharboured — a stag with all his rights, ' brow,
bay, and trey.'
" Thou shouldst know, our hounds at Warwick are a
noted pack,
' So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never hoUa'd to, nor cheer'd with horn.'"'
Then he told how, after leaving behind the deep
undrained grass country round Moreton-in-the-Marsh,
they rose the hills by Stow and came across the
moor. How the riders who spurred their horses up
the steep uprising ascent were soon left behind. For
" To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first; anger is like
A full hot horse, who, being allowed his way,
Self mettle tires him."
He told how, after an hour's steady running over the
wolds, a " let " ^ occurred, and " the hot scent-snuffing
hounds are driven to doubt " ; ^ how Mountain, Fury,
' Midsummer Night's Dream, IV. i.
^ Two Noble Kinsmen, III. v.
' Venus and Adonis, 692

262 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Cn
Tyrant, and Ringwood, \Aho had been leading the
rest of the pack, strove in vain for a considerable time
to pick out the cold scent, until suddenly the cheery
sound of the old huntsman's voice was heard crying :
" Fury ! Fury ! There, Tyrant, there ! Hark 1 Hark ! " '
and the whole pack went " yoppeting " off as happy
as the hunt was long. He told how Belman fairly
surpassed himself, and " twice to-day picked out the
dullest scent " ; " and how little Dobbin, the Irish
hobby, went cantering on "as true as truest horse,
that yet would never tire." ' He told how, after
running from scent to view, they came down into the
woodlands of the valley of the Coin, and awoke the
echoes with their " gallant chiding."
" . . . . besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder." ¦¦
And how the noble animal took soil in the Coin,
" Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place our poor sequester'd stag
Did come to languish ; and indeed, my lord.
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.

' Tempest, IV. i.
' Taming of the Shrew, Introduction.
' Midsummer Night's Dream, III. i.
^ Midsummer Night's Dream, IV. L

XIL] THE ANCESTRAL PEREGRINE. 263
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
' 'Tis right,' quoth he : ' thus misery doth part
The flux of company ' : anon a careless herd,
FuU of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him. ' Ah,' quoth Jaques,
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ;
'Tis just the fashion : wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'"'
And finally he told how the gallant beast died a
soldier's death, fighting to the bitter end.
" Marry, 'twas a right good chase, and bravely
must thy steed have borne thee. But thou wast too
venturesome. Master Shakespeare," exclaimed the
squire, " a-trying to jump that mound into the tyning
by Master Blackett's house."
" Tell me, I prithee," answered Shakespeare, anxious
to turn the conversation from his own share in
the day's proceedings, "whose dog won the silver-
studded collar this year in the coursing matches on
Cotswold ? " '
" Our Bill Peregrine, here, at the farm, carried it
off. A prettier bit of coursing I never did see ! "
"Ah! that was the country fellow that turned up
when we sounded the mort by Coln-Dene. He
seemed to spring up out of the ground. He is a
snapper up of unconsidered trifles, I'll be bound.
The fellow claimed the hide : he said the skin was
the keeper's fee.""
" That 'ould be he. I warrant he lent a hand in
1 As You Like It, II. i.
" Merry Wives of Windsor, I. i.
' 3 Henry VL, III. i.

264 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
taking assay and breaking up the deer. 'Tis just
what he enjoys."
" Ah I I marked him disembowelling the poor dead
beast in right good will, with hands besmeared with
blood." *
Then they fell to talking of other things ; and the
honest old squire began to brag about his London
days, and how he was once of Clement's Inn.
" There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire,
and black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone,
and Will Squele, a Cotswold man ; you had not four
such swinge-bucklers in all the Inns o' Court again." ^
But the old man was far too interested in his own
doings to ask if his guest had ever been in London.
It is the prerogative of age to take for granted that
all younger men are of no account, and even as
children, " to be seen and not heard."
" To-morrow," said the squire, " at break of day,
we be a-going a-birding, to try some young falcons
Bill Peregrine has lately trained. Wilt join us. Master
Shakespeare ? "
" Ah, that I will, sir ! I know a hawk from a hand
saw, or my name's not William Shakespeare."
By this time the cold capon and the venison pasty,
as well as the " little tiny kickshaws," together with
a gallon of "good sherris-sack," had been consider
ably reduced by the united efforts of the squire, the
famished hunter, and those below the salt. During
the meal such scraps of conversation as this might
have been heard : ' I Henry IV., V. iv.
2 2 Henry IV., III. ii.

XIL] BACON NOT WANTED. 265
" Will you please to take a bit of bacon, Master
Shakespeare ? "
" Not any, I thank you," replied the poet.
" What, no bacon ! " put in the serving man from
behind, in a voice of surprise bordering on disappoint
ment. " No bacon for me, I thank you ; / never take bacon"
repeated Shakespeare, with some emphasis.
Then the master of the house would occasionally
address a remark to his serving man about the farm,
such as, " How a good yoke of bullocks at Ciren
Fair ? " or, " How a score of ewes now ? " meaning how
much are they worth. Once the serving man took the
initiative, asking, " Shall we sow the headlands with
wheat ?" receiving the reply, "With red wheat, Davy." *
Then there was some discussion concerning the
stopping of William's (Peregrine's ?) wages, " About
the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley Fair."
SHAKESPEARE : " This Davy serves you for good
uses ; he is your serving man and your husbandman."
Squire : " A good varlet, a good varlet, a very
good varlet. . . . By the mass, I have drunk too
much sack at supper ! A good varlet." ^
These were the squire's last words that night. He
soon slept peacefully, as was his wont after his
evening meal ; whereupon the poet, with his ac
customed gallantry, commenced making love in right
good earnest to the fair daughter of the house.
The Cotswold girls, like the Irish, have always
been famous for their beauty. Even amongst the
peasants you may nowadays see the most beautiful
' 2 Henry IV., V. i. ^ 2 Henry IV., V. iii.

266 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
and graceful women in the world, though their
attire is usually of a plain and unbecoming character,
and but ill adapted to set off the features and form
of the wearer. The squire's daughter, whom we
will call Jessica, was no exception to the rule. .She
was a handsome brunette — indeed, the squire called
her a " black ousel." Shakespeare fell in love with
her at once, and, forgetting all about the family at
Stratford, he plunged into the most desperate flirtation.
The girl, with that natural perception of the divine
in man common to her sex, could not help feeling a
strange admiration for this unexpected, though not
unwelcome, guest. There was something about his
countenance which exercised a peculiar charm and
fascination. The thoughtful brow, the keen hazel
eye, and the gentle bearing of the man were what
at first attracted attention. But it was his manner
and speech, half serious and half mirthful, which
made such an impression on her mind ; and perhaps
she felt that, " to the face whose beauty is the harmony
between that which speaks from within and the form
through which it speaks, power is added by all that
causes the outer man to bear more deeply the impress
of the inner."
The surroundings, too, were as romantic as they
possibly could be. A pair of rush candles were
shedding their dim light through the long low oak-
panelled apartment ; they were the only lights that
were burning, and even these flickered ominously at
times, as if threatening to go out and leave the place
in total darkness. A full moon, however, was casting
her silvery beams through the great lattice casement,

XIL] THE CHARM OF MUSIC. 267
and in one of the upper panes of this window were
richly emblazoned the arms of which the squire was
so proud.
It was a glorious evening. Opening the window,
William Shakespeare looked out upon the peaceful
garden. The moon was shedding a pale light upon
the woods and the stream, " decking with liquid
pearl the bladed grass." A hundred yards away the
silent Coin was gliding slowly onwards towards the
sea. Owls were breathing heavily in the hanging
wood, and a pair of otters were hunting in the pool.
As the two sat by the open window, the poet's own
life and its prospects formed the principal topic of
conversation. After years of toil in London his
fortunes were beginning at length to improve. He
was manager of a theatre, and was at length earning
a moderate competency. He had already saved a
little money, and hoped soon to buy a house at
Stratford. He looked forward some day to returning
to his native place and living a country life. At
present he was enjoying a short holiday, the first
for over a year.
As they sat and talked over these matters, a
minstrel began to play in one of the cottages of the
village ; the sound of the harp added another charm
to the peaceful surroundings, and filled the poet's
mind with a strange delight.
" I am never merry when I hear sweet music," said
Jessica. Whereupon her companion replied :
" ' . . . soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

268 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold :
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
StiU quiring to the young-eyed cherubins ;
Such harmony is in immortal souls ;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.'" '
Sweet is the sound of soft melodious music on a
moonlight night ; sweet the faint sigh of the breeze
among the elms, and the light upon the silent stream ;
but sweeter far is music on a moonlight night,
sweeter the faint sigh of the breeze, and the light
upon the silent stream, when hope, renewed after
years of sorrow and sadness, flatters once again the
aims and objects of youth, gilding the landscape of
life with wondrous alchemy, shedding rays of happy
sunshine on the vague, mysterious yearnings of the
soul of man towards the hidden destinies of the
boundless future.
It was not long, however, before Shakespeare bade
the fair Jessica good-night and retired to his sleeping
apartment ; for a run of such uncommon excellence
as he had enjoyed that day was calculated to produce
the tired, though not unpleasant, sensation which even
now sends the hunting man sleepy, though happy,
to bed.
So, lulled by the strains of the minstrel's harp did
William Shakespeare seek his couch and sleep the sleep
of the just. But even while the body was wrapped in
slumber, the highly wrought, powerful mind, though
' Merchant of Venice, V. i.

XIL] SHAKESPEARE'S DREAM 269
yet unconscious of its awful destiny, was hard at work,
" moving about in worlds not realised." Yonder on
the turret of that grey Gothic castle, whose pinnacles
point ever upwards to the skies, they stand and wait,
a glorious throng ; and as they stand they wave him
onwards. Dante, Homer, Virgil, Chaucer, Plutarch,
Montaigne, and many another hero of old is waiting
there. See the sharp-pointed features of the Italian
bard, and Homer no longer blind ! The two are
holding animated converse, and ever beckoning him
on. And a voice seemed to speak out loud and clear
amid the solemn silence of eternity :
"Heaven doth with us as we with torches do.
Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to fine issues." '
Can he linger ? Away with blank misgivings, fears,
and doubts ! He will climb the rugged, steep ascent,
and follow even unto the end.
The following morning a Httle before sunrise saw
a party of five assembled for a hawking expedition
on the downs. Besides the squire and William
Shakespeare, the parson had turned up, whilst Bill
Peregrine (ancestor of all the Peregrines, including,
no doubt, the famous Peregrine Pickle) brought one
of his brothers from the farm to " help him out "
with the hawks. It was somewhat of a peculiar
dawn — one of those dull grey mornings which often
' Measure for Measure, I. i.

270 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
bodes a fine day. The bard was much interested
in the glowing eastern sky, and as the sun began
to appear he turned to William Peregrine and
enthusiastically exclaimed :
"'.... what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east :
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.' " '
" To be sure, to be sure, it do look a bit comical,
don't it ? " answered the yeoman, with a cackle ; and
then, turning to his brother, he said, " Ain't 'e ever
seen the sun rise before ? "
" Please, squire, who be the gent from Warwick
shire ? " says Peregrine, sotto voce ; " I cannot tell
what the dickens his name is ! "
" Oh ! 'is name's Shakespy, William Shakespy. A
good un at his books, I'll be bound. Get the hawks,
Bill ; the sun be up. A' must be off to Stratford
shortly," answered the squire, glancing at the poet.
Whereupo^ the yeoman opened the door of a
long covered shed commonly called the " mews,"
and shortly appeared again with four hooded hawks
— two falcons, and two males or tiercel-gentles —
placed on a wooden frame or cadge. These he
handed to a stout yokel to carry, and the whole
party sallied forth towards the downs. The squire
and the parson were mounted on their palfreys, the
rest of the party being on foot.
It was not long before William Peregrine started
' Romeo and Juliet, III. v.

XIL] PEREGRINE AND THE POET. 271
an interesting conversation with the stranger some
what after this manner :
" Did you 'ave a pretty good day's spart yesterday.
Master Quakespear ? "
" Ah, that we had ! I never saw such a day's
sport in all my life ! "
" I thought ye did. I could see the 'art was tired
smartish. I qeum along by the bruk, and give un
the meeting. When I sees un I says, ' I can see
you've 'ad a smartish doing, old boy.' Then the
'ounds qeum yoppeting along as nice as could be.
Then I sees you and the 'untsman lolloping along
arter the dogs, and soon arter I 'urd the trumpets
goin' ; and so says I, ' It's a easel and I qeums up
and skins un. 'E did skin beautiful to be sure ! I
never see a better job in all my life — never ! "
" 'Twas a fine hart," replied Shakespeare, " and no
dull and muddy-mettled rascal ! " ^
" I be fond of a bit of spart like that," continued
Peregrine ; " but I never could away with books and
laming. Muddling work, I calls it, messing over books.
Do you care for that kind of stuff, Master Quake
spear ? "
" I dabble in it when I am away from the country,"
was the reply.
Then the Warwickshire man began soliloquising
again, somewhat after this manner :
" 'In his brain
He hath strange places crammed with observation.
The which he vents in mangled forms.' " ^
" Drat the fellow ! " whispered Peregrine, turning to
' Hamlet, II. iL ' As You Like It, II. vii.

272 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
the parson, who happened to be riding alongside.
" I don't hke un, 'e's so unkit."
Parson : " What makes him talk so, William ? "
PEREGRINE {touching his forehead) : " It's a case ;
I'll be bound it's a case. 'E's unkit."
" Would you mind saying that again, sir," said the
bard, producing a notebook.
Peregrine goes into a fit of giggling, so Shakespeare
writes down from memory ; whereupon the yeoman
makes up to the squire, and says, " Hist, squire, we
must 'ave a care ; 'e's takin' notes 'o anything we
says. 'Tis my belief 'e's got to do with that 'ere
case of Tom Barton's they're makin' such a fuss and
do about at Coin. We shall all be 'ung for a set o'
sheep-stealing ruffians."
" Thee be quite right, William," put in the parson.
" I thought a' looked a bit suspicious. If I was you,
squire, I'd clap the baggage into Northleach gaol, and
exercise the justice of the peace agin un for an idle
varmint." " Yet a milder mannered man I never saw," said
the squire.
Parson : " Mild-mannered fiddlestick ! " Then,
raising his voice so that the stranger should get the
full benefit, he added, " He's as mild a mannered man
as ever scuttled ship or cut a throat ! "
Shakespeare hurriedly draws out notebook, and
smiHngly writes down the parson's words ; then, in
perfect good humour, he says :
" You must excuse me, gentlemen, but I have some
what of a passion for writing down such sayings as suit
my humour, lest I forget what good company I keep."

XIL] METHODS OF FALCONRY. 273
Squire {excitedly): "Let go the hawk, Tom; there's
a great lanky heron risin' at the withybed yonder."
And here it is necessary to say something about
the methods and language of falconry as practised
by our forefathers.
Shakespeare tells us to choose " a falcon or tercel
for flying at the brook, and a hawk for the bush."
In other words, we are to select the nobler species,
the long-winged peregrine falcon, the male of which
was called a tiercel-gentle, for flying at the heron or
the mallard ; and a short-winged hawk, such as the
goshawk or sparrow-hawk, for blackbirds and other
hedgerow birds. For as Mr. Madden explains, not
only does the true falcon, be she peregrine, gerfalcon,
merlin, or hobby, differ in size and structure of wing
and beak from the short-winged hawks, but she also
differs in her method of hunting and seizing her
prey. The falcons are "hawks of the tower and lure."
They tower aloft and swoop down on partridge,
rabbit, or heron, finally returning to the lure ; and be
it noted that the lure is a sham bird, with a " train " of
food to entice the falcons back to their master.
The short-winged hawks, on the other hand, are
birds of the fist or the bush. Instead of " towerin? ''
o
and " stooping," they lurch after their prey in
wandering flight, finally returning to their master's fist.
In Macbeth we find allusion to the "falcon
towering in her pride of place " ; and indeed there is
no prettier sport on a still day than a flight at the
partridge or the heron with the noble peregrine
falcon or her mate the tiercel-gentle.

274 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch.
At the honest squire's word of command, a male
peregrine is forthwith despatched, and, soaring up
wards into the air, he is almost lost to sight in the
clouds, though the faint tinkling of the bells attached
to his feet may yet be heard ; then, stooping from
the skies, the tiercel-gentle descends from the heavens
and strikes his long-beaked adversary. Down, down
they come, fighting and struggling in the air, until,
exhausted by the unequal combat, the heron gradually
falls to the ground, and receives from the falconer his
final coup de grdce. Sometimes a pair of hawks are
thrown off against a heron.
Now comes a flight at the partridge. First of all
the spaniel is despatched to search the fields for a
covey of birds. The desired quarry being found, he
" points " to them, and this time the female peregrine
or true falcon is sent on her way. Away she soars
upwards, " waiting on and towering in her pride
of place." Then the birds, lying like stones beneath
her savage ken, are flushed by the dog, and the cruel
peregrine, after selecting her bird, with her character
istic "swoop" brings it to the ground. If she is
unsuccessful in her first attempt, she will tower again,
and renew the attack. The riders have to gallop as
fast as their nags can go, if they would keep in with
the sport, for as often as not a mile or more of
ground has to be covered in a long flight, ere the
falcon " souses " ^ her prey. After the flight, a well-
trained falcon will invariably return to the lure with
its " train " of food.
As Mr. Madden has proved, the whole of
' King John, V. ii.

XIL] PEREGRINE VIEWS A FOX. 275
Shakespeare's works teem with allusions to the art
of falconry. " Henry : But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
To see how God in aU His creatures works !
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
Suffolk : No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ;
They know their master loves to be aloft
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
Gloucester : My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar." '
But it was not the death of the poor partridge that
appealed to the poet's mind so much as the pride
and cunning of the mighty peregrine, and the beauty
and stillness of the autumnal morning. He loved to
hear the faint tinkling of the falcon's bells, the
homely cry of the plover, and the sweet carol of
the lark ; but more than all he felt the mystery of the
downs, wondering by what power and when those old
seas were converted into a sea of grass.
But whilst the hawking party was moving slowly
across the wolds to try fresh ground an event
occurred which had the effect of bringing the morn
ing's sport, as far as hawks were concerned, to an
abrupt conclusion. This was nothing more nor less
than the sight of a great Cotswold fox of the grey
hound breed making his way towards a copse on the
squire's demesne. The quick eye of the Peregrine
family was the first to view him, and forthwith both
Bill and his brother screamed in unison : " What's
' 2 Henry VI, II. i.

276 THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [Ch. XII.
that sneaking across Smoke Acre yonder? 'Tis a
fox— a great, lanky, thieving, villainous fox, darned
if it ain't ! "
" Where ? " said parson and squire excitedly.
" There," said Peregrine, " over agin Smoke Acre."
" By jabbers, so it be I " said the parson. " Now
look thee here, Joe Peregrine, go thee to the sexton
and tell 'un to ring the church bells for the folks to
come for a fox ; and be sure and tell the church
wardens." " Ah ! " said the poet, almost as excited as the rest
of the party,
" ' And do not stand on quillets how to slay him :
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how.
So he be dead.' " '
Thus abruptly ended this hawking expedition on
the Cotswolds ; for the whole party made off to the
manor house to fetch guns, spades, pickaxes, and
dogs, as was the custom in those days, when a "lanky,
villainous fox " was viewed.
As for Shakespeare, after bidding adieu to the old
squire, and thanking him for his hospitality, he
mounted his game little Irish hobby and steered his
course due northward for Stow-on-the-Wold. His
track lay along the old Fossway, a road infested
in those days by murderous highwaymen ; yet, un
armed and unattended, unknown and unappreciated,
did that mighty man of genius set cheerfully out
on his long and solitary way.
> 2 Henry VI. , III. i.

CHAPTER XIII.

CIRENCESTER.

THE ancient town of Cirencester — the Caerceri of
the early Britons, the Corinium of the Romans,
and the Saxon Cyrencerne — has been a place of
importance on the Cotswolds from time immemorial.
The abbreviations Cisetre and Cysseter were in use
as long ago as the fifteenth century, though some of
the natives are now in the habit of calling it Ciren.
The correct modern abbreviation is Ciceter.
The place is so rich in Roman antiquities that we
must perforce devote a few lines to their considera
tion. A whole book would not be sufficient to do
full justice to them. 277

278 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
No less than four important Roman roads meet
within a short distance of Cirencester ; and very fine
and broad ones they are, generally running as straight
as the proverbial arrow.
I. The Irmin Way, between Cricklade and
Gloucester, vid Cirencester.
2. Acman Street connects Cirencester with Bath.
3. Icknield Street, running to Oxford.
4. The Fossway, extending far into the north of
England. This magnificent road may be said to
connect Exeter in the south with Lincoln in the
north. It is raised several feet above the natural
level of the country, and in many places there still
remain traces of the ancient ditch which was dug on
either side of its course.
In the year 1849 two very fine tessellated pave
ments were unearthed in Dyer Street, and removed to
a museum which Lord Bathurst built purposely for
their reception and preservation. Another fine speci-
of this kind of work may be seen in its original
position at a house called the " Barton " in the park.
It is a representation of Orpheus and his lute ; and
the various animals which he is said to have charmed
are wonderfully worked in the coloured pavements.
Even as far back as three hundred years ago these
beautiful relics were being discovered in this town ; for
Leland in his " Itinerary," mentions the finding of some
tesserae ; unfortunately but few have been preserved.
There are two inscribed stones in this collection
which deserve special mention, as they are marvel
lously well preserved, considering the fact that they
are probably eighteen hundred years old. They are

XIII.] ROMAN REMAINS. 279
about six feet in height and about half that breadth ;
on each is carved the figure of a mounted soldier,
spear in hand. On the ground lies his prostrate foe,
pierced by his adversary's spear. Underneath one of
these carvings are inscribed the following words : —
DANNICVS. EQES. AIAE.
INDIAN. TVR. ALBANI.
STIP. XVI. GIVES. RAVR.
CVR. FVLVIVS. NATALIS. IT.
F. . . VIVS. BITVCVS. EX. TESTAME.
H S E.
The meaning of the above words is as follows : —
" Dannicus, a horseman of Indus's Cavalry, of the
squadron of Albanus. He had seen sixteen years'
service. A citizen of Rauricum. Fulvius Natalis and
Fulvius Bitucus have caused this monument to be
made in accordance with his will. He is buried
here." The other stone has a somewhat similar inscription.
The Romans, who did not use wallpapers, were in
the habit of colouring their plaster with various
pigments. Some very interesting specimens of wall-
painting are preserved at Cirencester, and may be
seen in the museum. The most remarkable example
of the kind is a piece of coloured plaster, with the
following square scratched on its surface : —
ROTAS
OPERA TENET
A R E P O
S A T O R

28o CIRENCESTER. [CH
It will be noticed that these five words, the mean
ing of which is, " Arepo, the sower, guides the wheels
at work," form a kind of puzzle ; they may be read
in eight different directions.
A large variety of sepulchral urns have been found
at Cirencester. When dug up they usually contain
little besides the ashes of the dead, though a few
coins are sometimes included. There is a very perfect
specimen of a glass urn — a large green bottle, square,
wide-mouthed, and absolutely intact — in this collection.
It was found, wrapped in lead and enclosed in a
hollow stone, somewhere near the town about the
year 1758.
A fine specimen of a stone coffin is likewise to be
seen. When discovered at Latton it was found to
contain an iron axe, a dish of black ware of the kind
frequently discovered at Upchurch in Kent, a juglike-
handled vase of a light red colour, and some human
bones. The various kinds of pottery in the Corinium
Museum are interesting on account of the potters'
marks found on them. There must be considerably
over a hundred different marks in this collection,
chiefly of the following kind : —
Putri M. (ManCl Putri), by the hand of Putrus.
Marci. F. (Formi Marci), from the mould of
Marcus. Olini Off. (Officina Olini), from the workshop of
Ohnus. The museum contains many good specimens of iron
and bronze implements, as well as coins and stone
work, and is well worthy of the attention bestowed

XIII.] THE CORINIUM MUSEUM. 281
on it, not only by antiquaries, but by the public at
large. At a place called the Querns, a short distance from
the town, is a very interesting old amphitheatre
called the Bull-ring. This is an ellipse of about sixty
yards long by forty-five wide ; it is surrounded by
mounds twenty feet high. Originally the scene of
the combats of Roman gladiators, in mediaeval times
it was probably used for the pastime of bull-baiting,
a barbarous amusement which has happily long since
died out.
Amphitheatres of the same type are to be seen at
Dorchester, Old Sarum, Silchester, and other Roman
stations. Mr. Wilfred Cripps, C.B., the head of a family that
has been seated at Cirencester for many hundreds of
years, has an interesting private collection of Roman
antiquities which have been found in the neighbour
hood from time to time. He has quite recently
discovered the remnants of the Basilica or Roman
law-courts. Turning to the place as it now stands, one is
struck on entering the town by the breadth and
clean appearance of the main street, known as the
market-place. The shops are almost as good as
those to be found in the principal thoroughfares of
London. I have spoken before of the magnificent old
church. There is, perhaps, no sacred building, except
St. Mary Redchffe at Bristol and Beverley Minster
that we know of in England which for perfect
proportion and symmetry can vie with the imposing

282 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
grandeur of this pile, as seen from the Cricklade-
street end of Cirencester market-place.
The south porch is a very beautiful and ornamental
piece of architecture. The work is of fifteenth-century
design, the interior of the porch consisting of deli
cately wrought fan-tracery groining. The carving out
side is most picturesque, there being many handsome
niches and six fine oriel windows. The whole of the
facade is crowned with very large pierced battlements
and crocketed pinnacles. Over this porch is one of
those grand old sixteenth-century halls such as were
built in former times in front of the churches. It is
called the " Parvise," a word derived from the same
source as Paradise, which in the language of archi
tecture means a cloistered court adjoining a church.
Many of these beautiful old apartments existed at
one time in England, but were pulled down by
religious enthusiasts because they were considered to
be out of place when attached to the church and used
for secular purposes. This is now known as the
town hall, and contrasts very favourably with the
hideous erections built in modern times in some of
our English towns for this purpose.
The church of Cirencester contains a large amount
of beautiful Perpendicular work.
In the grand old tower are twelve bells of excellent
tone. The Early English stonework in the chancel
and chapels is very curious, a fine arch opening from
the nave to the tower. There is, in fact, a great deal
to be seen on all sides which would delight the lover
of architecture.
Some ancient brasses of great interest and beauti-

XIII.] CIRENCESTER HOUSE. 283
ful design in various parts of this church claim
attention; the earhest of them is as old as 1360;
a pulpit cloth of blue velvet, made from the cape
of one Ralph Parsons in 1478 and presented by
him, is still preserved.
Cirencester House stands but a stone's throw
from the railway station, but is hidden from sight
by a high wall and a gigantic yew hedge. Behind
it and on all sides, save one, the park — one of the
largest in England — stretches away for miles. So
beautiful and rural are the surroundings that the
visitor to the house can hardly realise that the place
is not far removed from the busy haunts of men.
The Cirencester estate was purchased by Sir
Benjamin Bathurst rather more than two hundred years
ago. This family has done good service to their king
and country for many centuries. We read the other
day that no less than six of Sir Benjamin's brothers
died fighting for the king in the Civil Wars. Nor
have they been less conspicuous in serving their
country in times of peace.
The park, which was designed to a great extent
by the first earl, with the assistance of Pope, has been
entirely thrown open to the people of Cirencester ;
and " the future and as yet visionary beauties of
the noble scenes, openings, and avenues " which that
great poet used to delight in dwelling upon have
become accomplished facts. The " ten rides " — lengthy
avenues of fine trees radiating in all directions from
a central point in the middle of the park — are a
picturesque feature of the landscape.
The lover of horses and riding finds here a

284 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
paradise of grassy glades, where he can gallop
for miles on end, and tire the most obstinate of
" pullers." Picnic parties, horse shows, cricket matches, and
the chase of the fox all find a place in this romantic
demesne in their proper seasons. The enthusiast
for woodland hunting, or the man who hates the
sight of a fence of any description, may hunt the
fox here day after day and never leave the recesses
of the park.
The antiquary will find much to delight him.
Here is the ancient high cross, erected in the four
teenth century, which once stood in front of the
old Ram Inn. The pedestal is hewn from a single
block of stone, and beautifully wrought with Gothic
arcades and panelled quatrefoils ; this and the shaft
are the sole relics of the old cross. We may go
into raptures over the ivy-covered ruin known as
Alfred's Hall, fitted up as it is with black oak and
rusty armour and all the pompous simplicity of
the old baronial halls of England. Antiquaries of
a certain order are easily deceived ; and this delightful
old ruin, though but two hundred years old, has
been so skilfully put together as to represent an
ancient British castle. That celebrated, though in
delicate divine, Dean Swift, was, like Alexander Pope,
deeply interested in the designing of this park.
As long ago as 1733 Alfred's Hall was a snare and
delusion to antiquaries. In that year Swift received
a letter stating that " My Lord Bathurst has greatly
improved the Wood-House, which you may remember
was a cottage, not a bit better than an Irish cabin.

XIII.] THE ABBEY. 285
It is now a venerable castle, and has been taken
by an antiquary for one of King Arthur's."
The kennels of the V.W.H. hounds are in the
park. Here the lover of hounds can spend hours
discussing the merits of " Songster " and " Rosebud,"
or the latest and most promising additions to the
families of " Brocklesby Acrobat " or " Cotteswold
Flier." In this house are some very interesting portraits.
Full-length pictures of the members of the Cabal
Ministry adorn the dining-room — all fine examples of
Lely's brush ; then there is a very large representation
of the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo mounted on
his favourite charger " Copenhagen " by Lawrence ; two
" Romneys," one " Sir Joshua," and several "Knellers."
Turning to the Abbey, the seat for the last three
hundred and thirty years of the Master family, we
find another instance of a large country house stand
ing practically in a town. The house is situated
immediately behind the church and within a stone's
throw of the market-place. But on the side away
from the town the view from this house extends over
a large extent of rural scenery. The site of the
mitred Abbey of Saint Mary is somewhere hereabouts,
but in the time of the suppression of the monasteries
every stone of the old abbey was pulled down and
carried away ; so that the twelfth-century gateway
and some remnants of pillars are the sole traces that
remain. This gateway, which is a very fine one, is still
used as a lodge entrance. Queen Elizabeth granted
this estate to Richard Master in 1564. When King
Charles was at Cirencester in the time of the Rebellion

286 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
he twice stayed at this house. In 1642 the towns
people of Cirencester rose in a body, and tried to
prevent the lord lieutenant of the county, Lord
Chandos, from carrying out the King's Commission
of Array. For a time they gained their ends, but
in the following year there was a sharp encounter
between Prince Rupert's force and the people of
Cirencester, resulting in the total defeat of the latter.
Three hundred of them were killed, and over a
thousand taken prisoners. They were confined in
the church, and eventually taken to Oxford, where,
upon their submitting humbly to the king, he pardoned
them, and they were released. This is one account.
It is only fair to state that another account is less
complimentary to Charles.
When Charles II. escaped from Worcester he put
up at an old hostelry in Cirencester called the Sun.
King James and, still later. Queen Anne paid visits
to this town.
Altogether the town of Cirencester is a very
fascinating old place. The lot of its inhabitants is
indeed cast in pleasant places. The grand bracing
air of the Cotswold Hills is a tonic which drives dull
care away from these Gloucestershire people ; and
when it is remembered that they enjoy the freedom
of Lord Bathurst's beautiful park, that the neigh
bourhood is, in spite of agricultural depression, well off
in this world's goods, it is not surprising that the pallid
cheeks and drooping figures to be met with in most
of our towns are conspicuous by their absence here.
The Cotswold farmers may be making no profit in
these days of low prices and competition, but against

XIII.] THE "MOP" OR HIRING-FAIR. 287
this must be set the fact that their fathers and
grandfathers made considerable fortunes in farming
three decades ago, and for this we must be thankful.
The merry capital of the Cotswolds abounds in
good cheer and good fellowship all the year round ;
and one has only to pay a visit to the market-place
on a Monday to meet the best of fellows and the
most genial sportsmen anywhere to be found amongst
the farming community of England.
One of the old institutions which still remain in
the Cotswolds is the annual "mop," or hiring fair.
At Cirencester these take place twice in October.
Every labouring man in the district hurries into the
town, where all sorts of entertainments are held in
the market-place, including " whirly-go-rounds," dis
cordant music, and the usual " shows " which go to
make up a country fair. " Hiring " used to be the
great feature of these fairs. In the days before local
newspapers were invented every sort of servant, from
a farm bailiff to a maid-of-all-work, was hired for
the year at the annual mop. The word " mop " is
derived from an old custom which ordained that the
maid-servants who came to find situations should
bring their badge of office with them to the fair.
They came with their brooms and mops, just as a
carter would tie a piece of whipcord to his coat,
and a shepherd's hat would be decorated with a tuft
of wool. Time was when the labouring man was
never happy unless he changed his abode from year
to year. He would get tired of one master and one
village, and be off to Cirencester mop, where he
was pretty sure to get a fresh job. But nowadays

288 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
the Cotswold men are beginning to realise that " Two
removes are as bad as a fire." The best of them
stay for years in the same village. This is very
much more satisfactory for all concerned. Deeply
rooted though the love of change appears to be in
the hearts of nine-tenths of the human race, the
restless spirit seldom enjoys real peace and quiet ;
and the discontent and poverty of the labouring class
in times gone by may safely be attributed to their
never-ceasing changes and removal of their belong
ings to other parts of the country.
Now that these old fairs no longer answer the
purpose for which they existed for hundreds of years,
they will doubtless gradually die out. And they
have their drawbacks. An occasion of this kind is
always associated with a good deal of drunkenness ;
the old market-place of Cirencester for a few days
in each autumn becomes a regular pandemonium.
It is marvellous how quickly all traces of the great
show are swept away and the place once more settles
down to the normal condition of an old-fashioned
though well-to-do country town.
There are many old houses in Cirencester of more
than average interest, but there is nothing as far as
we know that needs special description. The Fleece
Hotel is one of the largest and most beautiful of the
mediaeval buildings. It should be noted that some
of the new buildings in this town, such as that which
eontains the post office, have been erected in the best
possible taste. With the exception of some of the
work which Mr. Bodley has done at Oxford in
recent years, notably the new buildings at Magdalen

XIII.] A GREAT HUNTING CENTRE. 289
College, we have never seen modern architecture
of greater excellence than these Cirencester houses.
They are as picturesque as houses containing shops
possibly can be.
Hunting from Ciceter.
But it is as a hunting centre that Ciceter is best
known to the world at large, and in this respect it is
almost unique. The " Melton of the west," it con
tains a large number of hunting residents who are
not mere "birds of passage," but men who live the
best part of the year in or near the town. The
country round about, from a hunting point of view,
is good enough for most people. Five days a week
can be enjoyed, over a variety of hill and vale, all
of which is " rideable " ; nor can there be any
question but that the sport obtainable compares
favourably with that enjoyed in the more grassy
Midlands. Not that there is much plough round
about Cirencester nowadays ; agricultural depression
has diminished the amount of arable in recent years.
The best grass country round about, however, with
the exception of the Crudwell and Oaksey district,
rides decidedly deep. The enclosures are small and
the fences rough and straggling.
A clever, bold horse, with plenty of jumping power
in his quarters and hocks, is essential. It may safely
be said that a man who can command hounds in the
Braydon and Swindon district will find the " shires "
comparatively plain sailing. The wall country of
the Cotswold tableland is exactly the reverse of the
vale. The pace there is often tremendous, but the
19

290 rciRENCESTER. [Ch.
obstacles are not formidable enough to those accus
tomed to walls to keep the eager field from pressing
the pack, save on those rare occasions when, on a
burning scent, the hounds manage to get a start of
horses ; and then they will never be caught. Well-
bred horses are almost invariably ridden in this wall
country ; if in hard condition, and there are no steep
hills to be crossed, they can go as fast and stay
almost as long as hounds, for the going is good, and
they are always galloping on the top of the ground.
At the time of writing, there are over two hundred
hunters stabled in the little town of Cirencester, to
say nothing of those kept at the numerous hunting
boxes around. More than this need not be said to
show the undoubted popularity of the place as a
hunting centre. And a very sporting lot the people
are. Brought up to the sport from the cradle, the
Gloucestershire natives, squires, farmers, all sorts and
conditions of men, ride as straight as a die.
From what has been said it will be readily gathered
that the attraction of the place as a hunting centre
lies in the variety of country it commands. Not
only is a different stamp of country to be met with
each day of the week, but on one and the same day
you may be riding over banks, small flying fences,
and sound grass, or deep ploughs and pasture divided
by hairy bullfinches, or, again, over light plough and
stone walls ; and to this fact may be attributed the
exceptional number of good performers over a country
that this district turns out. Both men and horses
have always appeared to us to reach a very high
standard of cleverness.

XIII.] A GREAT HUNTING CENTRE. 291
To Leicestershire, Northants, Warwick, and the
Vale of Aylesbury belongs by undisputed right the
credit of the finest grass country in hunting England.
But for Ireland and the rougher shires I claim the
honour of showing not only the straightest foxes, but
also the best sportsmen and the boldest riders. The
reason seems to me to be this : in Leicestershire you
find the field composed largely of smart London
men ; and after a certain age a man " goes to
hounds " in inverse ratio to the pace at which he
travels as a man about town. The latter (with a
few brilliant exceptions to prove the rule) is not
so quick and determined when he sees a nasty
piece of timber or an awkward hairy fence as his
reputation at the clubs would lead you to expect ;
whilst the rougher countryman, be he yeoman or
squire, farmer or peer, endowed with nerves of iron,
is able to cross a country with a confidence and
a dash that are denied to the average dandy, with
his big stud, immaculate " leathers," and expensive
cigars. In Gloucestershire many an honest yeoman
goes out twice a week and endeavours to drown
for a while all thoughts of hard times and low
prices, content for the day if the fates have left him
a sound horse and the consolation of a gallop over
the grass. Let it here be said that there are no
grooms in the world who better understand condi
tioning hunters than those of Leicestershire. No
where can you see horses better bred or fitter to
go ; and he who rides a-hunting on fat horses must
himself be fat.
The V.W.H. hounds, on Mr. Hoare's retirement

292 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
in 1886, were divided into two packs. Mr. T. Butt
Miller hunts three days a week on the eastern side,
with Cricklade as his centre ; whilst Lord Bathurst
has sufficient ground for two days on the west,
where the country flanks with the Duke of Beaufort's
domain on the south and the Cotswold hounds on
the north. Mr. Miller retains the original pack, and
a very fine one it is. Lord Bathurst likewise, by
dint of sparing no pains, and by bringing in the best
blood obtainable from Belvoir, Brocklesby, and other
kennels, has gradually brought his pack to a high
state of excellence.
Turning to the week's programme for a man
hunting five or six days a week from Cirencester,
Monday is the day for the duke's hounds. Here
you may be riding over some of the best of the
grass, where light flying fences grow on the top of
low banks, or else it will be a stone-wall country of
mixed grass and light plough. In either case the
country is very rideable, and sport usually excellent.
The Badminton hounds and Lord Worcester's skill
as a huntsman are too well known to require any
description here.
On Tuesday Lord Bathurst's hounds are always
within seven miles of the town, and the country is
a very open one, but one that requires plenty of wet
to carry scent. Though on certain days there is but
little scent, in favourable seasons during recent years
wonderful sport has been shown in this country.
In the season of 1895-6 especially, a fine gallop
came off regularly every Tuesday from October to
the end of February. In 'gj, on the other hand,

XIII.] THE WALL COUNTRY. 293
little was done. There is far more grass than there
used to be, owing to so much of the land having
gone out of cultivation. The plough rides lighter
than grass does in nine counties out of ten, the
coverts are small, and the pace often tremendous.
Every country has its drawback, and in this case it
lies partly in bad scent and partly in the fences being
too easy. Men who know the walls with which the
Cotswold tableland is almost entirely enclosed, ride
far too close to hounds : thus, the pack and the
huntsman not being allowed a chance, sport is often
spoiled. Occasionally, when a real scent is forth
coming, the hounds can run right away from the
field ; but as a rule they are shamefully over-ridden.
The fact is that in the hunting field, as elsewhere,
John Wolcot's epigram, written a hundred years ago,
exactly hits the nail on the head :
" What rage for fame attends both great and small I
Better be d  d than mentioned not at all."
We all want to ride in the front rank, and are,
or ought to be, d  d accordingly by the long-
suffering M.F.H.
On Wednesdays the Cotswold hounds are always
within easy reach of Cirencester. There are few
better packs than the Cotswold. Started forty
years ago with part of the V.W.H. pack which Lord
Gifford was giving up, the Cotswold hounds have
received strains of the best blood of the Brocklesby,
Badminton, Belvoir, and Berkeley kennels. They
have therefore both speed and stamina as well as
good noses. Their huntsman, Charles Travess, has

294 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
no superior as far as we know ; the result is that
for dash and drive these hounds are unequalled.
Notwithstanding the severe pace at which they are
able to run, owing to the absence of high hedges
and other impediments— ^for most of the country is
enclosed with stone walls — they hunt marvellously
well together and do not tail ; they are wonderfully
musical, too, — more so than any other pack.
Here it is worth our while to analyse briefly the
quahties which combine to make this huntsman so
deservedly popular with all who follow the Cotswold
hounds. We venture to say that he pleases all and
sundry, " thrusters," hound-men, and liver-men alike,
because he invariably has a double object in view —
he hunts his fox and he humours his field. And
firstly he hunts his fox in the best possible method,
having regard to the scenting capabilities of the
Cotswold Hills.
He is quick as lightning, yet he is never in a
hurry — that is to say, in a " bad hurry." When the
hounds " throw up '' or " check," like all other good
huntsmen he gives them plenty of time. He stands
still and he makes his field stand still; then maybe
seen that magnificent proof of canine brain-power,
the fan-shaped forward movement of a well-drafted,
old-established pack of foxhounds, making good by
two distinct casts — right- and left-handed — the ground
that Hes in front of them and on each side. Should
they fail to hit off the line, the advantage of a
brilliant huntsman immediately asserts itself Partly
by certain set rules and partly by a knowledge of
the country and the run of foxes, but more than all

XIII.] A POPULAR HUNTSMAN. 295
by that daring genius which was the making of
Shakespeare and the great men of all time, he takes
his hounds admirably in hand, aided by two quiet,
unassuming whippers-in, and in four cases out of five
brings them either at the first or second cast to the
very hedgerow where five minutes before Reynard
took his sneaking, solitary way. It may be " for
ward," or it may be down wind, right- or left-handed,
but it is at all events the right way ; thus, owing
to this happy knack of making the proper cast at a
large percentage of checks this man establishes his
reputation as a first-class huntsman.
Should the day be propitious, a run is now assured,
unless some unforeseen occurrence, such as the fox
going to ground, necessitates a draw for a fresh one ;
but in any case, owing to this marvellous knack of
hitting off the line at the first check, our huntsman
generally contrives to show a run some time during
the day.
So much for the methods by which this William
Shakespeare of the hunting field is wont to pursue
his fox. But we have not done with him yet. What
does he do on those bad scenting days which on the
dry and stony Cotswold Hills are the rule rather
than the exception? On such days, as well as
hunting his fox, he humours his field. In the first
place, unless he has distinct proof to the contrary, he
invariably gives his fox credit for being a straight-
necked one. He keeps moving on at a steady pace
in the direction in which his instinct and knowledge
lead him, even though there may be no scent, either
on the ground or in the air, to guide the hounds.

296 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
Every piece of good scenting ground — and he knows
the capabilities of every field in this respect — is made
the most of ; " carrying " or dusty ploughs are scrup
ulously avoided. If he " lifts," it is done so quietly
and cunningly that the majority of the riders are
unaware of the fact ; and the hounds never become
wild and untractable. It is this free and generous
method of hunting the fox that pleases his followers.
Travess's casts are not made in cramped and stingy
fashion, but a wide extent of country is covered even
on a bad day ; there is no rat-hunting. After a time
all save a dozen sportsmen are left several fields
behind. " They won't run to-day," is the general
cry ; " there is no hurry." But meantime some large
grass fields are met with, or the huntsman brings the
pack on to better terms with the fox, or maybe a
fresh one jumps up, and away go the hounds for
seven or eight minutes as hard as they can pelt.
Only a dozen men know exactly what has happened.
Most of the thrusters and all the liver-men have to
gallop in earnest for half an hour to come up with the
hunt ; indeed, on many days they never see either
huntsman or hounds again, and go tearing about the
country cursing their luck in missing so fine a run !
It is the old story of the hare and the tortoise. But
herein lies the " humour " of it : the hare is pleased
and the tortoise is pleased. The former, as represented
by the field, has enjoyed a fine scamper, and lots of
air (bother the currant jelly ! ) and exercise ; the
tortoise, on the other hand, has had a fine hunting run,
and possibly by creeping slowly on for some hours
it has killed its fox ; whilst several good sportsmen

XIII.] THE COTSWOLD HOUNDS. 297
have enjoyed an old-fashioned hunt in a wild country
with a kill in the open.
Verbum sap : If you want to humour your field,
you must leave them behind. It must not be done
intentionally, however ; the riders must be allowed,
so to speak, to work out their own salvation in this
respect. Major de Freville's country as a whole is more suited
to the " houndman " than for him who hunts to ride.
The hills, save in one district, are so severe that
hounds often beat horses ; the result is, many are
tempted to station themselves on the top of a hill,
whence a wide view is obtainable, and trust to the
hounds coming back after running a ring. Given
the right sort of horse, however — short-backed,
thoroughbred if possible, and with good enough
manners to descend a steep place without boring
and tearing his rider's arms almost out of their
sockets — many a fine run may be seen in this wild
district. Much of the arable land has gone back to
grass, so that it is quite a fair scenting country ; and
the foxes are stronger and more straight-necked than
in more civiHsed parts. One of the best days the
writer ever had in his life was with these hounds.
Meeting at Puesdown, they ran for an hour in the
morning at a great pace, with an eight-mile point ;
whilst in the afternoon came a run of one-and-a-half
hours, with a point of somewhere about ten miles.
With the exception of a small vale between
Cheltenham and Tewkesbury, which is very good
indeed, the Puesdown country is about the best, the
undulations being less severe than in other parts.

298 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
On Thursdays Cirencester commands Mr. Miller's
Braydon country. This country is a very great
contrast to that which is ridden over on Tuesdays
and Wednesdays, and requires a very stout horse.
It rides tremendously deep at times ; and the fences,
which come very frequently in a run, owing to the
small size of the enclosures, are both big and blind.
It is practically all grass. But there are several
large woodlands, with deep clay rides, in which one
is not unlikely to spend a part of Thursday ; and
these woods, owing in part to the shooting being
let to Londoners, are none too plentifully provided
with foxes. Wire, too, has sprung up in some parts
of Mr. Miller's Braydon country. Few people have
large enough studs to stand the wear and tear of
this fine, wild country ; consequently the fields are
generally small. Sport, though not so good as it
used to be, is still very fair, and to run down to
Great Wood in the duke's country is sufficient to
tax the powers of the finest weight-carrying hunter,
whilst only the man with a quick eye to a country
can live with hounds. It is often stated that blood
horses are the best for galloping through deep
ground. This is true in one way, though not on
the whole. Thoroughbred horses are practically
useless in this sort of country ; their feet are often
so small that they stick in the deep clay. A horse
with small feet is no good at all in Braydon. A
short-legged Irish hunter, about three parts bred, with
tremendous strength in hocks and quarters, and
biggish feet, is the sort the writer would choose. If
up to quite two stone more than his rider's weight,

III.] THE BRAYDON COUNTRY. 299
and a safe and temperate fencer, he will carry you
well up with hounds over any country. A fast horse
is not required ; for a racer that can do the mile
on the flat at Newmarket in something under two
minutes is reduced in really deep ground to an eight-
mile-an-hour canter, and your short-legged horse
from the Emerald Isle will leave him standing still
in the Braydon Vale.
Some countries never ride really deep. The shires,
for instance, though often said to be deep, will seldom
let a horse in to any great extent — the ridge and
furrow drains the field so well ; and in that sort of
deep ground which is met with in Leicestershire a
thoroughbred one will gallop and " stay " all day.
But a ride in Braydon or in the Bicester " Claydons "
will convince us that a stouter stamp of horse
is necessary to combat a deep, undrained clay
country. We must now leave the sporting Thursday country
of the V.W.H. and turn to Friday.
Eastcourt, Crudwell, Oaksey, Brinkworth, Lea
Schools — such are some of Lord Bathurst's Friday
meets ; and the pen can hardly write fast enough in
singing the praises of this country. Strong, well-
preserved coverts, sound grass fields, flying fences,
sometimes set on a low bank, sometimes without a
bank, varied by an occasional brook, with now and
then a fence big enough to choke off all but the
" customers " — such is the bill of fare for Fridays. To
run from Stonehill Wood, vid Charlton and Garsdon,
to Redborn in the duke's country, as the hounds did
on the first day of 1 897, is, as " Brooksby " would say.

30O CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
" a line fit for a king, be that king but well minded
and well mounted."
Stand on Garsdon Hill, and look down on the
grassy vale mapped out below, and tell me, if you
dare, that you ever saw a pleasanter stretch of
country. How dear to the hunting man are green
fields and sweet-scenting pastures, where the fences
are fair and clean and the ditches broad and deep,
where there is room to gallop and room to jump, and
where, as he sails along on a well-bred horse or re
clines perchance in a muddy ditch (Professor Raleigh !
what a watery bathos !), he may often say to himself,
"It is good for me to be here ! " For when the
hounds cross this country there are always " wigs
on the green " in abundance ; and in spite of barbed
wire we may still sing with Horace,
"Nee fortuitum spernere caespitem
Leges sinebant,"
which, at the risk of offending all classical scholars, I
must here translate : " Nor do the laws allow us to
despise a chance tumble on the turf"
Round Oaksey, too, is a rare galloping ground.
Should you be lucky enough to get a start from
" Flistridge " and come down to the brook at a
jumpable place, in less than ten minutes you will be,
if not in Paradise, at all events as near as you are
ever likely to be on this earth. This is literally true,
for half way between " Flistridge " and Kemble
Wood, and in the midst of Elysian grass fields, is a
narrow strip of covert happily christened " Paradise."
Would that there was a larger extent of this sort

XIII.] V.W.H. COUNTRY. 301
of country, for it is not every Friday that hounds
cross it! The duke's hounds have a happy knack
of crossing it occasionally on a Monday, however, and
on Thursdays Mr. Miller's hounds may drive a fox
that way.
This district is not so easy for a stranger to ride his
own line over as the Midlands ; it is not half so stiff,
but it is often cramped and trappy. But then you
must " look before you leap " in most countries nowa
days. In this Friday country wire is comparatively
scarce. The fields run very large on this day, — quite
two hundred horsemen are to be seen at favourite
fixtures. About half this number would belong to
the country, and the other half come from the duke's
country and elsewhere. These Friday fields are as
well mounted and well appointed as any in England.
And to see a run one must have a good horse, — not
necessarily an expensive one, for " good " and " ex
pensive " are by no means synonymous terms with
regard to horseflesh. It is with regret that we must
add that foxes were decidedly scarce here last
season (1897-8).
On Saturdays the Cirencester brigade will hunt
with Mr. Miller. Fairford, Lechlade, Kempsford, and
Water-Eaton are some of the meets. Here we have
a totally different country from any yet considered.
It is a wonderfully sporting one ; and last season
these hounds never had a bad Saturday, and often a
" cUnker " resulted. Here again one can never an
ticipate what sort of ground will be traversed ; but
the best of it consists of a fine open country of grass
and plough intermingled, the fields being intersected

302 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
by small flying fences and exceptionally wide and
deep ditches. " Snowstorm " — a small gorse half way
between Fairford and Lechlade stations on the Great
Western Railway — is a favourite draw. If a fox goes
away you see men sitting down in their saddles and
cramming at the fences as hard as their horses can
gallop. There appears to be nothing to jump until
you are close up to the fence ; but nevertheless pace
is required to clear them, for there is hardly a ditch
anywhere round " Snowstorm " that is not ten feet
wide and eight feet or more deep, and if you are
unlucky your horse may have to clear fourteen feet.
On the other hand, there is absolutely nothing that
a horse going fast cannot clear almost without an
effort if he jumps at all. So you may ride in confi
dence at every fence, and take it where you please.
The depth of the ditch is what frightens a timid
horse and, I may add, a timid rider ; and if your
horse stops dead, and then tries to jump it standing,
you are very apt to tumble in.
A rare sporting country is this district ; and as the
horses and their riders know it, there are comparatively
few falls. Round Kempsford and Lechlade the Thames
and the canal are apt to get in the way, but once clear
of these impediments a very open country is entered,
either of grass and flying fences or light plough and
stone walls. Another style of country is that round
Hannington and Crouch. In old days, before wire
was known, this used to be the best grass country
in the V.W.H., but nowadays you must "look before
you leap." With a good fox, however, hounds may
take you into the best of the old Berkshire vale, and

XIII.] THE HEYTHROP HOUNDS. 303
perhaps right up to the Swindon Hills. Round
Water-Eaton is a fine grass country, good enough
for anybody ; but the increase of wire is becoming
more and more difficult to combat in this as in other
grazing districts of England.
The very varied bill of fare we have briefly sketched
for a man hunting from Cirencester may include an
occasional Wednesday with the Heythrop at " Brad-
well Grove." It is not possible to reach the choicest
part of this pleasant country by road from Cirencester,
but some of the best of the stone-wall country of
the Cotswold tableland is included in the Heythrop
domain. Everybody who has been brought up to
hunting has heard of " Jem Hills and Bradwell
Grove " : rare gallops this celebrated huntsman used
to show over the wolds in days gone by ; and on a
good scenting day it requires a quick horse to live
with these hounds. A fast and well-bred pack,
established more than sixty years ago, they have been
admirably presided over by Mr. Albert Brassey for
close on a quarter of a century. Several pleasant
vales intersect this country, notably the Bourton and
the Gawcombe Vale ; and there is excellent grass
round Moreton-in-the-Marsh. As, however, the grass
country of the Heythrop is too far from Cirencester
to be reached by road, it hardly comes within our
scope. If hunting is doomed to extinction in the Midlands,
owing to the growth of barbed wire, it is exceedingly
unlikely ever to die out in the neighbourhood of
Cirencester ; for there is so much poor, unprofitable
land on the Cotswold tableland and in the Braydon

304 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
district that barbed wire and other evils of civilisation
are not likely to interfere to deprive us of our
national sport. Hunting men have but to be true to
themselves, and avoid doing unnecessary damage, to
see the sport carried on in the twentieth century as it
has been in the past. If we conform to the unwritten
laws of the chase, and pay for the damage we do,
there will be no fear of fox-hunting dying out.
England will be " Merrie England " still, even in
the twentieth century ; the glorious pastime, sole
relic of the days of chivalry, will continue among
us, cheering the hfe in our quiet country villages
through the gloomy winter months ; — if only we be
true to ourselves, and do our uttermost to further
the interests of the grandest sport on earth.
As I have given an account of a run over the walls,
and as the Ciceter people set most store on a gallop
over the stiff fences and grass enclosures of their vale,
here follows a brief description in verse of the glories
of fifty minutes on the grass. I have called it " The
Thruster's Song," because on the whole I thoroughly
agree with Shakespeare that
"Valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver.''
Hard riding and all sports which involve an element
of danger are the best antidotes to that luxury and
effeminacy which long periods of peace are apt to
foster. What would become of the young men of the
pjresent day — those, I mean, who are in the habit of
following the hounds — if hard riding were to become

XIII.] A DEFENCE OF HARD RIDING. 305
unfashionable ? I cannot conceive anything more
ridiculous than the sight of a couple of hundred
well-mounted men riding day after day in a slow
procession through gates, " craning " at the smallest
obstacles, or dismounting and " leading over." No ;
hard riding is the best antidote in the world for the
luxurious tendency of these days. A hundred years
ago, when the sport of fox-hunting was in its infancy
and modern conditions of pace were unknown, there
was less need for this kind of recreation, " the image
of war without its guilt, and only twenty-five per cent.
of its danger." For there was real fighting enough to
be done in olden times ; and amongst hunting folk,
though there was much drinking, there was little
luxury. Therefore our fox-hunting ancestors were
content to enjoy slow hunting runs, and small blame
to them ! But those who are fond of lamenting the
modern spirit of the age, which prefers the forty
minutes' burst over a severe country to a three hours'
hunting run, are apt to lose sight of the fact that in
these piping times of peace, without the risks of sport
mankind is liable to degenerate towards effeminacy.
For this reason in the following poem I have pur
posely taken up the cudgels for that somewhat
unpopular class of sportsmen, the " thrusters " of the
hunting field. They are unpopular with masters of
hounds because they ride too close to the pack ; but
as a general rule they are the only people who ever
see a really fast run. In Shakespeare's time hounds
that went too fast for the rest of the pack were
" trashed for over-topping," that is to say, they were
handicapped by a strap attached to their necks. In
20

3o6 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
the sarae way in every hunt nowadays there are half
a dozen individuals who have reduced riding to
hounds to such an art that no pack can get away
from them in a moderately easy country. These
" bruisers " of the hunting field ought to be made to
carry three stone dead weight ; they should be
"trashed for overtopping." However, as Brooksby
has tersely put it, " Some men hunt to ride and some
ride to hunt ; others, thank Heaven ! double their fun
by doing both." There are many, many fine riders
in England who will not be denied in crossing a stiff
country, and who at the same time are interested in
the hounds and in the poetry of sport : men to whom
the mysteries of scent and of woodcraft, as well as the
breeding and management of hounds, are something
more than a mere name : men who in after days
recall with pleasure " how in glancing over the pack
they have been gratified by the shining coat, the
sparkhng eye — sure symptoms of fitness for the
fight ;— how when thrown in to covert every hound
has been hidden ; how every sprig of gorse has
bristled with motion ; how when viewed away by the
sharp-eyed whipper-in, the fox stole under the hedge ;
how the huntsman clapped round, and with a few
toots of his horn brought them out in a body ; how,
without tying on the line, they ' flew to head ' ; how,
when they got hold of it, they drove it, and with their
heads up felt the scent on both sides of the fence ;
how with hardly a whimper they turned with him,
till at the end of fifty minutes they threw up ; how the
patient huntsman stood still ; how they made their
own cast ; and how when they came back on his line.

XIII.] A DAY IN THE VALE. 307
their tongues doubled and they marked him for their
own." To such good men and true I dedicate the
following lines : —
A DAY IN THE VALE ; or, THE THRUSTER'S SONG,
You who've known the sweet enjoyment of a gallop in the
vale.
Comrades of the chase, I know you will not deem my subject
stale.
Stand with me once more beside the blackthorn or the golden
gorse,—
Don't forget to thank your stars you're mounted on a
favourite horse;
For the hounds dashed into covert with a zest that bodes a
scent.
And the glass is high and rising, clouded is the firmament.
When the ground is soaked with moisture, when the wind is
in the east
Scent lies best, — the south wind doesn't suit the " thruster "
in the least.
Some there are who love to watch them with their noses on
the ground ;
We prefer to see them flitting o'er the grass without a sound.
We prefer the keen north-easter ; ten to one the scent's " breast
high ¦• ;
With a south wind hounds can sometimes hunt a fox, but seldom
fly.
Hark ! the whip has viewed him yonder ; he's away, upon my
word!
If you want to steal a start, then fly the bullfinch like a bird ;
GaUop now your very hardest ; turn him sharp, and jump the
stile.
Trot him at it — never mind the bough, — it's only smashed
your tile !
Now we're writh them. See, they're tailing, from the fierce
ness of the pace.
Up the hedgerow, o'er the meadow, 'cross the stubble see
them race :

3o8 CIRENCESTER. [Ch.
Governor — by Belvoir Gambler, — he's the hound to " run to
head,"
Tracing back to Rallywood, that fifty years ago was bred;
Close behind comes Arrogant, by Acrobat ; and Artful too ;
Rosy, bred by Pytchley Rockwood; Crusty, likewise staunch
and true.
Down a muddy lane, in mad excitement, but, alas ! too late.
Thunders half the field towards the portals of a friendly gate ;
Sees a dozen red-coats bobbing in the vale a mile ahead;
Hears the huntsman's horn, and longs to catch those distant
bits of red ; —
But in vain, for blind the fences, here a fall and there a
" peck."
Some one cries, " An awful place, sir ; don't go there, you'U
break your neck.''
Not the stiff, unbroken fences, but the treacherous gaps we
fear;
"Though in front the post of honour, that of danger's in the
rear."
Forrard on, then forrard onwards, o'er the pasture, o'er the
lea,
Tossed about by ridge and furrow, rolling like a ship at sea ;
Stake and binder, timber, oxers, all are taken in our stride, —
Better fifty minutes' racing than a dawdling five hours' ride.
I am not ashamed to own, with him who loves a steeplechase,
That to me the charm in hunting is the ecstasy of pace, —
This is what best schools the soldier, teaches us that we
are men
Born to bear the rough and tumble, wield the sword and not
the pen.
Some there are who dub hard riders worthless and a draghunt
crew —
Tailors who do all the damage, mounted on a spavined screw.
Well, I grant you, hunting men are sometimes narrow-minded
fools ;
Ignorant of all worth knowing, save what's learnt in riding-
schools ;
Careless of the rights of others, scampering over growing crops,
Smashing gates and making gaps and scattering wide the turnip
tops ; —

XIII.] A HUNTING POEM. 309
But I hold that out of all the hunting fields throughout the
land
I could choose for active service a large-hearted, gallant band ;
I could choose six hundred red-coats, trained by riding in the
van,
Fit to go to Balaclava under brave Lord Cardigan.
'Tis the finest school, the chase, to teach contempt of cannon
baUs,
If a man ride bravely onward, spite of endless rattling falls.
And to be a first-rate sportsman, not a man who merely
"rides,"
Is to be a perfect gentleman, and something more besides ;
Fearing neither man nor devil, kind, unselfish he must be,
Bom to lead when danger threatens — type of ancient chivalry.
When you hear a "houndman " jeering at the " customers " in
front.
Saying they come out to ride a steeplechase and not to hunt.
You may bet the " grapes are sour," the fellow's smoked his
nerve away ;
Once he went as well as they do: "every dog will have
his day."
Though to ride about the roads in state may do your liver good.
You see precious little " hound work " either there or in the
wood.
He who loves to mark the work of hounds must ride beside
the pack,
Choosing his own line, or following others, if he's lost the knack.
Lookers-on, I grant you, often see the best part of the game, —
StiU, to ride the roads and live with hounds are things not
quite the same.
Now a word to all those gallant chaps who love a hunting
day:
In bad times you know that farming is a trade that doesn't pay ;
Barbed wire's the cheapest kind of fence ; the farmer can't
afford
Tempting post-and-raUs and timber— for he's getting rather
bored.
Therefore, if we want to ride with our old devilry and dash,
We must put our hands in pockets deep and shovel out the
cash.

3IO CIRENCESTER. [Ch. XIII.
When you want to hire a shooting you will gladly pay a " pony,"
Yet when asked to give it to the hounds you're apt to say
you're "stony."
Pay the piper, and the sport you love so well will flourish yet,
Flourish in the dim hereafter ; and its sun will never set.
Help the noble cause of freedom ; rich and poor together blend
Hands and hearts for ever working for a great and glorious end.

An old bMn

CHAPTER XIV.

SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS.

WHILST walking by the river one day in
May I noticed a brood of wild ducks about
a week old. The old ones are wonderfully tame
at this time of year. The mother evidently dis
liked my intrusion, for she started off up stream,
followed by her offspring, making towards a withybed
a hundred yards or so higher up, where a secluded
spring gives capital shelter for duck and other shy
birds. What was my surprise a couple of hours later
to see the same lot emerge from some rushes three-
quarters of a mile up stream ! They had circumvented
a small waterfall, and the current is very strong in
3"

312 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
places. Part of the journey must have been done on
dry land.
At the same moment that I startled this brood out
of the rushes a moorhen swam slowly out, accom
panied by her mate. It was evident, from her cries
and her anxious behaviour, that she too had some
young ones in the rushes ; and soon two tiny little
black balls of fur crawled out from the bank and made
for the opposite shore. Either from blindness or fright
they did not join their parents in mid stream, but
hurried across to the opposite bank and scrambled
on to the mud, followed by the old couple remon
strating with them on their foolishness. The mother
then succeeded in persuading one of them to follow
her to a place of safety underneath some overhanging
boughs, but the other was left clinging to the bank,
crying piteously. I went round by a bridge in the
hope of being able to place the helpless little thing
on the water ; but, alas ! by the time I got to the spot
it was dead. The exertion of crossing the stream
had been too much for it, for it was probably not
twelve hours old.
When there are young ones about, moorhens will
not dive to get out of your sight unless their children
dive too. It is pretty to see them swimming on the
down-stream side of their progeny, buoying them up in
case the current should prove too strong and carry
them down. If there are eggs still unhatched, the
father, when disturbed, takes the little ones away to
a safer spot, whilst the mother sticks to the nest.
But they are rather stupid, for even the day after
the eggs are hatched, on being disturbed by a casual

XIV.] MALLARD AND SWAN. 313
passer-by, the old cock swims out into mid stream.
He then calls to his tiny progeny to follow him,
though they are utterly incapable of doing so, and
generally come to hopeless grief in the attempt.
Then the old ones are not very clever at finding
children that have been frightened away from the
nest. I marked one down on the opposite bank, and
could see it crawling beneath some sticks ; but the
old bird kept swimming past the spot, and appeared
to neither hear nor see the little ball of fur. Perhaps
he was playing cunning ; he may have imagined
that the bird was invisible to me, and was trying to
divert my attention from the spot.
Moorhens are always interesting to watch. With
a pair of field-glasses an amusing and instructive half
hour may often be spent by the stream in the breeding
season. I was much amused, while feeding some swans and
a couple of wild ducks the other day, to notice that
the mallard would attack the swans if they took any
food that he fancied. One would have thought that
such powerful birds as swans — one stroke of whose
wings is supposed to be capable of breaking a man's
leg — would not have stood any nonsense from an
unusually diminutive mallard. But not a bit of it :
the mallard ruled the roast ; all the other birds, even
the great swans, ran away from him when he attacked
them from behind with his sharp little teeth. This
state of things continued for some days. But after
a time the male swan got tired of the game ; his
patience was exhausted. Watching his opportunity,
he seized the pugnacious little mallard by the neck.

314 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
and gave him a thundering good shaking ! It was
most laughable to watch them. It is characteristic
of swans that they are unable to look you in the face ;
and beautiful beyond all description as they appear
to be in their proper element, meet them on dry
land and they become hideous and uninteresting,
scowling at you with an evil eye.
Sometimes as you are walking under the trees on
the banks of the Coin you come across a little heap
of chipped wood lying on the ground. Then you
hear "tap, tap," in the branches above. It is the little
nuthatch hard at work scooping out his home in
the bark. He sways his body with every stroke of
his beak, and is so busy he takes no notice of you.
The nuthatch is very fond of filberts, as his name
imphes. You may see him in the autumn with a nut
firmly fixed in a crevice in the bark of a hazel branch,
and he taps away until he pierces the shell and gets
at the kernel. Nuthatches, which are very plenti
ful hereabouts, are sometimes to be found in the
forsaken homes of woodpeckers, which they plaster
round with mud. The entrance to the hole in
the tree is thus made small enough to suit them.
Sometimes when I have disturbed a nuthatch at
work at a hole in a tree, the little fellow would pop
into the hole and peep out at me, never moving
until I had departed.
Woodpeckers are somewhat uncommon here : I
have not heard one in our garden by the river for
a very long time, though a foolish farmer told me
the other day that he had recently shot one. A
mile or so away, at Barnsley Park, where the oaks

«,

XIV.] WOODPECKERS. 315
thrive on a vein of clay soil, green woodpeckers
may often be seen and heard. What more beauti
ful bird is there, even in the tropics, than the
merry yaffel, with his emerald back and the red
tuft on his head ? The other two varieties of wood
peckers, the greater and lesser spotted, are occasion
ally met with on the Cotswolds. I do not know
why we have so few green woodpeckers by the river,
as there are plenty of old trees there ; but these birds,
which feed chiefly on the ground among the anthills,
have a marked preference for such woods in the
neighbourhood as contain an abundance of oak trees.
The local name for these birds is " hic-wall," which
Tom Peregrine pronounces " heckle." There is no
more pleasing sound than the long, chattering note
of the green woodpecker ; it breaks so suddenly
on the general silence of the woods, contrasting as
it does in its loud, bell-like tones with the soft cooing
of the doves and the songs of the other birds.
In various places along its course the river has
long poles set across it ; on these poles Tom Peregrine
has placed traps for stoats, weasels, and other vermin.
Recently, when we were fishing, he pointed out a
great stoat caught in one of these traps with a water-
rat in its mouth — a very strange occurrence, for the
trap was only a small one, of the usual rabbit size,
and the rat was almost as big as the stoat. There is
so little room for the bodies of a stoat and a rat in
one of these small iron traps that the betting must
be at least a thousand to one against such an event
happening. Unless we had seen it with our eyes
we could not have believed it possible. The stoat, in

3i6 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
chasing the rat along the pole, must have seized his
prey at the very instant that the jaws of the trap
snapped upon them both. They were quite dead
when we found them.
Every one acquainted with gamekeepers' duties
is well aware that the iron traps armed with teeth
which are in general use throughout the country are
a disgrace to nineteenth-century civilisation. It is
a terrible experience to take a rabbit or any other
animal out of one of these relics of barbarism. Sir
Herbert Maxwell recently called the attention of
game preservers and keepers to a patent trap which
Colonel Coulson, of Newburgh, has just invented.
Instead of teeth, the jaws of the new trap have pads
of corrugated rubber, which grip as tightly and
effectively as the old contrivance without breaking
the bones or piercing the skin. I trust these traps
will shortly supersede the old ones, so that a portion
of the inevitable suffering of the furred denizens
of our woods may be dispensed with.
In a hunting country where foxes occasionally find
their way into vermin traps. Colonel Coulson's in
vention should be invaluable. Instead of having to
be destroyed, or being killed by the hounds in covert,
owing to a broken leg, it is ten to one that Master
Reynard would be released very little the worse for
his temporary confinement. Moreover, as Sir Herbert
Maxwell points out, dog owners will be grateful to
the inventor when their favourites accidentally find
their way into one of these traps and are released
without smashed bones and bleeding feet. Any kind
of trap is but a diabolical contrivance at best, but

XIV.] BADGERS. 317
these " humane patents '' are a vast improvement, and
do the work better than the old, as I can testify,
having used them from the time Sir Herbert
Maxwell first called attention to them, and being
quite satisfied with them.
Badgers are almost as mysterious in their ways
and habits as the otter. Nobody believes there are
badgers about except those who look for their
characteristic tracks about the fox-earths. Every
now and then, however, a badger is dug out or
discovered in some way in places where they were
unheard of before. We have one here now.
A few years ago I saw a pack of foxhounds find
a badger in Chearsley Spinneys in Oxfordshire.
They hunted him round and round for about ten
minutes. I saw him just in front of the hounds ; a
great, fine specimen he was too. As far as I remem
ber, the hounds killed him in covert, and then went
away on the line of a fox.
A year or two ago three fine young badgers were
captured near Bourton-on-the-Water, on the Cots
wolds. When I was shown them I was told they
would not feed in confinement. Finding a large lob
worm, I picked it up and gave it to one of them. He
ate it with the utmost relish. His brown and grey
little body shook with emotion when I spoke to him
kindly — just as a dog trembles when you pet him.
I am not certain, however, whether the badger
trembled out of gratitude for the lob-worm or out of
rage and disgust at being confined in a cage.
Badgers would make delightful pets if they had
a little less scent: nature, as everybody knows, has

3i8 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
endowed them with this quality to a remarkable
degree ; they have the power of emitting or retaining
it at their own discretion.
Badger-baiting with terriers is not an amusement
which commends itself to humane sportsmen. It is
hard luck on the terriers, even more than on the
badger. The dogs have a very bad time if they go
anywhere near him.
Talking of terriers, how endless are the instances
of superhuman sagacity in dogs of all kinds ! I once
drove twenty-five miles from a place near Guildford
in Surrey to Windsor. In the cart I took with me a
little liver-coloured spaniel. When I had completed
about half the journey I put the spaniel down for a
run of a few miles : this was all she saw of the country.
In Windsor, through some cause or other, I lost her ;
but when I arrived home a day or two afterwards,
she had arrived there before me. It should be
mentioned that the journey was not along a high
road, but by cross-country lanes. How on earth she
got home first, unless she came back on my scent,
then, finding herself near home, took a short cut
across country, so as to be there before me, it is
impossible to imagine.
How curious it is that all animals seem to know
when Sunday comes round !
Fish and fowl are certainly much tamer on the
seventh day of the week than on any other. We had
a terrier that would never attempt to follow you when
you were going to church so long as you had your
Sunday clothes on ; whilst even when he was following
you on a week day, if you turned round and said

XIV.] FOX-TERRIERS.

319

"Church" in a decisive tone, he would trot straight back
to the house. As far as we know he had no special
training in this respect. This terrier, who was a rare
one to tackle a fox, has on several occasions spent the
best part of a week down a rabbit burrow. When dug
out he seemed very little the worse for his escapade,
though decidedly emaciated in appearance. Poor
little fellow! he died a painless death not long ago
from sheer old age. I was with him at the time, and
did not even know he was ill until five minutes before
he expired. The most obedient and faithful, as well
as the bravest, little dog in the world, he could do
anything but speak. How much we can learn from
these little emblems of simplicity, gladness, and love !
Implicit obedience and boundless faith in those set
over us, to forgive and forget unto seventy times
seven, to give gold for silver, nay, to sacrifice all
and receive back nothing in return, — these are some
of the lessons we may learn from creatures we call
dumb. Perhaps they will have their reward. There
is room in eternity for the souls of animals as well as
of men ; there is room for the London cab-horse
after his life of hardship and cruel sacrifice ; there is
room for the innocent lamb that goes to the slaughter ;
there is room in those realms of infinity for every bird
of the air and every beast of the field that either the
necessity (that tyrant's plea) or the ignorance of man
has condemned to torture, injustice, or neglect !
The most delightful of all dogs are those rough-
haired Scotch deerhounds the author of " Waverley "
loved so well. How timid and subdued are these
trusty hounds on ordinary occasions ! yet how fierce

320 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
and relentless to pursue and slay their natural quarry,
the antlered monarch of the glen ! Once, in Savernake
Forest, where the yaffels laugh all day amid the great
oak trees, and the beech avenues, with their Gothic
foliations and lichened trunks, are the finest in the
world, a young, untried deerhound of ours slipped
away unobserved and killed a hind " off his own bat."
Though he had probably never seen a deer before,
hereditary instinct was too strong, and he succumbed
to temptation. Yet he would not harm a fox, for on
another occasion, when I was out walking, accompanied
by this hound and a fox-terrier, the latter bolted a
large dog fox out of a drain. When the fox appeared
the deerhound made after him, and, in his attempt to
dodge, reynard was bowled over on to his back. But
directly he was called, the deerhound came back to
our heels, apparently not considering the vulpine race
fair game. I will not vouch for the accuracy of the
story, but our coachman asserts that he saw this deer-
hound at play with a fox in our kitchen garden, — not
a tame fox, but a wild one. I believe, myself, that
this actually did happen, as the man who witnessed
the occurrence is thoroughly reliable.
There is no dog more knowing and sagacious in
his own particular way than a well-trained retriever.
What an immense addition to the pleasure of a day's
partridge-shooting in September is the working of
one of these delightful dogs ! Only the other day,
when I was sitting on the lawn, a retriever puppy
came running up with something in his mouth, with
which he seemed very pleased. He laid it at my
feet with great care and tenderness, and I saw that

XIV.] CRAY-FISHING. 321
it was a young pheasant about a fortnight old. It
ran into the house, and was rescued unharmed a
few hours afterwards by the keeper, who restored
it to the hencoop from whence it came. One could
not be angry with a dog that was unable to resist
the temptation to retrieve, but yet would not harm
the bird in the smallest degree.
One does not often see teams of oxen ploughing
in the fields nowadays. Within a radius of a hun
dred miles of London town this is becoming a rare
spectacle. They are still used sometimes in the
Cotswolds, however, though the practice of using
them must soon die out. Great, slow, lumbering
animals they are, but very handsome and delightful
beasts to look upon. A team of brown oxen adds
a pleasing feature to the landscape.
As we come down the steep ascent which leads to
our little hamlet, we often wonder why some of the
cottage front doors are painted bright red and some
a lovely deep blue. These different colours add a
great deal of picturesqueness to the cottages ; but is
it possible that the owners have painted their doors
red and blue for the sake of the charming distant
effect it gives ? These people have wonderfully good
taste as a rule. The other day we noticed that some
of the dreadful iron sheeting which is creeping into
use in country places had been painted by a farmer
a beautiful rich brown. It gave quite a pretty effect
to the barn it adjoined. Every bit of colour is an
improvement in the rather cold-looking upland
scenery of the Cotswolds.
Cray-fishing is a very popular amusement among
21

322 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
the villagers. These fresh-water lobsters abound in
the gravelly reaches of the Coin. They are caught
at night in small round nets, which are baited and
let down to the bottom of the pools. The crayfish
crawl into the nets to feed, and are hauled up by
the dozen. Two men can take a couple of bucket-
fuls of them on any evening in September. Though
much esteemed in Paris, where they fetch a high
price as icrevisse, we must confess they are rather
disappointing when served up. The village people,
however, are very fond of them ; and Tom Peregrine,
the keeper, in his quaint way describes them as " very
good pickings for dessert." As they eat a large
number of very small trout, as well as ova, on the
gravel spawning-beds, crayfish should not be allowed
to become too numerous in a trout stream.
It is difficult to understand in what the great
attraction of rook-shooting consists. Up to yesterday
I had never shot a rook in my life. The accuracy
with which some people can kill rooks with a rifle is
very remarkable. I have seen my brother knock
down five or six dozen without missing more than
one or two birds the whole time. One would be
thankful to die such an instantaneous death as these
young rooks. They seem to drop to the shot without
a flutter ; down they come, as straight as a big stone
dropped from a high wall. Like a lump of lead they
fall into the nettles. They hardly ever move again.
It is difficult work finding them in the thick under
growth. About eleven o'clock the evening after shooting
the young rooks I was returning home from a

XIV.] THE ROOKERY. 323
neighbouring farmhouse when I heard the most
lamentable sounds coming from the rookery. There
seemed to be a funeral service going on in the big
ash trees. Muffled cawings and piteous cries told me
that the poor old rooks were mourning for their
children. I cannot remember ever hearing rooks
cawing at that time of night before. Saving the lark,
" that scorner of the ground," which rises and sings in
the skies an hour before sunrise, the rooks are the first
birds to strike up at early dawn. One often notices
this fact on sleepless nights. About 2.30 o'clock on a
May morning a rook begins the grand concert with
a solo in G flat ; then a cock pheasant crows, or an
owl hoots ; moorhens begin to stir, and gradually
the woodland orchestra works up to a tremendous
burst of song, such as is never heard at any hour
but that of sunrise.
" Now the rich stream of music winds along.
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales."
How often one has heard this grand thanksgiving
chorus of the birds at early dawn !
I wonder if the poor rooks caw all night long after
the " slaughter of the innocents ? " They were still at
it when I went to bed at 12.30, and this was within
two hours of their time of getting up.
" Some say that e'en against that season comes
In which our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long."
Thus wrote Shakespeare of bold chanticleer ; and
perhaps the rooks when they are grieving for their

324 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
lost ones, hold solemn requiem until the morning
light and the cheering rays of the sun make them
forget their woes.
It is difficult to understand what pleasure the
farmers find in shooting young rooks with twelve-bore
guns. Ours are always allowed a grand battue in the
garden every year. They ask their friends out from
Cirencester to assist. For an hour or so the shots
have been rattling all round the house and on the
sheds in the stable-yard. The horses are frightened
out of their wits. Grown-up men ought to know
better than to keep firing continually towards a
house not two hundred yards away. A stray pellet
might easily blind a man or a horse.
Farmers are [sometimes very careless with their
guns. Out partridge-shooting one is in mortal terror
of the man on one's right, who invariably carries his
gun at such a level that if it went off it would " rake "
the whole line. If you tell one of these gentry that
he is holding his gun in a dangerous way, he will
only laugh, remarking possibly that you are getting
very nervous. The best plan is not to ask these
well-meaning, but highly dangerous fellows to shoot
with you. Unfortunately it is probably the eldest
son of the principal tenant on the manor who is the
culprit. The best plan in such cases is to speak
to the old man firmly, but courteously, asking him
to try to dissuade his son from his dangerous
practices. It is amusing to watch the jackdaws when they
come from the ivy-mantled fir trees to steal the food
we throw every morning on to the lawn in front of

XIV.] DUCKS IN THE DINING-ROOM. 325
the house for the pheasants, the pigeons, and other
birds. They are the funniest rascals and the biggest
thieves in Christendom. Alighting suddenly behind
a cock pheasant, they snatch the food from him just
as he imagines he has got it safely ; and terribly
astonished he always looks. Then these greedy daws
will chase the smaller birds as they fly away with any
dainty morsel, and compel them to give it up. A
curiously mixed group assembles on the lawn each
morning at eight o'clock in the winter. First of all
there are the pheasants crowing loudly for their break
fast, then come the stately swans, several pinioned
wild ducks, tame pigeons and wild and timid stock
doves, four or five moorhens, any number of daws, as
well as thrushes, blackbirds, starlings, house-sparrows,
and finches. One day, having forgotten to feed them
I was astonished at hearing loud quacks proceeding
from the dining-room, and was horrified to find that
the ducks had come into the house to look for me
and demand their grub.
Foxes give one a good deal of anxiety in May
and June, when the cubs are about half grown. On
arriving home to-day the first news I hear is that
two dead cubs have been picked up : " one looks
as if his head had been battered in, and the other
appears to have been worried by a dog-" This is the
only information I can get from the keeper. It is
really a serious blow ; for if two have been found
dead, how many others may not have died in their
earth or in the woods ?
Two seasons ago six dead cubs were picked up
here ; they had died from eating rooks which had

326 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
been poisoned by some farmers. It took us a long
time to get to the bottom of this affair, for no in
formation is to be got out of Gloucestershire folk ;
you must ferret such matters out yourself
There are still live cubs in the breeding-earth, for
I heard them there this afternoon ; so there is yet
hope. But twenty acres of covert will not stand this
sort of thing, considering that the hounds are
" through " them once in three weeks, on an average,
throughout the winter. Only one vixen survived at
the end of last season, though another one has turned
up since. We have two litters, fortunately. Where
you have coverts handy to a stream of any kind,
there will foxes congregate. They love water-rats
and moorhens more than any other food.
A strange prejudice exists among hunting men
against cleaning out artificial earths. There was
never a greater fallacy. Fox-earths want looking
to from tirne to time, say every ten years, for
rabbits will render them practically useless by
burrowing out in different places. A block is often
formed in the drain by this burrowing, and the
earth will have to be opened and the channel freed.
The best possible preventive measure against mange
is to clear out your artificial earths every ten years.
As for driving the foxes away by this practice, we
cannot believe it. You cannot keep foxes from using
a good artificial drain so long as it lies dry and
secluded and the entrance is not too large. They
prefer a small entrance, as they imagine dogs cannot
follow them into a small hole.
A farmer made an earth in a hedgerow last year

XIV.] ARTIFICIAL FOX-EARTHS. 327
right away from any coverts, and, one would have
thought, out of the beaten track of reynard's nightly
prowls ; yet the foxes took to this earth at the
beginning of the hunting season, and they were soon
quite established there.
There is no mystery about building a fox-drain.
Reynard will take to any dry underground place that
lies in a secluded spot. If it faces south — that is to
say, if your earth runs in a half circle, with both
entrances facing towards the south or south-west —
so much the better. The entrance should not be
more than about six inches square. Such a hole
looks uncommonly small, no doubt, but a fox prefers
it to a larger one. About half way through the
passage a little chamber should be made, to tempt a
vixen to lay up her cubs there. When there are lots
of foxes and not too many earths, they will very
soon begin to work a new drain, so long as it lies
in a secluded spot and within easy distance of
Master Reynard's skirmishing grounds.
We have lately made such an earth in a small
covert, because the original earth is the wrong side of
the River Coin. All the good country is on the oppo
site side of the river to that on which the old earth is
situated. Foxes will seldom cross the stream when
they are first found. It is hoped, therefore, that when
they take to the new earth they will lie in the wood
on the right side of the stream. We shall then close
the old earth, and thus endeavour to get the foxes to
run the good country. Much may be done to show
sport by using a little strategy of this kind. Many
a good stretch of grass country is lost to the hunt

328 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch
because the earths are badly distributed. It must be
remembered that a fox when first found will usually
go straight to his earth ; finding that closed, he will
make for the next earths he is in the habit of using.
The other day, while ferreting in the coverts
previous to rabbit-shooting, the keeper bolted a huge
fox out of one burrow and a cat out of the other.
He also tells me that he once found a hare and a fox
lying in their forms, within three yards of one
another, in a small disused quarry. There is no
doubt that, like jack among fish, the fox is friendly
enough on some days, when his belly is full. He
then " makes up to " rabbits and other animals, with
the intent of "turning on them" when they least
expect it. Without this treacherous sort of cunning,
reynard would often have to go supperless to bed.
In those drains and earths where foxes are known
to lie you will often see traces of rabbits. These little
conies are wonderfully confiding in the way they use
a fox-earth. It is difficult to believe that they live in
the drain with the foxes, but they are exceedingly
fond of making burrows with an entrance to an
earth. They are a great nuisance in spoiling earths
by this practice. Rabbits invariably establish them
selves in fox-drains which have been temporarily
deserted. Foxes become very " cute " towards the end of the
hunting season. They can hear hounds running at a
distance of four or five miles on windy days. Know
ing that the earths are stopped, they leave the bigger
woods and hide themselves in out-of-the-way fields
and hedgerows. Last season a fox was seen to leave

XIV.] FOX AND SHEEP. 329
our coverts, trot along the high-road, and ensconce
himself among some laurels near the manor house.
He was so easily seen where he lay in the shrubbery
that a crowd of villagers stood watching him from
the road. He knew the hounds would not draw this
place, as it is quite small and bare, so here he stayed
until dusk ; then, having assured himself that the
hounds had gone home, he jumped up and trotted
back to the woods again.
A flock of sheep are not always frightened at a fox.
The other day an old dog fox, the hero of many
a good run in recent years from these coverts (an
" old customer," in fact), was observed by the keeper
and two other men trying to cross the river by
means of a footbridge. A flock of sheep, doubtless
taking him for a dog, were frustrating his endeavours
to get across ; directly he set foot on dry land they
would bowl him over on to his back in the most un
ceremonious way. This game of romps went on for
about ten minutes. Finally the fox, getting tired
of trying to pass the sheep, trotted back over the
footbridge. Fifty yards up stream a narrow fir
pole is set across the water. The cunning old rascal
made for this, and attempted to get to the other
side ; but the fates were against him. There was
a strong wind blowing at the time, so that when he
was half way across the pool, he was actually blown
off sideways into the water. And a rare ducking he
got ! He gave the job up after this, and trotted back
into the wood. This is a very curious occurrence,
because the fox was perfectly healthy and strong.
He is well known throughout the country, not only

330 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
for his tremendous cheek, but also for the wonderful
Tuns he has given from time to time. He will climb
over a six-foot wire fence to gain entrance to a fowl-
run belonging to an excellent sportsman, who,
though not a hunting man, would never allow a
fox to be killed. He is reported to have had fifty
fowls out of this place during the last few months.
When caught in the act in broad daylight, the fox had
to be hunted round and round the enclosure before
he would leave, finally climbing up the wire fencing
like a cat, instead of departing by the open door.
It is very rare that a mischievous fox, given to the
destruction of poultry, is also a straight-necked one.
Too often these gentry know no extent of country ;
they take refuge in the nearest farmyard when
pressed by the hounds. At the end of a run we
have seen them on the roof of houses and outbuild
ings time after time. On one occasion last season
a hunted fox was discovered among the rafters in
the roof of a very high barn. The "whipper-in"
was sent up by means of a long ladder, eventually
pulling him out of his hiding-place by his brush.
Poor brute ! perhaps he might have been spared
after showing such marvellous strategy.
It speaks wonders for the good-nature and un
selfishness of the farmer who owns the fowl-run
above alluded to that he never would send in the
vestige of a claim to the hunt secretary for the
poultry he has lost from time to time. But he is
one of the old-fashioned yeomen of Gloucestershire —
a gentleman, if ever there was one — a type of the
best sort of Englishman. Alas ! that hard times

XIV.] POULTRY CLAIMS. 331
have thinned the ranks of the old yeoman farmers
of the Cotswolds ! They are the very backbone of
the country ; we can ill afford to lose them, with their
cheery, bluff manners and good-hearted natures.
Some of the people round about are not so
scrupulous in the way of poultry claims. We have
had to investigate a large number in recent years.
It is a difficult matter to distinguish bond-fide from
" bogus " claims ; they vary in amount from one to
twenty pounds. Once only have we been foolish
enough to rear a litter of cubs by hand, having
obtained them from the big woods at Cirencester.
Before the hunting season had commenced we had
received claims of nineteen and fourteen pounds
from neighbouring farmers for poultry and turkeys
destroyed. One bailiff declared that the foxes were
so bold they had fetched a young heifer that had
died from the " bowssen " into the fox-covert.
Whether the bailiff put it there or the foxes
"fetched" it I know not, but the white, bleached
skull may be seen hard by the earth to this day.
One of the claimants above named farms three
hundred acres on strictly economical principles. He
has allowed the land to go back to grass, and the
only labour he employs on it is a one-legged boy,
whom he pays " in kind." This boy arrived the
other day with another poultry claim, when the
following dialogue occurred : —
" I see you have got down sixteen young ducklings
on the hst ? "
" Yaas, the jackdars fetched they."
" How do you know the jackdaws took them ? "

332 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
" 'Cos maister said so."
" Do you shut up your fowls at night ? "
" Yaas, we shuts the daar, but the farxes gets in.
It be all weared out. There be great holes in the
bowssen where they gets through and fetches them."
How can one pay poultry claims of this kind ? It
being absolutely impossible to verify these accounts
properly, the only way is to take the general character
of the claimant, paying according as you think him
straightforward or the reverse. It is an insult to an
honest man to offer him anything less than the
amount he asks for ; therefore claims which have
every appearance of being bond fide should be settled
in full. But the hunt can't afford it, one is told.
In that case people ought to subscribe more. If men
paid ten pounds for every hunter they owned, the
income of most establishments would be more than
doubled. The farmers are wonderfully long-suffering on the
whole, but they cannot be expected to welcome a
whole multitude of strangers ; nor can they allow
large fields to ride over their land in these bad times
without compensation of some sort. Slowly, but
surely, a change is coming over our ideas of hunting
rights and hunting courtesy ; and the sooner we
realise that we ought to pay for our hunting on the
same scale as we do for shooting and fishing, the
better will it be for all concerned.
Talking of hunting and foxes reminds me that a
short time ago I went to investigate an earth to see
if a vixen was laid down there. Finding no signs
of any cubs, I was just going away when I saw a

XIV.] THE SCENT OF FOXES. 333
feather sticking out of the ground a few yards from
the fox-earth. I pulled four young thrushes, a tiny
rabbit, and two young water-rats out of this hole,
and re-buried them. The cubs, it afterwards appeared,
were laid up in a rabbit burrow some distance away.
But the old vixen kept her larder near her old
quarters, instead of burying her supplies for a rainy
day close to the hole where she had her cubs. Perhaps
she was meditating moving the litter to this earth on
some future occasion.
I shall never forget discovering this litter. When
looking down a rabbit-hole I heard a scuffle^ A young
cub came up to the mouth of the hole, saw me, and
dashed back again into the earth. This was the
smallest place I ever saw cubs laid up in. The vixen
happened to be a very little one.
It is amusing to watch the cubs playing in the
corn on a summer's evening. If you go up wind you
can approach within ten yards of them. Round and
round they gambol, tumbling each other over for
all the world like young puppies. They take little
notice of you at first ; but after a time they suddenly
stop playing, stare hard at you for half a minute,
then bolt off helter-skelter into the forest of waving
green wheat.
One word more about the scent of foxes. Not
long ago a man wrote to the Field saying that he
had proved by experiment that on the saturation or
relative humidity of the air the hunter's hopes depend :
in fact, he announced that he had solved the riddle
of scent. It so happened that for some years the
present writer had also been amusing himself with

334 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
experiments of the same nature, and at one time
entertained the hope that by means of the hygrometer
he would arrive at a solution of the mystery. But
alas ! it was not to be. On several occasions when the
air was well-nigh saturated, scent proved abominable.
That the relative humidity of the air is not the all-
important factor was often proved by the bad scent
experienced just before rain and storms, when the
hygrometer showed a saturation of considerably over
ninety per cent. But there are undoubtedly other
complications besides the evaporations from the soil
and the relative humidity of the air to be considered
in making an enquiry into the causes of good and bad
scent. The amount of moisture in the ground, the
state of the soil in reference to the all-important
question of whether it carries or not, the temperature
of the air, and last, but not by any means least, the
condition of the quarry, be it fox, stag, or hare, are all
questions of vital importance, complicating matters
and preventing a solution of the mysteries of scent.
As the atmosphere is variable, so also must scent
be variable. The two things are inseparably bound
up with one another. For this reason, if after a period
of rainy weather we have an anti-cyclone in the
winter without severe frost, and an absence of bright
sunny days, we can usually depend on a scent. In
stead of the air rising, there is during an anti-cyclone,
as we all know, a tendehcy towards a gentle down-
flow of air or at all events a steady pressure, and this
causes smoke, whether from a railway engine or a
tobacco pipe, to hang in the air and scent to lie
breast high.

XIV.] THE SCENT OF FOXES. 335
Unfortunately the normal state of the atmospheric
fluid is a rushing in of cold air and a rushing
out or upwards of warmer air, causing unsettled
variable equilibrium and unsettled variable scent.
The barometer would be an absolutely reliable guide
for the hunting man were it not for the compUcations
already named above, complications which prevent
either barometer or hygrometer from offering in
fallible indications of good or bad scenting days.
However, scent often improves at night when the
dew begins to form ; and it may also suddenly im
prove at any time of day should the dew point be
reached, owing to the temperature cooling to the
point of saturation. This is always liable to occur at
some time, on days on which the hygrometer shows
us that there is over ninety per cent, of moisture in
the air. But here again radiation comes in to com
plicate matters ; for clouds may check the formation
of dew. It may safely be said, however, that other
conditions being favourable, a fast run is likely to
occur at any time of day should the dew point
be reached. Thus the hygrometer is worthy to be
studied on a hunting morning.
In May there is a good deal of weed-cutting to be
done on a trout stream. Our plan is to have a couple
of big field days about May 12th. The weeds on
over two miles of water are all cut during that time.
As they are not allowed to be sent down the stream,
we get them out in several different places; they
are then piled in heaps, and left to rot. The opera
tion is repeated at the end of the fishing season.
About a dozen scythes tied together are used. Two

336 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch
men hold the ends and walk up the stream, one
on each side of the river, mowing as they go.
There is a certain amount of management required
in weed-cutting. If much weed is left uncut, the
millers grumble ; if you cut them bare, there are
no homes left for the fish. The last is the worse
evil of the two. The millers are usually kind-hearted
men, whilst poachers can commit fearful depredations
in a small stream that has been cut too bare.
The way these limestone streams are netted is as
follows : About two in the morning, when there is
enough light to commence operations, a net is laid
across the stream and pegged down at each end ;
the water is then beaten with long sticks both above
and below the net. Nor is it difficult to drive the
trout into the trap ; they rush down helter-skelter,
and, failing to see any net, they soon become hope
lessly entangled in its meshes. The bobbing corks
intimate to the poachers that there are some good
trout in the net ; one end is then unpegged, and the
haul is made.
About ten trout would be a good catch. The
operation is repeated four or five times, until some
fifty fish have been bagged. The poachers then
depart, taking care to remove all signs of their night's
work, such as scales of fish, stray weeds, and bits of
stick. In weed-cutting by hand, instead of with the long
knives, it is wonderful how many trout get cut by
the scythes. There used to be several good fish
killed this way at each annual cutting, when the
men used to walk up the stream mowing as they

XIV.] SCARCITY OF OTTERS. 337
went. One would have thought trout would have
been able to avoid the scythes, being such quick,
slippery animals.
Until the present season otters have seldom visited
our parts of the Coin. Unfortunately, however, they
have turned up, and are committing sad havoc among
the fish. It is such a terribly easy stream for them'
to work. The water is very shallow, and the current
is a slow one.
We are not well up in otter-hunting in these
parts, there being no hounds within fifty miles. I
have never seen an otter on the Coin. But one day,
at a spot near which we have noticed the billet of
an otter and some fishes' heads, I heard a noise in
the water, and a huge wave seemed to indicate that
something bigger than a Coin trout was proceeding
up stream close to the bank all the way. On running
up, of course I saw nothing. But half an hour after
wards I saw another big wave of the same kind.
It was so close to me that if it had been a fish or
a rat I must have seen him. I had a terrier with
me, but of course he was unable to find an otter.
A dog unbroken to the scent is worse than useless
On another occasion I saw a water-vole running
away from some larger animal under the opposite
bank of the river. Some bushes prevented my
seeing very well, but I am almost certain it was
an otter. " A Son of the Marshes " mentions in one
of his charming books that otters do kill water-rats.
I was not aware of this fact until I read it in the
book called " From Spring to Fall."
The broad shallow reach of the Coin in front of
22

338 SPRING IN THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
the manor house seems to be a favourite hunting-
ground of the otter during his nocturnal rambles ;
for sometimes one is awakened at night by a
tremendous tumult among the wild duck and moor
hens that haunt the pool. They rush up and down,
screaming and flapping their wings as if they were
" daft." A few weeks after writing the above we caught
a beautiful female otter in a trap, weighing some
seventeen pounds. I have regretted its capture ever
since. Great as the number of trout they eat un
doubtedly is, I do not intend to allow another otter
to be trapped, unless they become too numerous.
Such lovely, mysterious creatures are becoming far too
scarce nowadays, and ought to be rigidly preserved.
Last October we were shooting a withybed of two
acres on the river bank, when the beaters suddenly
began shouting, " An otter ! An otter ! " And sure
enough a large dog otter ran straight down the line.
This small withybed also contained three fine foxes
and a good sprinkling of pheasants.
The number of water-voles in the banks of this
stream seems to increase year by year. The damage
they do is not great ; but the millers and the farmers
do not like them, because with their numerous holes
they undermine the banks of the millpound, and
the water finds its way through them on to the
meadows. Country folk are very fond of an occa
sional rat hunt : they do lay themselves out to be
hunted so tremendously. A rat will bolt out of his
hole, dive half way across the stream, then, taking
advantage of the tiniest bit of weed, he will come

XIV.] WATER-VOLES. 339
up to the surface, poke his nose out of the water
and watch you intently. An inexperienced eye
would never detect him. But if a stone is thrown
at him, finding his subterfuge detected, he is apt to
lose his head — either coming back towards you, and
being obliged to come up for air before he reaches
his hole, or else swimming boldly across to the
opposite bank. In the latter case he is safe.
Tom Peregrine is a great hand at catching water-
voles in a landing-net. He holds the net over the
hole which leads to the water, and pokes his stick
into the bank above. The rat bolts out into the
net and is immediately landed. House-rats — great
black brutes — live in the banks of the stream as
well as water-voles. They are very much larger
and less fascinating than the voles. To see one of
the latter species crossing the stream with a long
piece of grass in his mouth is a very pretty sight.
They are rodents, and somewhat resemble squirrels.

CHAPTER XV.

THE PROMISE OF MAY.

" Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam carl capitis ? " Horace.
ABOUT the middle of May the lovely, sweet-
scenting lilac comes into bloom. It brightens
up the old, time-worn barns, and relieves the monotony
of grey stone walls and mossy roofs in the Cotswold
village. The prevailing colour of the Cotswold landscape
may be said to be that of gold. The richest gold is
that of the flaming marsh-marigolds in the water
meadows during May ; goldilocks and buttercups of
340

Ch. XV.] COLOURS OF FLOWERS.

341

all kinds are golden too, but of a slightly different and
paler hue. Yellow charlock, beautiful to look upon,
but hated by the farmers, takes possession of the
wheat " grounds " in May, and holds the fields against
all comers throughout the summer. In some parts
it clothes the whole landscape like a sheet of saffron.
Primroses and cowslips are of course paler still. The
ubiquitous dandelion is likewise golden ; then we
have birdsfoot trefoil, ragwort, agrimony, silver-weed,
celandine, tormentil, yellow iris, St. John's wort, and a
host of other flowers of the same hue. In autumn
comes the golden corn ; and later on in mid winter
we have pale jessamine and lichen thriving on the
cottage walls. So throughout the year the Cotswolds
are never without this colour of saffron or gold. Only
the pockets of the natives lack it, I regret to say.
Every cottager takes a pride in his garden, for
the flower shows which are held every year result in
keen competition. A prize is always given for the
prettiest garden among all the cottagers. This is an
excellent plan ; it brightens and beautifies the village
street for eight months in the year. In May the rich
brown and gold of the gillyflower is seen on every
side, and their fragrance is wafted far and wide by
every breeze that blows.
Then there is a very pretty plant that covers some
of the cottage walls at this time of year. It is the
wistaria ; in the distance you might take it for lilac,
for the colours are almost identical.
Then come the roses — the beautiful June roses —
the nimium breves flores of Horace. But the roses
of the Cotswolds are not so short lived for all

342 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch
that Horace has sung: you may see them in the
cottage gardens from the end of May until Christmas.
How cool an old house is in summer ! The thick
walls and the stone floors give them an almost icy
feeling in the early morning. Even as I write my
thermometer stands at 58° within, whilst the one out
of doors registers 65° in the shade. This is the
ideal temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. But
it is not summer yet, only the fickle month of May.
Tom Peregrine is getting very anxious. He meets
me every evening with the same story of trout rising
all the way up the stream and nobody trying to
catch them. I can see by his manner that he
disapproves of my " muddling " over books and papers
instead of trying to catch trout. He cannot under
stand it all. Meanwhile one sometimes asks oneself
the question which Peregrine would also like to pro
pound, only he dare not. Why and wherefore do we
tread the perilous paths of literature instead of those
pleasant paths by the river and through the wood ?
The only answer is this : The daemon prompts us
to do these things, even as it prompted the men of
old time. " There is a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them how we will."
If there is such a thing as a "call" to any pro
fession, there is a call to that of letters. So with an
enthusiasm born of inexperience and delusive hope
we embark as in a leaky and untrustworthy sailing
ship, built, for ought we know, " in the eclipse, and
rigged with curses dark," and at the mercy of every

SIDE VIEW OF MANOR HOUSE.

[To face page 342.

XV.] THE PATHS OF LITERATURE. 343
chance breeze are wafted by the winds of heaven
through chaos and darkness into the boundless ocean
of words and of books. When the waves run high
they resemble nothing so much as lions with arched
crests and flowing manes going to and fro seeking
whom they may devour, or savage dogs rushing
hither and thither foaming at the mouth ; and when
old Father Neptune lets loose his hungry sea-dogs of
criticism, then look out for squalls !
But again the daemon, that still small voice echoing
from the far-off shores of the ocean of time, whispers
in our ear, " In the morning sow thy seed, and in the
evening withhold not thine hand ; for thou knowest
not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or
whether they both shall be alike good."
So we sow in weakness and in fear and trembling,
" line upon line, line upon line ; here a little and there
a little," sometimes in mirth and laughter, sometimes
in tears. Let us not ask to be raised in power. Let
us resign all glory and honour and power to the
Ancient of Days, prime source of the strength of
wavering, weak mankind. Rather let us be thankful
that by turning aside from " the clamour of the
passing day " to tread the narrow paths of literature,
however humble, however obscure our lot may have
been, we gained an insight into the nobler destinies
of the human soul, and learnt a lesson which might
otherwise have been postponed until we were hovering
on the threshold of Eternity.
In spite of complaints of east winds and night
frosts, May is the nicest month in the year take it
all in all. In London this is the case even more

344 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch.
than in the country. The trees in the parks have
then the real vivid green foliage of the country.
There is a freshness about everything in London
which only lasts through May. By June the smoke
and dirt are beginning to spoil the tender, fresh
greenery of the young leaves. In the early morning
of May 1 2th, 1897, more than an inch of snow fell
in the Cotswolds, but it was all gone by eight o'clock.
In spite of the weather, May is " the brightest,
merriest month of all the glad New Year." Every
thing is at its best. Man cannot be morose and
ill-tempered in May. The " happy hills and pleasing
shade " must needs " a momentary bliss bestow " on
the saddest of us all. Look at yonder thoroughbred
colt grazing peacefully in the paddock : if you had
turned him out a month ago he would have galloped
and fretted himself to death ; but now that the
grass is sweet and health-giving, he is content to
nibble the young shoots all day long. What a lovely,
satin-like coat he has, now that his winter garments
are put off! There is a picture of health and sym
metry ! He has just reached the interesting age of
four years, is dark chestnut in colour, and sixteen
hands two and a half inches in height ; grazing out
there, he does not look anything like that size. Well-
bred horses always look so much smaller than they
really are, especially if they are of good shape and
well proportioned. Alas ! how few of them, even
thoroughbreds, have the real make and shape neces
sary to carry weight across country, or to win races !
You do not see many horses in a lifetime in whose
shape the critical eye cannot detect a fault. We

XV.] DESCRIPTION OF A HORSE. 345
know the good points as well as the bad of this
colt, for we have had him two years. Deep, sloping
shoulders are his speciality ; and they cover a multi
tude of sins. Legs of iron, with large, broad knees ;
plenty of flat bone below the knee, and pasterns
neither too long nor too upright. Well ribbed up,
he is at the same time rather "ragged-hipped,"
indicative of strength and weight-carrying power.
How broad are his gaskins ! how " well let down "
he is ! What great hocks he has ! But, alas ! as
you view him from behind, you cannot help noticing
that his hindlegs incline a little outwards, even
as a cow's do — they are not absolutely straight,
as they should be. Then as to his golden, un-
docked tail : he carries it well — a fact which adds
twenty pounds to his value ; but, strange to say,
it is not "well set on," as a thoroughbred's ought
to be. He does not show the quality he ought in his
hindquarters. Still his head, neck and crest are good,
though his eye is not a large one. How much is he
worth — twenty, fifty, a hundred, or two hundred
pounds ? Who can tell ? Will he be a charger, a
fourteen-stone hunter, or a London carriage horse ?
All depends how he takes to jumping. His height
is against him, — sixteen hands two and a half inches
is at least two inches too big for a hunter. Never
theless, there are always the brilliant exceptions.
Let us hope he will be the trump card in the pack.
Talking of horses, how admirable was that answer
of Dr. Johnson's, when a lady asked him how on
earth he allowed himself to describe the word pastern
in his dictionary as the knee of a horse. " Ignorance,

346 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch.
madam, pure ignorance," was his laconic reply.
So great a man could well afford to confess utter
ignorance of matters outside his own sphere. But
how few of mankind are ever willing to own them
selves mistaken about any subject under the sun,
unless it be bimetallism or some equally unfashion
able and abstruse (though not unimportant) problem
of the day !
What beautiful shades of colour are noticeable in
the trees in the early part of May ! The ash, being so
much later than the other trees, remains a pale light
green, and shows up against the dark green chestnuts
and the still darker firs. But what shall I say of the
great spreading walnut whose branches hang right
across the stream in our garden in the Cotswold
Valley ?
About the middle of May the walnut leaves
resemble nothing so much as a mass of Virginia
creeper when it is at its best in September. Beautiful,
transparent leaves of gold, intermingled with red,
glisten in the warm May sunshine, — the russet
beauties of autumn combined with the fresh, bright
loveliness of early spring !
Not till the very end of May will this walnut tree
be in full leaf He is the latest of all the trees. The
young, tender leaves scent almost as sweetly as the
verbena in the greenhouse. It is curious that ash
trees, when they are close to a river, hang their
branches down towards the water like the " weeping
willows." Is this connected, I wonder, with the
strange attraction water has for certain kinds of
wood, by which the water-finder, armed with a hazel

XV.] BEAUTY OF TREES.

347

wand, is able to divine the presence of aqua pura
hundreds of feet below the surface . of the earth ?
What this strange art of rhabdoraancy is I know
not, but the "weeping" ash in our garden by the
Coin is one of the most beautiful and shapely trees
I ever saw. It will be an evil day when some cruel
hurricane hurls it to the ground. We have lost many
a fine tree in recent years, some through gales, but
others, alas ! by the hand of man.
A few years ago I discovered a spot about a quarter
of a mile from my home which reminded me of the
beautiful Eton playing-fields,
" Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain.''
It consisted of a few grass fields shut off by high
hedges, and completely encircled by a number of fine
elm trees of great age and lovely foliage. At one
end a broad and shallow reach of the Coin completed
the scene.
Having obtained a long lease of the place, I grubbed
up the hedges, turned three small fields into one, and
made a cricket ground in the midst. My object was
to imitate as far as possible the " Upper Club " of the
Eton playing-fields.
I had barely accomplished the work, the cricket
ground had just been levelled, when the landlord's
agent — or more probably his " mortgagee " — arrived on
the scene, accompanied by a hard-headed, blustering
timber merchant from Cheltenham. To my horror
and dismay I was informed that, money being very

348 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch.
scarce, they contemplated making a clean sweep of
these grand old elms. On my expostulating, they
merely suggested that cutting down the trees would
be a great improvement, as the place would be opened
up thereby and made healthier.
In the hope of warding off the evil day we offered
to pay the price of some of the finest trees, although
they could only legally be bought for the present
proprietor's lifetime.
The contractor, however, rather than leave his work
of destruction incomplete, put a ridiculous price on
them. He refused to accept a larger sum than he
could ever have cleared by cutting them down. This
is what Cowper would have stigmatised as
" disclaiming all regard
For mercy and the common rights of man,''
and " conducting trade at the sword's point."
We then resolved to buy the farm. But the stars
in their courses fought against us ; we were unsuccess
ful in our attempt to purchase the freehold.
And so the contractor's raen came with axes and
saws and horses and carts. For days and weeks I
was haunted by that hideous nightmare, the crash
of groaning trees as they fell all around, soon to
be stripped of all their glorious beauty. The cruel,
blasphemous shouts of the men, as they made their
long-suffering horses drag the huge, dismembered
trunks across the beautifully levelled greensward of
the cricket ground, were positively heart-rending.
Ninety great elms did they strike down. A few

XV.] THE LOSS OF TREES. 349
were left, but of these the two finest came down in
the great gale of March 1 8g6.
" Sic transit gloria mundi."
Trees are like old familiar friends, we cannot bear
to lose them ; every one that falls reminds us of
"the days that are no more." Struck down in all
the pride and beauty of their days, they remind
us that " Those who once gave promise
Of fruit for manhood's prime
Have passed from us for ever.
Gone home before their time."
They remind me that four of ray greatest friends
at school, ten short years ago, are long since dead.
Like the trees felled by the woodman's axe, they
were struck down by the sickle of the silent Reaper,
even as the golden sheaves that are gathered into
the beautiful barns. Other trees will spring up and
shade the naked earth in the woods with their mantle
of green : so, also,
" Others will fill our places
Dressed in the old light blue."
And just as in the woods fresh young saplings are
daily springing up, so also the merry voices of happy,
generous boys are ringing, as I write, in the old, old
courts and cloisters by the silvery Thames ; their
merry laughter is echoed by the bare grey walls,
whereon the names of those who have long been
dust are chiselled in rude handwriting on the
mouldering stone.

350 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch
Hundreds we knew have gone down. The fatal
bullet, the ravaging fever, the roaring torrent, and
the sad sea waves ; the slow, sure grip of consump
tion, the fall at polo, and the iron hoofs of the
favourite hunter ; — all claimed their victims.
Perhaps this is why we love to linger in the woods
watching the rays of golden light reflected upon the
warm, red earth, listening to the heavenly voices of
the birds and the hopeful babbling of the brook.
Those purple hills and distant bars of gold in the
western sky at the soft twilight hour are rendered
ever so much more beautiful when we dimly view
them through a mist of tears.
And now your thoughts are taken back five short
years ; you are once more staying with your old
Eton friend and Oxford comrade in his beautiful
home in far-off Wales. All is joy and happiness
in that lovely, romantic home, for in six weeks'
time the young squire, the best and most popular
fellow in the world, is to be married to the fair
daughter of a neighbouring house. Is it possible
that aught can happen in that short time to mar
the heavenly happiness of those two twin souls ?
Alas for the gallant, chivalrous nature ! Well might
he have cried with his knightly ancestor of the
" Round Table," " Me forethinketh this shall betide,
but God may well foredoe destiny." He had
gone down to the lake in the most beautiful and
romantic part of his lovely home, taking with him,
as was his wont, his fishing-rod and his gun. One
shot was heard, and one only, on that ill-fated after
noon, and then all, save for the songs of the birds

XV.] A FINE TYPE OF ENGLISHMAN. 351
and the rippling of the deep waters of the lake, was
wrapped in silence. Then followed the report —
whispered through the party assembled to do honour
to the future bride and bridegroom — that " Bill " was
missing. Then came the agonising suspense and
the eight hours' search throughout the long suraraer
evening. Late that night the father found the fair young
form of his boy in a thick and tangled copse, — there
it lay under the silent stars, the face upturned in
its last appeal to heaven ; and close by lay the
deadly twelve-bore which had been the cause of
all the misery and grief that followed.
"Solemn before us
Veiled the dark portal —
Goal of all mortal.
Stars silent rest o'er us ;
Graves under us silent."
He had evidently pursued game or vermin of some
sort into the dense undergrowth of the wood, and in
his haste had slipped and fallen over his gun, for the
shot had just grazed his heart.
Who that knew him will ever forget Bill
Llewelyn, prince of good fellows, " truest of raen
in everything"? In all relations of life, as in the
hunting field, he went as straight as a die.
The accidental discharge of a gun shortly after
he came of age, and within a few weeks of his
wedding day, has made the England of to-day the
poorer by one of her most promising sons. Infinite
charity ! Infinite courage ! Infinite truth ! Infinite

352 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch.
humility ! Who could do justice in prose to those
rare and godlike qualities ? No : miserable, weak, and
ineffectual though my gift of poesy may be, yet I will
not let those qualities pass away from the minds of
all, save the few that knew him well, without follow
ing in the footsteps (though at an immeasurable
distance) of the divine author of " Lycidas," by en
deavouring to render to his cherished memory
" the meed of some raelodious tear." For as time
goes on, and the future unfolds to our view things
we would have given worlds to have known long
before, when the events that influenced our past
actions and shaped our future destinies are seen
through the dim vista of the shadowy, half-forgotten
past, we must all learn the hard lesson which
experience alone can teach, exclaiming with the
" Preacher " the old, old words, " I returned, and saw
under the sun that the race is not to the swift, nor
the battle to the strong. . . . but time and chance
happeneth to them all."
LINES IN MEMORY OF
WILLIAM DILLWYN LLEWELYN.
It may be chance, — I hold it truth, —
That of the friends I loved on earth
The ones who died in early youth
Were those of best and truest worth.
The swift, alas ! the race must lose ;
The battle goes against the strong, —
God wills it. 'Tis for us to choose,
Whilst life is given, 'twixt right and wrong ;

W. D. LLEWELYN.
'Tis not for us to count the cost
Of losing those we most do love ;
He grudgeth not life's battle lost
Who wins a golden crown above.
And oft beneath the shades of night,
When tempests howl around these walls,
A vision steals upon my sight,
A footstep on the threshold falls.
I see once more that graceful form,
Once more that honest hand grasps mine,
Once more I hear above the storm
The voice I know so well is thine.
I see again an Eton boy,
A gentle boy, divinely taught.
And call to mind how full of joy
In friendly rivalry we sought
The "playing-fields." Then, as I yield
To fancy's dreams, I see once more
The hero of the cricket field,
The oft-tried, trusty friend of yore.
What tender yearnings, fond regret,
These thoughts of early friendship bring I
None but the heartless can forget
'Mid summer days the friends of spring.
Now thoughts of Oxford fill my mind :
My Eton friend is with me still,
But changed — from boy to man ; yet kind
And large of heart, and strong of will,
And blythe and gay. I recognise
The athletic form, the comely face.
The mild expression of the eyes.
The high-bred courtesy and grace.

J54 THE PROMISE OF MAY. [Ch.
Once more with patient skill we lure
The mighty salmon from the deep ;
Once more we tread the boundless moor,
And wander up the mountain steep.
With gun in hand we scour the plain,
Together climb the rocky ways ;
Regardless he of wind and rain
Who loved to " live laborious days."
I see again fair Penllergare,
Those woods and lakes you loved so well ;
It seems but yesterday that there
I parted from you ! Who can tell
The reason thou art gone before ?
It is not given to us to know.
But doubtless thou wert needed more
Than we who mourn thee here below.
Life's noblest lesson day by day
Thy fair example nobly taught —
Self-sacrifice — to point the way
By which the hearts of men are brought
Nearer to God. This was thy task.
Humbly, unknowingly fulfilled ;
And it were vain for us to ask
Why now thy voice is hushed and stilled.
O gallant spirit, generous heart I
If thou had'st lived in days gone by,
Thou would'st have loved to bear thy part
In glorious deeds of chivalry.
I make no apology for this digression, nor for
unearthing from the bottom of my drawer lines that,
written years ago, were never penned with any idea of
publication. For was not the subject of those verses
himself half a Cotswold man ?

XV.] THE SPIRIT OF THE DOWNS. 355
But now to return once more to the trees, the loss
of which caused rae to digress some pages back ;
there are compensations in all things. Not every
one who becomes a sojourner among the Cotswold
Hills is fated to undergo such a trial as the loss of
these ninety elms. And, notwithstanding this severe
lesson, I am still glad that I alighted on the spot
from which I am now writing.
I have learnt to find pleasure in other directions
now that my " Eton playing-fields " have passed away
for ever. I have become infected by the spirit of
the downs. I love the pure, bracing air and the
boundless sense of space in the open hills as much
as I ever loved the more concentrated charms of the
valley. And even in the valley I have possessions
of which no living man is able to deprive me.
From my window I can see the silvery trout streara,
which, after thousands of years of restless activity, is
still slowly gliding down towards the sea ; I can
listen on suraraer nights to the murmuring waterfall
at the bottom of the garden, the hooting of the owls,
and the other sounds which break the awful silence
of the night.
Nor can the hand of man disturb the glorious
timber round the house ; for it is " ornamental," and
therefore safe frora the hands of the despoiler.
Storms are gradually levelling the ancient beech and
ash trees in the woods, but it will be many a long
day before the hand of nature has marred the beauty
of what has always seemed to me to be one of the
fairest spots on earth.

CHAPTER XVI.

SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS.
"What more felicitie can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with libertie,
And to be lord of all the workes of Nature ? "
E. Spenser.
THE finest days, when the trees are greenest, the
sky bluest, and the clouds most snowy white
are the days that come in the midst of bad weather.
And just as there is no rest without toil, no peace
without war, no true joy in life without grief, no
enjoyment for the blas^, so there can be no lovely
summer days without previous storms and rain, no-
sunshine till the tearful mists have passed away.
356

Ch. XVL] A WALK IN THE FIELDS. 357
There had been a week's incessant rain ; every wild
flower and every blade of green grass was soaked
with moisture, until it could no longer bear its load,
and drooped to earth in sheer dismay. But last
night there came a change : the sun went down
beyond the purple hills like a ball of fire ; eastwards
the woods were painted with a reddish glow, and life
and colour returned to everything that grows on the
face of this beautiful earth.

" It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out),
One of those heavenly days which cannot die."
Wordsworth.

So it is pleasant to-day to wander over the fields ;
across the crisp stubbles, where the thistledown is
crowding in the " stooks " of black oats ; past stretches
of uncut corn looking red and ripe under a burning
sun. White oxeye daisies in masses and groups,
lilac-tinted thistles, and bright scarlet poppies grow in
profusion among the tall wheat stalks. A covey of
partridges, about three parts grown, rise almost at our
feet ; for it is early August, and the deadly twelve-
bore has not yet wrought havoc among the birds. On
the right is a field of green turnips, well grown after
the recent rains, and promising plenty of " cover " for
sportsmen in September. In the hedgerow the lovely
harebells have recovered from the soaking they en
dured, and their bell-shaped flowers of perfect blue
peep out everywhere. The sweetest flower that
grows up the hedgeside is the blue geranium, or

358 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
meadow crane's-bill. The hurable yarrow, purple
knapweed, field scabious, thistles with bright purple
heads, and St. John's wort with its clean-cut stars of
burnished gold and its pellucid veins, form a natural
border along the hedge, where wild clematis or travel
ler's joy entwines its rough leaf stalks round the
young hazel branches and among the pink roses of
the bramble.
By the roadside, where the dust blew before the
rain and covered every green leaf with a coating of
rich lime, there grow small shrubs of mallow with
large flowers of pale purple or mauve ; here, too, yellow
bedstraw and bird's-foot lotus add their tinge of gold
to the lush green grass, and the smaller bindweed, the
lovely convolvulus, springs up on the barrenest spots,
even creeping over the stone heaps that were left over
frora last winter's road raending.
Many another species of wild flower which, " born
to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert
air," grows in the quiet Cotswold lanes might here be
named ; but even though at times one raay feel, with
Wordsworth, " To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears,"
I will leave the hurable wayside plants and descend
into the vale. For it is along the back brook that the
tallest and stateliest wild flowers may best be seen.
The scythes mowed them all down in May, and again
in July, in the broad "raillpound," so that they do
not grow so tall by the main streara ; but the back

XVL] THE BROOKSIDE. 359
brook, the natural course of the river before the mills
were made, was left unmolested by the mowers, and
is a mass of life and colour.
Here grows the graceful meadow-sweet, fair and
tall, and white and fragrant ; here the willow-herb,
glorious with pink blossoras, rears its head high above
your shoulders araong the sword-flags and the green
rushes and " segs " ; the whole bank is a medley of
white meadow-sweet, scorpion-grasses, forget-me-nots,
pink willow-herbs, and lilac heads of mint all jurabled
up together. Never was such a delightful confusion
of colour! Great dock leaves two feet wide clothe
the path by the water-side with all the splendour of
malachite. The breeze blows up stream, and the trout are
rising incessantly, taking something small. They will
not look at any artificial fly, even in the rippling
breeze ; there is nothing small enough in any fly-
book to catch them this afternoon. But when the sun
gets low, and the great brown moths come out and
flutter over the water, the red palmer will catch a
dish of fish. Willow trees — '" withies " they call them
hereabouts — grow along the brook-side. So white
are the backs of their oval leaves that when the
breeze turns them back, the woods by the river look
bright and silvery. To-morrow, when the breeze has
almost died away, only the tops of the willows will
be silvered ; the next day, if all be calm and still, all
will be green as emerald. Such infinite variety is
there in the woods! Not only do the tints change
month by month, but day by day the colour varies ;
so that there is always something new, some fresh

36o SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
effect of light and shade to delight the eye of man in
the quiet English country. Dotted about in the
midst of the streara are little islands of forget-me-
nots. The lovely light blue is reflected everywhere
in the water. Very beautiful are the scorpion-grasses,
both on the banks araong the rushes and scattered
about in mid stream.
The meadows are full of life. There are sounds
sweet to the ear and sights pleasing to the eye. In
the new-mown water-meadow grasshoppers — such
hosts of thera that they could never be numbered
for multitude — are chirping and dancing merrily.
" They make the field ring with their importunate
chink, whilst the great cattle chew the cud and are
silent. How like the great and httle of mankind ! " as
Edmund Burke said years ago. By catching one of
these " meagre, hopping insects of the hour," you will
see that their backs are green as emerald and their
beUies gold : some have a touch of purple over the
eyes ; their thighs, which are enorraously developed
for juraping purposes, have likewise a delicate tinge
of purple.
Contrary to the saying of Izaak Walton, the
trout do not seera to care ranch for grasshoppers
nowadays, although perhaps they raay relish them in
streams where food is less plentiful. Our trout even
prefer the tiny yellow frogs that are to be found in
scores by the brook-side in early August. We have
often offered them both in the deep " pill " below the
garden ; and though they would come with a dart and
take the little frog, they merely looked at the grass
hopper in astonishment, and seldom took one.

XVL] THE "PILL." 361
As we stand on the rustic bridge above the " pill "
gazing down into the smooth flowing water, dark
trout ghde out of sight into their homes in the
stonework under the hatch. These are the fish that
rise not to the fly, but prey on their grandchildren,
growing darker and lankier and bigger-headed every
year. Wherever you find a deep hole and an ancient
hatchway there you will also find these great black
trout, always lying in a spot more or less inacces
sible to the angler, and living for years until they
die a natural death.
Was ever a place so full of fish as this " pill " ?
Looking down into the deeper water, where the great
iron hooks are set to catch the poachers' nets, I could
see dozens of trout of all sizes, but mostly small. At
the tail of the pool are lots of small ones, rising with
a gentle diraple. As the days becarae hotter and the
stream ran down lower and lower, the trout left the
long shallow reaches, and assembled here, where
there is plenty of water and plenty of food.
Standing on the bridge by the ancient spiked gate
bristling with sharp barbs of iron, like rusty spear-
and arrow-heads (our ancestors loved to protect
their privacy with these terrible barriers), I listened
to the waterfall three hundred yards higher up, with
its ceaseless music ; the afternoon sun was sparkling
on the dimpling water, which runs swiftly here over
a shallow reach of gravel — the favourite spawning-
ground of the trout. There is no peep of river
scenery I like so much as this. Thirty yards up
stream a shapely ash tree hangs its branches, clothed
with narrow sprays, right across the brook, the

362 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
fantastic foliage alraost touching the water. A little
higher up sorae willows and an elm overhang from
the other side.
There is something unspeakably striking about
a country lane or a shallow, rippling brook over
arched with a tracery of fretted foliage like the roof
of an old Gothic building.
Who that has ever visited the village of Stoke
Poges in Buckinghamshire will forget the lane by
which he approached the home and last resting-
place of the poet Gray? Perhaps you carae from
Eton, and after passing along a lane that is com
pletely overhung with an avenue of splendid trees,
where the thrushes sing among the branches as
they sing nowhere else in that neighbourhood, you
turned in at a little rustic gate. Straight in front
of your eyes were very legibly written on grey stone
three of the finest verses of the " Elegy." The monu
ment itself is plain, not to say hideous, but the simple
words inscribed thereon are unspeakably grand when
read amongst the surroundings of " wood " and
" ""ugged elm " and " yew-tree's shade," unchanged as
they are after the lapse of a century and a half
The place, and more especially the lane, is a
fitting abode for the spirit of the poet. One could
almost hear the song of him who, " being dead, yet
speaketh " : " And the birds in the sunshine above
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed."
Longfellow.
Gray is a poet for whora, in coraraon with most
Englishmen, the present writer has a sincere respect

XVL] GRAY'S "ELEGY." 363
It has been said, however, of the "Elegy" by one critic
that the subject of the poem gives it an unraerited
popularity, and by another — and that quite recently —
that it is the " high-water mark of mediocrity. "^
Although Gray's own modest dictum was the founda
tion of the first of these harsh criticisms, we are
unable to allow the truth of the one and must
strongly protest against the other. It has been
reported that Wolfe, the celebrated general, after
reciting the "Elegy" on the eve of the assault on
Quebec, declared that he would sooner have written
such a poem than win a victory over the French.
This was nearly a century and a half ago. Yet after
so long a lapse of time the verses still retain their
hold on the minds of all classes. In spite of the fact
that Matthew Arnold and other admirers have
declared that the "Elegy" was not Gray's masterpiece,
yet it was this poem that brought a man who accom
plished but a small amount of work into such lasting
fame. From beginning to end, as Professor Raleigh
says of Milton's work, the " Elegy " " is crowded with
examples of felicitous and exquisite raeaning given
to the infalhble word." Was ever a poera more
frequently quoted or so universally plagiarised ?
In writing or speaking about the country and its
inhabitants, if we would express ourselves as con
cisely as we possibly can, we are bound to quote the
" Elegy " ; it is invariably the shortest road to a terse
expression of our raeaning. Who can improve on
" Far from the raadding crowd's ignoble strife," or
" The short and simple annals of the poor " ? If
Gray's " Elegy " is but " a mosaic of the felicities " of

364 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
those who went before, let it be remerabered that had
he not laboriously pieced together that raosaic, these
¦" felicities " would have been a sealed book to the
majority of Englishmen. Not one man in a hundred
now reads some of the authors from which they were
culled. And as Landor said of Shakespeare, " He is
more original than his originals." Even that strange
individual, Samuel Johnson, who was accustomed
whenever Gray's poetry was mentioned either to
" crab " it directly or " damn it with faint praise," to
wards the end of his career admitted in his " Lives of
the Poets " that " the churchyard abounds with images
which find a mirror in every mind, and with senti-
raents to which every bosora returns an echo." But
the chief value of the work seeras really to lie in this :
it has dignified the rural scenes and the honest rustics
of England. It has invested every hoary-headed
swain, every busy housewife, and every little church
yard in the country with a special dignity and a
lasting charra. The traveller cannot look upon these
scenes and faces without unconsciously connecting
them with the lines he knows so well. Gray's "Elegy"
will never be forgotten ; for it has struck its roots
deep in the national language and far down into the
national heart.
Very similar to the quiet and leafy lane at Stoke
Poges is the brook below the waterfall at A 
in the Cotswolds. On your left as you look
up stream frora the bridge of the " pill," a raoss-
grown gravel path runs alongside the water under
a hanging wood of leafy elms and smooth-trunked
beech trees, where the ringdoves coo all day. A

XVL] A REACH OF THE COLN. 365
tangled hedge filled with tall timber trees runs up
the right-hand bank. Here the great convolvulus,
queen of wild flowers, twists her bines among the
hedge ; the bell-shaped flowers are conspicuous
everywhere, large and lily-white as the arum, so
luxuriant is the growth of wild flowers by the
brook-side. A silver stream is the Coin hereabouts, the
abode of fairies and fawns, and nymphs and dryads.
But when the afternoon sun shines upon it, it
becomes a stream of diamonds set in banks of
emeralds, with an arched and groined roof of jasper,
carved with foliations of graceful ash and willow,
and over all a sky of sapphire sprinkled with clouds
of pearl and opal. Later on towards evening there
wiU be floods of golden light on the grass and on
the beech trees up the eastern slope of the valley
and on the bare red earth under the trees, red with
fifty years' beech nuts. And later still, when the
distant hills are dyed as if with archil, the sapphire
sky will be striped with bars of gold and dotted
with coals of fire ; rubies and garnets, sardonyx and
chrysolite will all be there, and the bluish green of
beryl, the western sky as varied as felspar and
changing colour as quickly as the chameleon. And
as the day declines the last beams of the setting
sun will find their way through the tracery of foliage
that overhangs the brook, and the waters will be
tinged with a rosy glow, even as in sorae ancestral
hall or Gothic cathedral the sun at eventide pours
through the blazoned windows and floods the in
terior with rays of soft, mysterious, coloured light.

366 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
I have been trying to describe one of the loveliest
bits of rainiature scenery on earth ; yet how
•coraraonplace it all reads ! Not a thousandth part
of the beauty of this spot at sunset is here set down,
yet little more can be said. How bitter to think
that the true beauty of the trees, the path by the
brook, and the sunlight on the water cannot be
passed on for others to enjoy, cannot be stamped
on paper, but raust be seen to be realised ! Truly,
as Richard Jefferies says somewhere, there is a layer
of thought in the human brain for which there are
no words in any language. We cannot express a
thousandth part of the beauty of the woods and the
stream ; we can but dimly feel it when we see it
with our eyes.
Below the " pill " — for we have been gazing up
stream — some sheep are lying under a gnarled willow
on the left bank ; some are nibbling at the lichen
and moss on the trunk, others are standing about
in pretty groups of three and four. One of them has
just had a ducking. Trying to get a drink of water,
he overbalanced himself and fell in. He walks about
shaking himself, and doubtless feels very uncom
fortable. Sheep do not care much for bathing in
cold water. You have only to see the sheep-washing
in the spring to realise how they dislike it. There
is a place higher up the streara called the Washpool,
where every day in May you can watch the raen
bundling the poor old sheep into the water, one after
the other, and dipping them well, to free the wool
from insects of all kinds. And how the trout enjoy
the ticks that come from their thickly matted coats !

XVL] BY THE CRICKET GROUND. 367
One poor sheep is hopping about on the cricket field
dead lame. Perhaps that leg he drags behind is
broken ! Why does not the farmer kill the poor
brute ? There is much misery of this kind caused in
country places by the thoughtlessness of farmers.
How much has yet to be learnt by the very raen who
love to describe the labourers as " them 'ere ignorant
lower classes " ! Alas ! that these things can happen
among the green fields and spreading elms and the
heavenly sunshine of summer days ! We should have
more moral courage, and do as Carlyle bids us in his
old solemn way : " But above all, where thou findest
Ignorance, Stupidity, Brute-mindedness, attack it,
I say ; sraite it, wisely, unwearily, and rest not while
thou livest and it lives ; but smite, smite in the name
of God. The Highest God, as I understand it, does
audibly so command thee, still audibly if thou hast
ears to hear."
On the cricket pitch, a bare hundred yards away
from the river bank, is a plentiful crop of dandelions,
crow's-foot, clover, and, worst of all, enormous plan
tains. A gravel soil is very favourable to plantains,
for stones work up and the grass dies. The dreadful
plantain seems to thrive anywhere and everywhere,
and on bare spots where grass cannot live he imme
diately appears. Rabbits have been making holes
all over the pitch, and red spikes of sorrel, wonderfully
rich and varied in colour, rise everywhere at the
lower end of the field towards the river. The cricket
ground has been somewhat neglected of late.
There is a great elm tree down close to the ground
— the only tree that the winter gales had left to shade

368 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
us on hot suraraer days. It carae down suddenly,
without the slightest warning ; and underneath it
that raost careless of all keepers, Tom Peregrine,
had left the large mowing-machine and the roller.
So careless are sorae of these Gloucestershire folk
that sooner than do as I had ordered and put the
raowing-machine in the barn hard by, they must
leave it in the open air and under this ill-fated tree.
Down came my last beloved elm, smashing the
mowing-machine and putting an end to all thoughts
of cricket here this suraraer. It will be ages before
the village carpenter will come with his timber cart
and draw the tree away. A Gloucestershire man
cannot do a job like this in under two years ; they
are always so busy, you see, in Gloucestershire —
never a raoraent to spare to get anything done !
There was a tirae when the chief dehght of suraraer
lay in playing cricket. What ecstasy it was to be
well set and scoring fast on the hard-baked ground
(the harder the better), cutting to the boundary when
the ball pitched short on the off, and driving her
hard along the ground when they pitched one up !
What could surpass the joy of scoring a century in
those long summer days ? Now we would as soon
spend the holidays in the woods and by the busy
trout stream, reading and taking note of the trees
and the birds and the rippling of the waters as they
flow onwards, ever onwards, towards the sea. There
comes a time to all men, sooner or later, when we say
to ourselves, Cui bono? In a few short years I shall
no longer be able to hit the ball so hard, and in the
" field " I am already becoraing a trifle slow. Then

XVL] THE BOOK OF NATURE. 369
do we take to ourselves pursuits that we can follow
until the limbs are stiffened with age and the hair is
white as snow.
Having spent the best years of life in the pursuit
of pleasures that, however engrossing, nevertheless
bore no real and lasting fruit, we finally fall back ore
interests that will last a lifetime, perhaps an eternity —
for who knows how rauch of knowledge we shall take
with us to another world? Aristotle was not far
wrong when he described earthly happiness as a
life of conteraplation, with a moderate equipment
of external good fortune and prosperity. There is
no book so well worthy to be studied as the book
of nature, no melodies like those of the field and
fallow, wood and wold, and the still small voice of
the busy streams labouring patiently onwards day
by day.
In the fields beyond the river haymakers are busy
with the second crop. Down to the ford coraes a
great yellow hay-cart, drawn by two strong horses,
tandem fashion. One small boy alone is leading the
big horses. Arriving at the ford, he jumps on to the
leader's back and rides him through. The horses
strain and " scant," and the cart bumps over the deep
ruts, nearly upsetting. Luckily there is no accident.
So rauch is entrusted to these little farm lads of
scarce fifteen years of age it is a wonder they do the
work so well. Frora the tops of the firs coraes the
sound of pigeons winging their way from the " grove "
to the " conygers " (the latter word means the " place
of rabbits " ; there are lots of woods so called in
Gloucestershire). It is a curious piping sound that
24

370 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
wood-pigeons raake, and, not seeing the birds, you
might think it carae from the throat instead of the
wings. One day two of us were looking at a wood-
pigeon flying over, when we observed something
drop from the skies and fall into the stream. On
going up we saw that it was an egg she had dropped.
There it lay at the bottom of the brook, apparently
unbroken by the fall. Floating on the soft south
wind, a heron flies over so quietly that unless he had
given one of his characteristic croaks it was a hundred
to one you did not see him pass. Many a heron and
wild duck must pass over us unobserved on windy
days. It is so difficult to observe when you are
thinking. A man absorbed in reverie cannot see half
the things that many country folk with less active
brains never fail to observe. When we find people
who live in the country unversed in the ways of birds,
the knowledge of flowers and trees, and the habits
of the simple country folk, we need not necessarily
conclude that they are dull and empty-headed ; the
reverse is often the case. A man absorbed in business
or serious affairs raay love the country and yet know
little of its real life. A good deal of time must be
spent in acquiring this kind of knowledge, and it is
not everybody who has the time or the opportunity
to do it. If we corae across a raan with plenty of
leisure, yet knowing nothing of what is going on
around hira, we may then perhaps have cause to
complain of his dulness.
Mr. Aubrey De Vere relates an amusing story
about Sir Williara Rowan Harailton which exactly
illustrates ray meaning : " When he had soared into

XVL] THE HOME OF THE KINGFISHER. 371
a high region of speculative thought he took no note
of objects close by. A few days stfter our first meet
ing we walked together on a road, a part of which
was overflowed by a river at its side. Our theme
was the transcendental philosophy, of which he was
a great admirer. I felt sure that he would not observe
the flood, and raade no reraark on it. We walked
straight on till the water was half way up to our
knees. At last he exclairaed, ' What's this ? We seem
to be walking through a river. Had we not better
return to the dry land ? ' "
There is a spot in the woods by the River Coin that
is almost untrodden by man. It is the favourite
resort of foxes. Nobody but myself and the earth-
stopper has been there for years and years, save that
when the hounds come the huntsman rides through
and cheers the pack. It is in the conyger wood.
No path leads through its quiet recesses, where ash
and elm and larch and spruce, mostly self-sown, are
mingled together, with a thick growth of elder spread
beneath thera. It was here, in an ancient, disused
quarry, that the keeper pointed out not long since the
secret dwelling-house of the kingfishers. A sraall
crevice in the limestone rock, from which a disagree
able smell of dried fish bones issued forth, formed the
outer entrance to the nest. One could not see the
delicate structure itself, for it appeared to be several
feet within the rock. A mass of powdered fish bones
and the pungent odour from within were all the
outward signs of the inner nest. By standing on a
jutting ledge of the soft cretaceous rock, and holding
on by another ledge, which appeared not unlikely to

372 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
corae down and crush you, one could peep into the
hole and corafort oneself with the thought that one
was nearer a kingfisher's nest than is usually vouch
safed to mortal raan. It would be easy to get ladder
and pickaxe and break open the rock until the nest
was reached, but why disturb these lovely birds ?
They have built here year by year for centuries ; even
now some of this year's brood may be seen among
the willows by the back brook.
Frora this quarry was dug in the year 1590 the
stone to build the old raanor house yonder. A few
railes away toward Burford is the quarry frora which
raen say Christopher Wren brought sorae of the stone
to raise St. Paul's Cathedral. Yet the local people
do not care a bit for this beautiful freestone of the
Cotswold Hills. They want to bring granite from
afar for their village crosses, and ugly blue slates for
the roofs of the houses. At a parish council meeting
the other day it was seriously proposed to erect a
" Jubilee Hall " of red brick in our village. Anything
for a change, you see ; these people would not be
mortal if they did not love a change. The pure grey
limestone is comraonplace hereabouts ; I have actually
heard it said that it will not last. Yet in every
village stand the old Norraan churches, built entirely
of local stone, walls and roof ; and raany an old
manor house as well lies in our midst, as good as it
was three hundred years ago. To me, this limestone
of the hiUs is one of the raost beautiful features of
the Cotswold country. I love to stand in a liraestone
quarry and raark the layers and ponderous blocks
of clean white virgin rock — a tiny cleft in " the great

XVL] THE GREAT STONE FLOOR.

373

stone floor which stretches over the face of the earth
and under the limitless expanse of the sea." That
solid cretaceous mass is but the remnants of the
countless inhabitants of the old seas, — life changed
into solid, hard rock ; and even now, as the green
grass and the sweet sainfoin spring up on the surface,
feeding the flocks and herds that will soon in their
turn feed mankind, earth is turning back again into
life. Thus onwards in an endless cycle, even as the
earth goes round, and the waters return to the place
from whence they came, does nature's work go on ;
and when we consider these things, eternity and infinity
lose part of their strangeness. Does it seem strange
when we look upon this glorious country ? — in May
a sea of golden buttercups, in suraraer a sea of
waving grass, and in the auturan a sea of golden
corn ; once it was a sea of salt water. And these
great rounded banks, these hills and valleys, these
billowfy wolds, — could they but speak to us raight tell
strange things of the passing of the waters and of
the inhabitants of the old ocean ages and ages ago ;
the mystery of the sea would be sung in every vale
and echoed back by every rolling down.
A very wonderful matter it certainly is that the
stone in which the whole history of the country-side
is writ, not only in rolling downs and limestone
streams,, but even in church, tithe-barn, farm, and
cottage, as well as in the walls and the roads and
the very dust that blows upon thera, should be
nothing raore nor less than a raass of dead aniraals
that lived generation after generation, thousands of
years ago, at the bottora of the sea.

374 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
There is silence in the woods — the drowsy silence
of suraraer. Most of the birds have gone to the
cornfields. An ash copse is never so full of birds as
the denser woodlands, where the oaks grow stronger
on a stiff clay soil. Here are no laughing yaffels, no
cruel, murderous shrikes, and very few song-birds.
Still, there are always the pigeons and the cushats,
the wicked magpies and the screaraing "jaypies,"
as the local people call the jays. Then, too, there
are the birds down among the watercress and the
brooklime in the clear pool below the spring, moor
hens occasionally awakening the echoes by running
down a weird chromatic scale or calling with their
loud and mellow note to their friends and relations
over at the brook ; here, too, the softer croak of the
mallard and the wild duck is also heard. A hawk,
chasing sorae smaller bird, is darting and hovering
over the tops of the firs, but, catching a glimpse of
me, disappears from sight. Presently a little bird,
with an eye keener even than the cruel hawk's, comes
out from the hazels and perches on a post some ten
yards away. It is a fly-catcher. As he sits he turns
his eyes in every direction, on the look-out for dainty
insects. He seems to have eyes at the back of his
head, for instantly he sees a fly in the air right behind
him, makes a dash, catches it, and flies on to the
next post. He repeats the performance there, then
once more changes his ground. When he has made
another successful raid, he returns to his first post,
always hunting in a chosen circuit, and always
catching flies. He was here yesterday, and will be
here again to-morrow. When you try to approach

XVL] ASH TREES. 375
him, however, he flies away and hides himself in
the firs.
If there are not many birds in the woods just now,
still, there is always the beauty of the trees. How
marvellous is the symmetry of form and colouring
in the trunk and branches of a big ash tree ! If
you put raercury into a solution of nitrate of silver,
and leave them for a few days to combine, the
result will be a precipitation of silver in a lovely
arborescent form, the arbor Diance, beautiful beyond
description. Such are ray favourite ash trees when
the summer sunshine sparkles on thera. It is their
bare, silvered trunks that give the special charm to
these hanging woods. They stand out from dark
recesses filled with alder and beech and ivy-mantled
firs, rising in bold but graceful outline ; columns of
silver, touched here and there with the sad gold
and green shades of lichen and raoss. The raoss
that raingles with golden lichens is of a soft, velvety
hue, like a raantle of half drapery on a beautiful
white statue. And, oddly enough, though ferns do
not grow on the liraestone soil of the Cotswolds, yet
on the first story so to speak of every big ash tree
by the river, as well as on the pollard willows, there
is a beautiful little fernery springing up out of the
moss and lichen, which seems to thrive most when
the lichen thrives — in the winter rather than in the
summer. Then, too, the foliage of all kinds of
trees and shrubs is not only different in form, but
the minutest serrations vary ; so that the leaves of
two kinds of trees are no more alike than any two
human faces are alike. The elm leaves are rough

376 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.
to the touch, like sandpaper, and their edges are
clearly serrated ; those of the beeches are smooth
as parchraent, and though the edges appear at first
sight to be almost clean cut, they have very slight
serrations, as if nature had rounded them with a
blunt knife. The lobed ivy leaves are likewise highly
polished, and they have sharp, pointed tips. The
leaves of the common stinging-nettle (" 'ettles " the
labourers call thera) have deep indents all round
thera. A great dock leaf, in which the chives have
a strange reserablance to the arteries in the human
frame, has small shallow indents all round it. Hazels
are rough and almost round in form, save for a
pointed tip at the end ; they have ragged edges and
ill-defined serrations. Everybody knows the sycamore
from its five lobed leaves ; and the chestnuts and
oaks are, again, as different as possible. These are
only a few instances ; one might go on for a long
time showing the endless variations of form in foliage.
Then there is the remarkable difference in colour
and shade ; not only are there a dozen different
greens in one wood, but in one and the same beech
you may see a marked contrast in the tone of its
leaves. For about raidsuramer some trees put forth
a second growth of foliage, so that there is the vivid
yellow tint of the fresh shoots and the dark oUve
of the older leaves on one and the same branch. Of
the rich autumnal shades I am not speaking ; they
would require a chapter to themselves.
There are other things to be noted in the woods
besides the trees and the birds : lots of rabbits and
squirrels, not to mention an occasional hedgehog.

XVL] HEDGEHOGS. 377
Squirrels are the most delightful of all the furred
denizens of the woods. Running up the trees, with
their long brushes straight out behind, they are not
unlike miniature foxes. The slenderness of the twigs
on which they manage to find support is one of the
greatest wonders of the woods. The harmless hedge
hog, as everybody is aware, rolls himself up into a
lifeless ball of bristles on being disturbed. By staying
quietly by him and addressing him in an encouraging
tone, I lately induced a very large hedgehog to unroll
himself and creep slowly along close to ray feet.
It is very extraordinary how all wild animals,
especially when young, can be won by kindness. I
once came across a young hedgehog about three-
parts grown ; he was running about on the grass
in front of the house in broad daylight, and kept
poking his little nose into the earth searching for
emmets and grubs. I made friends with him, dug
him up some worms, and in less than half an hour he
becarae as tarae as possible. Tora Peregrine, the
keeper, stood by and roared with laughter at his
antics, saying he had never seen such a " comical
job " in all his life. And it really was a curious sight.
The hedgehog, with the merriest twinkle in his eyes,
would take the worras out of ray hand ; and when
I dangled them five or six inches off the ground, he
would rear up on his hindlegs and snatch and grab
until he secured them. Then he would sit up and
scratch himself like a dog. He would allow me to
take hira up in my hands and stroke him, and yet
not retire into his bristly shell. He ate a dozen
worms and a bumble-bee straight off the reel, and

378 SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch
then with all the gluttony of the pig tribe he went
searching about for more food. I noticed that he
ate the grass, in the same way as dogs do, for
medicinal purposes. We put him into a large box
with sorae hay in it, and as he still seeraed hungry
that evening, we gave hira a couple of cockchafers
frora the kitchen, which he appeared to relish
raightily. The httle fellow was as happy as a king,
crying and squeaking whenever we went to look
at hira, and hunting round the box for food. But,
alas ! we had overfed hira. To our intense regret
he died the next day frora acute indigestion.
There are but few snakes or vipers in the district
of which I am writing. But quite recently a man
found a large trout about eighteen inches in length
lying dead in the Coin, and protruding frora the
mouth of the fish was a large snake, also dead. The
snake must have been swimming in the water (as
they are known to do occasionally), and the trout
being in a backwater, where food was scarce, must
have seized the snake and choked himself in his
efforts to bolt it. This was a remarkable occurrence,
because a Coin trout is most particular as to his
bill of fare, and snakes are certainly not usually
included in the list. There is such a plentiful supply
of larvse, caddis, " stone-loach," fresh-water shrimps,
crayfish, and other crustaceans, to say nothing of
flies, minnows, and small fry, that a trout would
very seldom attack a snake. A large lobworm, how
ever, as every one knows, is a very attractive bait for
any kind of fresh-water fish except pike.
Stoats with reddish-brown backs and yellow bellies

XVL] EVENING ON THE HILLS. 379.
raay often be seen hunting the rabbits, and the little
weasels may sometiraes be drawn out of their holes in
the walls if one raakes a squeaking noise with the
lips. Stoats usually hunt singly, weasels in packs
and pairs.
But we raust leave the woods, for the evening
shadows are lengthening and the " golden evening
brightens in the west." It is tirae to go up to the
cornfields on the hill and see the sun set. I have
said that there is no path through this wood ; it is
sacred to foxes. They are not here now, however ;
they will not be back till all the corn is cut. The
wheatfields are their suraraer quarters.
It is no easy matter to get out of a tangled wood in
August. The stinging-nettles are seven feet high in
places ; we raust hold our hands high above our heads
and plough our way through them. When we finally
emerge we are covered from head to foot with large
prickly burrs frora the seeding burdocks, as well as
with the sraall round burrs of the goose-grass. Then
" On and up where nature's heart
Beats strong amid the hills."
As we pass onwards over the cornfields towards
a piece of high ground from which it is our wont to
watch the sun set, a silvery half-moon peeps out
between the clouds. In the north-west the range of
limestone hills is already tinged with purple. In the
highest heaven are bars of distant cloud, so motion
less that they appear to be sailing slowly against the
wind. Lower down, dusky, smoke-like clouds, tinged
here and there with a rosy hue, are flying rapidly

38o SUMMER DAYS ON THE COTSWOLDS. [Ch.XVI.
onwards, ever onwards, in the sky. Later on the
higher clouds will turn deep red, whilst brighter and
brighter will glow the moon.
Yonder, twenty-five railes away, the old White
Horse is just visible upon the distant chalk downs.
Overhead the sky has the deep blue of raazarine, but
westwards and south-west the colour is light olive green,
gradually changing to an intensely bright yellow.
Heavy banks of clouds are slowly rising in the south
west ; the bleating of sheep at the ancient homestead
half a mile away is the only sound to be heard.
As the sun goes down to-night it resembles a great
ship on fire amidst the breakers on a rockbound
coast ; for the western sky is dashed with fleecy
clouds, like the spray that beats against the chalk
cliffs on the shore of the mighty Atlantic ; and amid
the last plunges of the doomed vessel the spray is
tinged redder and redder, ere with her human cargo
she disappears amid the surf But no sooner has
she sunk into the abyss than the foam and the fierce
breakers die away, and a wondrous calra broods over
all things. In twenty minutes' time nothing is left in
the western sky but a tiny bar of golden cloud that
cannot yet quite die away, reminding rae, as I still
thought about the burning ship and her ill-fated
crew, of "the golden key
Which opes the palace of Eternity."
But eastwards, above the old legendary White Horse,
the " Empress of the Night," serene and proudly
pale, is driving her car across the darkening skies.

Ablington Nejior

CHAPTER XVII.

AUTUMN.

I.

IT is in the auturan that life in an old manor house
on the Cotswolds has its greatest charra ; for one
of the chief characteristics of a house in the depths of
the country surrounded by a broad manor is the game.
The whole atmosphere of such a place savours of
rabbits and hares and partridges. There may be no
pheasant-rearing and comparatively little game of
any kind, yet the place is, nevertheless, associated
with sport with the gun. Ten to one there are guns,
old and new, hanging up in the hall or the smoking-
381

382 AUTUMN. [Ch.
room, and perhaps fishing-rods too. There is a bond
between the house and the fields around, and the
¦connecting link is the garae. Time was when the
squire in these English villages lived on the produce
of the estate : game, fish, and fowl, and the stock at
the farm supplied his simple wants throughout the
year. Huge game larders are yet to be seen in the
lower regions of the manor house ; you must pass
through them to reach the still more ample wine
cellars. Nearer London there is not rauch connection
nowadays between the house and the land — you must
walk on the roads ; but away in the country it is over
the broad fields that you roam. Even on a small
manor of two thousand acres you may walk a dozen
miles in an afternoon and not pass the boundary fence.
It is very surprising that there is not more demand
for country houses in England when one considers
that an extensive demesne may be rented at a price
which is paid for a small flat in unfashionable
Kensington. The local term in Gloucestershire for
renting a raanor is " holding the liberty " — the old
Saxon word. The term is singularly expressive of
the freedom possessed by the man who exchanges
the life of the town or the villa for a raanor in
one of the remote counties. He who enjoys the
sporting rights, with license (as the leases run) to
hunt, fish, course, hawk, or sport without the labour
and loss of farming the land, possesses all the pleasures
of the squire's existence with few of its drawbacks
and responsibilities. Yet many a fine old house in
the country remains unlet because the life is con
sidered a dull one by those who have not been

XVII.] PLEASURES OF COUNTRY LIFE. 383
brought up to it. With nature's book spread so
amply before our eyes, the country is never dull. At
no time of life is it too late to commence the study of
this book of nature. The faculty of observation is
one that is easily acquired. It is not a case of
nascitur non fit. With tolerably good eyesight and
a determination to learn, a raan soon
" Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
And the habit of observing once acquired, we can
never lose it till we die.
Of course those who rent a place in preference
to purchasing it miss one of the greatest and most
useful privileges the country can confer — that of
following in the footsteps of him who
" Strove for sixty widow'd years to help his homelier brother
man,
Served the poor and built the cottage, rais'd the school
and drained the fen."
These are the true delights of a country existence ;
and it is, I think, incumbent on the really rich men of
England, if they have the welfare of the nation at
heart, to hold a stake, however small, in the land,
even at a sacrifice of income. I refer to men with
incomes ranging from ten to a hundred thousand
pounds per annum, who would not feel the loss of
interest that would possibly accrue on an exchange
of investment frora " the elegant simplicity of the
three per cents." to an agricultural estate in the country.
They may be giving gold for silver in the transaction,
but will be amply repaid in a thousand different

384 AUTUMN. [Ch.
ways. How infinitely preferable the existence of the
poor countryman, even though times be hard, to that
of the misguided being of whom it may be said :
" Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends —
An incarnation of fat dividends " ! C. Sprague.
It is probable that the bicycle will cause a larger
demand for remote country houses. To the writer,
who, previous to this summer, had never experienced
the poetry of motion which a bicycle coasting down
hill, with a smooth road and a favourable wind,
undoubtedly con.stitutes, the invention seems of the
greatest utility. It brings places sixty miles apart
within our immediate neighbourhood. Let the south
wind blow, and we can be at quaint old Tewkesbury,
thirty miles away, in less than three hours. A
northerly gale will land us at the " Blowing-stone "
and the old White House of Berkshire with less
labour than it takes to walk a mile. Yet in the
old days these twenty railes were a great gulf fixed
between the Gloucestershire natives and the " chaw-
bacons " over the boundary. Their very language
is as different as possible. To this day the villagers
who went to the last " scouring of the horse " and
saw the old-fashioned backsword play, talk of the
expedition with as rauch pride as if they had raade
a pilgriraage to the Antipodes.
As September draws nigh and the days rapidly
shorten, the merry hum of the thrashing raachine
is heard all day long. The sound coraes frora the
homestead across the road, and buzzes in my ears as

XVII.] THRASHING THE CORN. 385
I sit and write by the open window. How wonder
ful the evolution of the thrashing machine ! How
rough-and-ready the priraitive raethods of our fore
fathers ! First of all there was the Eastern method
of spreading the sheaves on a floor of clay, and allow
ing horses and oxen to trample on the wheat and
tread out the corn. Not less ancient was the use of
the old-fashioned flail — an instrument only discarded
within the meraory of living raan. Yet what a
wonderful difference there is between the work
accomplished in a day with the flails and the daily
output of the modern thrashing machine !
In the porch of the manor house, amid an accumu
lation of old traps and other curious odds and ends
there hangs an ancient and much-worn flail. Two
stout sticks, the handstaff and the swingle, attached
to each other by a strong band of gut, constitute
its simple mechanism. The wheat having been
strewn on the barn floor, the labourer held the hand-
staff in both hands, swung it over his head, and
brought the swingle down horizontally on to the
heads of ripe corn. Contrast this fearfully laborious
process with the bustling, hurrying machine of to
day. And yet with all this improveraent the com
can scarcely be thrashed out at a profit. So out
of joint are the tiraes and seasons that the foreigner
is allowed to cut out the home producer. Half the
life of the country-side has gone, and no raan dare
whisper " Protection."
Even in these bad tiraes the raan with a head on
his shoulders above the average of his neighbours
comes forth to show what can be done with energy
25

386 AUTUMN. [Ch.
and pluck. Twenty years ago a labouring man,
who " by crook or by hook " had saved a hundred
pounds, bought a thrashing raachine (probably
second-hand). He took it round to the various
farms, and did the thrashing at so much per day.
By and by he had saved enough money to take a
farm. A few years later he had two thrashing
machines travelling the country, and in this poor
district is now esteeraed a wealthy man. I always
found him an excellent garae-preserver and a most
straightforward fellow. Another farming neighbour
of mine, however, was always talking about his
ignorance and lack of caste. All classes, frora the
peer to the peasant, seera to resent a raan's pushing
his way frora what they are pleased to consider
a lower station into their own.
In the auturan gipsies are to be seen travelling
the roads, or sitting round the carap fire, on their
way to the various "feasts" or harvest festivals.
" Have you got the old gipsy blood in your veins ? "
I asked the other day of a gang I raet on their
way to Quenington feast. " Always gipsies, ever
since we can remember," was the reply. Fathers,
grandfathers were just the same, — always living
in the open air, winter and suraraer, and always
raoving about with the vans. In the winter hawking
is their occupation. " Oh no ! they never felt the
cold in winter ; they could light the fire in the van
if they wanted it."
Although many of the farmers here have given up
treating their men to a spread after the harvest is
gathered in, there is still a certain amount of rejoicing.

XVII.] HARVEST FEASTS. 3^7
The villagers have a little money over from extra pay
during the harvest, so that the gipsies do not do
badly by going the round of the villages at this time.
The village churches are decorated in a very delightful
manner for these feasts : such huge apples, carrots,
and turnips in the windows and strewn about in odd
places ; lots of golden barley all round the pulpit
and the font ; and perhaps there will be bunches of
grapes, such as grow wild on the cottage walls, hung
round the pulpit. Then what could look prettier
against the white carved stone than the russet and
gold leaves of the Virginia creeper ? and these they
freely use in the decorations. If one wants to see
good taste displayed in these days, one must go to
simple country places to find it. At Christmas the
old Gothic fane is hung with festoons of ivy and of
yew in the old fashion of our forefathers.
I paid a visit to my old friend John Brown the
other day, as I thought he would be able to tell me
something about the harvest feasts of bygone days.
He is a dear old man of some seventy-eight summers,
though somewhat of the laudator temporis acti
school ; but what good-nature and sense of humour
there is in the good, honest face !
" Fifty year ago 'twere all mirth and jollity," he
replied to our enquiry as to the old tiraes. " There
was. four feasts in the year for us folk. First of all
there was the sower's feast, — that would be about the
end of April ; then came the sheep-shearer's feast, —
there'd be about fifteen of us as would sit down after
sheep-shearing, and we'd be singing best part of the
night, and plenty to eat and drink ; next came the

388 AUTUMN [Ch.
feast for the reapers, when the corn was cut about
August ; and, last of all, the harvest home in
September. Ah ! those were good times fifty years
ago. My father and I have rented this cottage
eighty-six years come Michaelmas ; and my father's
grandfather lived in that 'ere housen, up that ' tuer '
there, nigh on a hundred years afore that. I planted
thera ash trees in the grove, and I mind when those
firs was put in, near seventy years ago. Ah ! there
was some foxes about in those days ; troilt, too, in
the ' bruk ' — it were full of thera. You'll have very few
* lets ' for hunting this season ; 'twill be a raild time
again. Last night were HoUandtide eve, and where
the wind is at HoUandtide there it will stick best part
of the winter. I've minded it every year, and never
was wrong yet. The wind is south-west to-day, and
you'll have no ' lets ' for hunting this time."
" Lets " appear to be hindrances to hunting in the
shape of frosts. It is an Anglo-Saxon word, seldom
used nowadays, though it is found in the dictionary ;
and our English Prayer Book has the words "we
are sore let and hindered in running the race," etc.
Shakespeare too employs it to signify a " check "
with the hounds.
As I left, and thanked John Brown for his informa
tion, he handed me a little bit of paper, whereon was
written : " to John Brown i day minding the edge at
the picked cloos 2s three days doto," etc. I found
that this was his little account for mending the hedge
at the " picket close."
A fine stamp of humanity is the Cotswold labourer ;
and may his shadow never grow less.

AN OLD-FASHIONED LABOURING COUPLE.

[To face page 388.

XVII.] THE WOLDS IN AUTUMN. 389
" Princes and lords may flourish ' or may fade,
A breath can make them, as a breath has made ;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied."
Fresh and health-giving is the breeze on the wolds
in auturan, like the driest and oldest iced champagne.
In the rough grass fields tough, wiry bents, thistles
with purple flowers, and the remnants of oxeye
daisies on brittle stalks rise almost to the height
of your knees. Lovely blue bell-flowers grow in
patches ; golden ragwort, two sorts of field scabious,
yellow toad-flax, and occasionally some white campion
reraain alraost into winter. Where the grass is
shorter raasses of shrivelled wild thyme may be
seen. The charlock brightens the landscape with
its mass of colour among the turnips until the end
of November, if the season be fairly mild. But the
hedges and trees are the glory of " the happy autumn
fields." The traveller's joy gleams in the September
sunlight as the feathery awns lengthen on its seed
vessels. What could be raore beautiful ! Later on
it becomes the " old man's beard," and the hedges
will be white with the snowy down right up to
Christmas, until the winter frosts have once more
scattered the seeds along the hedgerow. Of a rich
russet tint are the maple leaves in every copse and
fence. On the blackthorn hang the purple sloeberries,
like small damsons, luscious and covered with bloom.
Tart are they to the taste, like the crab-apples which
abound in the hedges. These fruits are picked by
the poor people and made into wine. Crab-apples
may be seen on the trees as late as January. Black-

390 AUTUMN. [Ch.
berries are found in extraordinary numbers on this
limestone soil, and the hedges are full of elder-berries,
as well as the little black fruit of the privet. Add
to these the red berries of the hawthorn or the may,
the hips and haws, the brown nuts and the succulent
berries of the yew, and we have an extraordinary
variety of fruits and bird food. Woodbine or wild
honeysuckle may often be picked during October
as well as in the spring. By the river the trout
grow darker and raore lanky day by day as the
nights lengthen. The water is very, very clear.
" You might as well throw your 'at in as try to
catch them," says Tom Peregrine. The willows are
gold as well as silver now, for some of the leaves
have turned ; while others still show white downy
backs when the breeze ruffles them. In the garden
by the brook-side the tall willow-herbs are seeding ;
the pods are bursting, and the gossamer-like, grey
down — the " silver mist " of Tennyson — is con
spicuous all along the brook. The water-mint and
scorpion-grasses reraain far into November, and
the former scents more sweetly as the season
wanes. But " Heavily hangs the broad sunflower,
Over its grave in the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock ;
Heavily hangs the tiger lily.''
An old wild duck that left the garden last spring
to rear her progeny in a more secluded spot half a
mile up stream has returned to us. Eveiy morning
her ten young ones pitch down into the water in

XVII.] MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 391
front of the house, and remain until they are dis
turbed ; then, with loud quacks and tumultuous
flappings, they rise in a long string and fly right
away for several miles, often returning at nightfall.
Such wild birds are far raore interesting as occasional
visitors to your garden than the fancy fowl of strange
shape and colouring often to be seen on ornaraental
water. A teal came during the auturan of 1897 to
the sanctuary in front of the house, attracted by the
decoys ; she stayed six weeks with us, taking daily
exercise in the skies at an immense height, and
circling round and round. Unfortunately, when the
weeds were cut, she left us, never to return.
By the end of October alraost all our summer birds
have left us. First of all, in August, went the cuckoo,
seeking a winter resort in the north of Africa. The
swifts were the next to go. After a brief stay of
scarce three months they disappeared as suddenly in
August as they came in May. The long-tailed
swallows and the white-throated martins were with
us for six months, but about the middle of October
they were no raore seen. All have gone southwards
towards the Afric shore, seeking warrath and days of
endless sunshine. Gone, too, the blackcap, the red
start, and the little flycatcher ; vanishing in the dark
night, they gathered in legions and sped across the
seas. One night towards the end of Septeraber,
whilst walking in the road, I heard such a loud, rush
ing sound in front, beyond a turning of the lane, that
I imagined a thrashing machine was coming round
the corner among the big elm trees. But on
approaching the spot, I found the noise was nothing

392 AUTUMN. [Ch.
more nor less than the chattering and clattering of
an immense concourse of starlings. The roar of their
wings when they were disturbed in the trees could be
heard half a mile away. Although a few starlings
remain round the eaves of the houses throughout the
winter, vast flocks of them assemble at this time in
the fields, and some doubtless travel southwards and
westwards in search of warmer quarters. The other
evening a large flock of lapwings, or common plover,
gave a very fine display — a sort of serpentine dance
to the tune of the setting sun, all for my edification.
They could not quite make up their minds to settle
on a brown ploughed field. No sooner had they
touched the ground than they would rise again with
shrill cries, flash here and flash there, faster and
faster, but all in perfect time and all in perfect
order — now flying in long drawn out lines, now in
battalions ; bowing here, bowing there ; now they
would " right about turn " and curtsey to the sun. A
thousand trained ballet dancers could not have been
in better tirae. It was as if all joined hands, dressed
in green and white ; for at every turn a thousand
white breasts gleamed in the purple sunset. The
restless call of the birds added a peculiar charra to
the scene in the darkening twilight.
Of our winter visitants that corae to take the place
of the suraraer raigrants the fieldfare is the coramon-
est and most familiar. Ere the leaf is off the ash
and the beeches are tinged with russet and gold,
flocks of these handsome birds leave their homes in
the ice-bound north, and fly southwards to England
and the sunny shores of France. Such a rara avis as

XVII.] WINTER VISIT.ANTS. 393
the grey phalarope — a wading bird like the sandpiper
— occasionally finds its way to the Cotswolds. Wild
geese, curlews, and wimbrels with sharp, snipe-like
beaks, are shot occasionally by the farmers. A few
woodcocks, snipe, and wildfowl also visit us. In the
winter the short-eared owls come ; they are rarer
than their long-eared relatives, who stay with us all
the year. The common barn owl, of a white, creamy
colour, is the screech owl that we hear on summer
nights. Brown owls are the ones that hoot ; they do
not screech.
Curiously enough I missed the corncrake's well-
known call in the meadows by the river in the spring
time of 1897 ; and not one was bagged in September
by the partridge-shooters. This is the fir^st year they
have been absent. I always looked for their pleasing
croak in May by the trout streara, and invariably
shot several while partridge-shooting in forraer years.
The earthquake of 1895 was very severely felt in
the Cotswolds. Next to an earthquake a bad
thunderstorra is the most awe inspiring of all things
to mortals. During last auturan the Cotswold district
was visited by a thunderstorm of short duration, but
great severity. A gale was blowing from the south ;
thunder and lightning came up frora the sarae direc
tion, and, travelling at an iramense speed, passed
rapidly over our house about ten p.m. The shocks
became louder and louder ; and whilst five or six of
us were watching the lightning from a large window
in the hall, there was a deafening report as of a dozen
canons exploding simultaneously at close quarters.
At the sarae time a flame of blue fire of intense

394 AUTUMN. [Ch.
brilliancy seemed to fall like a meteor a few yards
in front of our eyes. At first we were sure the house
had been struck, so that the first impulse was to rush
out of doors ; but the succeeding report being much
less severe, confidence was restored. The general
•conclusion was that a thunderbolt had fallen, and,
missing the house by a few yards, had disappeared
in the earth. A search next morning on the lawn
did not throw any light on the matter. Probably, if
there was a thunderbolt, it fell into the river ; for
it is well known that water is a great conductor of the
electric fluid, and thunderstorms often seem to follow
the course of a stream. The summer lightning, which
kept the sky in a blaze of light for two hours after
the storm had passed away, was the finest I remember.
It is a pity mankind is so little addicted to being
out of doors after sunset. Some of the raost beautiful
drives and walks I have ever enjoyed have been those
taken at night'. Driving out one evening from Ciren
cester, the road on either side was illuminated with
the fairy lights of countless glow-worms. It is the
female insect that is usually responsible for this
wonderful green signal taper ; the males seldom use
it. Whereas the former is merely an apterous creep
ing grub, the latter is an insect provided with wings.
Flying about at night, he is guided to his mate by the
light she puts forth ; and it is a peculiar characteristic
of the male glow-worm, that his eyes are so placed
that he is unable to view any object that is not
immediately beneath hira.
It is early in summer that these wonderful lights
are to be seen ; June is the best month for observing

:XVII.] NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 395
them. During July and August glow-worms seem
to migrate to warmer quarters in sheltered banks and
holes, nor is their light visible to the eye after June
is out, save on very warra evenings, and then only
in a lesser degree.
The glow-worms on this particular night were so
numerous as to remind one of the fireflies in the
tropics. At no place are these lovely insects more
numerous and resplendent than at Kandy in Ceylon.
Myriads of them flit about in the cool evening atmo
sphere, giving the appearance of countless meteors
•darting in different directions across the sky.
In the clear Cotswold atmosphere very brilliant
meteors are observable at certain seasons of the year.
Never shall I forget the strange variety of phenomena
witnessed whilst driving homewards one evening in
autumn from the railway station seven railes away.
There had been a tirae of stormy, unsettled weather
for some weeks previously, and the meteorological
¦conditions were in a very disturbed state. But as 1
started homewards the stars were shining brightly,
whilst far away in the western sky, beyond the rolling
downs and bleak plains of the Cotswold Hills, shone
forth the strange, raysterious, zodiacal light, towering
upwards into a point among the stars, and shaped
in the form of a cone. It was the first occasion this
•curious, unexplained phenomenon had ever come
under my notice, and it was awe inspiring enough in
itself But before I had gone more than two miles
¦of my solitary journey, great black clouds came up
behind me from the south, and I knew I was racing
with the storm. Then, as " the great organ of eternity

396 AUTUMN. [Ch.
began to play " and the ominous murraurs of distant
thunder broke the silence of the night, a stiff breeze
frora the south seemed to come frora behind and
pass rae, as if travelling quicker than my fast-trotting
nag. Like a whisper from the grave it rustled in the
brown, lifeless leaves that still lingered on the trees,
making rae wish I was nearer the old house that
I knew was ready to welcorae me five miles on in
the little valley, nestling under the sheltering hill.
And soon more clouds seemed to spring up sud
denly, north, south, east, and west, where ten
minutes before the sky had been clear and starry.
And the sheet lightning began to play over them
with a continuous flow of silvery radiance, north
answering south, and east giving back to west the
reflected glory of the mighty electric fluid. But the
centre of the heavens was still clear and free from
cloud, so that there yet remained a large open space
in front of me, wherein the stars shone brighter than
ever. And as I gazed forward and upward, and urged
the willing horse into a twelve-mile-an-hour trot, the
open space in the heavens revealed the glories of
the finest display of fireworks I have ever seen. First
of all two or three smaller stars shot across the
hemisphere and disappeared into eternal space. But
suddenly a brilliant light, like an enormous rocket,
appeared in the western sky, far above the clouds.
First it moved in a steady flight, hovering like a
kestrel above us ; then, with a flash which startled
me out of my wits and brought my horse to a stand
still, it rushed apparently towards us, and finally
disappeared behind the clouds. It was sorae time

XVII.] NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 397
before either horse or driver regained the nerve which
had for a time forsaken them ; and even then I was
inclined to attribute this wonderful meteoric shower
to a display of fireworks in a neighbouring village,
so close to us had this last rocket-like shooting star
appeared to be. A meteor which is sufficiently
brilliant to frighten a horse and raake him stop dead
is of rare occurrence. I was thankful when I reached
home in safety that I had not only won my race
against the storm, but that I had seen no more
atmospheric phenomena of so startling a nature.
In addition to the wonders of the heaven there
are many other interesting features connected with a
drive or walk by the light of the stars or the moon.
A Cotswold village seen by raoonlight is even raore
picturesque than it is by day. The old, gabled raanor
houses are a delightful picture on a cold, frosty night
in winter ; if raost of the rooras are lit up, they give
one the idea of endless hospitality and cheerfulness
when viewed from without. To walk by a stream
such as the Coin on such a night is for the time
like being in fairyland. Every eddy and ripple is
transformed into a crystal stream, sparkling with a
thousand diamonds. The sound of the waters as
they gurgle and bubble over the stones on the
shallows seems for all the world like children's voices
plaintively repeating over and over again the old
strain : " I chatter, chatter as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever."

398 AUTUMN. [Ch.
Now is the tirae to discover the haunts of wild
duck and other shy birds like the teal and the
heron. In frosty weather raany of these visitors
come and go without our being any the wiser, unless
we are out at night. Before sunrise they will be far,
far away, and will probably never return any more.
Time after time we have been startled by a flight of
duck rising abruptly frora the streara, in places where
by day one would never dream of looking for them.
Foxes, too, may be seen within a stone's throw of
the house on a moonlight evening. They love to
prowl around on the chance of a dainty morsel,
such as a fat duck or a serai-doraestic moorhen.
Nor will they take any notice of you at such a
time. I made a midnight expedition once last hunting
season to see that the " earths " were properly stopped
in sorae small courts situated on a bleak and lonely
spot on the Cotswold Hills. On the way I had
to pass close to a large barrow. Weird indeed
looked the old time-worn stone that has stood for
thousands of years at the end of this old burial
mound. A sraall wood close by rejoices in the
name of " Deadman's Acre." The moon was
casting a ghastly light over the great moss-grown
stone and the deserted wolds. The words of Ossian
rose to my lips as I wondered what manner of men
lay buried here. " We shall pass away like a
dream. Our tombs will be lost on the heath. The
hunter shall not know the place of our rest. Give
us the song of other years. Let the night pass
away on the sound, and morning return with joy."

XVII.] THE "BLOWING-STONE."

399

Then, as the rustling wind spoke in the lifeless
leaves of the beeches, the plain seemed to be peopled
with strange phantasies — the ghosts of the heroes of
old. And a voice carae back to me on the whisper
ing breeze :
" Thou, too, must share our fate ; for human life is short.
Soon will thy tomb be hid, and the grass grow rank on thy
grave." Macpherson's Ossian.
And sometimes when I have been up on the hills
by night, and, looking away over the broad vale
stretched out below, have seen in the distance the
gliding lights of some Great Western express — a
trusty weight-carrier bearing through the darkness
its precious burden of humanity — I thought of the
time when the old seas ran here. And then there
seeraed to come from the direction of the old White
Horse and Wayland Smith's cave the faint murraur-
ing sound of the " Blowing-stone " (" King Alfred's
bugle-horn ") — that summoner of men to arms a
thousand years ago, like the beacons of later days
that " shone on Beachy Head " ; and I felt like a
man standing at the prow of a mighty liner,
"homeward bound," on some fine though dark and
starless evening, when no sound breaks upon his
ear but the monotonous beating of the screw and
the ceaseless flow of unfathomed waters, save that
ever and anon in the far distance the moaning fog
horn sounds its note ot warning ; whilst as he stands
" forward " and inhales the pure health-giving salt
distilled from balmy vapours that rise everlastingly
frora the surface of the deep, nothing is visible to the

400 AUTUMN. [Ch
eye — straining westward for a glimpse of white chalk
cliffs, or eastward, perhaps, for the first peep of dawn
— save the intermittent flash from the lighthouse
tower, and the signals glowing weird and fiery that
reveal in the misty darkness those softly gliding
phantasies, the ships that pass in the night.

II.
In nine years out of ten autumn lingers on until
the death of the old year ; then, with the advent
of the new, our English winter begins in earnest.
It is Christmas Day, and so lovely is the weather
that I am sitting on the terrace watching the warm,
grateful sun gradually disappearing through the grey
ash trunks in the hanging wood beyond the river.
The birds are singing with all the promise of an
•early spring. There is scarcely a breath of wind
stirring, and one might almost imagine it to be
April. Tom Peregrine, clad in his best Sunday
homespun, passes along his well-worn track through
the rough grass beyond the water, intent on visiting
his vermin traps, or bent on some form of destruc
tion, — for he is never happy unless he is killing. My
old friend, the one-legged cock pheasant, who for the
third year in succession has contrived to escape our
annual battue, comes up to my feet to take the
bread I offer. When he was flushed by the beaters
there was no need to call " Spare him," for with all the
cunning of a veteran he towered straight into the skies

XVII.] A SOLAR HALO.

401

and passed over the guns out of shot. Two fantail
pigeons of purest white; sitting in a dark yew tree
that overhangs the stream a hundred yards away,
make the prettiest picture in the world against the
dusky foliage.
Splash ! — a great brown trout rolls in the shallow
water like a porpoise in the sea. A two-pounder in
this little stream makes as much fuss as a twenty-
pound salmon in the mighty Tweed.
Hark ! was that a lamb bleating down in old
Mr. Peregrine's raeadow ? It was : the first lamb,
herald of the spring that is to be. May its little
life be as peaceful as this its first birthday : less
stormy than the life of that Lamb whose birth all
people celebrate to-day.
The rooks are cawing, and a faint cry of plover
comes from the hill.
Soft and grey is the winter sky, but behold ! round
the sun in the west there arises a perfect solar halo,
very similar to an ordinary rainbow, but smaller in
its arc and fainter in its hues of yellow and rose —
a very beautiful phenomenon, and one seldom to
be seen in England. Halos of this nature are
supposed to arise frora the double refraction of the
rays from the sun as the light passes through thin
clouds, or from the transmission of light through
particles of ice. It lingers a full quarter of an hour,
and then dies away. Does this bode rough weather ?
Surely the cruel Boreas and the frost will not come
suddenly on us after this lovely, mild Chri.stmas !
Listen to the Christmas bells ringing two miles away
at Barnsley village ! we can never tire of the sound
26

402 .. AUTUMN. [Ch.
here, for it is only on very still days that it reaches
us across the wolds.
" Hark ! In the air, around, above.
The Angelic Music soars and swells.
And, in the Garden that I love
I hear the sound of Christmas Bells.
" From hamlet, hollow, viUage, height.
The silvery Message seems to start,
And far away its notes to-night
Are surging through the city's heart.
" Assurance clear to those who fret
O'er vanished Faith and feelings fled,
That not in English homes is yet
Tradition dumb, or Reverence dead.
" Now onward floats the sacred tale,
Past leafless woodlands, freezing riUs ;
It wakes from sleep the silent vale,
It skims the mere, it scales the hills ;
•' And rippling on up rings of space,
Sounds faint and fainter as more high.
Till mortal ear no more may trace
The music homeward to the sky.
" To courtly roof and rustic cot
Old comrades wend from far and wide ;
Now is the ancient feud forgot.
The growing grudge is laid aside.
"Peace and goodwiU 'twixt rich and poor!
Goodwill and peace 'twixt class and class !
Let old with new, let Prince with boor
Send round the bowl, and drain the glass ! "
Alfred Austin.
I have culled these lines from the poet laureate's
charming " Christmas Carol," as they are both singu
larly beautiful and singularly appropriate to our
Cotswold village.

XVII.] CHRISTMAS REJOICINGS. 403
I take the liberty of saying that in our little hamlet
there is peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor at
Christmas-time. "Now is the ancient feud forgot.
The growing grudge is laid aside."
Our humble rejoicings during this last Christmas
were very similar to those of a hundred years ago.
They included a grand smoking concert at the club,
during which the mummers gave an admirable per
formance of their old play, of which more anon ; then
a big feed for every man, woman, and child of the
hamlet (about a hundred souls) was held in the
manor house ; added to which we received visits from
carol singers and musicians of all kinds to the
number of seventy-two, reckoning up the total aggre
gate of the different bands, all of whom were wel
comed, for Christmas comes but once a year, after
all, and " the more the merrier " should be our motto
at this time. So from villages three and four miles
away came bands of children to sing the old, old
songs. The brass band, including old grey-haired
men who fifty years ago with strings and wood-wind
led the psalmody at Chedworth Church, come too,
and play inside the hall. We do not brew at home
nowadays. Even such old-fashioned Conservatives
as old Mr. Peregrine, senior, have at length given up
the custom, so we cannot, like Sir Roger, allow a
greater quantity of malt to our small beer at Christmas;
but we take good care to order in some four or five
eighteen-gallon casks at this time. Let it be added
that we never saw any man the worse for drink in

404 AUTUMN. [Ch.
consequence of this apparent indiscretion. But then,
we have a butler of the old school.
When we held our Yuletide revels in the manor
house, and the old walls rang with the laughter and
merriment of the whole hamlet (for farmers as well
as labourers honoured us), it occurred to me that the
bigotphoiies, which had been lying by in a cupboard
for about a twelvemonth, raight arause the company.
Bigotphones, I raust explain to those readers who are
uuinitiated, are delightfully siraple contrivances fitted
with reed mouthpieces — exact representations in
mockery of the various instruments that raake up a
brass band — but composed of strong cardboard, and
dependent solely on the judicfous application of the
human lips and the skilful modulation of the human
voice for their effect. These being produced, an
impromptu band was formed : young Peregrine seized
the bassoon, the carter took the clarionet, the
shepherd the French horn, the cowman the trombone,
and, seated at the piano, I myself conducted the
orchestra. Never before have I been so astonished
as I was by the unexpected musical ability displayed.
No matter what tune I struck up, that heterogeneous
orchestra played it as if they had been doing nothing
else all their lives. " The British Grenadiers," " The
Eton Boating Song," " Two Lovely Black Eyes " (solo,
young Peregrine on the bassoon), " A Fine Hunting
Day," — all and sundry were performed in perfect
time and without a false note. Singularly enough,
it is very difficult for the voice to " go flat " on the -
bigotphone. Then, not content with these popular
songs we inaugurated a dance. Now could be seen

XVII.] CHRISTMAS REJOICINGS. 405
the beautiful and accomplished Miss Peregrine doing
the light fantastic round the stone floor of the hall
fo the tune of " See me dance the polka " ; then, too,
the stately Mrs. Peregrine insisted on our playing
" Sir Roger de Coverley," and it was danced with that
pomp and ceremony which such occasions alone are
wont to show. None of your " kitchen lancers ' for
us hamlet folk ; we leave that kind of thing to the
swells and nobs. Tora Peregrine alone was baffled.
Whilst his faraily in general were bowing there,
curtseying here, clapping hands and " passing under
to the right " in the usual " Sir Roger " style, he stood
in grey homespun of the best material (I never yet
saw a Cotswold man in a vulgar chessbo^d suit),
and as he stood he marvelled greatly, exclaiming
now and then, " Well, I never ; this is something new
to be sure ! " "I never saw such things in all ray life,
never ! " He would not dance ; but, seizing one of the
bigotphones, he blew into it until I was in some
anxiety lest he should have an apoplectic fit. I need
scarcely say he failed to produce a single note.
Thus our Yuletide festivities passed away, all
enjoying theraselves iraraensely, and thus was sealed
the bond of fellowship and of goodwill 'twixt class
and class for the coming year.
Whilst the younger folks danced, the fathers of the
hamlet walked on tiptoe with fearful tread around
the house, looking at the faded family portraits. I
was pleased to find that what they liked best was the
ancient armour ; for said they, " Doubtless squire
wore that in the old battles hereabouts, when Oliver
Cromwell was round these parts." On my pointing

4o6 AUTUMN. [Ch.
out the picture of the man who built the house three
hundred years ago, they surrounded it, and gazed at
the features for a great length of time ; indeed, I feared
that they would never corae away, so fascinated
were they by this relic of antiquity, illustrating the
ancient though siraple annals of their village.
I persuaded the head of our rauramer troop to
write out their play as it was handed down to him
by his predecessors. This he did in a fine bold hand
on four sides of foolscap. Unfortunately the literary
quality of the lines is so poor that they are hardly
worth reproducing, except as a specimen of the
poetry of very early times handed down by oral
tradition. Suffice it to say that the dramatis
personcB are five in number — viz.. Father Christmas,
Saint George, a Turkish Knight, the Doctor, and an
Old Woman. All are dressed in paper flimsies of
various shapes and colours. First of all enters
Father Christmas.
" In comes I old Father Christmas,
Welcome in or welcome not,
Sometimes cold and sometimes hot.
I hope Father Christmas will never be forgot," etc.
Then Saint George coraes in, and after a great deal
of bragging he fights the " most dreadful battle that
ever was known," his adversary being the knight
"just come from Turkey-land," with the inevitable
result that the Turkish knight falls. This brings in
the Doctor, who suggests the following remedies : —
" Give him a bucket of dry hot ashes to eat,
Groom him down with a bezom stick,
And give him a yard and a half of pump water to drink."

XVII.] THE MUMMERS' PLAY. 4°
For these offices he mentions that his iee is fifty
guineas, but he will take ten pounds, adding :
"I can cure the itchy pitchy,
Palsy, and the gout;
Pains within or pains without ;
A broken leg or a broken arm.
Or a broken limb of any sort.
I cured old Mother Roundabout," etc.
He declares that he is not one of those "quack
doctors who go about from house to house telling you
more lies in one half-hour than what you can find
true in seven years.''
So the knight just come from Turkey-land is
resuscitated and sent back to his own country.
Last of all the old woman speaks :
" In comes I old Betsy Bub ;
On my shoulder I carry my tub,
And in my hand a dripping-pan.
Don't you think I'm a jolly old man?
"Now last Christmas my father kiUed a fat hog,
And my mother made black-puddings enough to choke a dog,
And they hung them up witb a pudden string
TiU the fat dropped out and the maggots crawled in,'' etc.
The mummers' play, of which the above is a very
brief resume, lasts about half an hour, and includes
many songs of a topical nature.
Yes, Christmas is Christraas still in the heart of
old England. We are apt to talk of the good
old days that are no more, lamenting the customs
and country sports that have passed away ; but
let us not forget that two hundred years hence,

4o8 AUTUMN. [Ch.-
when we who are living now will have long passed
" that bourne from which no traveller returns," our
descendants, as they sit round their hearths at Yule
tide, may in the same way regret the grand old
times when good Victoria — the greatest monarch
of all ages — was Queen of England ; those times
when during the London season fair ladies and
gallant men might be seen on Drawing-room days
driving down St. James's Street in grand carriages,
drawn by magnificent horses, with servants in cocked
hats and wigs and gold lace ; when the rural
villages of merrie England were cheered throughout
the dreary winter months by the" sound of horse and
hound, and by the sight of beautiful ladies and
red-coated sportsmen, mounted on blood horses,
careering over the country, clearing hedges ajid
ditches of fabulous height and width ; when every
raan, woman, and child in the village turned out-
to see the " meet," and the peer and the peasant
were for the day on an equal footing, bound to
gether by an extraordinary devotion to the chase
of " that little red rover " which men called the fox —
now, alas ! extinct, as the mamraoth or the bear,
owing to barbed wire and the abolition of the horse ;
when to such an extent were garaes and sports a
part of our national life that half Londoa flocked to
see two elevens of cricketers (including a champion
" nine" feet high called Grace) fighting their
mimic battle arrayed in white flannels and curiously
coloured caps, at a place called Lords, the exact
site of which is now, alas ! lost in the sea of houses ;
when as an absolute fact the first news raen turned to

XVII.] CARPE DIEM, 409
on opening their daily papers in the morning was the
column devoted to cricket, football, or horse-racing ;
when in the good old days, before electricity and
the motor-car caused the finest specimen of the
brute creation to become virtually extinct (although
a few may still be seen at the Zoological Gardens),
horse-racing for a cup and a small fortune in gold was
only second to cricket and football in the estimation
of all merrie Englanders — the only races now indulged
in being those of flying machines to Mars and back
twice a day. Two hundred years hence, I say, the
Victorian era — time of blessed peace and unexampled
prosperity — will be pronounced by all unprejudiced
judges as the true days of merrie England. Let
us, then, though- not unmindful of the past, pin our
faith firmly on the present and the future. Carpe
diem should be our motto in these fleeting tiraes,
and, above all, progress, not retrogression. Let us,
as the old, old sound of the village bells comes to
us over the rolling downs this New Year's eve, recall
to mind " . . . . the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be."
Let our hearts warm to the battle cry of advancing
civilisation and the attainment of the ideal humanity,
soaring upwards step by step, re-echoing the prayer
contained in those lilting stanzas with which
Tennyson greets the New Year :
" Ring out the old, ring in the new ;
Ring happy bells across the snow:
The year is going, let him go ;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

, AUTUMN. [Ch. XVII,
" Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more ;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
" Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right;
Ring in the common love of good.
"Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
"Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be,"

CHAPTER XVIII.

WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN.

"I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright: —
And round beneath it, time in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurl'd." Henry Vaughan.
IT is the end of May ; a bright, rainless, and at
times bitteriy cold month it has been. But now
the chill east wind has almost died away. Summer
has come at last. Once more I am raaking for the
Downs. Very seldom ara I there at this period of
411

412 WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN. [Ch.
the year ; but before going away for several months,
I bethought me that I would go and inspect the
improvements at the fox-covert, stopping on my way
at the " Jubilee " gorse covert we lately planted, to
see if there is a litter of cubs there this year. Across
the fields we go, ankle deep in buttercups and clover
at one moment, then up the hedge to avoid treading
the half-grown barley. We are so accustomed to
take a bee-line across these shooting grounds of ours
that we quite forget that the farnier would not thank
us for trampling down his crops at the end of May.
But soon we are on the Downs, well out of harm's
way and far removed from highroads and footpaths.
What a glorious panorama lies all around ! Why do
\ve not come here oftener in suraraer ? — the country is
ten tiraes raore lovely then than it is in the shooting
season. A field of sainfoin in June, with its glorious
blossoms of pink, is one of the prettiest sights in all
creation. Seen in the distance, amid a setting of
green wheatfields and verdant pastures, it ripples
in the garish light of the summer sun like a lake of
rubies. " Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity;
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday."
Ah ! there will be lots of foxes when the hounds
corae to the fox-covert next October. The un
pleasant smell at the mouth of the earth tells us that
there are cubs there ; and as we stand over it we can
hear them playing down below in the bowels . of
mother earth. Very distinct, too, are the tracks —

XVIIL] PEREGRINE'S PREDICTIONS. 413
trafjic, the' keeper calls them— leading by sundry well-
trodden paths to the dell below — 2l nice sunny dell,
facing south-west, where in spring the violets and
primroses grow among the spreading elder. These
cubs were not born here. Their mother brought
thera from an old hollow stump of a tree by the river,
half a mile away. When she found her lair dis
covered by an angler who happened to pass that
way, she brought them across the river by the narrow
footbridge right up here on to the hill. The cubs
from the tree have disappeared, so no doubt these are
the ones. Well, there are lots of rabbits for them ;
the httle fellows are popping about all over the place.
How tame all wild animals becom^ in the suraraer !
— all except the ones we want to circumvent — magpies,
jays, stoats, and such small deer. Lapwings fly
round us, crying restlessly, " Go away, go away ! "
Their shrill treble accents remind one of a baby's
squall. Pigeons and ringdoves, partridges and hares
seem to be plentiful " as blackberries in September."
A gorgeous cock pheasant crows and juraps up close
to us, followed by his raate. This is a pleasing sight
up here, for they are wild birds. There has been no
rearing done in these copses on the hills within the
raemory of man.
Tom Peregrine suddenly appears out of a hedge,
where he has been watching the antics of the cubs at
the mouth of the fox-earth. He has grown very
serious of late, and tells you repeatedly that there
is going to be another big European war shortly.
Let us hope his gloomy forebodings are doomed to
disappointment. Surely, surely at the end of this

414 WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN. [Ch.
marvellous nineteenth century, when there are so
many men in the world who have learnt the difficult
lessons of life in a way that they have never been
learnt before, nations are no longer obliged to behave
like children, or worse stiU, with their petty jealousies
and bickerings and growlings, " like dogs that delight
to bark and bite."
Tom Peregrine, having done but little work for
many months, is now making himself really useful, for
a change, by copying out parts of this great work ;
ahd, to do hira justice, he writes a capital, clear hand.
He is very anxious to become secretary to " some
great gentleman," he says. If any of my readers
require a sporting secretary, I can confidently recom
mend him as a raan of "plain sense rather than of
much learning, of a sociable temper, and one that
understands a little of backgammon." There is no
fear of his " insulting you with Latin and Greek at
your own table." He would have suited Sir Roger
capitally for a chaplain, I often tell him ; and though
he hasn't a notion who Sir Roger may be, he
thoroughly enjoys the joke.
The fox-covert presents a strange appearance.
It is full of young spruce trees, and the lower
branches have been lopped down, but not cut through
or killed. Under each tree there is now a grand
hiding-place for foxes and rabbits— a sort of big
umbrella turned topsy-turvy. The rabbits appreciate
the pains we have been at ; but I fear the foxes, for
whom it was intended, at present look on the shelter
with suspicion. They dislike the gum which oozes
continually from the gashes in the bark ; it sticks to

XVIIL] A GLORIOUS PANORAMA. 415
their coats, and gives an unpleasant sensation when
they roll. They cannot keep their beautiful coats
sleek and glossy, as is their invariable rule, as long
as their is any gum sticking to them.
How clearly we can see the Swindon Hills in the
bright evening atmosphere ! They must be more than
twenty miles away. The grand old White Horse
making the spot where long, long ago the Danes
were vanquished in fight, is not visible ; but he is
scarcely to be seen at all now, as the lazy Berkshire
people have neglected their duty. He really must be
scoured again this summer ; he is a national institu
tion. Londoners take a much greater interest in
him than do the honest folk who live bang under
his nose.
We must continue our excavations at Ladbarrow
copse yonder. Men say it is the largest barrow in
the county, full of "golden coffins" and all sorts of
priceless antiquities ! At present all we have dis
covered are some bones, with which we stuffed our
pockets. When we arrived home, however, they
were found to have belonged to a poor old sheep-dog
that was buried there. But see ! the setting sun is
tinging the tops of the slender, shapely ash trees in
yonder emerald copse. The whole plain is changing
from a vast arena of golden splendour to a mysterious
shadowy land of dreams. A fierce light still reveals
every object on the hill towards the east ; but west
wards beneath yon purple ridge all is wrapped in dim,
ambiguous shade.
It is sad to think that I alone of mortal men
should be here to see this glorious panorama. It

4i6 WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN. [Ch.
seems such a waste of nature's bounteous store that
night after night this wondrous spectacle should be
solemnly displayed, with no better gallery than a
stray shepherd, who, as he "homeward plods his
weary way," cares little for the grand drama that
is being performed entirely for his benefit. Nature
is indeed prodigal of her charms in out-of-the-way
country places.
Soraetiraes whilst walking over these remote fields
on suraraer evenings, I have stopped to ask myself
this question : Is it possible that these exquisite wild
flowers, these groves and dells of verdant tracery, these
birds with their priceless music, and these wondrous,
ineffable effects of light and shade which form part
of the every-day pageant of English rural scenery are
doomed " to waste their sweetness on the desert air " ?
Is it possible (to go further afield) that those lovely
scenes in Wales — the fairy glens near Bettws-y-Coed,
or the luxuriant valleys of Carmarthen, further south,
where silvery Towey flows below the stately ruins
of Dynevor Castle ; those romantic reaches on the
Wye, from Chepstow to the frowning hills of Brecon ;
those solitary, but unspeakably grand, mountains and
passes of the Highlands, such as Glencoe, Ben Nevis,
or those of the scarcely explored Hebrides ; those
smiling waters of the lovely Trossachs ; those count
less spots in the " Emerald Isle " that the tourist
has never seen, whether in fertile Wicklow or among
the whispering woods and weird waters of the west ;
those gorgeous forests of Ceylon ; those interminable
jungles of the beautiful East, with their unknown
depths of tropical splendour ; — is it possible that these

XVIIL] THE LIGHT OF SETTING SUNS. 417
scenes of wondrous beauty are inhabited and enjoyed
by nothing more than is visible to our limited raortal
gaze? I believed, as a boy, and with a romance still
unsubdued by time I would yet fain believe, that
when the soul of man escapes from the poor tenement
of clay in which it has been pent up for sorae three
score years and ten, it has not far to go. I would
fain believe that heaven is not only above us, but,
in sorae form or other entirely beyond our mortal
ken, all around us, in every beautiful thing we see ;
that these hills and vales, these woods of delicately
wrought fan-tracery groining, these mazes of golden
light when the sun goes down, are peopled not alone
by human flesh and blood. " There are also terres
trial bodies, and bodies celestial. , But the glory of
the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is
another." Who can imagine the shape or form of the imraortal
soul? As I walked over those golden fields to-night
it seemed as if there were spirits all around me —
glorious, bright spirits of the dead — invisible, in
tangible, like rays of pure light, in the clear atmo
sphere of those Elysian fields. I cannot but believe
that there arise from the secret parts of this beautiful
earth, at dawn of day and at eventide, other voices
besides the ineffable songs of birds, the rustling
murraurs that whisper in the woods, and the plaintive
babbling of the brooks — hymns of unknown depths of
harraony, impossible to describe, because impossible
to imagine — crying night and day : " Blessing, and
honour, and glory, and power be unto Hira that
27

4i8 WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN. [Ch. XVIIL
sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb for ever
and ever."
Yes, dear reader,
" Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither."
When the sun goes down, if you will turn for a little
while from the noise and clamour of the busy world,
you shall list to those voices ringing, ringing in your
ears. Words of comfort shall you hear at eventide,
" and sorrow and sadness shall be no more," — even
though, as the years roll on, perforce you cry, with
Wordsworth :
" What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind ;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be ;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind."

THE END.

APPENDIX.

GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN.
{Note from the papers of the Gloucestershire Society!)
IT is now generally understood that the words of
this song have a hidden meaning which was only
known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society,
whose foundation dates from the year 1657. This
was three years before the restoration of Charles II.
and when the people were growing weary of the
rule of Oliver Cromwell. The Society consisted of
Loyalists, whose object in combining was to be
prepared to aid in the restoration of the ancient
constitution of the kingdora whenever a favourable
opportunity should present itself The Cavalier
or Royalist party were supported by the Roraan
Catholics of the old and influential families of the
kingdora ; and some of the Dissenters, who were
disgusted with the treatment they received from
Cromwell, occasionally lent them a kind of passive
aid. Taking these considerations as the keynote to
419

42° GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN. [App.
the song, attempts have been made to discover the
meaning which was originally attached to its leading
words. It is difficult at the present time to give a
clear explanation of all its points. The following,
however, is consistent throughout, and is, we believe,
correct : —
"The stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler's oven.
And thauy qeum from the Bleakeney's Quaar ;
And Gaarge he wur a jolly ould mon.
And his yead it graw'd above his yare."
By " George Ridler " was meant King Charles I.
The " oven " was the Cavalier party. The " stwuns ¦
which built the oven, and which " came out of the
Blakeney Quaar," were the immediate followers of
the Marquis of Worcester, who held out to the last
steadfastly for the royal cause at Raglan Castle,
which was not surrendered till 1646, and was, in fact
the last stronghold retained for the king. " His
head did grow above his hair" was an allusion to
the crown, the head of the State, and which the king
wore " above his hair."
" One thing of Gaarge Ridler's I must commend.
And that wur vor a notable theng ;
He mead his braags avoore he died,
Wi' any dree brothers his zons zshou'd zeng.''
This meant that the king, " before he died,"^
boasted that, notwithstanding his present adversity,
the ancient constitution of the kingdom was so
good and its vitality so great that it would surpass
and outlive any other form of government, whether
republican, despotic, or protective.

App.] AN OLD SONG 421
"There's Dick the treble and John the mean
(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace) ;
And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,
And therevoore he would zing the beass."
" Dick the treble. Jack the mean, and George the
bass " meant the three parts of the British constitution
— King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction to
" let every raan sing in his own place " was intended
as a warning to each of the three estates of the realm
to preserve its proper position and not to attempt
to encroach on each other's prerogative.
" Mine hostess's moid (and her neaum 'twur Nell),
A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well ;
I lov'd her well — good reauzon why,
Because zshe lov'd my dog and I."
" Mine hostess's moid " was an allusion to the
queen, who was a Roraan Catholic ; and her maid,
the Church. The singer, we must suppose, was one
of the leaders of the party, and his " dog " a com
panion or faithful official of the Society ; and the
song was sung on occasions when the members met
together socially : and thus, as the Roman Catholics
were Royalists, the allusion to the mutual attachment
between the " maid " and " my dog and I " is plain
and consistent. " My dog has gotten zitch a trick
To visit molds when thauy be zick;
When thauy be zick and like to die,
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I."
The " dog " — that is, the official or devoted member
of the Society — had " a trick of visiting maids when

422 GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN. [App.
they were sick." The meaning here was that when
any of the merabers were in distress, or desponding,
or likely to give up the royal cause in despair,
the officials or active raembers visited, consoled, and
assisted them. " My dog is good to catch a hen, —
A duck and goose is vood vor men ;
And where good company I spy,
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I."
The " dog,'' the official or agent of the Society,
was " good to catch a hen," a " duck," or a " goose " —
that is, any who were well affected to the royal cause
of whatever party ; wherever " good company I spy.
Oh, thither go my dog and I " — to enlist members
into the Society.
" My mwother told I when I wur young,
If I did vollow the strong beer pwoot,
That drenk would pruv my auverdrow,
And meauk me wear a thzreadbare cwoat."
" The good ale-tap " was an allusion, under cover
of a similarity in the sound of the words " ale " and
" aisle," to the Church, of which it was dangerous
at that time to be an avowed follower, and so the
merabers were cautioned that indiscretion would lead
to their discovery and " overthrow."
"When I hev dree zixpences under my thumb,
Oh, then I be welcome wherever I qeum
But when I have none, oh, then I pass by, —
'Tis poverty pearts good company."

App.] AN OLD SONG. 423
The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters
of the royal cause who " welcomed " the members of
the Society when it appeared to be prospering,
but " parted " from them in adversity, probably
referring ironically to those lukewarm and changeable
Dissenters who veered about, for and against, as
Cromwell favoured or contemned thera. Such could
always be had wherever there were " three sixpences
under the thurab " ; but " poverty " easily parted such
" good company."
" When I gwoes dead, as it may hap.
My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap ;
In vouled earmes there wool us lie.
Cheek by jowl, my dog and I."
" If I should die," etc. — an expression of the
singer's wish that if he should die he may be buried
with his faithful companion (as representing the
principles of the Society) under the good aisles of the
church, thus evincing his loyalty and attachment
to the good old constitution and to Church and king
even in death.

INDEX

Abbey, Edwin, 202
Ablington Manor, 141, 208
Acman Street, 278
Aethelhum, the Saxon, 190
Agriculture, 67, 213, 215, 287
Alder tree, 27
Aldsworth and Oliver Cromwell,
81
Alfred, King, 5, 399
Amphitheatre, Roman, 281
Ampney Park, 223
Angelus, the, 15
Antiquity, charm of, 30-34
Arbor DiancB, 375
Architecture, EUzabethan, 21, 257
Aristotle, 369
Arlington Row, 207
Artificial fox-earths, 326, 327
Austin, Alfred, 402
Badgers, 317
Bampton-in-the-Bush, 176
Bamby, Joseph, 75
Bams, tithe, 36, 37
Barometer, 104, 335
Barrows, ancient, 115, 209-211
Bathurst family, 283
Bathurst, Lord, 292, 299

Battues, 218
Bazley, Sir Thomas, 202
Bettws-y-Coed, 416
Bibury Races, 188
Bibury village, 205-208
Bigotphones, 404
Blowing-stone, the, 399
Bourton-on-the-Water, 236
Bowly, Mrs. Christopher, 227
Brassey, Albert, M.F.H., 303
Braydon Forest, 298
Bromley-Davenport, W., 243
Buckland, Frank, 5
Bull-ring, Roman, 281
Burford, 176-196
Burton on the Cotswolds, 250
Cadge for hawks, 270
Caesar, Julius, 232
Camps, ancient British, 83
Carlyle, Thomas, 115, 215, 367
Cassey-Compton Manor House,
222
Caves, prehistoric, 208
Characters, village, 39-68
Charles L, 187
Charles IL, 187
Charlock, 160, 341

425

426

INDEX.

Chaucer, 54
Chavenage, vi
Chedworth, 114, 218-222
Chepstow, the Wye at, 8
Chiltern HiUs, 6
Chivalry, ancient, 16, 309, 354
Choirs, village, 74
" Christmas Carol," Austin's, 402
Christmas festivities, 403-407
Church ales, 225
Churchwardens, 55
Cirencester, 277-290
Civil Wars, 1 14, 194
Clarendon on Falkland, 185
Climate of the Cotswolds, 9, 389
Coats-of-arms, 16
Coffins, old stone, 190, 280
Coin, River, 134-152
Coln-St.-Aldwyns, 202-204
Coln-St.-Dennis, 212
Conyger wood, 369, 371
Corinium Museum, 278-280
Corncrakes, disappearance of,
393
Coulson, Colonel, his trap, 316
County cricket, 247
Coursing on the Cotswolds, 227
Cray-fish, 321, 322
Creswell family, 206
Cricket pitch, how to improve,
238-240
Cricket, prehistoric, 230
Cricket, the game of, 228-248
Cripps, WUfred, C.B., 281
Crosses, wayside, 35
Cub-hunting, 120-123
Cubs, fox, 325, 333
Cudgel-playing, old-fashioned, 7
Curlews, 102
Cushats, 374

Deadman's Acre, 81
Deer-hounds, Scotch, 319
De Quincey, 114, 197
Derby Day on the Coin, 1 54
De Vere, Aubrey, 370
Dew, 335
Dew-point, 335
Dialect, Cotswold, 83-97
Dickens, Charles, on cricket,
233
Dogs, 319, 320
Downs, the mystery of the, 115,
399. 415
Dream, Shakespeare's, 269
Dress, simplicity in, 45
Drayton, Michael, 84, 226
Dry-fly fishing, 146
Ducks, wild, 313-325, 374
Duleep Singh at Hatherop, 227
Dun, olive, 147, 165
Diirer, Albert, 199
Earthquake of 1895, 393
Earths for foxes, 326, 327
Ecrevisse, 322
Eel, curious capture of, 135
Elder tree, 57
Eldon, Lord, 218
" Elegy," Gray's, 363
Elizabeth, Queen, at Burford,
187
Elms, 347-349
" England, Merrie,'' 408, 409
Escutcheons, 16
Evening fishing, 145
Excursion, Roger Plowman's
90-96
Fairford, 197-201

INDEX.

427

Falconry, the art of, 273, 274
Falkland, Lord, at Burford, 185
Farmers, Cotswold, 66, 67
Feasts, ancient, 387
Ferns growing on ash tree, 375
Fieldfare, return of the, 392
Field names, 83
Firr, Tom, 104
Flails, old-fashioned, 385
Flanders mares, 256
Flies, artificial, 147, 148, 1 59
Flocks of lapwings, 392
Flowers, wild, 19, 341, 357-359
Fly-catcher, the, 374
" Flying Dutchman," 2
Forest, Braydon, 298
Forest, Savernake, 320
Fossbridge, 212
Fosse-way, 278
Fox-earths, 326, 327
Foxes, 325-335
Fozbrooke, 82, 85
Free Foresters' Cricket Club,
247
Galway nags, 256
Gamekeeper, the, 46-53, 163,
164, 167, 168, 263, 264, 269-
276
Gannet, 112
Garden, an old, 19
Game of Aldsworth, 67
Geese, wild, 112
" George Ridler's Oven," 86-88,
419-423
Gilbert White, 206
Gilpin, John, 77
Gipsies, 386
Gloucestershire dialect, 83-97
Glow-worms, 394

Goethe (quoted), 24, 115, 351
Golf greens, treatment of, 239
Gothic architecture, 191, 193,
282
Grace, W. G., 408
Grasshoppers, Burke on, 360
Gray's " Elegy," 363
Green-drake, 145, 153, 178
Greyhound fox, 118, 119, 276
Grounds, treatment of cricket,
238-240
Gwynne, Nell, at Bibury Races,

Hall, King Alfred's, 284
Hallam, Arthur, 185
Halo, solar, 401
Hamilton, Sir William Rowan,
370
Hangman's Stone, origin of, 82
Hard riders, 291, 304-306
Hares, 112, 131, 132
Harvest home, 387
Hawking described, 269-275
Hawks, 273
Hedgehogs, 377
Henry VIIL, 33
Heraldry, 16, 17
Herbs, 57, 58
Herons, 107, 370
Hicks-Beach, Right Hon. Sir
Michael, 203
Hic-wall or heckle, 315
Hill, White Horse, 4-7
HiUs, Jem, 303
Hobbs of Maiseyhampton, 67
Horse, description of, 345
Horse for the Cotswolds, 290,
297
Hounds, Badminton, 292

428

INDEX.

Hounds, Bombay, 120
Hounds, Heythrop, 303
Hounds, Lord Bathurst's, 285,
292
Hounds, Mr. T. B. Miller's, 292
Hounds, Shakespeare on, 261
Hunting, fox-, 120-133, 289-310
Hunting poem, 307-310
Hunting, stag-, in olden times,
255-263
Huntsman, a good, 294-296
Hygrometer, 104, 334, 335
Hymns, 74, 75
Hypocaust, Roman, 221
Icknield Street, 278
Implements, old stone, 211
Inscribed stones (Roman), 278,
279
Inscription on porch of manor
house, 14
Irmin Way, 278
Irving, Washington (quoted), vii
Isaac Walton, 18, 360
Jansen, Cornelius, painter, 17
Jefferies, Richard, vii, lo, 366
Johnson, Dr., 43, 254, 345, 364
Joyce on Fairford windows,
199
Keble, John, at Fairford, 201
Kelmscott, 202
Kemble, 9
Kestrel, 102
Kingfishers, 20, 371, 372
Kingmaker, the, 183, 193, 194
Kipling, Rudyard, 168
Kite, artificial, 106
Knights Templar, 204

Labourers, Cotswold, 41-45,
213-217
Lapwings, 108, 392
Larder, vixen's, 333
Leland, 199, 278
Lenthall, Speaker, 186
Leslie, G., 207
Limestone quarries, 372, 373
Llewelyn, W. Dillwyn, 352-
354
Loam, use of clay or, 338-240
Macomber Falls, 137
Macpherson and Ossian, 209
Madden, Right Hon. D. H., viii,
274
Magpies, 109
Mallard, a pugnacious, 313
Manor parchments, 41
Manuscript, an ancient, 193
Marsh-harrier, 102
Marsh-marigold, 151, 340
Master, Chester, family of, 285
Maxwell, Sir Herbert, 316
May flies, 159, 179
May-fly season, 153-157
" Merrie England," 409
Meteor, a large, 396, 397
Miller, T.B., M.F.H., 292
Miller, the village, 59
Monk, W. J., on Burford, 195
Moorhens, habits of, 312, 313
Mop, Cirencester, 287
Moreton-in-the-Marsh, 177
Morris, WiUiam, 202
Mounds, ancient burial, 115, 209-
211
Mummers' play, 406, 407
Museums, Roman, 219-222, 278-
280

INDEX.

429

Musicians, old viUage, 75
Natal, scenery of, 251
Nest, kingfisher's, 371, 372
Netting trout, 336
Newton, Isaac, 104
Nightjar or goatsucker, 174
Night on the hills, 397-399
Nimrod on Bibury Races, 188
Noblesse oblige, 80
Northleach, 62
Oak, old, 15
Oliver Cromwell, 81
Oman's discovery, 193
Ossian, 190, 209, 399
" Oven, George Ridler's," 87, 88
Owls, 393
Oxen, ploughing with, 321
Partridges, 10 i
" Parvise," the, 282
Pavements, Roman, 220, 278
Penance at Burford, 195
Peregrine falcons, 102, 273
Peregrine, Thomas, keeper, 47-
52, 88-96, 153-155. 163, 167,
169, 229, 263
Pheasants, 110
Pigeon-shooting, 109
Playing-fields, Eton, 28, 347
PUny, 215
" Plestor," the, 206
Ploughing with oxen, 321
Plover, common, 108, 392
Plover, golden, 108
Plowman, Roger, goes to London,
90-96
Poachers, scarcity of, 149

Poges, Stoke, 17, 362
Political meetings, 63, 65
Politicians, village, 60
Pope at Cirencester, 283
Pottery, Roman, 280
Prehistoric cricket, 230-235
Prehistoric relics, 211
Prescription, an excellent, 57
Proverbs, Gloucestershire, 85
PufSn, 112
Quack, the village, 57, 58
Quails, 101
Quarries, limestone, 372, 373
Quenington, 204
Querns, the, 281
Races, Bibury, 188
Ramparts, ancient, 83
Ready Token, 81
Retrievers, 320
Riders, good, 128, 129
Riding, hard, 304-309
Roads, limestone, 103, 373
Roger de Coverley, Sir, 19, 46^
414
Roman remains, 219-222, 278-
280
Rookery, the, 323
Rupert, Prince, 286
Ruskin, John, 10, 30, 31, 34, 193
Sainfoin, 67, 412
Sargent, J., 202
Savernake, 320
Scent of foxes, 103-106, 333-335
Scotch deerhound, 320
Scott, Lady Margaret, 227
Scouring the White Horse, 5-7

43°

INDEX.

Shakespeare on the Cotswolds,
249, 258-276
Sheep, Cotswold, 67
Sheep-washing, 170, 366
Sherborne House, 223, 256
Sherborne, Lord, 206
Shooting, covert-, 218
Sly, Isaac, 58
Snake eaten by trout, 378
Snipe, 107
Solan goose, 112
Solar halo, 401
Songs, Gloucestershire, 72, 73,
87,96
South Africa, wolds of, 251
Sparrow-club, 1 1 1
Spawn-beds of trout, 26
Spectator, the, 40, 46, 66
Sportsman, definition of a good,
158, 309
Spring flowers, 1 50, 151
Springs, Cotswold, 20, 21, 207
Squirrels, 377
Stag-hunting, wild, 249-269
Stage-coach, 197, 198
Stoats, 378
Stone age, relics of, 211
Stowell, 218
Stow-on-the-Wold, 177, 276
Sunsets described, 8, 113-115,
380, 415
Swans, no, 313
Tame, John, 199
Tanfield family, 184
Teal, 391
Tennyson, 390, 409
Terrier, fox-, 319
Tesselated pavements, 220, 278
Thames, 3, 28, 29

Thrashing, 385
Thrush, song of, 172
Tiercel-gentle, 273
Tithe, 36
Tithe barns, 13, 36, 37
"Tolsey," the, 190
Traps, vermin, 316
Travess, Charles, 294-296
Trees, beauty of ash, 375
Trossachs, the, 416
Trout eating snake, 378
Trout, habits of, 157, 361
" Tuer," a, 85, 388
Turnip hower, the, 96, 97

Umpires, village, 229
Uncertainty, charm of, 127
Urns, sepulchral, 280
Vale, Berkshire, 3, 4
Vale of White Horse Hounds,
291-293, 298, 303
Valley, Coin, 140-142, 196-223
Valley, Thames, 3
Victorian Era, 408, 409
Voles, water-, 338, 339
Waller's pictures, 182
Walnut tree in spring, 346
Warwick, the kingmaker, 183,
193- 194
Wasps, a plague of, 236
Watercress, 100
Wayside crosses, 103
Weasels, 379
Westbury White Horse, 6
Wharfe, River, 139
White Horse HiU, 4-7

INDEX

Whitsun ale, 225
Whitsuntide sports, 224, 225
Whyte-MelviUe, 20, 130
Wildfowl, 313, 325, 374
WiUiamstrip, 203
Wimbrels, 102
Windrush, River, 179
Wines, home-made, 50, 51
Winson viUage, 212
Woodpeckers, 314, 315

Woodpigeons, 108, 109
Wordsworth, 418
Wren, Christopher, 372
Yaffel, 314, 315. 320
Yuletide, 403-407
Zingari Cricket Club, 247
Zodiacal light, 395

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

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