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Carrington Nunn, Esq., was lately presented with a splendid service of plate, as a testimony of the approbation of the liberal and sportsmanlike manner in which he has hunted the Essex and Suffolk country for twenty-one years.

The old Surrey has long flourished in Surrey, also the Union in the Dorking district of the county_Dorking fowls ought to be a temptation to foxes.

Sussex has had its two Wyndhams, and three or four masters to the East Sussex-Major Carter, Mr. Craven, and Captain Green.

Warwickshire saw its best days before Leamington sprung up. Mr. Corbett was the “Meynell,” or “ John Warde” of that countynor should Lord Middleton be forgotten. Since his lordship, they have had Mr. Hay, of Dunse Castle, in Berwickshire; Mr. Russell, a member of the Bedford family; Mr. Thornhill; a committee of three; and now Mr. Barnard.

Wiltshire, with its vale of white horse, has shown first-rate sport. The “old Berkeley," with their yellow coats, hunted it at one time; the late Mr. Codrington, of Wraughton, the head of one of the most sporting and popular families in the kingdom, the late lamented Earl of Kintore, the present Earl Ducie, and now Lord Gifford, has it with a slice of Gloucestershire up to Hazelwood, near Minchampton, across by Northleach and Burford. The kennels are near Cirencester. His lordship promises well, wonderfully for a law lord's son.

Worcestershire, we fear, is rather delicate. There was an account in the paper the other day of a meeting of the members, for the purpose of taking into consideration the ways and means of the hunt. It was resolved to adopt "a systematic plan of soliciting subscriptions all over the country.” It is a pity to make these sort of dilemmas too public.

We now close with Yorkshire. Lord Harewood still stands at the head of the tree, treading in the footsteps of his venerable father, who may be almost said to have died in the saddle. Sir Tatton Sykes too is there in propria persona. The York and Ainsty, after some changes, remain; also the Badsworth, with Lord Hawke for master instead of Mr. Petre. The Holderness, we believe, have been carried on by a committee since Mr. Hodgson took the Quorn; and Mr. Milbanke occupies the district formerly hunted by the Duke of Cleveland. The Hurworth have been materially improved since they came into the hands of the present Mr. Wilkinson, and “Sinnington hoont" is still to the fore. To this last on the list we will append the following account, given by Mr. Vyner, in his very able work, “ Notitia Venatica.”

“How long it is since hunt clubs were first established,” says he, “we have no authority; but it was about the middle of the last century that matters appertaining to hunting were recognized with other subjects of county interest. The hunt which lays claim to the greatest antiquity, as I have been credibly informed, although the hounds are little better than a trencher-fed pack, the country round composed of everlasting dingles, woods, and precipices, and the thing chiefly supported by the yeomanry of the country, is the Sinnington, in Yorkshire; and amongst other peculiarities, characteris

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tic of this ancient club, the huntsman is always retained quite as much on account of his warbling qualifications as his knowledge of the chase; and unless he has Bright Phoebus,' Old Towler,' and the Grey eye of morning,' with a few other choice old ballads ready at command, he is no man for “Sinnington hoont.'”

Let us not, however, be supposed to have copied the foregoing for the purpose of disparaging the establishment; on the contrary, it is the vivid picture it draws of primitive country life that has recommended it to our notice. Who, after reading it, will doubt that there is as much real enjoyment, and as good spirit in this rough and ready establishment, as in the best of the many well-appointed packs we have passed in review? Moreover, it brings us back to the consideration-whether the expenses of hunting establishments have not materially injured the chase. No one who has seen any of the great

turns out” of the day, can fail to have thought that there was an excess of splendour, an over-doing of the thing, more calculated to impose by numbers and array, than to promote the legitimate hardy warfare of hunting. Since coaches and six, with their phalanxes of outriders, have gone out of fashion, it has become more the fashion to create an impression by an overwhelming attendance of scarlet-coated servants with hounds; many of these are fellows who can hardly hit a hound, but still they tell upon the uninitiated as well as Smith, or Seabright, or Shirley, or Long, or any of them. We always regret to see the thing overdone, for even if the proprietor is too affluent to be injured by such a retinue himself, still the comparison operates unfavourably by those with smaller means, and drives many a good master of hounds out of the field. Perhaps there are few places more thankless and less enviable than a mastership of hounds. Every man who gives his five pounds thinks himself qualified to find fault; indeed many who do not even give their five pounds usurp the privilege, and fault-finding is a talent of the easiest acquirement.

The difficulty of keeping up subscription packs is becoming every day more apparent. Unless some great man puts his name down for about half the expense, leaving the other half to be screwed out of the country, they seldom have much chance of a lengthened existence. Those who live in countries hunted by great men are seldom sensible of the advantage until they lose it. We have always advocated a club subscription, even in countries hunted by the most affluent. It gives each subscriber a personal interest in the thing-identifies him with the establishment ---makes him the delegate, as it were, of the hunt in his district; and when such untoward events as the withdrawal of the rich man from the country occurs, these clubs form a nucleus, wherein they may find another. .

It is up-hill work attempting to hunt a country by the subscriptions the generality of people afford, unless there is a good nesl-egg by way of beginning. Were we taking a country, we would almost prefer trying to cut down expenses, to attempting to raise the ways and means out of reluctant payers.

Advertising hounds has been a great cause of increased expenditure. An advertisement is a sort of proclamation of superiority

an invitation to the world at large to come and inspect an establishment. Strangers come, ignorant alike of situation and circumstance, but who, having seen a Duke of this's, or my Lord that's, pronounce yours very inferior, and perhaps proclaim it on paper, in the shape of * A day with the Shabby-scrub hounds!" Our forefathers never troubled advertisements; indeed, within the period of our recollection, the papers used to charge advertiseinent duty and expenses upon them—a most effectual way of stopping such display.

At the close of one day's hunting our forefathers fixed the next, and cards were sent to absent members, or neighbours communicated with each other. This had many advantages. In the first place, it enabled them to change their day, either before or on the morning of hunting, if the weather was unfavourable, or circumstances rendered a change desirable. Now, hounds must throw off, even though the possibility of sport is quite out of the question. Frost and snow are the only excuses, and they are not almost admitted without grumbling: wind, which is worse than either, is not allowed; hence we sometimes see gentlemen nearly blown from their horses in the enjoyment of the chase! Can anything be more ridiculous than a hunting-field in a hurricane?

Another great advantage of not advertising hounds was, that all, save members, were intruders; and each member knowing the weak points of the establishment, not only assisted in counteracting their development, but had an interest in concealing them. Added to this, they were all sportsmen—there was no straining for effect—no forced appearance kept up; and the generality of the followers of hounds being denizens of the country, there was far less damage done to crops, fences, and land, than there is now that the Archimedian screw is applied to get subscriptions, and each reluctant 'payer thinks himself entitled to do as much damage as he likes for his money.

The subject of “The Chase," however, will admit of another paper on a future day, we having already exceeded our limits for this month.

FOX-HUNTING IN CORNWALL.

BY MASTER HARRY.

We—but hold hard; before proceeding any further we must make our best“ salam” to the Editor, and explain our conduct for thus recklessly trespassing on the editorial prerogative of the plural number. The fact of the matter is, that we are in no ways egotistical ; we eschew that cardinal vice, the ego et rex meus”—the “I by myself I” way of doing business ; for, being a gregarious animal

, whether we are in for a good thing, running our head against a stone wall, or getting a purl over a stiff fence and rail, we like company in our well-doing or misfortunes above all things.

" All who joy would win,

Must share it. Happiness was born a twin." (How a quotation helps one along, to be sure; it is as good as a “check” to the broken-winded); so, in hopes that we shall not be accused by our sporting lector of singularity for thus appearing in the plural, we will "hark back” to our subject.

We remember to have either witnessed, heard, or read of an anecdote of a fox-hunting yeoman of Leicestershire, or of that ilk, who, having made up his mind to visit London and its sights, had furnished himself with as many, “ tickets for soup,” in the form of letters of introduction, as he could muster. Some of these billeting tickets were on families of distinction, with whom our rustic was altogether incapable of amalgamating; so one day after dinner, by way of mending matters and better accommodating our gené friend, he was installed in an arm chair opposite one of the latest and most approved editions of “ Switzerland and the Tyrol illustrated.”

There were cascades foaming as they never foamed before; neverending fir trees taking root in horizontal icicles on the very highest peaks of the very highest mountains; chamois balancing themselves on the extreme tips of their hind legs, on divers projecting rocks about half their own size, apparently formed by nature solely as pedestals for their especial reception, each chamois earnestly contemplating an avalanche that was rolling fearfully down the opposite side of the ravine. In a word, it was awful – truly awful! No wonder, then, that our hero's mouth began gradually to expand, and his digits to commence operations at the headquarters of his ideas! It was all in vain--there was evidently a point on which “John” was nonplused, which his hostess per ceiving, and, doubtless, expecting a perfect Manfredonian burst of eloquence to relieve his overcharged pericranium, gently hinted a wish to hear his opinion of the view in question.

Dash! but I should mighty like to see eun (them) ride to’ounds," roared the yeoman, at the same time sending his leg sideways through the tight-drawn side of a yellow satin Ottoman, in the “ fever-heat” of excitement and embarrassment combined.

Now, a person whose sole experience of Cornwall--the Ultima Thule (uninviting enough in its exterior) of our own little island—has been confined to posting or coaching from Penzance to Exeter, and who has a lively recollection of the innumerable and interminable hills that he has perhaps been necessitated to walk up in his route, to relieve the apparently half-starved cattle that conveyed him, would be very

much tempted to give vent to the same exclamation as that which issued from the brain of our just-above-immortalised farmer; but he would be mistaken-grievously mistaken, “and no mistake," if for a moment he imagined that those hills put a veto on fox-hunting.

The truth is, oh non-Cornubian lector ! we do not care what country gave you birth, but if you would pay us a visit “ down west,” we will most irretrievably pound you in the first ten minutes. Oh! yes, its all very well for you to smile so disdainfully, but its “a great fact” for all that. By Jove! don't we just wish that we had you among the granite rocks and gorse-bushes (furze we call it in Cornwall) on Cabilla Tor! Your “ clipper”—your pet chesnut, thorough or three-quarters bred, that had been the admiration of Melton, and had caused half Leicestershire to break the tenth commandment,

would be like-like what shall we say? Why, a parlour poodle in a pigstye!-an owl in a rookery-a “Nisi Prius” counsel in Ojibbeway only Cabilla Tor is no pigstye, neither are the Cornubians pigs, although some envious people—the Devonshire Dumplings most probably — have given them the unclean sobriquet of hogs. Our foxes partake of the rugged uncivilized tout ensemble of the country. Littered and brought up among its rocks and wilds, with few, if any, convenient game preserves hard by, wherein they can poach on pheasants, regale on rabbits, or feast on geese, they may themselves be said to live by the chase.

The wild cat, the stoat, the weasel, and the fruits of the forest alone furnish them with subsistence; and hardy as all creatures, man and brute, invariably are, whose home is on the mountains, it is not to be wondered at, when the hour of trial comes, and pug finds an enemy near his camp, that a clipping run, in its fullest sense, is invariably the result; like the Welsh foxes, they can go forty miles on end. No sneaking– no “home, sweet home” affections characterize their undertakings; but they seem to say (and we would bet ten to one they did say, if we could only hear them) before they give us a last look at starting—“Now, then, gentlemen, if you're ready, I am; and you will please to take your change out of what I am about to treat you to"(Cornish foxes are terrible fellows for slang), and the change that is usually taken out, as the ultimate state of the field amply testifies, is--no great shakes we were about to say, but as there are a considerable variety of shakes both in man and beast, we will say that the change generally amounts to a decided change for the worse” in point of personal appearances.

The chief packs of foxhounds in Cornwall may be said to be those of Mr. Archer, near Launcestou. The F. B. hounds at Truro, under the mastership of W. Daubuy, Esq., and the Restormel hounds, which, although at this present moment given up, must, nevertheless, form our theme for the present essay, for the several reasons that they were the hounds in whose wake we have many a day scoured the Cornish moors, that the country they hunted over was the most central and best in the county, and that we believe them to be an out and out“ A. No. 1” pack in it—(but of course all the world is aware that everybody's pack is always the best). Our field, too, comprised the élite of the Cornish Nimrods (but on them we will expatiate more fully during the run that we are about to treat the reader with). And our huntsman !-yes, we'll just trouble any person to match our huntsman, Jemmy Reynolds, who the first time that he ever was in London, rode through it-city, west end, and allaccompanied by twenty-five couple of foxhounds! Ought not such a feat alone to immortalize our huntsman? He is certainly a very roughand-ready rat-catcher's-dog sort of a character, with a surface resembling in some degree that of his native county, for Jemmy is an “ in and in” Cornishman, and has lived among horses and hounds from his youth up.

Before we join in a run over the country that we have specified, a peep at our kennel, humble and unsophisticated as it is, may not be unacceptable to those who have already accompanied us in some of our Cornish rambles after game.

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