In giving a description of the various breeds of dogs, every one must be aware that by crossing and recrossing them many of those we now see have but little claim to originality. The foxhound, the old Irish wolf-dog, and the colley or shepherd's dog, may, perhaps, be considered as possessing the greatest purity of blood. My opinion respecting the foxhound is partly founded on the following curious fact:—
In Wilkinson's "Manners and Customs of the Egyptians," there is a representation of as varmint a pack of foxhounds as modern eye could wish to see. It is copied from a painting found in the interior of the tomb of the Pharaoh under whom Joseph served. Every individual hound is characteristic of the present breed, with all their courage and animation. Each dog's tail was as an old Irish huntsman, who used to glory in seeing his hounds carry their sterns after the hardest day, once said to his master, "not behind them at all, plaize your honour, but curling out over their shoulders."
If the copy be correct, and there is no reason to doubt it, the dog of this breed must be considered of a much more ancient date than is generally supposed. There is every reason to believe that the first dogs came from Asia. Indeed, history, both sacred and profane, confirms this. At all events, the fact just mentioned is sufficiently curious, and may serve to confirm the supposition I have ventured to make of the purity of the blood of our modern foxhound.
A volume might be written on the characteristics of these dogs, both in the kennel and the field, and I will endeavour to illustrate this by a few anecdotes.
It is well known to those who have lived near a kennel, that every morning at the first gleam of light the hounds invariably salute the glorious return of day, by joining simultaneously in a full chorus of voices, 'a musical discord,' called by huntsmen "their morning hymn." This concert does not consist of barking and yapping as many may suppose, but something like the "Hullah system," yet far more sonorous to a sportsman's ear.
Those who have witnessed the process of feeding hounds cannot but acknowledge that it is a most pleasing sight. We see the anxiety depicted in their countenances to detect the huntsman's eye, who calls them singly by name in a low tone of voice, nor does one offer to stir till his time comes. Each dog also takes every day the same position, like children at school, except that all are obedient, and there is no noise. His late Majesty George IV., in his younger days, was a constant attendant at the royal kennel at feeding-time, and many of the royal family have also been to see the hounds fed at that place.
Close to the Duke of Beaufort's kennel at Badmington a tame fox was confined, and between it and the foxhounds a great friendship existed. When the hounds were let out they played with the fox, who, on his part, was equally ready to greet them. This reciprocal kindness had continued some time, until one day a hunted fox, much exhausted, ran for shelter into a bush close to the hutch of the tame one. The hounds, in the eagerness of the chase, ran into the latter, mistaking him for the other, and instantly killed him. No sooner, however, were they aware of their having occasioned the death of their old acquaintance, than each hound slunk away, appearing conscious and ashamed of what had been done, nor could they be induced to touch the dead fox when thrown amongst them.
Amongst other curious anecdotes of foxhounds, the following may be mentioned. Some years ago, Sir John Cope had a hound called Clermont, which was in the constant habit, when the pack killed a fox, of taking possession of the animal's head. This he invariably carried in his mouth, as if it was a trophy, and on arriving at the kennel would put it down at the kennel door. In this way he must have imposed a severe task on himself, as the pack had frequently twenty miles to go home when the chase was over. The weight was not indeed great; but the dog's mouth being distended the whole time must have made the task anything but a pleasant one.
Some hounds are possessed of extraordinary instinct, which enables them to find their way back to their kennels over country which they had never before traversed. When George III. kept hounds in the Home Park, Windsor, General Manners, one of the equerries, took a hound named Bustler with him in his carriage to London. He remained there a few days, and then travelled to Bloxholm in Lincolnshire, the dog being still his companion inside the carriage. In less than a month, however, Bustler found his way back to Frogmore.
The captain of a vessel informed me that he had once picked up a dog in mid-channel between Brighton and Calais, swimming boldly and strongly towards the French coast. If this dog was endeavouring to make his way back to a beloved master, it was an extraordinary instance of affection.