“Talk of epic poems, read in bowers or at firesides, what poet’s description of a battle could make the blood boil in delirious excitement, like a seat on a long-striding hunter, clearing every obstacle with firm elastic bounds, holding in sight without gaining a yard on the flying pack, while the tip of Reynard’s tail disappears over the wall at the top of the hill!
“And, lastly,—tired, successful, hungry, happy,—the return home, when the shades of evening, closing round, give a fantastic, curious, mysterious aspect to familiar road-side objects! Loosely lounging on your saddle, with half-closed eyes, you almost dream—the gnarled trees grow into giants, cottages into castles, ponds into lakes. The maid of the inn is a lovely princess, and the bread and cheese she brings (while, without dismounting, you let your thirsty horse drink his gruel), tastes more delicious than the finest supper of champagne, with a pâté of tortured goose’s liver, that ever tempted the appetite of a humane, anti-fox hunting, poet-critic, exhausted by a long night of opera, ballet, and Roman punch.
“Are you fond of agriculture?—You may survey all the progress and ignorance of an agricultural district in rides across country; you may sound the depth of the average agricultural mind while trotting from cover to cover. Are you of a social disposition?—What a fund of information is to be gathered from the acquaintances made, returning home after a famous day, ‘thirty-five minutes without a check.’ In a word, fox-hunting affords exercise and healthy excitement without headaches, or heartaches, without late hours, without the ‘terrible next morning’ that follows so many town amusements. Fox-hunting draws men from towns, promotes a love of country life, fosters skill, courage, temper; for a bad-tempered man can never be a good horseman.
“To the right-minded, as many feelings of thankfulness and praise to the Giver of all good will arise, sitting on a fiery horse, subdued to courageous obedience for the use of man, while surveying a pack of hounds ranging an autumnal thicket with fierce intelligence, or looking down on a late moorland, broken up to fertility by man’s skill and industry, as in a solitary walk by the sea-shore or over a Highland hill.”
Oh, give me the man to whom nought comes amiss,
One horse or another—that country or this;
Through falls and bad starts who undauntedly still
Bides up to this motto, “Be with them I will!”
And give me the man who can ride through a run,
Nor engross to himself all the glory when done;
Who calls not each horse that o’ertakes him a screw;
Who loves a run best when a friend sees it too.
Warburton of Arley Hall.
[202-*] The late Sir Richard Sutton, Master of the Quorn, used to say that he liked “to stick to the band and keep hold of the bridle,” that is to say, make his pack hold to the line of the fox as long as they could; but there were times when he could not resist the temptation of a sure “holloa,” and off he would start at a tremendous pace, for he was always a bruising rider, with a blast or two upon his “little merry-toned horn” which he had the art of blowing better than other people. To his intimate friends he used to excuse himself for these occasional outbreaks by quoting a saying of his old huntsman Goosey (late the Duke of Rutland’s)—for whose opinion on hunting matters he had a great respect—“I take leave to say, sir, a fox is a very quick animal, and you must make haste after him during some part of the day, or you will not catch him.”—Letter from Captain Percy Williams, Master of the Rufford Hounds, to the Editor.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ORIGIN OF FOX-HUNTING.
The origin of modern fox-hunting is involved in a degree of obscurity which can only be attributed to the illiterate character of the originators, the Squire Westerns, who rode all day, and drank all the evening. We need the assistance of the ingenious correspondent of Notes and Queries:—