The Regent set out on his journey to Belvoir Castle, having, of course, to do the distance in his travelling carriage. At Denton, he was met by some two or three hundred horsemen, the gentry and yeomanry of the County, who had assembled to welcome him to Belvoir. On the arrival of the Prince, the air was rent with a general burst of loyal enthusiasm. Many females, wives and daughters of the tenantry of the House of Rutland, joined in the cavalcade, and galloped like lunatics to keep up with the Regent's carriage. Arrived at Belvoir, on the descent from his carriage of the 'vir illustrissimus,' a Royal salute of 21 guns was fired from the Castle, and the Regent's âme damnée, the Duke of York, also was similarly honoured.
It was with great difficulty and much persuasion, that the good folk of Rutlandshire were prevented from making greater asses of themselves, and debasing themselves by removing the horses from the Royal Carriage, and transforming themselves into beasts of draught. The honoured host, of course, was at the door to receive his guest, and the Rev. Dr. Staunton, by virtue of the tenure of a Manor of Staunton, in Nottinghamshire, did his devoir, suit, and service, by presenting the Regent, as representative of the King, with an exquisitely worked gold key of Staunton tower, which is an outwork, and yet the chief stronghold of the Castle, the command of which is held by the family of Staunton, and the tenure by which they held the Manor of Staunton is, that they were formerly required to appear, with soldiers, to defend this strong post, in case of danger, or at the requisition of the Lord of the Castle.
January 4th, the day of the Christening of the little Marquis of Granby, was also the birthday of his father, the Duke of Rutland, so that the two events, combined with the Royal visit, made an event of unexampled rarity in the annals of Rutlandshire. Whenever was babe received into the fold of Christ, under more illustrious mundane auspices? His two Godfathers were the Prince Regent and the Duke of York, in person; his Godmother was the Queen, represented by her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Rutland. The Archbishop of Canterbury himself "performed the baptismal ceremony with solemnity, and graceful expression," and what more could be done for the child?
After this ceremony, the swine were fed. Open house and lavish hospitality were the order of the day, and the "piggies" availed themselves of it. The grands seigneurs sit down to dinner—and the οι πολλοι go to their troughs, to eat as much, and drink as much, as they possibly could. "At Belvoir Castle all partake of the festivities, for, although the doors are not immediately thrown open to admit improper persons, yet the tenantry, and persons of respectability have access thereto, and such is the affability and condescending amiable manners of her Grace the Duchess of Rutland, that her whole suite of rooms are open for the inspection of all ranks, and even the curiosity of seeing the young Marquis is acceded to. Mr. Douglas, the Duke's butler, entertained the tenantry with an oval Cistern of strong punch, containing 50 gallons, when the tenantry drank 'Long life to the young Marquis'—'Many returns of the day to the Duke'—and 'God preserve our Noble Prince Regent.'"
This latter was attired, in compliment to his host in "the Belvoir uniform of scarlet and buff," and, to the toast of his health, "His Royal Highness replied with much eloquence, but evidently at first, labouring under the affection of fine feeling, and concluded by assuring the noble host, that, as long as he lived, he should never forget the respectful manner in which he had been received at Belvoir Castle."
This hospitality went on for days; and we read, "The house contains more than two hundred individuals, who partake daily of the festivities. The Cistern of punch, under the management of Mr. Douglas, administered in the Servants' Hall on Tuesday, to the household and tenantry, laid many a brave fellow prostrate. The passages of the house reminded one of a Castle taken by storm, and the young Marquis, the Noble Host, and the Prince Regent, were toasted until articulation ceased. Many were found the next day in the subterraneous passages of the Castle, with symptoms of recovering animation. The punch was not out at 10 o'clock on Wednesday morning.
"This Cistern, according to the history of the county, was filled with Cordial when John, Duke of Rutland, father of the present Duke, was born. The silver Cistern is 16 feet in circumference, holds 60 gallons, and is a matchless piece of Workmanship. Ale, at the rate of 21 strike to the hogshead, is now making, to be kept till the young Marquis comes of Age."
This Saturnalia ceased on January 7th, when the Prince left on a visit to the Earl of Winchilsea at Burleigh; but whilst in the country, he was keenly scanned by the eyes of critical sportsmen, and the result, as regards his horsemanship, is thus given:—
"Letter from General T. to J. Mc.M., Esq., in London.
Dear Mac, we are passing our time here most gaily,
Events by the dozen are happening daily:
We left Burleigh the 2nd—you never were there?
The house stands in a quadrangle forty feet square;
'Tis built on a terrace, with fine freestone walls,
On a level, 'tis said, with the top of Saint Paul's.
Winchilsea, you know, 's a mechanical man.
For having it measured, he's forming a plan.
Lonsdale, you know, is a noble old fellow,
With a fine open heart, and a capital cellar,
We do just as we like, and have excellent cheer,
For guests, horses, and dogs, are all treated well here.
Wales would have a hunt, so we hunted on Monday,
In spite of the fog, and the hard frost of Sunday.
And O! some gentle Muse indite
My bold, aspiring lay,
While in hasty verse I write
'The hunting of that day!'
Now I think on't, the task would be rather too hard,
And you'll hear it describ'd by our Treasury Bard:—
For I watch'd him all thro' the field, and I saw
He was scanning the picturesque look of a thaw,
He hated a Fox from the time of his birth,
And ran foul of a Pit, as Reynard took earth.
As for Wales, he soon staked a thorough bred mare,
His legs, arms, and chest, were all quite militaire.
A mere Bond Street rider, Tom Musters would say,
Sits damn'd well by rule, as I told him one day;
He's abroad in all cases not taught in ménage,
And rides at a leap, as he would at a charge;
In short, one might swear he ne'er hunted before,
By his heading the hounds, as he would do his corps;
And York on the fences made desperate attack,
And was giving the word of command to the pack;
Determined to give his Conscience relief,
And, for once, be in person, Commander in Chief."