“Willey, April 19, 1795.
“Dear Sir,
“Per bearer I send you yr couple of bitches I promised you. The largest is near a year old, the lesser about half a one, and if she be permitted to walk about your house this summer, will make you a clever bitch; further, she’s of Grace Grafton’s kind, as her father was got by his Grace’s Voucher, and bred by Mr. Pelham. Blood undeniable, at a certainty. As to yr dam of her, she’s of my old sort, and a bitch of blood and merit. The other bitch I bred also, to ye test of my judgment, from a dog of Pelham’s. I call her handsome in my eye, and not far off being a beauty. Her dam was got by Noel’s famous Maltster, out of a daughter of Mr. Corbet, of Sundorn, named Trojan. I wish you luck and success with your hounds, and when I can serve you to effect, at any time, you may rely on my faithful remembrance of you.
“I remain, dear sir,
“Your very humble servant,
“G. Forester.
“P.S.—The largest bitch is named Musick, the lesser is named Gaudy.
“P.S.—We have had good sport lately; and one particular run we had, upon Monday last, of two hours and one quarter (from scent to view), without one single interruption of any kind whatever.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WILLEY LONG RUNS.
The Willey Long Runs—Dibdin’s Fifty Miles no Figure of Speech—From the Clee Hills to the Wrekin—The Squire’s Breakfast—Phœbe Higgs—Doggrel Ditties—Old Tinker—Moody’s Horse falls Dead—Run by Moonlight.
“Ye that remember well old Savory’s call,
With pleasure view’d her, as she pleased you all;
In distant countries still her fame resounds,
The huntsmen’s glory and the pride of hounds.”1773.
The portrait at the head of this chapter is from a carefully drawn copy of a painting at Willey of a favourite hound of the Squire’s, just a hundred years ago.
Dibdin, in his song of Tom Moody, speaks of “a country well known to him fifty miles round;” and this was no mere figure of speech, as the hunting ground of the Willey Squire extended over the greater part of the forest lands we have described. There were fewer packs of hounds in Shropshire then, and the Squire had a clear field extending from the Clee Hills to the Needle’s Eye on the Wrekin, through which, on one remarkable occasion, the hounds are reported to have followed their fox. The Squire sometimes went beyond these notable landmarks, the day never appearing to be too long for him.
Four o’clock on a hunting morning usually found him preparing the inner man with a breakfast of underdone beef, with eggs beaten up in brandy to fill the interstices; and thus fortified he was ready for a fifty miles run. He was what Nimrod would have called, “a good rough rider” over the stiff Shropshire clays, and he generally managed to keep up with the best to the last;
“Nicking and craning he deemed a crime,
And nobody rode harder perhaps in his time.”
He could scarcely “Top a flight of rails,” “Skim ridge and furrow,” or, charge a fence, however, with Phœbe Higgs, who sometimes accompanied him.