The chief sport, however, was fox-hunting. It was, in season, almost universal. Who that lived in that time does not remember the fox-hunts,—the eager chase after “grays” or “old reds”! The grays furnished more fun, the reds more excitement. The grays did not run so far, but usually kept near home, going in a circuit of six or eight miles. “An old red,” generally so called irrespective of age, as a tribute to his prowess, might lead the dogs all day, and end by losing them as evening fell, after taking them a dead stretch for thirty miles. The capture of a gray was what men boasted of; a chase after “an old red” was what they “yarned” about. Some old reds became historical characters, and were as well known and as much discussed in the counties they inhabited as the leaders of the bar or the crack speakers of the circuit. The wiles and guiles of each veteran were the pride of his neighbors and hunters. Many of them had names. Gentlemen discussed them at their club dinners; lawyers told stories about them in the “Lawyers’ Rooms” at the court-houses; young men, while they waited for the preacher to get well into the service before going into church, bragged about them in the churchyards on Sundays. There was one such that I remember: he was known as “Nat Turner,” after the notorious leader of “Nat Turner’s Rebellion,” who remained in hiding for weeks after all his followers were taken.
Great frolics these hunts were; for there were the prettiest girls in the world in the country houses round about, and each young fellow was sure to have in his heart some brown or blue-eyed maiden to whom he had promised the brush, and to whom, with feigned indifference but with mantling cheek and beating heart, he would carry it if, as he counted on doing, he should win it. Sometimes the girls came over themselves and rode, or more likely were already there visiting, and the beaux simply followed them by a law as immutable as that by which the result follows the premises in a mathematical proposition.
Even the boys had their lady-loves, and rode for them on the colts or mules: not the small girls of their own age (no “little girls” for them!). Their sweethearts were grown young ladies, with smiling eyes and silken hair and graceful mien, whom their grown cousins courted, and whom they with their boys’ hearts worshipped. Often a half-dozen were in love with one—always the prettiest one—and, with the generous spirit of boys in whom the selfish instinct has not yet awakened, agreed among themselves that they would all ride for her, and that whichever got the brush should present it on behalf of all.
What a gallant sight it was! The appearance of the hunters on the far hill, in the evening, with their packs surrounding them! Who does not recall the excitement at the house; the arrival in the yard, with horns blowing, hounds baying, horses prancing, and girls laughing; the picture of the young ladies on the front portico with their arms round each other’s dainty waists,—the slender, pretty figures, the bright faces, the sparkling eyes, the gay laughter and musical voices, as with coquettish merriment they challenged the riders, demanding to blow the horns themselves or to ride some specially handsome horse next morning! The way, the challenge being accepted, they tripped down the steps,—some with little screams shrinking from the bounding dogs; one or two with stouter hearts, fixed upon higher game, bravely ignoring them and leaving their management to their masters, who at their approach sprang to the ground to meet them, hat in hand and the telltale blood mounting to their sunburned faces, handsome with the beauty and pride of youth!
An Old-fashioned Grist-Mill.
I am painfully aware of the inadequacy of my picture. But who could do justice to the truth!
It was owing to all these and some other characteristics that the life was what it was. It was on a charming key. It possessed an ampleness and generosity which were not splendid because they were too genuine and refined.