BY "OLD CALABAR"
Fourteen years have passed away and somewhat mildewed my hair since the first show of dogs took place at Birmingham.
How many glorious fellows connected with that and subsequent exhibitions have "gone from our gaze," never again to be seen by those who were "hail-fellow well met" with them!
Poor Frederick Burdett, Paul Hakett, George Jones, George Moore, that inimitable judge of a pointer; Joseph Lang, and lately, Major Irving, with a host of others, have passed away.
Ruthless Death, with his attendant, "Old Father Time," has mowed them down in quick succession without favour or distinction.
It makes one sad to think of it; and also to know that some who are in the land of the living have, to use a sporting expression, "cut it."
For years I have not seen "the Prior," "Idstone," the Revs. O'Grady and Mellor, John Walker of Halifax, and Croppen of Horncastle. Yet I know that some of them are still to the fore in dog matters, and are running their race against "all time."
Poor Walker, by-the-by, I saw last year. He was unfortunately shot by accident some two or three seasons back by a friend; he has never, if I may so term it, "come with a rush" again. William Lort, one of our oldest judges, is hard at work here, there, and everywhere, with one or two more of the old circuit.
What has become of Viscount Curzon, who so well filled the chair at the Annual Dinner? Death has been busy again, for Viscount Curzon is, by the demise of his father, now Earl Howe. The last time I saw his Lordship was at the "Hen and Chickens" at Birmingham, in 1869. Poor Lord Garvagh was on his right hand; he too has gone "the way of all flesh."
On that occasion I remember that prince of good fellows, R. L. Hunt, who has been connected with the show from its commencement, singing a song that made our hair curl, and drove one or two white-tied gentlemen from the room.