HUNTING.
For the sport of the month past we have nothing but praise. It has been one of those months which live in the memory of hunting people. The principal chases of which we have to write are notable alike for pace and for duration, the Cottesmore on three consecutive weeks having enjoyed runs which were of the kind which for want of a better word we must call “old-fashioned,” in that they lasted over an hour and covered a great variety of country.
I may repeat here, because it is a remark which cannot be gainsaid, and is not without its moral, that those countries have much the best sport which have the largest stock of foxes. The reasons for this are clear and I think easy to see on reflection, that where foxes are numerous hounds have plenty of blood, and there is a wider field for natural selection in improving the breed of foxes. Sport, as might be expected, steadily improves as the season goes on, the bad foxes are weeded out, and their places are often taken by more mature animals from other countries. Whether foxes are or are not bred in a covert it will never want foxes if suitable in the shelter and food it affords. The best of the Cottesmore runs which must be placed on record, was the one from Prior’s Coppice on Tuesday, January 23rd. There have been longer points and straighter runs than this, but none where a better pace was sustained over a beautiful but not easy country for a prolonged time.
Many days have threatened fog or frost in the mornings, and yet have been pleasant enough before the day was over. So it was on January 23rd. The morning fog was cold and discouraging. How true is Whyte Melville’s saying, that “Courage is a question of caloric.” Prior’s Coppice was reached, and though hounds left some at least of their followers at a disadvantage, yet when once clear of the covert it was clear that hounds were bending left handed. By the time Cole’s Lodge was reached the pack had started to hunt at a good pace, and the field were in their places. Those who had galloped to reach hounds had now to sit down to ride to keep with the pack. A slight turn helped. Then came a climb that made one feel the advantage of after-Christmas condition. Before Christmas a horse that had climbed the Hog’s Back would have needed a pull, now we can ask him to gallop freely.
The fox worked as if Wardley Wood was his point, but his strength began to fail, and he turned away before he crossed the road. Hounds swung round with him, and it was the pressure they exercised that defeated him. Now he began to turn and twist, but still keeping out of the way of hounds in the most gallant fashion. He was actually in the brook with the hounds, and at last crawled into Manton Gorse, from which he came out to die. An hour and three quarters of the best country, and at a pace that found out the weak points of many horses. Those who rode it fairly on one horse knew that they had to quote Whyte Melville once more, “not merely a good hunter, but a good horse.”
To find any run equal to this we have to go back to the Pytchley hunt after a meet at Weedon Barracks, on Friday, January 12th. In this case hounds hunted a fox which has, it is believed, run before them once at least before this season. This great hunt lasted at least for two hours, and there was just that amount of difficulty and hindrance for followers in the early stages that enabled hounds to settle down to their work. There was much heavy going, too; horses began to stop before, near Ashby Ledgers, hounds on the grass began to run away from them. Near Daventry wire cut the huntsman off from hounds, and with a beaten fox crawling in front hounds lost him after all.
The best Wednesday was at Yelvertoft. The fox an out-lier, hounds laid on in a grass field over which the fox had run a minute or two before. Fences that held up the boldest, while hounds settled down, made a hunt a certainty. There were a good many casualties at the flooded streams.
Never touching a covert and running fairly straight hounds ran on by Naseby Covert; there were two lines here, and hounds no doubt took up the fresh one. An eight-mile point in an hour tells of a first-rate hunting run. Another half-hour and the fox that intervened paid the penalty with his life. One of the great events of the hunting season is the Quorn Hunt Ball. This year more than 300 people gathered in the Corn Exchange at Melton, a gathering which included hunting people from many parts of the world and all parts of England. It often happens that show days are below the average of the sport usually shown. But Captain Forester, who was hunting the hounds, was fortunate in finding a fox which, if it made no great point, showed to the visitors a fine selection of the famous riding grounds of the Quorn hunt.
The fixture after the ball, on Friday, February 2nd, was at Egerton Lodge, which has been with so many generations the social centre of the hunting world. This was appropriate, and so was the drawing of the Hartopp coverts at Gartree Hill, and the visit of the fox to the Punch Bowl, his timely excursion over the Burton Flats, which is, perhaps, to the stranger the simplest form of Leicestershire. After running through Adam’s Gorse the fox led the visitors into an almost perfect region of grass and fences.