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TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
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teter FamjJy Library of Vetennaiy ' i,,^
HMRiings School of Veterjnaty Msdidn»#
Tuffs (Jritversity
200 Westbofo Road
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HUNTING SONGS
This Edition is limited to Three Hundred and
Fifty Co-pies for sale, each signed and numbered,
of which this is
m.ZoA
Also Twenty-five Copies for presentation
ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON
From (I pdintitig by C. A. Duval
HUNTING SONGS
TOGETHER WITH A SHORT ACCOUNT OF
THE TARPORLEY HUNT CLUB, FROM
ITS FOUNDATION IN 1762 TO
THE YEAR 1869
BY
R. E. EGERTON-WARBURTON
ALSO A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR
BY
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR HERBERT EUSTACE MAXWELL, Bart.
P.C, F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D.
ILLUSTRATED WITH 29 PLATES
LIVERPOOL
HENRY YOUNG & SONS
1912
First Edition,
published
at Chester,
1834
Second ,
,,
London,
1846
Third .
II
1859
Fourth ,
,,
i860
Fifth ,
,,
1873
Sixth
,,
1877
Seventh ,
II
1883
Eighth ,
„
1887
t» t
repr
inted ,,
1893
Ninth .
1,
Liverpool,
191a
DEDICATED TO
THE AUTHOR'S SON
PIERS EGERTON-WARBURTON, Esq.
BY THE PUBLISHERS
Liverpool, October 1912
PUBLISHERS' NOTE
IN issuing this new edition of Warburton's Hunt-
ing Songs, the publishers have tried to produce
it in a form worthy of the place the book occupies
in hunting literature, and they have been enabled to
do this by the kindly aid they have received from
the author's son, Piers Egerton-Warburton, Esq.,
to whom they tender their grateful thanks.
They desire also to thank the Committee of the
Tarporley Hunt Club for permission to reproduce
the portraits which adorn the walls of their Club-
room. They also thank His Grace the Duke of West-
minster for permission to reproduce two portraits ;
and the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Errington for
allowing them to publish, for the first time, the
interesting picture of the " Meet of the Cheshire
Hounds at Hooton " ; and also the Rev. Charles
Slingsby, M.A., for the loan of the portrait of Sir
Charles Slingsby.
By the kindness of Willoughby A. Pemberton,
Esq., they have been enabled to publish a rare por-
trait of John Mytton ; and H. E. Wilbraham, Esq.,
has allowed them to reproduce two of his family
portraits. Mrs. Park Yates has also allowed them
vii
PUBLISHERS' NOTE
to reproduce the original painting of the late Capt.
Park Yates.
The publishers also desire to thank the following
gentlemen for their aid, and for information concern-
ing the book and illustrations — Sir Philip H. B.
Grey-Egerton, Bart., Sir Gilbert Greenall, Bart.,
Ralph Brocklebank, Esq., J. Grierson Clayton, Esq.,
Reginald Corbet, Esq., and Col. Henry Tomkinson.
vm
CONTENTS
Memoir
PACK
XV
Introduction
. XXV
The Woore Country .
I
Quaesitum Meritis
5
Old Oulton Lowe
7
Tavporley Hunt .
II
The Little Red Rover .
• 13
The Fox and the Brambles
14
The Earth Stopper
. 16
The Old Brown Forest
• 17
The Dead Hunter
21
The Spectre Stag
22
On the New Kennel, erected on Delamere F
orest
26
The Ladie Cunigunda of Kynast .
28
The Love-Chace ....
32
A Recollection ......
35
The Tantivy Trot ....
36
Hawkstone Bow-Meeting ....
38
The Ball and the Battue ....
40
On the Landlord .....
42
Cheshire Chivalry .....
43
On the Picture of the Cheshire Hunt .
47
The Breeches ......
51
Inscription on the Handle of a Fox's Brush .
54
The Sawyer ......
55
Song, written for and sung by J. H. Smith Barry, Esq. .
57
Tarwood
6i
b
ix
CONTENTS
A " Meet " at the Hall, and a " Find " in the Wood
Song ....
Sport in the Highlands
" Importation of Vermin "
Bow-meeting Song
Farmer Dobbin .
The Blooming Evergreen
Cheshire Jumpers
Tarporley Hunt Song .
A Remonstrance on Lord Stanley's Suggestion that the
Session of Parliament should be held during the
Winter Months
Highwayside
Count Warnoff .
Le Gros-Veneur .
The Keeper
A Railway Accident with the Cheshire
Tarporley Hunt Song ......
A " Burst " in the Ball Week ....
Farmer Newstyle and Farmer Oldstyle
Home with the Hounds ; or, the Huntsman's Lament
We are all of us Tailors in Turn .
A Word ere we Start .
Hard-riding Dick
Thompson's Trip to Epsom
A Modern Stable
On Reading in the " Times," April 9,
on the Life of Assheton Smith
Tarporley Swan-Hopping
On the Proposed Division of the Cheshi
Killing no Murder
On Peter Collison's late Fall
X
i860, a Critique
re Country
69
73
74
76
77
79
85
86
90
92
93
94
96
99
100
104
106
109
"3
116
119
120
123
126
127
128
130
133
134
CONTENTS
Riding to Hounds
Newby Ferry
Hunting Song
Tarporley Song .
A Growl from the Squire of Grumbleto
The Coverside Phantom
The Ladie of the Castle of Windeck
The Two Wizards
On a Tame Fox
The Mare and her Master .
Farewell to Tarporley
The Pheasant and the Fox .
The Stranger's Story .
The Lovers' Quarrel .
'Tis Sixty Years Since
The Close of the Season
The Man with One Hunter
Brother Tom ....
Farming and Fox-hunting
Bought and Sold ....
An Australian Stag-hunt
On the Death of Major Whyte-Melvill
Found at Last
A London Ballad
Hush! Hush! Hush!
Cheshire's Welcome
Lines on reading an Extract from the Hunting Diary of
V. D. Broughton, Esq
Lines for the Stone intended to mark the spot where the
gentlemen, whose boat was upset on Lochquoich,
were landed .......
Epitaph on the Duke of Wellington's Charger
135
135
139
141
143
146
150
153
157
158
161
166
169
172
17s
179
180
182
183
185
189
190
192
194
196
198
200
201
202
xi
CONTENTS
PAGE
Epitaph on A. B. C. by X. Y. Z 202
On a Thorn Tree on the Grave of a Brood Mare . . 203
The Roebuck at Toft ....... 203
Charade ......... 204
Welsh Hunting ........ 204
Paraphrase by a Master of Hounds .... 205
Epigram on a Hard-riding Youth named Taylor . . 205
Inscription on a Garden Seat formed from the Bones of
an Old Racer ....... 206
Notes 207
xii
LIST OF PLATES
Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton . . . Frontispiece
From a painting 6y C. A. Duval
FACIHO PAGE
Arley Hall — South Front ...... xv
Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton .... xxv
From a photograph
George Wilbraham ........ xxvii
From a painting by P. Battoni
Sir Richard, 1st Lord Grosvenor ..... xxxi
From a painting by Henry Morland, R.A.
Roger Wilbraham xxxv
From a painting
John Smith Barry ....... xxxvii
From a painting by J. Cranke, 1779
Sir Peter Warburton, 5th Baronet . . . . xl
From a painting by Sir William Beechey, R.A.
John Mytton of Halston, Salop .... xlix
From a scarce print by IV. Giller, after IV. Webb; in the possession of
Willoughby A. Pemberton, Esq,
Captain Park Yates ....... 1
From a painting by Leslie Ward
Presidents of the Tarporley Hunt Club, 1762-1781 . lii
„ „ „ „ „ 1 782-1 81 7 . lii
„ „ „ „ „ 1818-1857 . lii
„ „ „ „ „ 1858-1897 . lii
„ „ » » » 1898-1910 . lii
xiii
LIST OF PLATES
FACING PAGE
The Meet of the Cheshire Hounds at Hooton . . i
From a painting iy J. E. Ferneley
The Classical Qujesitum and the President's Hard
Chair .......... 5
The Swan Inn, Tarporley . . . . . .11
The Cheshire Hunt 47
From an eii^ravitig by C. G. Lewis, after the painting by Henry Calvert
Hugh, Duke of Westminster, K.G 96
From a painting by Sir J. E. Millais, R.A.
We are all of us Tailors in Turn . . . .116
From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ")
A Word ere we Start . . . . . . .119
From an etching bv Hablot K. Browne ("Phi:")
Hard-riding Dick 120
From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phis ")
Sir Charles Slingsby and his Horse " Saltfish " . . 135
From a photograph
Wellington H. Stapleton Cotton, 2nd Viscount Com-
bermere 142
From a painting by H. G. Herkomer
Beeston Castle . . . . . . . -153
H. Reginald Corbet 157
From a painting by \V. Carter
Charles Cholmondeley ....... 161
From a painting by Henry Cahert, 1840
The Way to the Stables — Arley Hall . . . 206
XIV
ARLEY HALL— SOUTH FRONT
MEMOIR
ONE can scarcely imagine any public appoint-
ment that must prove more irksome at times
than that of Poet Laureate. It is the Laureate's
function to celebrate triumphs in which he has borne
no part, to give expression to joys that quicken
not his pulse, and griefs that interfere no whit with
his digestion. Nimble imagination, a delicate ear
for rhythm, and a fluent vocabulary may serve to
save his credit ; but in most state poems how
plainly audible is the creak of machinery and the
throb of the pump. Most men of education might
acquire, an they willed, the craft cf stringing verses
upon almost any given theme. It is an elegant
exercise ; but true poetry flows from a more secret
source.
''OtSa, said the Greek, to express what we mean by
" I know," using the preterite of e'lSw, " I see," because
to have seen and to know appeared to him, meant for
him, the same thing. Even so the poet must have
seefi — either in mental or material vision — before he
can know enough to utter his lay. In every language
amorous poetry, or at least poetry wherein love bears
a chief part, abounds beyond any other, for the reason
that every man worthy of the name has been in love
of one sort or another at one time or another. All
XV
MEMOIR
men have seen into this passion, therefore every
man knows all about it.
It is otherwise with fox-hunting. In modern
communities hunters form a minority, chiefly drawn
from a class which does not habitually seek expres-
sion in verse ; wherefore prose predominates in the
literature of the chace {pace the didactic Somervile).
Nevertheless it happens once in a generation or so
that enthusiasm, experience, and the poetic faculty
are concentrated in a single fox-hunter ; and then
how many memories are stirred — how many hearts
are thrilled — by the verse that needs but be set in
the alembick of good music to be handed down from
sire to son ad mjinitum.
It was by a happy dispensation that in the reign
of Queen Victoria, three or four bards, competently
gifted, rivalled each other in the grace and fire with
which they celebrated the charms of the chace ; for
it was midway in that reign that fox-hunting attained
perfection. Foreign competition had not stinted
the resources and strained the relations of squire and
farmer ; railways had facilitated access to the flying
shires without fulfilling C. J. Apperley's boding by
proving a death-blow to sport ; fences were as yet
free from the insidious peril of wire, and the death-
duties had not yet laid their blight on the country
homes of England. So John Woodcock Graves was
devoid of all gloomy apprehension for the future
welfare of his favourite sport when he matched " D'ye
ken John Peel?" to an old Cumberland "rant";
so was Whyte-Melville when he brought us to
" The Place where the Old Horse died " ; Bromley
xvi
MEMOIR
Davenport, too, in celebrating the glories of " Ranks-
borough Gorse."
Howbeit none of these attempted the formidable
task which Rowland Egerton-Warburton sustained
during many years. A true Laureate, though he
never claimed the title, he furnished the famous Old
Tarporley Club with a fresh lyric on each succeeding
anniversary — spontaneous, easy-flowing, and full of
spirit.
Born at Moston, near Chester, on 14th September
1804, Rowland Eyles Egerton-Warburton was the
eldest son of the Rev. Rowland Egerton-Warburton,
seventh son of Philip Egerton of Oulton, by his wife,
Emma, daughter and co-heir of John Croxton of
Narley Bank, Cheshire. This Emma was the grand-
daughter of Sir Peter Warburton, fourth baronet of
Arley, twenty-first in unbroken male descent from
Adam de Dulton, who took the surname of War-
burton when, in the reign of Henry II, he acquired
the manor of Warburton through his marriage with
Agnes, daughter and co-heir of Roger Fitzalured.
Through his father young Rowland could trace
direct descent from Philip, named " Goch," the
Red, second son of David le Clerc de Malpas, who,
when the earldom of Chester was annexed to the
Crown, was appointed sheriff of that county in
1252.
Whatever virtue, therefore, may be held to be
inherent in ancient lineage young Rowland pos-
sessed, when, on the demise of his uncle, Sir Peter
Warburton, fifth and last baronet, in 18 13, he
succeeded at the age of nine to the estates of Arley
c xvii
MEMOIR
and Warburton, in accordance with the terms of his
grandfather's will. In due course he went to Eton,
thence to Oxford, where he matriculated at Corpus
Christi College on 14th February 1823. As regards
his university career — ccetera desunt. Thereafter,
having made the grand tour in accordance with
what was still reckoned essential to complete the
education of a wealthy English gentleman, he settled
at Arley Hall. This had been originally a fine
example of the black and white timbered houses so
distinctive of Cheshire ; but in the middle of the
eighteenth century it was encased in a Georgian shell,
which displeased Warburton's fastidious sense of
beauty. He therefore began adapting it to his taste
until, in the course of years, it had been practically
rebuilt. Here he lived all his life, spending his time
and money on his ample estates, and seldom visiting
London. A staunch Tory in politics and a High
Churchman, as was his neighbour and intimate
friend, William Ewart Gladstone, in those days, he
took no very active part in politics, and might
have viewed with equanimity Gladstone's transition
through the successive phases of Tory, Peelite,
Radical, and Home Ruler, had he kept his hands off
the Irish Church ; but his action in attacking that
establishment was of such evil augury for more
cherished institutions nearer home, that the strain
proved almost fatal to the life-long friendship be-
tween these two men. Warburton, indeed, was of a
deeply religious nature, to which he gave literary
expression in many verses and hymns, and in a
collection of sonnets which has been privately printed,
xviii
MEMOIR
He had the following lines inscribed over the two
chimney-pieces in his dining-room —
" If proud thou be of ancestors
For worth and wisdom famed,
So live that they, if now alive,
Would not of thee be 'shamed.
" In days of olden chivalry
Bequeathed from sire to son,
May honour keep untarnished still
The shield which valour won."
The only public office Warburton ever filled was
that which had been held by his ancestor, Philip de
Malpas, nearly seven hundred years before. He was
High Sheriff of Cheshire in 1833, but the distinc-
tion which he esteemed most highly was that of
being elected an honorary member of the Old
Tarporley Club — an honour almost, if not quite,
unique. His father, who was only five-and-thirty
when Rowland succeeded to the estates in 181 3,
lived till 1846, and his mother died at the age of
ninety-nine in 1881. His younger brother, Peter
(1813—89), having served in the Bombay army,
retired with the rank of brevet-major in 1853, in-
tending to settle in New Zealand ; but he changed
his destination to the colony of South Australia,
where he became Commissioner of Police, after-
wards earning distinction as a successful explorer.
He endured terrible suffering and hardship in accom-
plishing the overland route from Adelaide to West
Australia, which he was the first traveller to attempt.
In no English county has so little change in the
ownership of land taken place within historic times
xix
MEMOIR
as in Cheshire. ToUemache, Chohnondeley, and
Grosvenor, Broughton, Egerton and Legh, War-
burton, Davenport, and Shakerley — the old names
stand in the rolls of George Vs reign just as they
did in those of the Plantagenets. And whereas in
Warburton's veins was blended the blood of two
historic Cheshire families, he needed not to go out-
side the county to find a bride of a lineage as ancient
as his own. Accordingly, on yth May 1831, he
married Mary, eldest daughter of Sir Richard Brooke,
baronet of Norton Priory, one of a race whose con-
nection with Cheshire runs back to the twelfth
century. The popular prejudice against May mar-
riages may draw no support from this one, for in
May 1 88 1 there were assembled at Arley many of
the family to celebrate the golden wedding of Mr.
and Mrs. Egerton-Warburton. They were a truly
devoted couple, and among the gifts made to them
on this occasion none was so touching as a gold
bracelet given by Warburton to her whom he had
made his bride fifty years before. It held a medallion
containing ten golden leaves, on each of which was
inscribed the record of the chief domestic event in
each of the ten bygone quinquennia. A fortnight
later Mrs. Warburton was no more, and her husband
never recovered from the shock of her sudden death.
" Happy is the country that hath no history."
There are but scanty records of Warburton's tranquil
manner of life. Summer and winter he spent in the
beloved " Chester's green vale." His intense love of
beauty — natural, literary, and artistic — his contem-
plative disposition and affectionate nature would
XX
MEMOIR
have secured him happiness independently of society
outside his own family circle ; but many persons
who shared his tastes and appreciated his literary
gifts found their way to Arley, and were welcomed
there with refined and facile hospitality. The late
Lord Houghton and Sir Jervoise Clarke-Jervoise
were among the most intimate members of a little
coterie, which included Mrs. Warburton's four sisters
— Harriot Countess of Meath, Clare Lady Hervey-
Bathurst, Caroline the Hon. Mrs. Lascelles, and
Jessy the Hon. Mrs. Bootle-Wilbraham. Among
these closely attached friends there used to circulate
verses, epigrams, charades ^ndjeux-d'' esprit enough to
fill a volume by themselves.
Warburton, himself, had a kindly sympathy with
all field-sports, but his darling pursuit was fox-hunting.
As he tells us himself in one of his best songs —
"Fishing, though pleasant, I sing not at present,
Nor shooting the pheasant, nor fighting of cocks ;
Song shall declare a way how to drive care away,
Pain and despair away — hunting the fox."
He generally rode thoroughbred horses bred by
himself, and bestowed incessant care upon breaking
and training them ; but one cannot read his poems
without feeling convinced that his affection was
bestowed as ardently upon hounds as it was upon
horses. It was one who rode to hunt, not one who
hunted to ride, that wrote the following stanza (less
musical than most from that pen) —
" The fox takes precedence of all from the cover ;
The horse is an animal purposely bred
After the pack to be ridden — not over ;
Good hounds are not rear'd to be knocked on the head."
xxi
MEMOIR
Though the prowess of others in the hunting-field
is liberally celebrated and humorously criticised in
Warburton's lays, upon his own quality as a horse-
man he is modestly silent. Almost alone among
field-sports, fox-hunting is free from the detestable
taint of record-breaking, and owing to its very nature,
must remain so while it endures. How long that
may be defies computation. Its approaching end
has been confidently predicted ever since railways
began to shake the dominion of the road coaches.
Warburton met that invasion with defiance —
" Let the steam pot hiss till it's hot ;
Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot ! "
The sport has undergone many changes since then,
but hitherto it has suffered no diminution of vigour.
Still, as one canters to cover, his hack's feet seem to
beat the turf in rhythm to the chime of —
"Stags in the forest h'e, hares in the valley-o ;
VVeb-footed otters are speared in the lochs ;
Beasts of the chace that are not worth a Tally-ho I
All are surpassed by the gorse-cover fox."
The wealth of the country has shifted its centre ;
few squires can now afford the supreme luxury of
hunting from home ; but the blanks have been filled
— far more than filled — by recruits from the great
industrial centres, many of whom have no cause to
fear comparison in performance and sportsman-like
feeling with the most famous pursuers in the past.
If and when the time does come, soon or late, when
the physical and social conditions of this country
have become incompatible with the Sport of Kings,
xxii
MEMOIR
future generations may still be sensible of the kindly
glamour which Warburton by these his lays has cast
over his favourite pursuit.
" Still distant the day — yet in ages to come,
When the gorse is uprooted, the foxhound is dumb,
May verse make immortal the deeds of the field,
And the shape of each steed be on canvas reveal'd."
The spirit and elegance of Warburton's verses
found too many who appreciated them that they
should be allowed to perish. First collected and
published in 1834 under the title ol Hunting Songs,
Ballads, &c., fresh ones appeared in each subse-
quent edition until the eighth in 1887. Besides
this collection, Warburton published 'Tliree Hunting
Songs (1855), A Looking- Glass for Landlords (1875),
Poems, Epigrams, and Sonnets (1877), Songs and Verses
on Sporting Subjects (1879), T'wenty-'T'wo Sonnets (1883),
most of which are included in the present edition.
His later years were darkened by a grievous
affliction. No more might his eye rest lovingly on
the shapes of horse and hound, nor be gladdened by
the gleam of scarlet in the autumn woodland, nor
could he seek the solace which he knew so well how
to find in his library. For seventeen long years
Warburton was stone-blind from glaucoma. It was
then a pathetic sight to see him still moving about
through the beautiful garden he had created and
the landscape which he had embellished. Moving
briskly, too ; for he used to take as his guide a life-
long friend, an aged gardener called Peter Burgess,
who wore a leathern belt upon which his master
kept a firm hold as they wandered through the
xxiii
MEMOIR
woods and lanes. But so greatly did his master
appreciate open-air exercise to the last, that old
Burgess was not able to give him enough ; so a
terrace was made 220 yards long, with a wire beside
it. With his stick on the wire Warburton would
pace to and fro here alone, a bell at each end of the
wire warning him when he had reached the end of
his tether. For the last twenty years of Warburton's
life, after his wife's death, his youngest daughter,
Mrs. Ussher, her husband and children, lived with
him at Arley.
Rowland Egerton- Warburton breathed his last at
Arley Hall on 6th December 1891. No pomp of
plumes or gloomy mourning-coaches were suffered
to mark the close of this gentle life. The body
was laid on a lorry draped with scarlet cloth and
drawn by the workmen on the estate for three miles
through the leafless woods to its resting-place in the
churchyard of Great Budworth.
Rowland Egerton- Warburton is survived by his
son, Piers Egerton-Warburton, who represented Mid-
Cheshire in Parliament from 1876 to 1885.
HERBERT MAXWELL.
MONREITH, <)thju!y 191 2.
XXIV
ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-VVARBURTON
From <i photograph
INTRODUCTION
A SHORT account of the Club for which so
many of them were written will not, I hope,
be thought an inappropriate introduction to a new
edition of these Hunting Songs.
The Tarporley Hunt was established in the year
1762, and their first meeting was held on the 14th
of November in that year. Hare-hunting was the
sport for which they then assembled. Those who
kept harriers brought out their packs in turn. If no
member of the Society kept hounds, or if it were
inconvenient to bring them, it is ordered by the 8th
Rule that a " Pack be borrowed and kept at the
expense of the Society."
Societies such as the Cycle in Wales had in the
earlier years of the last century been favourite meet-
ing places for the Jacobite gentry ; but whatever
were the politics of the founders of Tarporley Club,
it was evidently the love of hunting only that
brought them together ; and from that day to this,
difference of political opinion has never been known
tp interfere with the election of the members, or to
disturb the harmony of the Club.
The Founders were the Rev. Obadiah Lane, of
Longton, county of Stafford, who had married Sarah,
sister of the first Lord Crewe ; John Crewe, son of
d XXV
INTRODUCTION
the Rev. Joseph Crewe, Rector of Barthomley and
Astbury ; Booth Grey, second son of Harry, fourth
Earl of Stamford ; Sir Henry Mai n waring, of Over-
Peover ; George Wilbraham, the builder of Delamere
Lodge ; his brother, Roger Wilbraham ; Richard
Walthall, second son of Peter Walthall, of Wistaston ;
Robert Salusbury Cotton, son of Sir Lynch Salusbury
Cotton, of Combermere ; and the Rev. Edward
Emily, whose connection with the county I cannot
trace.
The original rules recorded in the first club-book
will not, after an interval of a hundred years, be
without interest to the modern sportsman, showing,
amongst other particulars, the hours which they
kept, and describing the dress in which our fore-
fathers took the field :
"Tarporley Hunt, Nov. 14th, 1762.
Mr. Lane, President.
Mr. Booth Grev,l c . ■
, , ^ - H Secretaries.
Mr. Crewe, J
Miss Townshend, Lady Patroness.
" We whose names are hereunto subscribed, do
agree to meet at Tarporley twice annually. The
first meeting to be held the second Monday in
November, and the second to be fixed by the
majority of the members who shall meet at the first ;
each meeting to last for the space of seven days.^
We do likewise agree to submit to all the underwritten
rules, and to all other such rules as shall be thought
^ The first hunting day is meant by the second Monday ; the
Gentlemen having agreed to meet overnight,
xxvi
GEORGE WILBRAHAM
From a painting by P. Battoni
INTRODUCTION
necessary by the majority of the Society, for the
better keeping up of the same.
Oba. Lane, Pres. Edward Emily.
J. Crewe, Sec. Ric. Walthall.
Booth Grey, Dep. Sec. R. E. Cotton.
Henry Mainwaring. R. Wilbraham.
George Wilbraham.
" 1st Any member that absents himself must
pay the sum of one guinea unless his excuse shall be
allowed of by the sitting members.
. " 2nd. Every member must have a blue frock,
with plain yellow metalled buttons, scarlet velvet
cape, and double-breasted scarlet flannel waistcoat,
the coat sleeve to be cut and turned up.
" ^rJ. The harriers never to wait for any member
after eight o'clock in the morning.
" 4//?. If the majority of the Hunt present are
at home on the hour dinner is ordered, they are not
expected to wait.
" ^t/i. Any members that shall cause or make
any disturbance during the meeting (upon refusing
to submit to the sentence pass'd on them by the
majority of the Society) shall be immediately expell'd.
" 6t/i. If the Society consists of an equal number,
the President has a casting vote.
" yt/i. A new President for the following meet-
ing to be balloted for the last day of the preceding
meeting. The President must manage all the busi-
ness of the Society during the time of his office.
" St/i. If no member of the Society keeps hounds,
or if they do and it should be inconvenient for them
xxvii
INTRODUCTION
to bring them, a pack must be borrowed and kept at
the expense of the Society.
" C)th. Three collar bumpers to be drank after
dinner, and the same after supper ; after they are
drank every member may do as he pleases in regard
to drinking.
" \oth. The President, as soon as elected, to
nominate the Lady Patroness for his meeting, she
being a spinster.
"ii//z. No member to be chose but by Ballot,
and none but the members present at the Balloting
to have a vote : which Ballot must be the first night
of the meeting.
" I zth. The House bill must be pay'd the seventh
day of each meeting, and after that is done every
member has the liberty of going after his own
inventions.
" 13^/2. Every member has the liberty of intro-
ducing his Friend, but must pay for him as far as
his ordinarys.
" I \th. All single or private engagements must yield
to the time fixed for the meeting of this Society.
" 15M. Should the members of this Society in
a party attend any of the neighbouring assemblys,
the President must ask the Lady Patroness for the
time being, to dance, should she be there.
" \bth. If any member of this Society should
marry, he is to present the Hunt with a pair of
stifF-topp'd, well-stitch'd, buckskin gloves each.*
" 17M. This Book must be kept in the Balloting-
' Pro buckskin- gloves lege buckskin-breeches. — Booth Grey, Dep.
Sec.
xxviii
INTRODUCTION
box, and the President for the time being must keep
the key.
" iSt/i. The President must acquaint Mr. Southon
of the time appointed for each meeting.
" igt/i. Every member that does not attend must
send his reasons in writing to the President.
" zot/i. Any member who advances the money
for an absentee, to be reimburs'd by the Society in
case of such absentee's refusing to pay him, and the
absentee to be expell'd. ^
" 2 1 J/. The Secretary must acquaint every mem-
ber of their elections as soon as chose.
" aawrt'. All forfeitures to be apply'd for the
benefit of the Society attending the meeting when
they are forfeited.
" 23rd'. The President to forfeit five guineas for
non-attendance unless his excuse shall be allow'd of.
" 24//6. If any member absents himself for a night
during the meeting he shall forfeit one guinea for
every such night of absence, unless he have leave
of the majority of the Hunt present.
"The Orders of the Tarporley Hunt,
November ye 14TH, 1762.
" Ordered, that Mr. Booth Grey procures for
the use of this Society a Balloting-box, with eighteen
black and eighteen white balls. — O. Lane,' Pres.
" Ordered, that Mr. Booth Grey procures for
this Society two Collar Glasses, and two Admit-
tance Glasses of a larger size. — O. Lane, Pres.
" Mem"\ — An Express was sent this meeting to
xxix
INTRODUCTION
Chester for a Chine of Mutton by Obadiah Lane,
Clerck.
" Ordered, that Mr. Coton have the thanks of
the Society for a set of Silver Bottle Tickets."
The remainder of this book contains the proceed-
ings of the first forty-six meetings, the account of
subscriptions, and the list of forfeits down to Feb.
1785. The extracts I select will suffice to give
the reader an insight into the manners and customs
of that date, and will show likewise how completely
Fox-hunting, when once introduced, superseded the
sport for which the Club had been originally founded.
" 1763. — Nov. ye 6th. Voted, that the metal
Buttons be changed for basket mohair ones. Voted,
that after supper but one collar glass is obliged to
be drunk. Voted, that every member provides him-
self a scarlet saddle cloth, bound with blue.
" 1764. — Feb. ye 6th. Voted, that each President
provides two dozen Franks during his meeting for
the use of the Society. Voted, that each member,
when he marries, instead of providing Breeches for
every member of the Hunt, does pay into the hands
of the Secretary for the use of each member, the
sum of one guinea to be spent in leather breeches.
" Nov. 5. Voted, that the number of members
of this Hunt be limited to twenty. Voted, that if
any member does not appear in the strict uniform of
this Hunt, he shall forfeit one guinea for every such
offence, viz. a plain blue frock, with cuff turn'd up
one button, with mohair buttons, and unbound ; and
scarlet velvet cape, with a dbuble-breasted scarlet
XXX
SIR RICHARD, Isr LORD GROSVENOR
Prom It paiutiii}:; hy Henry Morland, R.A.
INTRODUCTION
waistcoat, a scarlet saddlecloth bound singly with
blue, and the front of the bridle lapt with scarlet.
" 1765. — Nov. 4th. Mr. John Barry having sent
the Fox Hounds to a different place to what was
ordered, and not meeting them himself at that place,
was sent to Coventry, but return'd upon giving six
bottles of Claret to the Hunt.
" 1766. — Feb. 3. Voted, that any member of this
Hunt that marries a second time shall give two pairs
of leather breeches to each member of the Hunt.
Five guineas out of the forfeits given to the poor.
" 1766. — Nov. 2. Mr. Crewe fined for having
his bridle lapt with red and blue. Mr. John Barry
fined for not having taken the binding off the button
holes of his waistcoat. Mr. Whitworth fined for
having his saddlecloth bound with purple. Lord
Grosvenor fined for riding to cover with a white
saddlecloth, and likewise for having his bridle lapt
with white. Lord Grosvenor having quitted the
Hunt on the Tuesday without leave, was fined five
guineas.
" 1767. — Nov. ye ist. Mr. Arthur Barry received
the thanks of this Society for Heber's Horse Racing
from the year 1751 to 1766. Voted that for the
future they shall be taken in annually.
" 1768. — Oct. ye 30th. Parliament meeting
sooner than common this meeting by the consent
of majority was held a week sooner than appointed
by Rule.
" A. Barry pays one guinea for a waistcoat with
improper pockets.
" Lord Grosvenor appearing two days out of
xxxi
INTRODUCTION
uniform, both coat and waistcoat, pays for each day
2 guineas, and one guinea for absenting himself one
night without leave.
"Books belonging to the Hunt, Nov. 13th,
1768:
17 Volumes of Heber complete.
Annual Register complete.
T*ocket Library.
Oxford Magazine.
Howard's 'Thoughts.
Oxford Sausage.
Hunting book.
" 1769. — Nov. ye 5th. Agreed, that the number
of this Hunt shall be enlarged to twenty-five members,
but shall never exceed the same. Agreed, that the
Rule ' shall be altered, and that instead of three
collar glasses only one shall be drunk after dinner,
except a fox is kill'd above ground, and then, after
the Lady Patroness, another collar glass shall be
drunk to Foxhunting.
" 1770. — Voted, that the Club in general do not
dine out by invitation. Voted that the Hunt change
their uniform to a red coat unbound with a small
frock sleeve, a green velvet cape, and green waist-
coat, and that the sleeve has no buttons : in every
other form to be like the old uniform, and that
the red saddlecloth be bound with green instead ot
blue, and the fronts of the bridles remain the same
as at present. The buttons basket, same colour as
the coat, waistcoat buttons colour of waistcoat,
> Rule 9.
xxxii
INTRODUCTION
Every one not appearing as above liable to the old
forfeitures.
" Nov. 4th. Riding a hack to cover or a shoot-
ing or upon an accident happening, or horse on tryal,
not to be fined according to the strictness of rule
made in regard to uniforms.
" 1772. — Nov. ist. During this meeting (on
the 5th of November) the Lord President v^as
pleased to signify his intention of investing Thomas
Cholmondeley, Esq., of Vale Royal, in this county,
with the most noble order of the Belt. Accordingly
he was introduced to the Lord President by two
senior aldermen. The Whip of State was borne by
the Secretary : the Belt, carried on a cushion of
state, by the Master of the Foxhounds ; Sir Thomas's
train was borne by the junior members, and the
President's by the Coverer. Great attention was
paid during the ceremony, every member standing,
and Sir Thomas, returning to the chair, his health
was drunk with three cheers. Ordered, that he
always appear in the ensigns of his order during the
meeting. Voted, that any person who shall be here-
after elected a member of this Hunt, and is a married
man, shall pay ^10, os. 6d. on his admission by way
of Stockpurse, and if a Bachelor six guineas. Instead
of Breeches, twenty guineas voted to be paid.
" As Mr. President has done this Hunt the
honor of his Picture, their thanks are return'd for
the same.'
" Lord Kilmorey's mild and pleasant administra-
^ Lord Kilmorey was President. There is no record of this portrait
having been in possession of the Club.
e xxxiii
INTRODUCTION
tion was approv'd, not only by his second election,
but by his health being drunk in three Goblets.
" ^773- — Nov. 7. Voted, that every member
introducing a stranger pays for the 2d night of
his staying one gallon of Claret ; for the 4th night
of his staying 2 gallons ; and if he stays three
Hunting days, one dozen. Voted unanimously, that
Mr. John Barry is desired to sitt for his picture for
this Hunt, Mr, John Barry very politely consents.
" 1774. — Feb. 6th. Lord Kilmorey by his own
desire is no longer a member, but voted a letter to
be wrote to him that it is the wish of the London
Hunt that if he is in Town he will try the Bond-st.
covers as a member.
" Nov. — Wilkinson ordered to take back the
great chair, and either to alter it to the approbation
of the Hunt, or to make a new one, charging nothing
for the same ; on this condition the gentlemen agreed
to pay him for the great chair.
" This meeting Sir Thomas Broughton paid
forfeit to Booth Grey for a match to have been run.
" ^11'!>' — Nov. This meeting a sweepstakes was
won by Sir Thomas Broughton starting against Mr.
Crewe, of Crewe. Lord Stamford, Geo. Wilbraham,
and Lord Kilmorey paid forfeit.
" ^T71- — F^^- Ordered, that a cover, or covers
on the Forest be made from the Stockpurse, under
the direction of Sir Peter Warburton, George Wil-
braham, and Mr. Peter Heron, if leave can be
obtained.
" November, Ordered, that the ropes for Crab-
tree Green are paid for by the President, ^5, 17s. od.
xxxiv
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9
ROGER WILBRAHAM
From a painting
INTRODUCTION
Ordered, that Mr. Grey is paid for the repairs of the
course, £^, 19s. od. Ordered, that Mr. Wilbraham
is paid for sowing and inclosing a cover, ;^i6, os. od.
" 1778.— February. Voted, that Mr. Wilbraham
gives Mr. Stevens as a compliment for drawing the
lease of a cover on the Forest the sum of five guineas.
" November. Voted, that an order made the
eighth meeting, Feb. 1776, that the part of that
order containing these words, ' that the Claret never
be admitted into the house bill ' shall be rescinded,
and that the deficiency of the Claret, after what is
pay'd for strangers, &c., be inserted in the bill.
" The Secretary's accounts were settled and
allow'd, being on the Claret account ^^15, 5s. 6d,,
and on the house account £2, 2s. od. No more is
now left in his hands. Voted, that each member
of this Hunt do deposit 29s. in the Secretary's
hands for a fund to purchase Claret, and that Mr.
Roger Wilbraham be requested to order it down,
and that the Secretary do answer Mr. Roger Wil-
braham's draft for that purpose.
" 1779. — Oct. Rev. Mr. Lane and Mr. Whit-
worth are voted honorary members ; it being the
unanimous wish of the Society that the Rev. Mr.
Lane as an original member, whenever he finds his
health sufficiently re-established, may be considered
a member of this Society. Agreed to allow Mr.
Southon fifteenpence a bottle, and the bottles, for
drinking our own claret.
" 1780. — November. At this meeting a fox was
found for the first time in the new gorse cover, near
the Old Pale.
XXXV
INTRODUCTION
" 1782. — November. This Hunt, Mr. Beckford's
Book on hunting being presented by Mr. S. Arden
in due form, the Secretary and two Aldermen attend-
ing, Mr. Egerton's Health was drunk in a bumper
in a goblet.
" Offley Crewe and Sir P. Warburton were found
guilty of a most heinous offence in having crossed a
hare's scut with a foxe's brush, and fined one gallon
of Claret each, a very light fine for such an offence.
Mr. R. Wilbraham prosecuted. Mr. Baugh was
evidence, together with Mr. Peter Heron.
" 1783. — November. This meeting a rule was
made that the owner of the winning horse is not
to give a dozen of Claret, as was customary.
" Mr. B. Grey, having moved that no cards or
dice be allowed after the first toast after Supper,
each member so offending against this rule must pay
two dozen of Claret. The above rule was carried
by a majority of four, the President being counted
as two.
" 1784. — February. Ordered that the President's
Chair be presented by the Tarporley Hunt to the
Rev. Crewe Arden, the very worthy Rector of this
Parish, as a testimony of their high respect and
regard.
" November. Mr. T. Brooke, having been
detected in making a wager in the dining Room,
contrary to the rules of the Club, of ^i, is. od. to
half-a-crown with Sir Peter Warburton, forfeited
the wager.
" Mr. Grey having, at the request of the members
present, undertaken to compile the different orders
xxxvi
JOHN SMITH BARRY
From a painting by J. Crankc, 1779
INTRODUCTION
made by this Society, the books are to be delivered
to him, with the thanks of the meeting, for the
great trouble he is so good to take,"
In 1773, in the account of payments, is one of
^2, 2S. od. to Mr. Yoxall, for survey of intended
alterations and plans. This, I presume, refers to
the building of the new dining-room. In 1775, the
sum of ^Ta, 2s. is given to two poor cottagers for
losses by fire, and there is an entry of iis. 6d. for
advertising Hunt.
In 1779, the payment by the Club to Crank
for Mr. John Smith Barry's picture is entered as
follows :
£ s. d.
" Picture . . . .2100
Frame . . . . 9 16 o
Case . . . . . I 19 o
Carriage of Picture . .210"
This picture is full length. At his master's feet sits
Blue Cap, the winner of the match at Newmarket in
1762. The portrait of the master is excellent, but
the artist has been less successful in the hound.
Crank, who resided at Warrington, was at that
time a well-known painter, and much patronised
by the neighbouring gentry. I have been told that
many years after his death, one of his pictures was
sold as a portrait by Gainsborough for a large sum.
As shown in the proceedings, Mr. Smith Barry
had "politely consented to sit in 1773." Unless
the order were delayed, the picture must have
progressed but slowly, if only finished in 1779 ;
xxxvii
INTRODUCTION
possibly the bill was not sent in till some time after
its completion.
This compliment was paid to Mr. Smith Barry
as Master of Foxhounds, the first pack known in
Cheshire, and supported entirely at his own expense.
The following is the account of the above-named
match, as given in Daniel's Rural Sports, vol. i. p. 155 :
" The speed of the Foxhound was well ascertained
by the trial at Newmarket, between Mr. Meynell
and Mr. Barry, and this account of the training
and feeding the two Victorious Hounds is from the
person who had the management of them. Will
Crane was applied to, after the match was made
(which was for 500 guineas), to train Mr. Barry's
Hounds, of which Blue Cap was four, and Wanton
three years old. Crane objected to their being
hounds that had been entered some seasons, and
wished for young hounds, who would with more
certainty be taught to run a Drag ; however, the
hounds were sent to Rivenhall in Essex, and, as
Crane suggested, at the first trial, to induce them to
run the drag, they took no notice ; at length, by
dragging a Fox along the ground, and then crossing
the hounds upon the scent, and taking care to let
them kill him, they became very handy to a drag,
and had their exercise regularly three times a week
upon Tiptree Heath ; the ground chosen was Turf,
and the distance over which the drag was taken was
from eight to ten miles. The training commenced
the first of August, and continued until the 28th of
September (the thirtieth the match was run) ; their
food was oatmeal and milk and sheep's trotters,
xxxviii
INTRODUCTION
Upon the thirtieth of September the drag was drawn
(on account of running up the wind, which happened
to be brisk) from the Rubbing House at Newmarket
Town End, to the Rubbing House at the starting-
post of the Beacon Course ; the four hounds were
then laid on the scent ; Mr. Barry's Blue Cap
came in first, Wantoti (very close to Blue Cap)
second ; Mr. Meynell's Richmond was beat by
upwards of an hundred yards, and the Bitch never
run in at all ; the ground was cross'd in a few seconds
more than eight minutes.' Three score horses
started with the hounds. Cooper, Mr. Barry's
Huntsman, was the first up ; but the mare that
carried him was rode quite blind at the conclusion.
There were only twelve horses up out of the Sixty ;
and Will Crane, who was mounted upon a King's
plate Horse, called Rib, was in the twelfth. The
odds before running were seven to four in favour of
Mr. Meynell, whose hounds, it was said, were fed
during the time of training entirely with legs of
mutton."
After the death of John Smith Barry, in 1784,
foxhounds were kept at Arley by Sir Peter War-
burton, and, probably as owner of the pack, a similar
request was made to him to sit for his picture, a full
length by Sir William Beechey, for which the Hunt
paid ^(^250 in 181 1. Sir William is said to have pro-
tested against the uniform, and to have declared he
might as well be asked to paint a parrot.
^ Daniel does not give the year in which this match took place.
The letterpress under a print in my possession, engraved from a picture
of the race, by Sartorius, states that it was run in October 1762, over
the Beacon Course.
xxxix
INTRODUCTION
Since the date of the proceedings which close
the two first books there have been but few changes
in the rules of the Club. The earliest notice in the
Racing Calendar of the Tarporley Races, held at
Crabtree Green, is in 1776. On the inclosure of
Delamere Forest, in 1812, the present race-course
was rented from Lord Shrewsbury.
In 1806 it was agreed unanimously that the
members should subscribe the sum of jTj, 3s, each
the next year for silver forks. It may appear strange
to our ideas that a luxury, now so universal, should
not have been introduced at Tarporley until the year
1806 ; but I am assured by a lady now living, that
so late as 1 809, in one of the most hospitable houses
in the county, a silver fork was never seen on the
dinner-table.
The number of the members was eventually
increased to forty, and there is scarcely an old family
name in the county which has not at some period
been enrolled on the list.
In the year 1862 the centenary anniversary of
the Club was celebrated ; an additional sum was
given to the Farmers' Stakes, and the whole county
were invited by the members to a ball, held at the
Grosvenor Hotel, Chester.
The " Cheshire Hounds," an establishment quite
distinct from the Tarporley Club, originated with
the pack kept by Sir Peter Warburton. It seems
that James Smith Barry, who succeeded to his uncle's
property in 1784, and continued to keep hounds,
having in some way offended the county gentlemen,
in the year 1798 Mr. Egerton, of Tatton, Sir Peter
xl
SIR PETER WARBURTON, 5th BARONET
From a painting by Sir William Beechey, R.A.
Hh.
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INTRODUCTION
Warburton, Sir Richard Brooke, and, I believe,
Mr. Broolce, of Mere, built the kennels at Sandiway,
to which the hounds were removed from Arley.
Mr. Smith Barry still kept his pack, and lived
during the hunting season at Ruloe. I have heard
from an old resident in that neighbourhood a story
which, if true, shows that he must have hunted
under the difficulty of having no country beyond
the limits of his own property, and the shifts to
which he was consequently compelled to resort.
Old Richard Bratt, his huntsman, was constantly
in the practice of hiring a man to run a drag early
in the morning from the kennel at Ruloe straight
away to some cover belonging to the Cheshire Hunt.
The scent carried the hounds into the gorse, and
so gave the chance of finding a fox in a cover which
their master had no right to draw.
I cannot ascertain in what year Sir Peter War-
burton resigned the management of the Cheshire
Hounds to George Heron ; but the following
anecdote in Daniel's Rural Sports, vol. iii. p. 456,
shows that they were hunted by Sir Peter as late
as 1807 :
"To prove that the notes of hounds have an
overpowering influence upon the horse, this incident,
which occurred Anno 1807, is related : As the
Liverpool Mail Coach was changing horses at the
inn at Monk's Heath, the horses which had per-
formed the stage from Congleton having been just
taken off and separated, hearing Sir Peter War-
burton's Foxhounds in full cry, immediately started
after, their harness on, and followed the chase until
/ xli
INTRODUCTION
the last. One of them, a blood-mare, kept the track
with the whipper-in, and gallantly followed him for
about two hours over every leap he took, until
Reynard ran to earth in Mr, Hibbert's plantation.
These spirited horses were led back to the inn at
Monk's Heath and performed their stage back to
Congleton the same evening."
George Heron held the management until 1818,
but in consequence of a bad fall, by which he was
disabled. Sir Harry Mainwaring, who eventually
succeeded him, had undertaken the field manage-
ment in 18 1 3.
Sir Harry, after a reign of nineteen years, gave
them up in 1837. His first huntsman was Will
Garfit, who left in August 1820, when John Jones
took his place, coming from Lord Scarborough, and
continued until May 1823. Will Head, who had
been educated under Sir Bellingham Graham, and
had been first whip to the Cheshire for three seasons,
then obtained his promotion, and continued to hunt
them until May 1832. A letter from the late Sir
Harry Mainwaring, containing these particulars,
ends thus: "In 1832 Joseph Maiden came from
Mr. Shaw, and remained with me until I gave up
the hounds, August 1837, continuing with other
managers — a first-rate huntsman and a most excellent
servant in every respect." It is with great pleasure
that I record this testimony to the character of one
who so well deserved it. I cannot give the young
fox-hunter a better summary of the sport (which had
then, I think, reached its climax) than is contained
in the following letter, addressed to the present
xlii
INTRODUCTION
Sir H. Mainwaring, which J have permission to
pubhsh :
"WiTHiNGTON Hall,
' "January lotk, 1865.
" Dear Sir Harry, — In the early days of the
Nantwich Country, from 1805 onwards, there was
great sport from Ravensmoor to the Hills. Leech
was constantly on them, and we hardly ever failed in
finding in the Admiral's cover, and going direct as
a line over that fine country. I don't ever recollect
to have seen finer sport constantly than at that time
and over that country. The hounds then hunted
the Woore Country, and had a wonderful run from
Buerton Gorse, went thro' Oakley Park (Sir J.
Chetwood's), crossed the Drayton Road below the
Loggerheads, just skirted the Burnt Woods, left the
Bishop's Woods on the left. Hales on the left, right
on thro' the small woods at Knighton, and kill'd
at Batchacre Park (Mr. Whitworth's in Shropshire),
18 miles as the crow flies, in an hour and forty-five
minutes. It was an extraordinary fine run, and to
within these few years that fox's pad was on the
stable door here. About the same time the hounds
had a run of about the same distance from Old Baddiley
thro' Cholmondeley, Dods-Edge, to the Shocklach
meadows and over the Dee, but Reynard got safe
into Wales, and it was too late at night to follow
him any further.
" So much for the Nantwich Country ! But in
Will Head's time we had as good a run as I ever
wish'd to see. We found at the Long Lane, in
Holford, hunted slowly thro' Winnington Wood, the
xliii
INTRODUCTION
Leonards, Holbrook's nursery ground, up to the ice
house at Tabley ; here he waited, having been bred
in the roof of it. From this point we had one
of the most continuous fine runs possible, crossed
the turnpike road close to the lodge, to Tabley Walk,
over Tabley High Fields, left Mere Moss just to
his right, thro' Gleave's Hole, over Winterbottom
to Waterless Brook, where Brooke's Gorse now
stands, over the brook, which was rather a puzzler
for the Field, but I saw where there was good getting
out, and jumped in. When I got to the top of
the bank every hound crossed me at an open rail
place. With this bother at the brook of course the
hounds beat the Field, which did not come up till
they were crossing Budworth Heath. We then
went behind Belmont, crossed the Warrington Road,
ran down to the Horns at Witley, where we kill'd,
after a first-rate run.
" The splitting run over the Chester Vale, from
Waverton Gorse, was seen by few, when John
Armitstead's old black horse, and 'J. B. Glegg ' had
the credit of beating the Field. In Leicestershire
for pace and country I never saw a more brilliant
affair. Rowland Warburton himself will recollect
a capital spin we had from his own wood, crossed
the paved road a little above the Gore Bridge (all
the Field went with the hounds save himself, Maiden,
Self, and one or two others). Knowing where the
cover was we put steam on, went down the road
to the ford, and when we got to the top of the Gore
Wood the hounds came out under our feet. From
this point to Tatton Park we were never caught.
xliv
INTRODUCTION
The fox then went across to the Birkin Lodge, and
up the middle of the Park to the garden at the house,
where he was killed, after a most brilliant affair.
R. Warburton will also recollect a good run from
the Breeches, when one of the twin brothers, Peel,
lost his horse directly after leaving the cover ;
Rowland's advice was : —
' May you the next time that white horse you bestraddle,
See less of the Breeches and more of the Saddle.'
In the same neighbourhood, in Maiden's time, we
had a splendid run from Radnor Gorse, when Mr.
Knight was knock'd off his horse at the end of the
first field, and was ridden over by the crowd. The
fox set his head straight for Woodhay, left the farm-
house on his left, then up to Chertsey's Wood,
crossed the wide green lane at the top, at which
point the pace had thinned the Field very much.
Sir Richard Brooke, on a big grey, fell, leaping into
the road, and never got beyond. Maiden here stopp'd
the Corporal, and the running was left to Clive
of Stych, Coke Gooch, and myself; but on going
up the field, leaving Aldersey's rough on the left,
the Colonel's grey put his foot in a grip, and went
heels over head. The field then was quite beat off.
We went on to Bunbury, then to the right, by
Wardle Hall, and kill'd after an unusually fine run
at Rees Heath. Wilbraham Tollemache stopp'd
the Rebel in the first ten minutes. Don't think this
a very boasting detail of sport. The only thing I can
do now is to go a little over the mahogany ; but
a long life of uninterrupted good health enabled me
xlv
INTRODUCTION
to be constantly out, and to carry my recollections
of good runs as far back as most. But I must stop, for
every good run were I to record. Sir, I ne'er should
have done. — Yours truly,
"J. B. GLEGG."
The race over Tatton Park from Mobberley
Cover, 4 miles in 8 minutes, was an extraordinary
performance.
Sir Harry Mainwaring supplies me with some
further particulars of about the same period :
"Jan. 12, '65.
" In the palmy days of hunting in Cheshire it
must be recollected that Glegg first refers to the
time when George Heron kept the Hounds, when
Will Garfit hunted them, and Will Griffiths whipp'd-
in, when Doddington, Dorfold, Bolesworth Castle,
and Bryn-y-Pys, were the chief hunting houses,
when Crewe, Broughton, Tarleton, and (rather later
on) Tomkinson, Brooke, and Glegg were the heroes,
when the Cheshire hunted the Woore Country and
the Wyches, when they used to run as described by
Glegg from Woore to the Bishop's Woods, and from
Hampton Heath to the Duke's Woods, near Elles-
mere. Later on, when my Father took the Country,
and the Wyches were given up, gorses were made
in the Nantwich Country, and in the Chester Vale.
The Middlewich Country, then as it is now, the best
in Cheshire, was hunted the second week in every
month, and the Withington Country the last week,
xlvi
INTRODUCTION
The Withington Kennels were given up, and kennels
built at Peover.
" Glegg has omitted the two best runs I ever
saw. We met at Hurlestone, and had drawn all the
covers in the country blank, when (it was late in
March, and Will Head, Huntsman) we found at
3 P.M., in a small patch of gorse under Calveley Park
wall, a very small Fox. The hounds got away close
to him, and all went together into the barn at the
farmhouse ; ' the fox is kill'd,' we all said, but he
got away under the door. Head cast the hounds
round the barn, away we went ! very best pace !
over Wettenhall Green, up to the wood, left it and
Darnhall on the left, and made a sudden turn to the
right, over the very best of the MinshuU Country, to
the River at Eardswick Hall, a mile above Minshull
Village. We crossed at the wooden bridge, and ran
very fast almost to Bradfield Green, bore to the left,
and we ran into our Fox, a small vixen without
cubs, at Warmincham Rectory, one hour almost
without a check. James Tomkinson rode ' The
Pea,' and he mounted me on ' Whizgig.'
" Maiden, Huntsman, met at Ashley Hall, a cold
day in March, high N.E. wind ; snow fell in the
morning. Put the hounds into Cooper's Plantation,
a small place, and immediately chopp'd a fine dog-
fox. Another was halloo'd away at same time, and
away we went at a capital pace almost up to Castle
Mill, turn'd to right, and then over a fine wild
country, the best of Mobberley, towards Wilmslow,
over Lindon Common, Warford, Little Warford, and
up to where Chelford Station now is, left Astle on
xlvii
INTRODUCTION
right, and away straight to Alderley Park, where I
saw the hounds run into him under the Library
Window dead beat ; about an hour, a very good
run, and many horses beat.
" You will recollect a run in Ford's time, March
I, 1842, from the 'Cobbler' up to the road at
Whitley Reed, turn'd over Crowley Moss, straight
to Arley, over the bridge at Arley Green to the
Gore, on to Tabley through the old Foxcover at
Lower Peover where Maiden came up and they
killed him at Goostrey ; only about eight men with
the Hounds, the Field having been all thrown out
at Whitley Reed."
These indeed are runs to be remembered ; with-
out wishing to set myself up as a praiser of past
times, I ask, do we ever hear of such now-a-day ?
I ask in sorrow, not reproachfully ; hounds, horses,
and huntsmen are probably as good, if not better
than they formerly were, but every succeeding year
seems to add some new impediment to Fox-hunting.
High farming is rapidly converting our fields into
gardens. " Look before you leap," is a precaution
more requisite than ever since the introduction of
wire fencing.
The increase of population and of dwellings
prevents a fox, headed at every corner, from
making straight to his point, and last but not
least in the list of grievances is the scarcity of
wild foxes.
A burst, such as that mentioned by Mr. Glegg,
from Waverton Gorse may still excite us for ten or
twenty minutes, but where do we read of such runs
xlviii
JOHN MYTTON OF HALSTON, SALOP
From a scarce ^rint by W. Giller, after W. Webb; in the possession
of Willougliby A. Peinberton, Esq.
m
INTRODUCTION
as that from Buerton, " eighteen miles as the crow
flies in an hour and forty-five minutes ? "
It was in Sir Harry Mainwaring's time, on the
7th of April 1829, that the meet of the three packs
took place at Shavington. The Cheshire, the
Shropshire, and Mr. Wicksted's Kennel sent each
six couple of hounds. The Cheshire being the
oldest pack and the place of meeting being in the
Cheshire country, Will Head was appointed hunts-
man for the day. Will Staples, the Shropshire hunts-
man, and " old Wells," who had command of Mr.
Wicksted's kennel, were both in attendance. In the
first run the fox was lost near Cloverly after a fast
thirty minutes. Mytton took the lead and charged
a post and rail, exclaiming " Now for the honour of
Shropshire ! " He got a terrible fall, and was much
hurt by another man jumping on him, there being
about a dozen down together. Mytton remounted,
bleeding and bare-headed, but was too much hurt to
take another lead.
A second fox was found at Combermere, which
was run for about twenty minutes, but, proving a
vixen, the hounds were stopped.
Though Will Head and Staples claimed each the
palm for their respective kennels, it would be difficult
to say which Pack proved its superiority in that day's
hunting.
On Sir Harry Mainwaring's resignation in 1837,
the establishment was handed over to Mr. Shakerley,
of Whatcroft. Amongst the many good runs shown
during the short time he conducted the Pack was
that from Calveley, alluded to under the title of
g xlix
INTRODUCTION
*' Cheshire Chivalry." Mounted on his bay horse
"Tatton," Mr. Shakerley figures as manager in the
foreground of Calvert's picture of the Cheshire Hunt.
In 1839, Mr. Smith Barry, of Marbury, and Mr.
Dixon, of Astle, undertook the control of the Kennel.
Mr. Ford, of Abbey Field, who succeeded them,
held the management for the season only of 1841,
and resigned it into the hands of Mr. White.
" Leicestershire White," as he is called in Mr.
Wicksted's Song, w^as known far and wide for many
years as one of the best horsemen in England, whether
in the racing or in the hunting saddle. After retiring
from the management, he still occupied the Hunting
Box, adjoining the Kennel, at Daleford. Continuing
to hunt with the Cheshire, and riding to the last as
well as ever, he resided there till his death in 1866.
In May, 1862, a portrait and memoir of him
was published in Bailys- Magazine. Further par-
ticulars of his career were afterwards recorded in
several sporting periodicals, and an interesting article
appeared in the Saturday Review, February 1866,
where, in a quotation, he is spoken of as having
" left an undying reputation as a Gentleman Jockey
and Fox-hunter."
His mastership ceased in 1855, when the Pack
was handed over to Captain Mainwaring. Owing
to circumstances to which it is needless here to allude,
at the beginning of the Season of 1856 many of the
landowners warned the Hounds off their estates, and,
in compliance with their wishes, the hunting men
were compelled to submit to the loss of their sport
rather than cause a dissension in the county.
1
CAPTAIN PARK YATES
F?'Oin a painting by Leslie Ward
INTRODUCTION
In 1858, the county was relieved from this diffi-
culty by the accession of Lord Grosvenor. The
establishment in every department was kept up by
him most efficiently, and our only regret was that
his many other duties compelled him so often to be
absent from the field.
On the resignation of Lord Grosvenor, in 1866,
Mr. Corbet, of Adderley, undertook the management
of the hounds, stipulating that he should be allowed
to hunt five instead of four days a-week.
Peter Collison, a very quick and active huntsman,
retained his place with Mr. Corbet until 1869, when
he was succeeded by John Jones, who had whipped-
in to him for several seasons.
I trust that, in describing the difficulties which
now attend it, I have not drawn too gloomy a picture
of the future of Fox-hunting. My best wishes are
for its lasting prosperity, and whatever be the
obstacles against which it may have to struggle, my
earnest hope is that the youth of many generations
to come may continue to find as much enjoyment as
their forefathers have done in the noble sport.
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1
8a>i
THE MEET OF THE CHESHIRE HOUNDS
AT HOOTON
From a pain Hug by J- E. Femeley
HUNTING SONGS
The Woore Country
I
NOW summer's dull season is over.
Once more we behold the glad pack. ;
And Wicksted appears at the cover,
Once more on old Mercury's back ;
And Wells in the saddle is seated,^
Though with scarce a whole bone in his skin ;
His cheer by the echo repeated,
'Loo in ! little dearies ! 'loo in !
II
How eagerly forward they rush,
In a moment how widely they spread ;
Have at him there, Hotspur ! hush ! hush !
'Tis a find or I'll forfeit my head ;
Fast flies the Fox away — faster
The hounds from the cover are freed ;
The horn to the mouth of the master,
The spur to the flank of his steed.
Ill
May the names now recorded in metre
While Hunting endureth survive ;
1 Note I.
A
HUNTING SONGS
From Tunstall comes one they call Peter,
And three from the Styche they call Clive.
There's Hammond from Wistaston bringing
All the news of the neighbouring shire ;
Fitzherbert renown'd for his singing.
And Dorfold's invincible Squire ;
IV
Few Sportsmen so gallant, if any.
Did Woore ever send to the chase ;
Each dingle for him has a cranny.
Each river a fordable place ;
He knows the best line from each cover,
He knows where to stand for a start.
And long may he live to ride over
The country he loves in his heart.
V
There's Henry, the purple-clad Vicar,
So earnestly plying the steel ;
Conductor conducting him quicker,
Each prick from the spur at his heel.
Were my life to depend on the wager,
I know not which brother I'd back ;
The Vicar, the Squire, or the Major,^
The Purple, the Pink, or the Black.
VI
On a light thorough-bred there's a bruiser.
Intent upon taking a lead ;
The name of the man is John Crewe, sir.
And Ajax the name of the steed ;
^ Note ?.
3
THE WOORE COUNTRY
There's Aqualate's Baronet, Boughey,
Whose eye still on Wicksted is cast ;
Should the Fox run till midnight, I know he
Will stick by his friend to the last.
VII
Ford,' if well mounted, — how cheery
To ride by his side in a run ;
Whether midnight or morn, never weary
Of revel, and frolic, and fun.
When they lay this good fellow the tomb in,
He shall not be mock'd with a bust,
But the favourite evergreen blooming
Shall spring and o'ershadow his dust.
VIII
With Chorister, Concord, and Chorus,
Now Chantress commences her song,
Now Bellman goes jingling before us,
And Sinbad is sailing along ;
Old Wells closely after them cramming,
His soul quite absorb'd in the fun,
Continues unconsciously damning
Their dear little hearts as they run.
IX
His voice by the horsemen unheeded
At whom he ne'er ceases to swear.
Should the pace by a check be impeded
Then Charlie trots up in despair ;
^ Note 3.
HUNTING SONGS
" Friends, gentlemen, foxhunters, pray now.
Hold hard, let 'em make their own cast,
Oh ! shame, if for lack of fair play now.
Hard run they should lose him at last."
'Tis but for a moment we tarry.
Away ! they have hit it anew ;
And we know by the head they now carry.
Ere long they will have him in view.
See ! Soldier prepared for the brunt.
Hark ! Champion's challenge I hear ;
While Victory leads them in front.
And Havock pursues in the rear.
XI
More eager for blood at each stroke,
See Vengeance and Vulpicide rush ;
Poor Reynard, he thinks it no joke.
Hearing Joker so close at his brush.
When ended, half mad with the skurry,
Charlie flings on the saddle his rein ; ^
First dances, then shouts, " Worry ! worry ! "
Then shouts and then dances again.
1830.
1 Note 4.
•/ "iTp.'
'IT
THE CLASSICAL QUjESITUM AND THE
PRESIDENT'S HARD CHAIR
QU^SITUM MERITIS
Qu(£sitU7n ^eritis
I
A CLUB of good fellows we meet once a year.
When the leaves of the forest are yellow and
sear ;
By the motto that shines on each glass, it is shown,
We pledge in our cups the deserving alone ;
Our glass a quassitum,^ ourselves Cheshire men,
May we fill it and drink it again and again.
II
We hold in abhorrence all vulpicide knaves,
With their gins, and their traps, and their velveteen
slaves ;
They may feed their fat pheasants, their foxes de-
stroy,
And mar the prime sport they themselves can't enjoy;
But such sportsmen as these we good fellows con-
demn.
And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quassitum to them.
Ill
That man of his wine is unworthy indeed,
Who grudges to mount a poor fellow in need ;
Who keeps for nought else, save to purge 'em with
balls.
Like a dog in a manger, his nags in their stalls ;
Such niggards as these we good fellows condemn.
And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quassitum to them.
1 Note 5.
s
HUNTING SONGS
IV
Some riders there are, who, too jealous of place,
Will fling back a gate in their next neighbour's face ;
Some never pull up when a friend gets a fall,
Some ride over friends, hounds, and horses, and all ;
Such riders as these we good fellows condemn,
And I vow we'll ne'er drink a qussitum to them .
V
For coffee-house gossip some hunters come out,
Of all matters prating, save that they're about ;
From scandal and cards they to politics roam.
They ride forty miles, head the Fox, and go home !
Such sportsmen as these we good fellows condemn,
And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quaesitum to them.
VI
Since one Fox on foot more diversion will bring
Than twice twenty thousand cock pheasants on wing.
The man we all honour, whate'er be his rank,
Whose heart heaves a sigh when his gorse is drawn
blank.
Qussitum ! QuEBsitum ! fill up to the brim.
We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him.
VII
O ! give me that man to whom nought comes amiss.
One horse or another, that country or this ;
Through falls and bad starts who undauntedly still
Rides up to this motto : " Be with 'em I will."
Quaesitum ! Quaesitum ! fill up to the brim.
We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him.
6
OLD OULTON LOWE
VIII
O ! give me that man who can ride through a run,
Nor engross to himself all the glory when done ;
Who calls not each horse that o'ertakes him a " screw,"
Who loves a run best when a friend sees it too !
Qu^situm ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim.
We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him.
IX
O ! give me that man who himself goes the pace.
And whose table is free to all friends of the chase ;
Should a spirit so choice in this wide world be seen,
He rides, you may swear, in a collar of green ;
Quassitum ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim.
We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him.
1832.
Old Oulton Lowe
1
BAD luck to the Country ! the clock had struck
two.
We had found ne'er a Fox in the gorses we drew ;
When each heart felt a thrill at the sound, " Tally-
Ho !"
Once more a view hollo from old Oulton Lowe ! ^
II
Away like a whirlwind towards Calveley Hall,
For the first thirty minutes Pug laugh'd at us all ;
Our nags cur'd of kicking, ourselves of conceit.
Ere the laugh was with us, we were most of us beat,
1 Note 6.
7
HUNTING SONGS
HI
The WilHngton mare,^ when she started so fast.
Ah ! we little thought then that the race was her
last ;
Accurst be the stake that was stain'd with her
blood ;
But why cry for spilt milk ? — may the next be as
good !
IV
'Twas a sight for us all, worth a million, I swear.
To see the Black Squire how he rode the black
mare ; ^
The meed that he merits, the Muse shall bestow,
First, foremost, and fleetest from old Oulton Lowe !
How Delamere went, it were useless to tell.
To say he was out, is to say he went well ;
A rider so skilful ne'er buckled on spur
To rule a rash horse, or to make a screw stir.
VI
The odds are in fighting that Britain beats France ; ^
In the chase, as in war, we must all take our
chance.
Little Ireland kept up, like his namesake the
nation,*
By dint of " coercion " and great " agitation."
1 Note 7. - Note 8. ^ Note 9. ^ Note 10,
8
OLD OULTON LOWE
VII
Now Victor and Bedford were seen in the van,
Cheer'd on by the Maiden who rides Hke a man/
He screech'd with delight as he wip'd his hot brow,
"Their bristles are up, Sir! they're hard at him
now."
VIII
In the pride of his heart, then the Manager cried,^
" Come along, little Rowley boy,* why don't you
ride ? "
How he chuckled to see the long tail in distress.
As he gave her the go-by on bonny brown Bess.
IX
The Baron from Hanover hollo'd " whoo-hoop," «
While he thought how himself had been half eaten
up !
Well pleas'd to have balk'd the wild beast of his
dinner,
He was up in his stirrups, and rode like a winner.
X
Oh ! where 'mid the many found wanting in speed.
Oh ! where and oh ! where was the Wistaston
steed ? *
Dead beat ! still his rider so lick'd him and prick'd
him.
He thought (well he might) 'twas the Devil that
kick'd him.
* Note II. 2 Note 12. ' Note 13.
^ Note 14. ^ Note 15.
e 9
HUNTING SONGS
XI
The Cestrian chestnut ^ show'd symptoms of blood,
For it flow'd from his nose ere he came to the wood.
Where now is Dollgosh ? ^ Where the racer from
Da'enham ?
Such fast ones as these ! what mishap has o'erta'en
'em?
XII
Two gentlemen met, both unhors'd, in a lane
(Fox-hunting on foot is but labour in vain),
" Have you seen a brown horse ? " " No, indeed.
Sir ; but pray.
In the course of your ramble have you seen a grey ? "
XIII
As a London coal-heaver might pick up a peer,
Whom he found in the street, with his head rather
queer.
So Dobbin was loos'd from his work at the plough.
To assist a proud hunter stuck fast in a slough.
XIV
I advocate " movement " when shown in a horse.
But I love in my heart a " conservative " gorse ;
Long life to Sir Philip : we'll drink ere we go,
Old times ! and old Cheshire ! and old Oulton
Lowe !
1833-
' Note 16. - Note 17.
10
THE SWAN INN, TARPORLEY
TARPORLEY HUNT
Tar parley Hu?it^ 1^33
A 1 /HEN without verdure the woods in November
Then to our collars their green is transferr'd ;
Racing and chasing the sports of each member
are.
Come then to Tarporley booted and spurr'd ;
Holding together, Sir,
Scorning the weather, Sir,
Like the good leather. Sir,
Which we put on :
Quaesitum meritis !
Good fun how rare it is !
I know not where it is.
Save at the Swan.^
II
Lo ! there's a Maiden whose sweet disposition is
Bent, like Diana's of old, on the chase ;
Joy to that sportsman whose horse, in condition, is
Able and willing to go the best pace ;
Racers are sweating now,
Owners are fretting now,
Stable boys betting now,
France ! ten to one : ^
Quassitum meritis, &c.
1 Note 1 8. 2 Note 19.
I I
HUNTING SONGS
III
Lo ! where the forest turf covers gentility,
Foremost with glory and hindmost with mud ;
Now let the President prove his ability,
Umpire of speed, whether cocktail or blood ;
Go-by and Adelaide,
Though they were saddled,
Led forth and straddled.
Judge there was none !
Qussitum meritis, &c.
IV
How with due praise shall I sing the Palatinate,
Ably with Presidents filling our chair ;
The Greys and the Leghs, and the Brookes that
have sat in it.
Toasting our bumpers and drinking their share ?
Each Squire and each Lord, Sir,
That meets at our board, Sir,
Were I to record. Sir,
I ne'er should have done :
Qussitum meritis, &c.
V
" Sume superbiam quaesitam meritis,"
Shades of Sir Peter and Barry look down.
Long may we good fellows, now a day rarities.
Live to make merry in Tarporley town.
Fox preservation.
Throughout the whole nation.
Affords recreation.
Then drink it, each man :
12
THE LITTLE RED ROVER
Qssitum meritis !
Good fun how rare it is !
I know not where it is,
Save at the Swan.
The Liuk Red Rover
THE dewdrop is clinging
To whin-bush and brake,
The skylark is singing
" Merrie hunters, awake ; "
Home to the cover,
Deserted by night.
The Little Red Rover
Is bending his flight.
II
Resounds the glad hollo ;
The pack scents the prey ;
Man and horse follow
Away ! Hark, away !
Away ! never fearing.
Ne'er slacken your pace :
What music so cheering
As that of the chase ?
Ill
The Rover still speeding.
Still distant from home,
Spurr'd flanks are bleeding.
And cover'd with foam ;
13
HUNTING SONGS
Fleet limbs extended.
Roan, chestnut, or grey.
The burst, ere 'tis ended.
Shall try them to-day !
IV
Well known is yon cover.
And crag hanging o'er,
The little Red Rover
Shall reach it no more !
The foremost hounds near him.
His strength 'gins to droop :
In pieces they tear him,
Who-whoop ! Who-who-whoop !
"The Fox and the brambles
A FABLE
BEFORE the pack for many a mile
A Fox had sped in gallant style ;
But gasping with fatigue at last,
The clamorous hounds approach'd him fast ;
Though painful now the toilsome race,
With draggled brush and stealthy pace
Still onward for his life he flies —
He nears the wood — before him lies
A tangled mass of thorn and bramble ;
In vain beneath he tries to scramble,
So springing, heedless of his skin,
With desperate bound he leaps within.
14
THE FOX AND THE BRAMBLES
The prickly thicket o'er him closes ;
To him it seem'd a bed of roses,
As there he lay and heard around
The baying of the baffled hound.
Within that bush, his fears allay'd.
He many a sage reflection made ;
" 'Tis true, whene'er I stir," he cried,
" The brambles wound my bleeding side,
" He must not who would safety gain
" Whate'er his hiding place complain,
" Howe'er unpleasant this retreat,
" Yet every bitter has its sweet ;
" The brambles pierce my skin, no doubt,
" The hounds had torn my entrails out."
Good farmers ! read, nor take amiss.
The moral which I draw from this ;
Grieve not o'er gap or broken gate ;
The damage small, the profit great ;
The love of sport to home brings down
Your Landlord from the smoky town,
To dwell and spend his rents among
The tenantry, from whom they sprung.
Though vainly when he leads the chase,
His willing steed urged on apace,
When scent is good and hounds are fleet.
Though vainly then you shout, " Ware wheat ! "
That steed, perchance, by you was bred.
And yours the corn on which he's fed ;
Ah ! then restrain your rising ire,
Nor rashly damn the Hunting Squire.
HUNTING SONGS
The Earth Stoppej^
TERROR of henroosts ! now from hollow sand-
earth,
Safely at nightfall, round the quiet farmstead,
Reynard on tiptoe, meditating plunder.
Warily prowleth.
II
Rouse thee ! Earth stopper ! rouse thee from thy
slumber !
Get thee thy worsted hose and winter coat on.
While the good housewife, crawling from her
blanket.
Lights thee thy lantern.
Ill
Clad for thy midnight silent occupation.
Mount thy old doghorse, spade upon thy shoulder,
Wiry hair'd Vixen, wheresoe'er thou wcndest.
Ready to follow.
IV
Though the chill rain drops, driven by the north
wind,
Pelt thy old jacket, soaking through and through
thee,
Though thy worn hackney, blind and broken winded.
Hobble on three legs ;
l6
THE OLD BROWN FOREST
V
Finish thy night-work well, or woe betide thee,
If on the morrow irritated Huntsman,
Back'd by a hundred followers in scarlet.
Find the earths open !
The Old 'Bi'own Forest
I
BROWN Forest of Mara ! whose bounds were
of yore
From Kellsborrow's Castle outstretch'd to the shore,'
Our fields and our hamlets afforested then,
That thy beasts might have covert — unhous'd were
our men.
II
Our King the first William, Hugh Lupus our Earl,
Then poaching, I ween, was no sport for a churl ;
A noose for his neck who a snare should contrive,
Who skinn'd a dead buck was himself flay'd alive !
Ill
Our Normandy nobles right dearly, I trow,
They loved in the forest to bend the yew bow ;
They wound their " recheat " and their " mort " on
the horn,
And they laugh'd the rude chase of the Saxon to
scorn.
' Nole 20.
c 17
HUNTING SONGS
IV
In right of his bugle and greyhounds, to seize ^
Waif, pannage, agistment, and windfallen trees.
His knaves through our forest Ralph Kingsley dis-
pers'd,
Bow-bearer in chief to Earl Randle the first.
V
This horn the Grand Forester wore at his side
Whene'er his liege lord chose a hunting to ride ; *
By Sir Ralph and his heirs for a century blown,
It pass'd from their lips to the mouth of a Done.^
VI
O ! then the proud falcon, unloos'd from the glove.
Like her master below, play'd the tyrant above ;
While faintly, more faintly, were heard in the sky.
The silver-ton'd bells as she darted on high.
VII -
Then rous'd from sweet slumber, the ladie high born,
Her palfrey would mount at the sound of the horn ;
Her palfrey uptoss'd his rich trappings in air.
And neigh'd with delight such a burden to bear.
VIII
Vers'd in all woodcraft and proud of her skill,
Her charms in the forest seem'd lovelier still ;
The Abbot rode forth from the abbey so fair.
Nor lov'd the sport less when a bright eye was there.
* Note 21. - Note 22. ' Note 23.
18
THE OLD BROWN FOREST
IX
Thou Palatine prophet ! whose fame I revere'
(Woe be to that bard who speaks ill of a seer),
Forewarn'd of thy fate, as our legends report.
Thou wert born in a forest and " clemm'd " in a
court.
X
Now goading thine oxen, now urging amain
Fierce monarchs to battle on Bosworth's red plain ;
"A foot with two heels, and a hand with three
thumbs ! " '
Good luck to the land when this prodigy comes !
XI
" Steeds shall by hundreds seek masters in vain.
Till under their bellies the girths rot in twain ; "
'Twill need little skill to interpret this dream.
When o'er the brown forest we travel by steam !
XII
Here hunted the Scot whom, too wise to show fight,^
No war, save the war of the woods, could excite ;
His learning, they say, did his valour surpass.
Though a hero when arm'd with a couteau de chasse.
XIII
Ah ! then came the days when to England's disgrace,
A King was her quarry, and warfare her chase ;
Old Noll for their huntsman ! a puritan pack !
With psalms on their tongues — but with blood in
their track.
' Note 24. ^ Note 25. ^ Note 26.
19
HUNTING SONGS
XIV
Then Charlie our King was restor'd to his own,
And again the blythe horn in the forest was blown ;
Steeds from the desert then cross'd the blue wave
To contend on our turf for the prizes he gave.
XV
Ere Bluecap and Wanton taught fox-hounds to
skurry,
With music in plenty — O ! where was the hurry ?
When each nag wore a crupper, each Squire a
pigtail ;
When our toast " The Brown Forest," was drunk in
brown ale.
XVI
The fast ones came next, with a wild fox in view,
" Ware hole ! " was a caution then heeded by few ;
Oppos'd by no copse, by no fences confin'd.
O'er whinbush and heather they swept like the wind.
XVII
Behold ! in the soil of our forest once more,^
The sapling takes root as in ages of yore ;
The oak of old England with branches outspread.
The pine-tree above them uprearing its head.
XVIII
Where, 'twixt the whalebones, the widow^ sat down,*
Who forsook the Black forest to dwell in the Brown,
There, where the flock on sweet herbage once fed.
The blackcock takes wing, and the fox-cub is bred.
1 Note 27. - Note 28.
20
THE DEAD HUNTER
XIX
This timber the storms of the ocean shall weather,
And sail o'er the waves as we sail'd o'er the heather ;
Each plant of the forest, when launch'd from the
stocks,
May it run down a foeman as we do a Fox.
The Dead Hunter
HIS sire from the desert, his dam from the north,
The pride of my stable stept gallantly forth.
One slip in his stride as the scurry he led,
And my steed, ere his rivals o'ertook him, lay dead.
II
Poor steed ! shall thy limbs on the hunting field
lie.
That his beak in thy carcase the raven may dye 1
Is it thine the sad doom of thy race to fulfil,
Thy flesh to the cauldron, thy bones to the mill ?
in
Ah ! no. — I beheld thee a foal yet unshod,
Now race round the paddock, now roll on the sod.
Where first thy young hoof the green herbage
impress'd.
There, the shoes on thy feet, will I lay thee to
rest !
21
HUNTING SONGS
The Spectre Siag^
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE
A BARON lived in Germany,
Of old and noble race,
Whose mind was wholly bent upon
The pleasures of the chase.
II
Thro' summer's sultry dog-days,
Thro' winter's frost severe,
This Baron's hunting season
Was twelve months in the year.
Ill
From dawn till dark he hunted.
And the truth I grieve to speak.
The number of his hunting days
Was seven in the week.
IV
No lands within his seignorie
Was serf allowed to till ;
No cornfield in the valley,
No vineyard on the hill.
1 Note 29.
22
THE SPECTRE STAG
V
What marvel hungry poachers.
When the Baron was a-bed,
Were bent on stealing venison,
For very lack of bread ?
VI
But woe that wretch betided,
Who in the quest was found ;
On the stag he would have slaughter'd
Was his naked body bound.'
VII
Borne, like Mazeppa, headlong.
From the panting quarry's back
He saw the thirsty blood-hounds
Let loose upon his track.
VIII
The pack, their prey o'ertaken.
On the mangled victims feast ;
And, mix'd in one red slaughter.
Flows the blood of man and beast.
IX
The Baron thus his pastime
Pursued until he died ;
My tale shall tell how this befell
On the eve of Easter-tide.
' Note 30.
23
HUNTING SONGS
X
The moon rose o'er the forest.
And the distant village chime
Call'd sinners to confession,
And bespoke a hallow'd time.
XI
When suddenly a strange halloo
Was heard around to ring.
The Hunter seiz'd his bow and plac'd
An arrow on the string.
XII
The cry, the cheer, the tumult
Of the chase — and then, display'd
By the pale light of the moonbeam,
Far adown the forest-glade,
XIII
Was seen, with brow full antler'd,
A Monster Stag — his back
Bestridden by a Huntsman,
Apparell'd all in black.
XIV
Their eyes unto their master
The crouching pack uprais'd.
Their master on his trembling steed
At the sight was sore amaz'd.
24
THE SPECTRE STAG
XV
" Ye curs ! " he cried, " why stir ye not ?
A curse upon the breed !
And you, ye loitering varlets,
Where are ye in such need ? "
XVI
To summon then his followers,
He grasp'd his hunting-horn,
Through the forest's deep recesses
The echoing blast was borne.
XVII
But borne in vain — his retinue
No note in answer gave ;
And the silence that succeeded
Was the silence of the grave.
XVIII
His eye in terror glancing
From glade to distant crag,
Nought saw he save the spectre
Goading on that grisly stag.
XIX
The nearer it approach'd him.
The larger still it grew ;
Again he seiz'd his hunting-horn.
And his gasping breath he drew.
D 25
HUNTING SONGS
XX
Eye, cheek, and throat distended,
Each fibre strain'd to blow.
His life-breath past in that bugle blast,
And he fell from the saddle bow.
XXI
Where the Baron's chase was ended.
There they laid his bones to rot ;
And his heirs, in after ages,
Built a Chapel on the spot.
XXII
And still, they say, that bugle blast.
When Easter-tide comes round.
Disturbs the midnight forest
With a strange unearthly sound.
O71 the New Kennel, erected on
Dela?nere Forest
May 1834
I
GREAT names in the Abbey are graven in
stone.
Our kennel records them in good flesh and bone ;
A Bedford, a Gloster, to life we restore,^
And Nelson with Victory couple once more.
^ Note 31.
26
ON THE NEW KENNEL
II
Were the laws of the kennel the laws of the land,
The shillalah should drop from the Irishman's hand ;
And journeymen tailors, on " striking " intent.
Should stick to their stitching like hounds to a scent.
Ill
O ! grant, ye reformers, who rule o'er us all.
That our kennels may stand though our colleges fall ;
Our pack from long trial we know to be good,
Gr^_y-hounds admitted might ruin the blood.
IV
Fond parents may dote on their pride of thirteen,
Switch'd into Latin and breech'd in nankeen ;
A puppy just enter'd a language can speak
More sweetly sonorous than Homer's own Greek.
O ! clothe me in scarlet ! a spur on each heel !
And guardsmen may case their whole bodies in steel !
Lancers in battle with lancers may tilt.
Mine be the warfare unsullied with guilt ! ^
VI
New built, may this kennel continue to rear
A pack still as prime as the old ones bred here ;
May the depth of their cry be no check to their
pace,
But the ring of their music still gladden the chase.
1834.
^ Note 32.
27
HUNTING SONGS
The L,adie Cunigunda of Kynast
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. (f. RUCKERT.)
"IN my bower," said Cunigunda,
1 " No longer will I bide,
I will ride forth to the hunting,
Right merrie 'tis to ride."
II
Said she, " None but a valiant Knight
Shall win me for a bride ;
Undaunted must he venture
Round my castle wall to ride."
Ill
Then rode a noble Knight along
The Kynast Castle wall ;
Her hand that Ladie rais'd not
At the noble Knight's downfall.
IV
Upon that wall another Knight
Rode gallantly and well ;
That Ladie's heart misgave her not
When horse and rider fell.
28
THE LADIE CUNIGUNDA OF KYNAST
Another Knight, and once again
Another dar'd to try,
And both, down rolUng headlong,
She beheld with tearless eye.
VI
Thus years and years pass'd on, until
No Knight again drew nigh ;
None to ride again would venture,
For to venture was to die.
VII
Cunigunda from the battlement
Look'd out both far and wide :
" I sit within my bower alone.
Will none attempt the ride ?
VIII
" O ! is there none would win me now.
And wear me for a bride ?
Has chivalry turn'd recreant ?
Has knighthood lost its pride ? "
IX
Out spake Thuringia's Landgrave
(Count Adelbert he hight),
" This Ladie fair is worthy well
The venture of a Knight."
29
HUNTING SONGS
The Landgrave train'd his war-horse
On the mountain steep to go,
That the Ladie might not glory
In another overthrow.
XI
" 'Tis I, O noble Ladie,
Who will on the venture speed ;
Sadly, earnestly, she eyed him.
As he sprang upon his steed.
XII
She saw him mount and onward spur,
She trembled and she sigh'd :
" O woe is me that for my sake
He tries this fearful ride ! "
XIII
He rode along the castle wall.
She turn'd her from the sight :
" Woe is me, he rideth straightway
To his grave, that noble Knight ! "
XIV
He rode along the castle wall,
On dizzy rampart there ;
She dar'd not move a finger
Of her hand, that Ladie fair !
30
THE LADIE CUNIGUNDA OF KYNAST
XV
He rode along the castle wall,
O'er battlement and mound ;
She dar'd not breathe a whisper,
Lest he totter at the sound.
XVI
He rode around the castle wall,
And down again rode he :
" Now God be prais'd that he hath spar'd
Thy precious life to thee !
XVII
" May God be prais'd thou didst not ride
A death-ride to thy grave !
Now quit thy steed and claim thy bride,
Thou worthy Knight and brave ! "
XVIII
Then spake the Landgrave, bending down
Unto the saddle bow :
" That Knight can dare, O Ladie fair.
This morning's ride doth show.
XIX
" Wait thou until another come
To do this feat for thee ;
A wife I have and children.
And my bride thou canst not be."
3'
HUNTING SONGS
XX
He spurr'd his steed and went his way.
Light-hearted as he came ;
And as he went half dead was she
With anger and with shame.
T'he Love-Chace
FOND Lover ! pining night and day,
Come h'sten to a hunter's lay ;
The craft of each is to pursue,
Then learn from hunting how to woo.
It matters not to eager hound
The cover where the fox is found.
Whether he o'er the open fly.
Or echoing woods repeat his cry ;
And when the welcome shout says " Gone !
Then we, whate'er the line, rush on.
Seen seated in the banquet-hall,
Or view'd afoot at midnight ball.
Whene'er the beating of your heart
Proclaims a find, that moment start !
If silence best her humour suit.
Then make at first the running mute ;
But if to mirth inclin'd, give tongue
In spoken jest or ditty sung ;
Let laughter and light prattle cheer
The love-chace, when the maid is near ;
32
THE LOVE-CHACE
When absent, fancy must pursue
Her form, and keep her face in view ;
Fond thoughts must Hke the busy pack
Unceasingly her footsteps track.
The doubt, the agony, the fear,
Are fences raised for you to clear ;
Push on through pique, rebuff, and scorn.
As hunters brush through hedge of thorn ;
On dark despondency still look
As hunters on a yawning brook.
If for one moment on the brink
You falter, in you fall — and sink.
Though following fast the onward track.
Turn quickly when she doubles back ;
Whenever check'd, whenever crost,
Still never deem the quarry lost ;
Cast forward first, if that should fail,
A backward cast may chance avail ;
Cast far and near, cast all around,
Leave not untried one inch of ground.
Should envious rival at your side
Cling, jostling as you onward ride.
Then let not jealousy deter.
But use it rather as a spur ;
Outstrip him ere he interfere,
And splash the dirt in his career.
E 33
HUNTING SONGS
With other nymphs avoid all flirting.
Those hounds are hang'd that take to skirting ;
Of Cupid's angry lash beware,
Provoke him not to cry " Ware hare " ;
That winged whipper-in will rate
Your riot if you run not straight.
Though Reynard, with unwearied flight.
Should run from dawn till dusky night.
However swift, however stout,
Still perseverance tires him out ;
And never yet have I heard tell
Of maiden so inflexible.
Of one cast in so hard a mould,
So coy, so stubborn, or so cold.
But courage, constancy, and skill
Could find a way to win her still ;
Though at the find her timid cry
Be " No ! no ! no ! indeed not 1,"
The finish ever ends in this,
Proud beauty caught, at last says " Yes."
Hunters may range the country round.
And balk'd of sport no fox be found ;
A blank the favourite gorse may prove.
But maiden's heart, when drawn for love
(Their gracious stars let Lovers thank),
Was ne'er, when drawn aright, drawn blank.
If any could, that Goddess fair,
Diana, might have scap'd the snare ;
34
A RECOLLECTION
That cunning huntress might have laugh'd,
If any could at Cupid's shaft ;
Still, though reluctant to submit.
That tiny shaft the Goddess hit ;
And on the mountain-top, they say,
Endymion stole her heart away.
Bear this in mind throughout the run,
" Faint heart fair lady never won " ;
Those cravens are thrown out who swerve,
" None but the brave the fair deserve."
Success will aye the Lover crown.
If guided by these rules laid down ;
Then little Cupid, standing near,
Shall greet him with a lusty cheer ;
And Hymen, that old huntsman, loop
The couples, while he shouts, " Who-hoop ! "
A Recollection
I WELL remember in my youthful day.
When first of love I felt the inward smart.
How one fair morning, eager all to start.
My fellow-hunters chided my delay.
I follow'd listless, for with tyrant sway
That secret grief oppress'd my aching heart.
Till fond Hope whisper'd, ere this day depart
Thy lov'd one thou shalt see — Away ! away !
35
HUNTING SONGS
The chace began, I shar'd its maddening glee,
And rode amid the foremost in that run,
Whose end, far distant, Love had well foretold.
Her dwelling lay betwixt my home and me ;
We met, still lingering ere it sunk, the sun
O'erspread her blushes with a veil of gold.
T'he Tantivy Trot ^
r
HERE'S to the old ones, of four-in-hand fame,
Harrison, Peyton, and Ward, Sir !
Here's to the fast ones that after them came,
Ford and the Lancashire Lord, Sir !
Let the steam pot
Hiss till it's hot.
Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot.
II
Here's to the team, Sir ! all harness'd to start.
Brilliant in Brummagem leather ;
Here's to the waggoner, skill'd in the art.
Coupling the cattle together.
Let the steam pot, &c.
Ill
Here's to the dear little damsels within,
Here's to the swells on the top. Sir !
Here's to the music in three feet of tin.
And here's to the tapering crop. Sir !
Let the steam pot, &c.
* Note 33.
36
THE TANTIVY TROT
IV
Here's to the shape that is shown the near side,
Here's to the blood on the off, Sir !
Limbs with no check to their freedom of stride,
Wind without whistle or cough. Sir !
Let the steam pot, &c.
Here's to the arm that can hold em when gone,
Still to a gallop inclin'd. Sir !
Heads in the front with no bearing-reins on.
Tails with no cruppers behind. Sir!
Let the steam pot, &c.
VI
Here's to the dragsmen I've dragged into song,
Salisbury, Mountain, and Co., Sir !
Here's to the Cracknell who cracks them alons
Five twenty-fives at a go. Sir !
Let the steam pot, &c.
VII
Here's to MacAdam, the Mac of all Macs,
Here's to the road we ne'er tire on ;
Let me but roll o'er the granite he cracks,
Ride ye who like it on iron.
Let the steam pot
Hiss till it's hot.
Give me the speed of the Tantivy Trot.
1834.
37
HUNTING SONGS
Hawkstone 'Bow-Meefing
" Celeri certare sagitta
Invitat qui forte velint, et praemia ponit."
£.K. lib. V.
FAREWELL to the Dane and the Weaver,
Farewell to the horn and the hound !
The Tarporley Swan, I must leave her
Unsung till the season come round ;
My hunting-whip hung in a corner.
My bridle and saddle below,
I call on the Muse and adorn her
With baldrick, and quiver, and bow.
II
Bright Goddess ! assist me, recounting
The names of toxophilites here.
How Watkin came down from the mountain,
And Mainwaring up from the Mere ;
Assist me to fly with as many on
As the steed of Parnassus can take.
Price, Parker, Lloyd, Kynaston, Kenyon,
Dod, Cunliffe, Brooke, Owen and Drake.
Ill
To witness the feats of the Bowmen,
To stare at the tent of the Bey,'
Merrie Maidens and ale-drinking Yeomen
At Hawkstone assemble to-day.
* Note 34.
38
HAWKSTONE BOW-MEETING
From the lord to the lowest in station.
From the east of the shire to the west,
Salopia's whole population
Within the green valley comprest.
IV
In the hues of the target appearing.
Now the bent of each archer is seen ;
The widow to sable adhering.
The lover forsaken to green ;
For gold its affection displaying.
One shaft at the centre is sped ;
Another a love tale betraying.
Is aim'd with a blush at the red.
Pride pointing profanely at heaven.
Humility sweeping the ground,
The arrow of gluttony driven
Where ven'son and sherry abound !
At white see the maiden unmated
The arrow of innocence draw,
While the shaft of the matron is fated
To fasten its point in the straw.
VI
Tell, fated with Gessler to grapple
Till the tyrannous Bailiff was slain.
Let Switzerland boast of the apple
His arrow once sever'd in twain ;
39
HUNTING SONGS
We've an Eyton could prove to the Switzer/
Such a feat w^ere again to be done,
Should our host and his Lady think fit. Sir !
To lend us the head of their son !
VII
The ash may be graceful and limber.
The oak may be sturdy and true ;
You may search, but in vain, for a timber
To rival the old British yew !
You may roam through all lands, but there's no land
Can sport such as Salop's afford.
And the Hill of all Hills is Sir Rowland !
The hero of heroes my Lord !
1835-
The 'Bal/ and the battue
I
YE who care to encourage the long-feather'd
breed,
To the Ball overnight let the Battue succeed ;
For when the heart aches.
Ten to one the hand shakes.
And sighs beget curses, and curses mistakes.
II
For the shot-belt of leather, in velveteen drest,
I have dofF'd the gold chain and laid by the silk vest,
A pancake so flat
Was my ball-going hat.
But a dumpling to shoot in is better than that.
' Note 35.
40
I
THE BALL AND THE BATTUE
III
My Manton to concert pitch tun'd for the day,
How the pheasants will reel in the air as I play!
While snipes as they fly
Pirouette in the sky.
And rabbits and hares in the gallopade die.
IV
" Once more might I view thee, sweet partner ! "
" Mark hare !
She is gone down the middle and up again there " —
" That hand might I kiss,
Mark cock ! — did I miss ?
Ye Gods, who could shoot with a weapon like
this ? "—
Thus a father may rescue his pheasants from slaughter.
The best of preservers his own pretty daughter ;
Sad thoughts in the pate,
On the heart a sad weight,
Who, blinded by Cupid, could ever aim straight ?
1837.
41
HUNTING SONGS
On the Landlord
OF THE WHITE HORSE INN, AT ALPNACH,
IN SWITZERLAND
THE white horse by mine host has been brought
to the post.
Of his points and his pints he has reason to boast ;
To the guests who approach him a welcome he
snorts.
While they fill up his quarters and empty his quarts.
11
Neither weak in his Hocks, nor deficient in Beaune,
In his Cote good condition though palpably shown,
There are folk, not a few, who still call him a screw ;
If applied to cork-drawing, the term may be true.
Ill
Altogether reversing the old-fashion'd plan.
Here the horse puts a bit in the mouth of the man;
And so long as not given to running away.
To the roadster who enters he never says " Neigh."
IV
He sets him, when caught, straight to work at the
Carte,
With the cost of it saddles him ere he depart,
Gives him three feeds a day and the run of the bin.
And then makes him fork out for the good of the ///// /
42
CHESHIRE CHIVALRY
They may call the grey mare at his side the best
horse,
But they both pull together for better for worse ;
Through the heyday of life may they pleasantly pass,
Till by Death, that grim groom, they are turn'd out
to grass.
Cheshij'e Chivalry
On the 23rd of December 1837, the Cheshire Hounds found a fox in the
plantation adjoining Tilston Lodge. Running directly to the house, he
baffled for a time all further pursuit by leaping through a window-pane into
the dairy. When captured, he was turned out at Wardle Gorse, and after
an unusually quick burst, in the course of which he crossed two canals, was
killed at Cholmondeston.
UNPUNISH'D shall Reynard our dairies attack.
His fate unrecorded in song ?
Ah ! no ; when the captive was loos'd from a sack.
There was not, fair milk-maid, a hound in the pack.
But was bent on avenging thy wrong.
II
Would that those who imagine all chivalry o'er,
Had encounter'd our gallant array ;
Ne'er a hundred such knights, e'en in ages of yore.
Took the field in the cause of one damsel before.
As were seen in the saddle that day.
43
HUNTING SONGS
III
Their high-mettled courage no dangers appal,
So keen was the ardour display'd ;
Some lose a frail stirrup, some flounder, some fall,
Some gallantly stem the deep waters, and all
For the sake of the pretty milk-maid.
IV
For thirty fast minutes Pug fled from his foes.
Nor a moment for breathing allow'd ;
When at Cholm'stone the skurry was brought to a
close,
The nags that had follow'd him needed repose,
As their panting and sobbing avow'd.
V
There, stretch'd on the greensward, lay Geoffry the
stout.
His heels were upturn'd to the sky.
From each boot flow'd a stream, as it were from a
spout.
Away stole the fox ere one half had run out.
And away with fresh vigour we fly !
VI
Once more to the water, though harass'd and beat.
The fox with a struggle swam through ;
Though the churn that he tainted shall never be
sweet,
His heart's-blood ere long shall our vengeance
complete.
And the caitiff'his villainy rue.
44
CHESHIRE CHIVALRY
VII
Stout Geoffry declar'd he would witness the kill
Should he swim in the saddle till dark ;
Six horsemen undauntedly follow'd him still,
Till the fate that awaited the steed of Sir Phil
Put an end to this merry mud lark.
VIII
Back, back, the bold Baronet roU'd from the shore,
Immers'd overhead in the wave ;
The Tories 'gan think that the game was all o'er,
For their member was missing a minute or more
Ere he rose from his watery grave.
IX
Quoth Tollemache, more eager than all to make
sail
(A soul that abhorreth restraint),
" Good doctor," quoth he, " since thy remedies fail,
Since blister, nor bleeding, nor pill-box avail,
Cold bathing may suit my complaint."
X
When Williams past o'er, at the burden they bore
The waters all trembled with awe ;
For the heaving canal, when it wash'd him ashore,
Ne'er had felt such a swell on its surface before,
As the swell from the Leamington Spa.^
1 Note 36.
45
HUNTING SONGS
XI
Harry Brooke, as a bird o'er the billow would skim,
Must have flown to the furthermost brink ;
For the moisture had reach'd neither garment nor
limb.
There was not a speck the boot polish to dim,
Nor a mud-stain to tarnish the pink.
XII
The fox looking back, saw them fathom the tide.
But was doom'd, ere they cross'd it, to die ;
Who-whoop may sound sweeter by far on that side.
But, thinks I to myself, I've a twenty-mile ride.
And as yet my good leather is dry.
XIII
Life-guardsman ! why hang down in sorrow thy
head ?
Could our pack such a fast one outstrip ?
Looking down at the ditch where his mare lay for
dead,
" Pray, which way to Aston," he mournfully said.
And uptwisted the hair of his lip.
XIV
Though of milk and of water I've made a long tale.
When a livelier liquor's display'd,
I've a toast that will suit either claret or ale,
Good sport to the Kennel ! success to the Pail !
And a health to the pretty Milk-maid !
1837.
46
THE CHESHIRE HUNT
From an engraving by C. G. Lewis, after the fainting by Henry Calvert
PICTURE OF THE CHESHIRE HUNT
On the Picture of the Cheshire Hunt ^
PAINTED BY H, CALVERT IN 1 84O
ERE our Kennel a coal-hole envelop'd in smoke,
Blood and bone shall give way to hot water and
coke ;
Make and shape, pace and pedigree, held as a jest.
All the power of the Stud in a copper comprest ;
II
The green collar faded, good fellowship o'er.
Sir Peter and Barry remember'd no more.
From her Tarporley perch ere the Swan shall drop
down.
And her death-note be heard through the desolate
town,
III
Let Geoffrey record, in the reign of Queen Vic,
How the horse and his rider could still do the trick;
Let his journal, bequeath'd to posterity, show
How their sires rode a-hunting in days long ago.
IV
In colours unfading let Calvert design
A field not unworthy a sport so divine ;
For when Joe was their Huntsman, and Tom their
first Whip,
Who then could the chosen of Cheshire outstrip ?
1 Note 37.
47
HUNTING SONGS
\ V
Let the Laureate, ere yet he be laid on the shelf,
Say how dearly he lov'd the diversion himself;
How his Muse o'er the field made each season a
cast,
Gave a cheer to the foremost, and rated the last.
VI
All the glories of Belvoir let Delamere tell,
And how Leicestershire griev'd when he bade them
farewell ;
Tell how oft with the Quorn he had liv'd through a
burst
When the few were selected, the many dispers'd.
VII
With so graceful a seat, and with spirits so gay.
Let them learn from Sir Richard, erect on his
grey,
How the best of all cures for a pain in the back
Is to sit on the pigskin and follow the pack.
VIII
Say, Glegg, how the chace requir'd judgment and
skill.
How to coax a tir'd horse over valley and hill ;
How his shoe should be shap'd, how to nurse him
when sick,
And when out how to spare him by making a
nick.
48
PICTURE OF THE CHESHIRE HUNT
IX
Charley Cholmondeley, made known how, in
Wellesley's campaign
When the mail arriv'd loaded with laurels from
Spain,
How cheers through the club-room were heard to
resound.
While, upfill'd to the brim, the Quassitum went
round.
X
Let Wicksted describe and futurity learn
All the points of a hound, from the nose to the stern ;
He whose joy 'tis to dance, without fiddle or pipe.
To the tune of Who-whoop with a fox in his gripe.
XI
Say, Dorfold's black Squire, how, when trundling
ahead.
Ever close to your side clung the Colonel in red ;
He who, charge what he would, never came to a
hitch,
A fence or a Frenchman, it matter'd not which.
XII
Let Cornwall declare, though a long absentee.
With what pain and what grief he deserted High
Legh ;
How he car'd not to prance on the Corso at Rome,
While such sport Winterbottom afforded at home.
G 49
I
HUNTING SONGS
XIII
The rules of hard riding let ToUemache impart,
How to lean o'er the pommel and dash at a start ;
Emerging at once from a crowd in suspense.
How in safety he rides who is first at the fence.
XIV
How with caution 'tis pleasanter far to advance
Let them learn from De Tabley, Tom Tatton, and
France ;
Who void of ambition still follow the chace,
Nor think that all sport is dependent on pace.
XV
Twin managers ! tell them, Smith Barry from Cork,
And Dixon, who studied the science in York,
Though we boast but one neck to our Tarporley
Swan,
Two heads in the kennel are better than one.
XVI
Let Entwistle, Blackburne, and TrafFord disown
Those Lancashire flats, where the sport was un-
known ;
Releas'd from St. Stephen's let Patten declare
How fox-hunting solac'd a senator's care.
XVII
Let the bones of the steed which Sir Philip bestrode
'Mid the fossils at Oulton be carefully stow'd ;
For the animal soon, whether hunter or war-horse.
Will be rare in the land as an Ichthyosaurus.
50
THE BREECHES
XVIII
Still distant the day, yet in ages to come,
When the gorse is uprooted, the fox-hound is dumb,
May verse make immortal the deeds of the field.
And the shape of each steed be on canvas reveal'd.
XIX
Let the pencil be dipt in the hues of the chace.
Contentment and health be pourtray'd in each face ;
Let the foreground display the select of the pack.
And Chester's green vale be outstretch'd in the
back !
XX
When the time-honour'd race of our gentry shall
end,
The poor no protector, the farmer no friend.
They shall here view the face of the old Tatton
Squire,
And regret the past sport that once gladden'd our
Shire.
'The Breeches ^
WHEN I mention the " Breeches," I feel no
remorse.
For the ladies all know 'tis an evergreen gorse ;
They are not of leather, they are not of plush,
But expressly cut out for Joe Maiden to brush.
1 Note 38.
SI
HUNTING SONGS
II
Good luck to the 'prentice by whom they were
made !
His shears were a ploughshare, his needle a spade ;
May each landlord a pair to this pattern bespeak,
The Breeches that lasted us three days a week.
Ill
The fox is away and Squire Royds made it known.
Setting straightway to work at a pace of his own ;
Past him sped Tollemache, as instant in flight
As a star when it shoots through the azure of
night.
IV
They who witness'd the pack as it skirted the Spa,
By the head they then carried a struggle foresaw ;
At their heels a white horse with his head in the
air.
But his bridle was loose, and his saddle was bare.
May Peel (near the Breeches at starting o'erthrown,
Where he left the impression in mud of his own) ;
When next he thinks fit this white horse to be-
straddle.
See less of the Breeches and more of the saddle.
52
THE BREECHES
VI
From Spurstow we pointed towards Bunbury
Church,
Some rounding that cover were left in the lurch ;
By Hurleston we hurried, nor e'er tighten'd rein.
Till check'd for one moment in Baddiley lane.
VII
When we pass'd the old gorse and the meadows
beneath.
When, across the canal, we approach'd Aston
Heath,
There were riders who took to the water like rats,
There were steeds without horsemen, and men with-
out hats.
VIII
How many came down to the Edlestone brook.
How many came down, not to leap — but to look ;
The steeds that stood still with a stitch in their
side.
Will remember the day when the Breeches were
tried.
IX
The pack, pressing onwards, still merrily went,
Till at Dorfold they needed no longer a scent ;
Man and maid rushing forth stood aloft on the
wall.
And uprais'd a view hollo that shook the old hall.
53
HUNTING SONGS
X
Too weak for the open, too hot for the drain,
He cross'd and recross'd Ran'moor covers in vain ;
When he reach'd the Bull's wood, he lay down in
despair,
And we hollo'd who-whoop, as they worried him
there.
XI
Puss in boots is a fable to children well known.
The Dog in a doublet at Sandon is shown.
Henceforth when a landlord good liquor can boast,
Let the Fox and the Breeches be hung on his post.
XII
From Vulpicide villains our foxes secure.
May these evergreen Breeches till doomsday endure !
Go ! all ye good squires, if my ditty should please.
Go clothe your bare acres in Breeches like these.
1841.
Inscription on the Handle of a Fox s Brushy mounted
and presented by the Author to Wilbraham Tolle-
mache, Esq., Feb. 20, 184 1
WE found our fox at Brindley ; thrice that week
The gorse was drawn, and thrice with like
success.
For nigh two hours, o'er many a mile of grass,
We chas'd him thence to Dorfold, where he died.
Tollemache ! in admiration of thy skill'd
And gallant riding to the pack that day.
To thee I yield the Brush, esteem not thou
The trophy less thus profFer'd by a friend.
54
THE SAWYER
The Sawyer
The imaginary catastrophe, which is the subject of the following lines,
originated in the warning given by one of our party to the Factor at Aber-
geldie, that, if he persisted in felling timber during the term of our lease, he
must hold himself responsible should any one " shoot a Sawyer."
I
NOW Abergeldie gillies, as they range our forest-
ground,
See sawing here, see sawing there, see sawpits all
around ;
In fear and dread, as on they tread no whisky dare
they touch.
No ! not a drop, lest, neck and crop, they take a
drop too much.
II
" Aim straight to-day, my comrades, 'twill be truly
a dear hit
If, shooting deer in the forest here, manslaughter
you commit ;
If feller, fell'd, should in the act of striking be down
struck.
Or Sawyer kick the bucket here, mistaken for a
Buck."
Ill
Vain words ! forth came a bounding stag, his antler'd
head on high.
And, caring not a whistle for the balls that whistled
by.
HUNTING SONGS
Away, alive and kicking, to the distant mountain
sped ; —
Though de'il a bit the deer was hit, the deal-cutter
was dead.
IV
His skull was crack'd, his only wage that day was
half-a-crown,
He was cutting up a billet when the bullet cut him
down ;
Many thousand feet of timber had that Sawyer rent
in twain,
Now himself was split asunder, very much against
the grain.
V
We needed not the Sexton with his pickaxe and his
spade,
In the sawpit which himself had dug his grave was
ready made ;
Top Sawyer though he had been, to the bottom he
was thrust,
And we binn'd him like a bottle of old Sherry in
sawdust.
VI
Full many a railway sleeper had he made since peep
of day.
Ere night himself a sleeper in his narrow bed he
lay;
No tear-drop unavailingly wc shed upon the spot,
But we sprinkled him with whisky to preserve him
from dry rot.
56
TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING
VII
Oh no ! we never mention him, that shot we never
own,
We book'd him in the game book as an " animal
unknown " !
We know not how the wife and bairns without his
board subsist.
We only know we hit him, and he has not since
been miss'd.
1844.
Song
WRITTEN FOR AND SUNG BY
J. H. SMITH BARRY, ESQ.
OWNER OF THE " COLUMBINE " YACHT, WHEN PRESIDENT
OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING, I 845
I
NOW riding safe at anchor, idly floats the " Col-
umbine,"
And the perils of the ocean in November I resign ;
With other messmates round me, merry comrades
every one.
To-night I take command, boys, of the gallant ship,
the " Swan."
Chorus
Then up, boys ! up for action, with a hearty three
times three,
What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley .?
H S7
HUNTING SONGS
II
'Tis true, though strange, this gallant ship in water
cannot swim,
A sea of rosy wine, boys, is the sea she loves to
skim ;
The billows of that red sea are in bumpers toss'd
about,
Our spirits rising higher as the tide is running out !
Chorus.
Ill
Still swinging at her moorings, with a cable round
her neck.
Though long as summer lasteth all deserted is her
deck.
She scuds before the breezes of November fast and
free,
O ! ne'er may she be stranded in the straits of
Tarporley.
Chorus.
IV
By adverse gale or hurricane her sails are never rent.
Her canvas swells with laughter, and her freight is
merriment ;
The lightning on her deck, boys, is the lightning
flash of wit.
Loud cheers in thunder rolling till her very timbers
split !
Chorus.
58
i»
TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING
V
We need not Archimedes with his screw on board
the Swan,
The screw that draws the cork, boys, is the screw
that drives us on,
And should we be becalm'd, boys, while giving chase
to care.
When the brimming bowl is heated we have steam
in plenty there.
Chorus.
VI
No rocks have we to split on, no foes have we to
fight.
No dangers to alarm us, while we keep the reckon-
ing right ;
We fling the gold about, boys, though we never
heave the lead.
And long as we can raise the wind our course is
straight a-head.
Chorus.
VII
The index of our compass is the bottle that we
trowl.
To the chair again revolving like the needle to the
pole ;
The motto on our glasses is to us a fixed star.
We know while we can see it, boys, exactly where
we are.
Chorus.
59
HUNTING SONGS
VIII
To their sweethearts let our bachelors a sparkling
bumper fill.
To their wives let those who have 'em fill a fuller
bumper still ;
O ! never while we've health, boys, may we quit
this gallant ship,
But every year, together here, enjoy this pleasure
trip.
Chorus.
IX
Behind me stands my ancestor. Sir Peter stands
before.
Two pilots who have weather'd many a stormy night
of yore ;
So may our sons and grandsons, when we are dead
and gone,
Spend many a merry night, boys, in the cabin of the
Swan.
Chorus
Then up, boys ! up for action, with a hearty three
times three,
What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley ?
1845.
60
TARWOOD
Tarwood^
A RUN WITH THE HEYTHROP
HE waited not — he was not found —
No warning note from eager hound,
But echo of the distant horn,
From outskirts of the covert borne.
Where Jack the Whip in ambush lay,
Proclaim'd the fox was gone away.
Away ! ere yet that blast was blown,
The fox had o'er the meadow flown ;
Away ! away ! his flight he took.
Straight pointing for the Windrush brook !
The Miller, when he heard the pack.
Stood tiptoe on his loaded sack,
He view'd the fox across the flat.
And, needless signal, wav'd his hat ;
He saw him clear with easy stride
The stream by which the mill was plied ;
Like phantom fox he seem'd to fly,
With speed unearthly flitting by.
The road that leads to Witney town.
He travell'd neither up nor down ;
But straight away, like arrow sped
From cloth-yard bow, he shot a-head.
1 Note 39-
6i
HUNTING SONGS
Now Cokethorpe on his left he past,
Now Ducklington behind him cast,
Now by Bampton, now by Lew,
Now by Clanfield, on he flew ;
At Grafton now his course inclin'd.
And Kelmscote now is left behind !
Where waters of the Isis lave
The meadows with its classic wave.
O'er those meadows speeding on,
He near'd the bridgeway of St. John ;
He paused a moment on the bank,
His footsteps in the ripple sank,
He felt how cold, he saw how strong
The rapid river roll'd along ;
Then turn'd away, as if to say,
" All those who like to cross it may."
The Huntsman, though he view'd him back,
View'd him too late to turn the pack,
Which o'er the tainted meadow prest.
And reach'd the river all abreast ;
In with one plunge, one billowy splash,
In — altogether — in they dash.
Together stem the wintry tide,
Then shake themselves on t'other side !
" Hark, hollo back ! " that loud halloo
Then eager, and more eager grew.
Till every hound, recrossing o'er,
Stoop'd forward to the scent once more ;
Nor further aid, throughout the day,
From Huntsman or from Whip had they.
62
TARWOOD
Away ! away ! uncheck'd in pace,
O'er grass and fallow swept the chace ;
To hounds, to horses, or to men.
No child's play was the struggle then ;
A trespasser on Milward's ground.
He climb'd the pale that fenc'd it round ;
Then close by Little Hemel sped.
To Fairford pointing straight a-head.
Though now, the pack approaching nigh.
He heard his death-note in the cry.
They view'd him, and then seem'd their race
The very lightning of the chace !
The fox had reach'd the Southropp lane.
He strove to cross it, but in vain.
The pack roll'd o'er him in his stride,
And onward struggling still — he died.
This gallant fox, in Tarwood found.
Had cross'd full twenty miles of ground ;
Had sought in cover, left or right.
No shelter to conceal his flight ;
But nigh two hours the open kept.
As stout a fox as ever stept !
That morning, in the saddle set,
A hundred men at Tarwood met ;
The eager steeds which they bestrode
Pac'd to and fro the Witney road.
For hard as iron shoe that trod
Its surface, the unyielding sod ;
Till midday sun had thaw'd the ground
And made it fit for foot of hound,
63
HUNTING SONGS
They champ'd the bit and twitch'd the rein,
And paw'd the frozen earth in vain,
Impatient with fleet hoof to scour
The vale, each minute seem'd an hour ;
Still Rumour says of that array
Scarce ten liv'd fairly through the day.
Ah ! how shall I in song declare
The riders who were foremost there ?
A fit excuse how shall I find
For every rider left behind ?
Though Cokethorpe seem one open plain,
'Tis slash'd and sluic'd with many a drain.
And he who clears those ditches wide
Must needs a goodly steed bestride.
From Bampton to the river's bounds
The race was run o'er pasture grounds ;
Yet many a horse of blood and bone
Was heard to cross it with a groan ;
For blackthorns stiff the fields divide
With watery ditch on either side.
By Lechlade's village fences rise
Of every sort and every size,
And frequent there the grievous fall
O'er slippery bank and crumbling wall ;
Some planted deep in cornfield stand,
A fix'd incumbrance on the land !
While others prove o'er post and rail
The merits of the sliding scale.
64
TARWOOD
Ah ! much it grieves the Muse to tell
At Clanfield how Valentia fell ;
He went, they say, like one bewitch'd,
Till headlong from the saddle pitch'd ;
There, reckless of the pain, he sigh'd
To think he might not onward ride ;
Though fallen from his pride of place,
His heart was following still the chace ;
He bade his many friends forbear
The proffer'd aid, nor tarry there ;
" O ! heed me not, but ride away !
The Tarwood fox must die to-day ! "
Nor fell Valentia there alone.
There too in mid career was thrown
The Huntsman — in the breastplate swung
His heels — his body earthward hung ;
With many a tug at neck and mane.
Struggling he reach'd his seat again ;
Once more upon the back of Spangle,
His head and heels at proper angle
(Poor Spangle in a piteous plight).
He look'd around him, bolt upright.
Nor near nor far could succour see, —
Where can the faithless Juliet be ?
He would have given half his wage
Just then to see her on the stage ;
The pack those meads by Isis bound
Had reach'd ere Jem his Juliet found ;
Well thence with such a prompter's aid.
Till Reynard's death her part she play'd.
I 65
HUNTING SONGS
There Isaac from the chace withdrew
(A horse is Isaac, not a Jew),
Outstretch'd his legs, and shook his back,
Right glad to be reliev'd of Jack ;
And Jack, right glad his back to quit,
Gave Beatrice a benefit.
Moisture and mud the " Fungus " suit,
In boggy ditch he, taking root.
For minutes ten or thereabout.
Stood planted, till they pluck'd him out.
By application of spur rowel
Charles rubb'd him dry without a towel.
Say, as the pack by Kelmscote sped,
Say who those horsemen cloth'd in red ?
Spectators of the chace below.
Themselves no sign of movement show ;
No wonder — they were all aghast
To see the pace at which it past ;
The " White Horse Vale " — well known to Fame
The pack to which it gives a name ;
And there they stood as if spell-bound.
Their morning fox as yet unfound ;
Borne from that wood, their huntsman's cheer
Drew many a Tarwood straggler near.
And he who felt the pace too hot.
There gladly sought a resting spot ;
Himself of that White Horse availing.
When conscious that his own was failing.
66
TARWOOD
Thus ships, when they no more can bide
The fury of the wind and tide.
If chance some tranquil port they spy,
Where vessels safely shelter'd lie.
There seek a refuge from the gale.
Cast anchor, and let down the sail.
The speed of horse, the pluck of man.
They needed both, who led the van ;
This Holmes can tell, who through the day
Was ever foremost in the fray ;
And HoUoway, with best intent.
Still shivering timber as he went ;
And Williams, clinging to the pack
As if the League were at his back ;
And Tollit, ready still to sell
The nag that carried him so well.
A pretty sight at first to see
Young Pretyman on Modesty !
But Pretyman went on so fast,
That Modesty took fright at last ;
So bent was she to shun disgrace,
That in the brook she hid her face ;
So bashful, that to drag her out
They fetch'd a team and tackle stout.
When younger men of lighter weight
Some tale of future sport relate,
Let Whippy show the brush he won.
And tell them of the Tarwood run ;
67
HUNTING SONGS
While Rival's portrait, on the wall,
Shall oft to memory recall
The gallant fox, the burning scent.
The leaps they leapt, the pace they went ;
How Wliimpsey led the pack at first.
When Reynard from the woodside burst ;
How 'Pamela, a puppy hound,
First seiz'd him, struggling on the ground ;
How T^rudence shunn'd the taint of hare,
Taught young in life to have a care ;
How Alderman, a foxhound staunch,
Worked well upon an empty paunch ;
How Squires were, following thee, upset,
Right honourable Baronet ;
How, as the pack by Lechlade flew.
Where close and thick the fences grew.
Three Bitches led the tuneful throng,
All worthy of a place in song ;
Old Fairplay, ne'er at skirting caught.
And Pensive speeding quick as thought ;
While Handsome prov'd the adage true,
They handsome are that handsome do !
Then long may courteous Redesdale live !
And oft his pack such gallops give !
Should fox again 40 stoutly run,
May I be there and see the fun !
1845.
68
A "MEET" AND A "FIND"
A '■'Meet'' at the Hall, a7td a '' Fi?tcr
in the Wood
I
THE wind in the south, and the first faint blushes
Of morn amid clouds dispers'd,
As a stream in its strength through a floodgate rushes,
The hounds from their kennel burst.
II
The huntsman is up on his favourite bay.
The whips are all astride,
Leisurely trotting their onward way
To the distant cover side.
Ill
Sweetly the blackbird, and sweetly the thrush,
Greeting them, seem to say.
In the chorus that rings from each hawthorn bush,
" Good sport to the pack to-day."
IV
Lads from the village now after them race,
Asking with eager shout.
And ruddy with joy at the thoughts of a chace,
" Where do the hounds turn out ? "
V
Now masking the slope with its dusky screen,
A wood in front appears.
And a Hall high-gabled, the glittering sheen
Of its vane-deck'd turret rears.
69
HUNTING SONGS
VI
The chimney-shafts, wreathed with smoke, betoken
Full many a guest within.
While words of welcome in honesty spoken
The heart of each stranger win,
VII
A white hand unlatches her casement bar ;
A murmur of joy resounds :
They're coming ! they're coming ! see, yonder they
are !
They're coming ! the hounds ! the hounds !
VIII
A cloud, so it seem'd, might have dropp'd from the
sky
When the sun was in the west,
To clothe with a mantle of crimson dye
The lawn by those riders prest.
IX
Steadily, steadily, to and fro.
Old hunters pace the ground ;
Heads high in air the young ones throw.
Pawing and plunging round.
See ! to unkennel a noisier pack,
The school-gate open flung,
By the desk-weary pedant, whose heart leaps back
To the day when himself was young.
70
A "MEET" AND A "FIND"
XI
Drest in the pride of her Sunday array.
The huswife stands aloof,
Timidly plucking her child away
From the lunge of uplifted hoof.
XII
Curb'd for that hand which the casement unbarr'd,
To the porch is a palfrey led,
The trim gravel court by the prancing scarr'd
Of his proud and impatient tread ;
XIII
A fair-hair'd youth to the portal flew,
And stood by her bridle-rein ;
He lifts her light foot to the stirrup-shoe.
And they follow the hunting-train.
XIV
His saddle-bow hung with a silver horn.
All eyes on the master gaze.
Lord of the hunting-field ! monarch, this morn,
Of all that he surveys !
XV
The Huntsman has drunk to the health of the
Squire
From the depth of the leathern jack.
And lifting his cap, as the gentry admire
His well-condition'd pack.
HUNTING SONGS
XVI
He speeds, with sure hope to the cover hard by —
Streaking the greenwood now.
Red coats bright with the berries vie
That hang on the holly bough.
XVII
Hark ! from the cover a fox halloo'd ;
The hounds to the open fly ;
Horses and men, as they crash through the wood.
Made mad by the merry cry.
XVIII
Fainter and fainter in distance died
The tumult of the chace ;
Till silent as death was the green hill-side.
The Hall a deserted place.
XIX
I follow them not ; the good fox they found
Sped many a mile away ;
That run was the talk of the country round
For many an after day.
XX
The brush by that youth who had ridden hard,
Brought home in the twilight hour,
A gift for the hand which the casement unbarr'd,
Was hung in the maiden's bower.
SONG
Song
STAGS in the forest lie, hares in the valley-o !
Web-footed otters are spear'd in the lochs ;
Beasts of the chace that are not worth a Tally-ho
All are surpass'd by the gorse-cover fox !
Fishing, though pleasant,
I sing not at present,
Nor shooting the pheasant.
Nor fighting of cocks ;
Song shall declare a way
How to drive care away,
Pain and despair away.
Hunting the fox !
II
Bulls in gay Seville are led forth to slaughter,
nor
Dames, in high rapture, the spectacle shocks ;
Brighter in Britain the charms of each daughter,
nor
Dreads the bright charmer to follow the fox.
Spain may delight in
A sport so exciting ;
Whilst 'stead of bull-fighting
We fatten the ox ;
Song shall declare a way, &c.
K 73
HUNTING SONGS
III
England's green pastures are graz'd in security.
Thanks to the Saxon who car'd for our flocks !
He who reserving the sport for futurity.
Sweeping our wolves away left us the fox.
When joviality
Chases formality,
When hospitality
Cellars unlocks ;
Song shall declare a way
How to drive care away.
Pain and despair away.
Hunting the fox !
Sport in the Highlands
WRITTEN AT TOLLY HOUSE IN ROSS-SHIRE
I
UP in the morning ! the river runs merrily.
Clouds are above and the breezes blow cool,
Tie the choice fly now, and casting it warily.
Fish the dark ripple that curls o'er the pool ;
Steadily play with him.
On through the spray with him.
Gaff:, and away with him,
On to the shore !
Pastime at Tolly now,
Oh ! it is jolly now,
Sad melancholy now
Haunts us no more !
74
SPORT IN THE HIGHLANDS
II
Up in the morning ! young birds in full feather
now,
Brood above brood on the mountain-side lie ;
Setters well broken are ranging the heather now,
Bird after bird taking wing but to die !
Home then to number
The grouse that encumber
Our gillies, where slumber
To toil gives relief.
Pastime at Tolly now,
Oh ! it is jolly now.
No melancholy now,
Sorrow, or grief
in
Up ! up ! at peep-o'-day, clad for a tussle now ! —
Keen eyes have mark'd the wild hart on the
hill;
Toil for the stalker ! — wind, sinew, and muscle^
now
All will be needed, ere testing his skill !
Gillies now frolicking.
Roaring and rollicking,
Hey ! for a grollocking, —
Rip up the deer.
Pastime at Tolly now,
Oh ! it is jolly now,
No melancholy now
Haunteth us here.
IS
HUNTING SONGS
IV
Up ! up I at peep-o'-day ; what may your pleasure
be?
Black-cock or ptarmigan, roebuck or hare ?
Bright with delight let each moment of leisure be,
Left in the lowlands, a fig for dull care !
Wood, stream, and heather now.
Yielding together now,
Sport for all weather now, —
Up in the morn !
Pastime at Tolly now.
Oh ! it is jolly now.
Sad melancholy, now
Laugh her to scorn !
1845.
" Importation of Ver7nin "
" A steamship arrived yesterday from Boulogne with a cage of live
foxes, consigned to order." — Daily Neius, Feb. i, 1848, at which time there
was much talk of the possibility of a French invasion.
I
"IMPORTED Vermin:" — say, thou scribbler,
1 when
Those fiercer vermin on our coast alight.
Who bark with drumstick and with bayonet bite,
As daily threat thy brethren of the pen ;
When England summons her true-hearted men
(Whether invader to the chace invite
With foes or foxes, putting both to flight),
Say, of these twain which best will serve her then.
76
BOW-MEETING SONG
The joyous hunter, he who cheers the pack.
His fleet steed urging over vale and hill,
Who shuns no hardship and who knows no fear.
Or he, who bending o'er the desk his back,
In gas-lit office drives the flippant quill.
And talks of " vermin imports" with a sneer ?
Bow-meeti7ig Song
ARLEY HALL, SEPTEMBER 4, 1 85 I
THE tent is pitch'd, the target rear'd, the ground
is measured out,
For the weak arm sixty paces, and one hundred for
the stout !
Come, gather ye together then, the youthful and the
fair.
And poet's lay, to future day, the victor shall declare !
II
Let busy fingers lay aside the needle and the thread,
To prick the golden canvas with a pointed arrow-
head ;
Ye sportsmen quit the stubble, quit, ye fishermen,
the stream,
Fame and glory stand before you, brilliant eyes
around you beam.
77
HUNTING SONGS
HI
All honour to the long-bow which many a battle
won,
Ere powder blaz'd and bullet flew, from arquebus
or gun ;
All honour to the long-bow, which merry men of
yore,
With hound and horn at early morn, in greenwood
forest bore.
IV
O ! famous is the archer's sport, 'twas honour'd
long ago.
The God of Love, the God of Wit, bore both of
them a bow ;
Love laughs to-day in beauty's eye and blushes on
her cheek.
And wit is heard in every word, that merry archers
speak ;
The archer's heart, though, like his bow, a tough
and sturdy thing.
Is pliant still and yielding, when affection pulls the
string ;
All his words and all his actions are like arrows,
pointed well
To hit that golden centre, where true love and
friendship dwell.
78
FARMER DOBBIN
VI
They tell us in that outline which the lips of beauty
show,
How Cupid found a model for his heart-subduing
bow ;
The arrows in his quiver are the glances from her eye,
A feather from love's wing it is, that makes the
arrow fly !
Farmer Dobbin
A DAY Wl' THE CHESHUR FOX DUGS
1
" /^^UD mon, it's welly milkin toim, where ever
V_y 'ast 'ee bin ?
Thear's slutch upo' thoi coat, oi see, and blood upo'
thoi chin ; "
" Oiv bin to see the gentlefolk o' Cheshur roid a
run ;
Owd wench ! oiv been a-hunting, an' oiv seen some
rattling fun.
II
" Th' owd mare was i' the smithy when the hunts-
man hove in view.
Black Bill agate o' fettling the last nail in her shoe ;
The cuvver laid so wheam loik, an' so jovial foin the
day.
Says I, ' Owd mare, we'll tak' a fling and see 'em go
away.'
79
HUNTING SONGS
III
" When up, and oi'd got shut ov aw the hackney
pads and traps,
'Orse dealers an' 'orse jockey lads, and such loik
swaggering chaps,
Then what a power o' gentlefolk did I set oies
upon !
A reining in their hunters, aw blood 'orses every one !
IV
" They'd aw got bookskin leathers on, a-fitten 'em
so toight.
As roind and plump as turmits be, and just about
as whoit ;
Their spurs wor maid o' siller, and their buttons
maid o' brass.
Their coats wor red as carrots and their collurs
green as grass.
V
" A varment looking gemman on a woiry tit I
seed,
An' another close besoid him, sitting noble on his
steed ;
They ca' them both owd codgers, but as fresh as
paint they look,
John Glegg, Esquoir, o' Withington, an' bowd Sir
Richard Brooke.
80
FARMER DOBBIN
VI
" I seed Squoir Geffrey Shakerley, the best un o'
that breed,
His smoiling feace tould plainly how the sport wi'
him agreed ;
I seed the 'Arl ov Grosvenor, a loikly lad to roid,
I seed a soight worth aw the rest, his farencly young
broid.
VII
" Zur Umferry de Trafford an' the Squoir ov Arley
Haw,
His pocket full o' rigmarole, a-rhoiming on 'em
aw ;
Two Members for the Cointy, both aloik ca'd
Egerton ; —
Squoir Henry Brooks and Tummus Brooks, they'd
aw green collars on.
VIII
ff
" Eh ! what a mon be Dixon John, ov Astle Haw,
Esquoir, c
You wudna foind, and measure him, his marrow in
the shoir ;
Squoir Wilbraham o' the Forest, death and danger
he defoies.
When his coat be toightly button'd up, and shut be
both his oies.
L 8i
HUNTING SONGS
IX
" The Honerable Lazzles, who from forrin parts be
cum,
An' a chip of owd Lord Delamere, the Honerable
Turn ;
Squoir Fox an' Booth an' Worthington, Squoir
Massey an' Squoir Harne,
An' many more big sportsmen, but their neames I
didna larn.
" I seed that great commander in the saddle. Captain
Whoit,
An' the pack as thrung'd about him was indeed a
gradely soight ;
The dugs look'd foin as satin, an' himsel look'd hard
as nails,
An' he giv the swells a caution not to roid upo' their
tails.
XI
" Says he, ' Young men o' Monchester an Livverpoo,
cum near,
Oiv just a word, a warning word, to whisper in your
ear.
When, starting from the cuvver soid, ye see bowd
Reynard burst.
We canna 'ave no 'unting if the gemmen go it
first.'
82
FARMER DOBBIN
XII
" Tom Ranee has got a single oie/ wurth many
another's two,
He held his cap abuv his yed to show he'd had a
view ;
Tom's voice was loik th' owd raven's when he skroik'd
out ' Tally-ho ! '
For when the fox had seen Tom's feace he thoght it
toim to go.
XIII
" Ey moy ! a pratty jingle then went ringing through
the skoy,
Furst Victory, then Villager begun the merry
croy,
Then every maith was open from the oud'un to the
pup,
An' aw the pack together took the swellin' chorus
up.
XIV
" Ey moy ! a pratty skouver then was kick'd up in
the vale.
They skim'd across the running brook, they topp'd
the post an' rail.
They didna stop for razzur cop, but play'd at touch
an' go,
An' them as miss'd a footin' there lay doubled up
below.
1 Note 40.
83
HUNTING SONGS
XV
" I seed the 'ounds a-crossing Fanner Flareup's
boundary loin.
Whose daughter plays the peany an' drinks whoit
sherry woin,
Gowd rings upon her finger and silk stockings on her
feet ;
Says I, ' It won't do him no harm to roid across his
wheat.'
XVI
" So, toightly houdin on by th' yed, I hits th'owd
mare a whop,
Hoo plumps into the middle o' the wheatfield neck
an' crop ;
And when hoo floinder'd out on it I catch'd another
spin.
An', missis, that's the cagion o' the blood upo' my
chin.
XVII
" I never oss'd another lep, but kep the lane, an
then
In twenty minutes' toini about they turn'd toart me
agen ;
The fox was foinly daggled, an' the tits aw out o'
breath.
When they kilt him in the open, an' owd Dobbin
seed the death.
84
THE BLOOMING EVERGREEN
XVIII
" Loik dangling of a babby, then the Huntsman
hove hnn up,
The dugs a-baying roind him, while the gemman
croid ' Whoo-hup ! '
As doesome cawves lick fleetings out o' th' piggin in
the shed.
They worried every inch of him, aw but his tail an' yed.
XIX
" Now, missis, sin' the markets be a-doing moderate
well,
Oiv welly maid my moind up just to buoy a nag mysel;
For to keep a farmer's spirits up 'gen things be
gettin low,
Theer's nothin loik Fox-huntin' and a rattling
Tally-ho ! "
1853.
The Blooming Rvergree?i
I
ERE the adventurers, nicknamed Plantagenet,
Buckled the helm on, their foes to dismay.
They pluck'd a broom-sprig which they wore as a
badge in it,
Meaning thereby they would sweep them away.
Long the genista shall flourish in story.
Green as the laurels their chivalry won ;
As the broom-sprig excited those heroes to glory,
May the gorse-plant encourage our foxes to run.
85
HUNTING SONGS
II
Held by Diana in due estimation,
Bedeck with a gorse-flower the goddess's shrine ;
Throughout the wide range of this blooming creation,
It has but one rival, and that one the vine.
Pluck me then, Bacchus, a cluster, and, squeezing it.
Pour the red juice till the goblet o'erflows ;
Then in the joy of my heart, will I, seizing it.
Drink to the land where this Evergreen grows. ^
Cheshire yumpers ^
IASK'D in much amazement, as I took my
morning ride,
" What means this monster meeting, that collects at
Highwayside ?
Who are ye ? and what strange event this gathering
crowd excites }
Are ye scarlet men of Babylon, or mounted Mor-
mon ites t "
II
A bearded man on horseback answered blandly with
a smile, —
" Good Sir, no Canters are we, though we canter
many a mile ;
Nor will you find a Ranter here amongst our merry
crew,
Though if you seek a Roarer, there may chance be
one or two.
^ Note 41. ^ Note 42.
86
CHESHIRE JUMPERS
HI
" With Shakers and with Quakers no connection,
Sir, have we ;
We are not Plymouth Brothers, Cheshire Jumpers
though we be ;
'Tis mine between two champions bold to judge, if
judge I can.
And settle which, o'er hedge and ditch, will prove
the better man.
IV
" Mark well these two conditions, he who falls
upon the field.
Or he whose horse refuses twice, the victory must
yield."
As thus he spake he strok'd his beard, and bade the
champions go ;
His beard was black as charcoal, but their faces
white as snow.
V
The ladies wave their kerchiefs as the rival jumpers
start,
A smile of such encouragement might nerve the
faintest heart ;
The crowd that follow'd after with good wishes
cheer'd them on,
Some cried, " Stick to it, Thomas ! " others shouted,
" Go it, John ! "
87
HUNTING SONGS
VI
Awake to competition, and alive to any game,
From Manchester and Liverpool the speculators
came ;
They calculated nicely every chance of loss or gain ;
Some stak'd their cash on cotton, some preferr'd
the sugar-cane.
VII
Bold Thomas took precedence, as a proper man
to lead,
And straightway at a hedgerow cop he drove his
gallant steed ;
He's off — he's on — he's over — is bold Thomas in
his seat ?
Yes, the rider's in his saddle, and the horse is on
his feet !
VIII
Make way for John ! the Leicester Don ! John
clear'd it far and wide.
And scornfully he smil'd on it when landed t'other
side ;
The prelude thus accomplish'd without loss of life
or limb,
John's backers, much embolden'd, offer two to one
on him.
IX
Now John led off ; the choice again was fixed upon
a cop,
A rotten ditch in front of it, a rail upon the top ;
88
CHESHIRE JUMPERS
While shouts of " Bono Johnny ! " to the echoing
hills were sent.
He wink'd his eye, and at it, and right over it he
went.
X
Hold him lightly, Thomas, lightly, give him freedom
ere he bound.
Why shape your course with so much force, to run
yourself aground ?
Thus against a Russian rampart goes a British
cannon ball :
Were Thomas at Sebastopol, how speedily 'twould
fall!
XI
Would you gain that proud pre-eminence on which
your rival stands.
Upraise your voice, uprouse your horse, but slacken
both your hands ;
'Tis vain, 'tis vain, his steed again stands planted in
the ditch.
The game is o'er, he tries no more, who makes a
second hitch.
XII
Thus, unlike the wars of Lancaster and York, in
days of yore.
The Chester strife with Leicester unexpectedly was
o'er ;
We else had learnt which method best insures us
from a fall,
The Chester on-and-ofF step, or the Leicester, clear-
ing all ?
M 89
HUNTING SONGS
XIII
Whether breeches white, or breeches bro.wn, the
more adhesive be,
And which the more effective spur. Champagne or
Eau-de-vie ?
These, alas ! and other problems which their progress
had reveal'd.
Remain unsettled questions for the future hunting
field.
XIV
One lesson learn, young ladies all, who came to see
the show.
Remember, in the race of life, once only to say " No " ;
This moral, for your warning, to my ditty I attach,
May ye ne'er by two refusals altogether lose a match !
1854.
Tarporley Hunt Song
THE Eagle won Jupiter's favour.
The Sparrow to Venus was dear.
The Owl of Minerva, though graver,
We want not its gravity here ;
The Swallow flies fast, but remember
The Swallow with Summer is gone ;
What bird is there left in November
To rival the Tarporley Swan ?
90
TARPORLEY HUNT SONG
II
Though scarlet in colour our clothing,
Our collars though green in their hue,
The red cap of liberty loathing.
Each man is at heart a True Blue ;
Through life 'tis our sworn resolution,
To stick to the pig-skin and throne ;
We are all for a good constitution.
Each man taking care of his own.
Ill
Though the Sailor, who rides on the ocean.
With cheers may encounter the foe ;
Wind and steam, what are they to horse motion ?
Sea cheers, to a land Tally-ho ?
The canvas, the screw, and the paddle
The speed of a thorough-bred lack.
When fast in the fox-hunting saddle
We gallop astern of the pack.
IV
Qussitum, that standard of merit,
Where each his true level may know.
Checks pride in the haughty of spirit,
Emboldens the timid and slow ;
The liquor that sparkles before us.
The dumb when they drink it can speak.
While the deaf in the roar of our chorus
A cure for their malady seek.
91
HUNTING SONGS
V
Forget not that other Red Jacket,
Turn'd up with green laurel and bay !
The tri-colour'd banners that back jt !
The might of their mingled array !
Forget not the deeds that unite 'em
As comrades, though rivals in fame ;
But fill to the brim that quassitum
Which Friendship and Chivalry claim.
1855.
A Remonstrance on Lord Sta?ileys Sugges-
tion that the Session of Parliame7it should
be held during the Winter Months.
JOY ! when November bids our sport begin.
When ringing echoes through the vale resound,
When light of heart we to the saddle bound.
And health and pleasure from the pastime win.
These must I barter for the Senate's din ?
Fcego the music of the tuneful hound
For midnight rant in adverse clamour drown'd ?
Lay by the whip to be myself whipp'd in ?
Debaters ! listen, while the Chace propounds
Her precepts — words too many work delay ;
Your babblers draft, as we our tonguey hounds ;
Rate without mercy those who riot run ;
Let those speak only who have ought to say.
Speak to the point, and stop when they have done.
1855.
92
HIGHWAYSIDE
Highwayside
A FAVOURITE FIXTURE DURING THE CHESHIRE
DIFFICULTY
I
RARE luck for the Cheshire, warn'd out from
the field,
That the Highway such endless diversion can yield ;
That the Huntsman can still w^ith no covers to
draw,
Blow his horn on the road without breaking the law.
II
'Twixt highways and byeways still ringing the change.
From gravel and sand to McAdam they range ;
When quite on the pave their gallop restrain.
And a jog-trot enjoy down a hard Cheshire lane.
Ill
Steeds good in dirt, let the feather-weights urge
Slapdash through the mud that encumbers the verge.
Let heavy ones follow the track of the 'Bus,
Shouting, Ibis in medio tutissimus.
IV
They may jump on and off o'er the broken stone
heap.
In triangular fenders fine timber to leap.
The towing path too ,may afford them a run
Just to keep the game going and vary the fun.
93
HUNTING SONGS
V
No alarm the most timid old gentleman feels.
Babes may perambulate, hunting on wheels ;
Dyspepsy and gout the amusement may share,
So go it, ye cripples ! and take a Bath chair.
VI
The use of the milestone, now coaching is done.
Is to measure exactly the length of a run ;
While each tap on the road they alternately try.
Till Tom sees two double with only one eye.
VII
With such sport has this mud-larkinglatelysupplied 'em.
The Huntsman has call'd his crack horse Rodum-
Sidum,
Who dare say these hounds have had nothing to do,
Highwayside for their fixture the whole season
through ?
1856.
Coimt JVar7ioff
I
WHEN the war with our Muscovite foemen
was o'er.
Then the Offs and the Koffs came to visit our shore ;
Their hard and stern features your heart would appal,
But the face of Count Warnoff was sternest of all ;
A terrible man was Count WarnofF !
As cold as the snow
That envelops Moscow
Was the heart of this horrid Count Warnoff!
94
COUNT WARNOFF
II
Woe ! woe ! to the sport of the fox-hunting Squire
When the Count set his foot in this peaceable shire !
So clean his own hands, his own morals so strict,
A hole in each Redcoat he presently pick'd ;
Such a virtuous man was Count WarnofF !
Without speck of dirt
You must ride with clean skirt
If the wrath you'd avert of Count WarnofF !
Ill
The Count could not tolerate foible or folly.
He never made love, and he never got jolly ;
He vow'd that fox-hunting he'd have at no price
Unless horses and men were alike free from vice ;
Such a virtuous man was Count WarnofF !
We must all be good boys
Or farewell to the joys
Of the chace, if we nettle Count WarnofF!
IV
Low whisper'd the huntsman (lest mischief befall
him),
" I don't like the look of that Count What-d'ye-
call him ? "
Tom wink'd his blind eye as he lifted his cap,
" He's a rum 'un, sir, ain't he, that Muscovy chap ? "
Such a terrible bugbear was WarnofF!
Not a brush, nor a pad
In the shire could be had.
Such a terrible bugbear was WarnofF !
95
HUNTING SONGS
V
He lock'd all the gates, and he wir'd all the gaps.
And the woods were all plan ted wi th spikes andsteel traps ;
No more the earth-stoppers were dragg'd their warm
beds off.
The nags in the stable stood eating their heads off;
Such a terrible man was Count Warnoff !
Little children grew pale
As their nurse told the tale
Of this terrible ogre, Count Warnoff !
VI
Cheer up, my good fellows. Count Warnoff is gone !
Gone back to the banks of the Volga and Don ;
He may warn us, and welcome, from off his own snow.
From the land where no fox-hunter wishes to go ;
But to bother our pack
May he never come back
To this peaceable county. Count Warnoff !
1857.
Le Gros- Veneur
SUNG AT THE TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING,
NOVEMBER 1 858
I
A MIGHTY great hunter in deed and in name
To our shirelong ago with the Conqueror came;
A-hunting he went with his bugle and bow,
And he shouted in Normandy-French " Tally-Ho ! "
'The man we now place at the head of our Chace
Can his pedigree trace from Le Gros-Veneur ;
96
HUGH, DUKE OF WESTMINSTER, K.G.
From a painting by Sir J. E. Millais, R.A.
LE GROS-VENEUR
II
'Tis a maxim by fox-hunters well understood,
That in horses and hounds there is nothing like
blood :
So the chief who the fame of our kennel maintains
Should be born with the purest of blood in his
veins !
'The man we now place at the head of our Chace
Can his pedigree trace frojn Le Gros-Veneur /
III
Old and young with delight shall the Gros-Veneur
greet.
The field once again in good fellowship meet.
The shire with one voice shall re-echo our choice.
And again the old pastime all Cheshire rejoice !
May the sport we ensure ?nany seasons endure.
And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur f
IV
Though no more, as of yore, a long-bow at his
back,
Now a Gros-Veneur guides us and governs our
pack ;
Again let each earth-stopper rise from his bed,
This year they shall all be well fee'd and well fed.
May the sport we ensure many seasons endure.
And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur /
N 97
HUNTING SONGS
Let Geoffrey with smiles and with shillings restore
Good humour when housewives their poultry de-
plore,
Well pleas'd, for each goose on which Reynard has
prey'd
To find in their pockets a golden egg laid !
May the sport we ensure matiy seasons endure^
And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur !
VI
Should our Chief with the toil of the senate grow
pale,
The elixir of life is a ride o'er the vale ;
There, of health, says the song, he shall gain a new
stock
" Till his pulse beats the seconds as true as a
clock."
May the sport we ensure many seasons endure.
And the Chief of our Chace be Le Gros-Veneur !
VII
I defy Norman-dy now to send a Chasseur
Who can ride alongside of our own Gros-Veneur !
And, couching my lance, I will challenge all France
To outvie the bright eye of the Lady Constance !
Long, long, may she grace with her presence our
Chace,
The Bride and the T'ride of Le Gros-Veneur !
98
THE KEEPER
The Keeper
RUFUS KNOX, his lordship's keeper, is a formid-
able chap,
So at least think all who listen to his swagger at the
tap ;
Ain't he up to poachers ? ain't he down upon 'em
too ?
This very night he'd face and fight a dozen of the
crew.
II
With the Squire who hunts the country he is ever
in disgrace,
For " Vulpicide " is written in red letters on his face ;
His oath that in one cover he a brace of foxes saw.
Is the never-failing prelude that foretokens a blank
draw.
Ill
The mousing owl he spares not, flitting through the
twilight dim.
The beak it wears, it is, he swears, too hook'd a one
for him ;
In every woodland songster he suspects a secret foe.
His earno music toucheth, save the roosting pheasant's
crow.
99
HUNTING SONGS
IV
His stoppers and his beaters, for the battue day
array 'd.
Behold him in his glory at the head of the brigade ;
That day on which a twelvemonth's toil triumphantly
is crown'd,
That day to him the pivot upon which the year
turns round.
V
There is a spot where birds are shot by fifties as they
If envious of that station you must tip him on the
sly;
Conspicuous on the slaughter-card if foremost you
would be,
That place like other places must be purchas'd with
a fee.
A Railway Accident with the Cheshire
FEBRUARY 5, 1 859
I
BY the side of Poole cover last Saturday stood
A hundred good horses, both cocktail and
blood ;
Nor long stood they idle, three deep in array.
Ere Reynard by Edwards was hallo'd away.
100
A RAILWAY ACCIDENT
II
Away ! over meadow, away ! over plough,
Away ! down the dingle, away ! up the brow !
"If you like not that fence, sir, get out of the way.
If one minute you lose you may lose the whole day."
Ill
Away ! through the evergreens, — laurel and box.
They may screen a cock-robin but not a run fox ;
As he pass'd the henroost at the Rookery Hall,
" Excuse me," said pug, " I have no time to call."
IV
The rail to our left and the river in front
Into two rival parties now sever'd the hunt ;
I will tell by-and-by which were right and which
wrong.
Meanwhile let us follow the fox with our song.
V
Away ! to the Weaver, whose banks are soft sand,
"Look out, boys, ahead, there's a horse-bridge at hand."
One by one the frail plank we cross'd cautiously o'er,
I had time just to count that we number'd a score.
VI
Though fast fox and hounds, there were men, by my
troth.
Whose ambition it was to go faster than both ;
If that grey in the skurry escap'd a disaster.
Little thanks the good animal ow'd to its master.
lOI
HUNTING SONGS
VII
Now Hornby went crashing through bullfinch and
rail
With Brancker beside him on Murray's rat tail ;
Two green collars only were seen in this flight.
Squire Warburton one, and the other John White.
VIII
Where was Massey, who found us the fox that we
run ?
Where Philip the father ? where Philip the son ?
Where was Grosvenor our Guide ? where was bold
Shrewsberie ?
We had with us one Earle, how I wish we'd had
th
ree
1
IX
Where Talbot ? where Lyon ? though sailing away
They were both sadly out of their bearings that
day;
Where Lascelles, De Trafford, Brooke, Corbet, and
Court ?
They must take return tickets if bent upon sport.
X
Sailors, railers, and tailors ! what can you now do ?
If you hope to nick in, the next station is Crewe ;
Second-class well dispers'd, it was only class first
Which, escaping the boiler, came in for the burst !
102
A RAILWAY ACCIDENT
XI
Away ! with red rowel, away ! with slack rein
For twenty-five minutes to Wistaston Lane,
Where a check gave relief both to rider and horse.
Where again the split field re-united its force.
XII
From that point we turn'd back and continued our
chace
To the gorse where we found, but more sober the
pace ;
Reynard, skirting Poole Hall, trying sand-earth and
drain.
Was at length by the pack, who deserv'd him,
o'erta'en.
XIII
While they worry their fox a short word I would say.
Of advice to those riders who rode the wrong way,
Who were forc'd to put up with skim-milk for
their fun,
For the skurry had skimm'd off the cream of the
run :
XIV
" As a coverside hack you may prudently stick
To the line of the rail, it is easy and quick ;
But when fox and fast hounds on a skurry are bent.
The line you should stick to is that of the scent."
103
HUNTING SONGS
"Tar po?' Icy Hunt Song
1859
NAMES, honour'd of old, on our Club-book
enroll'd.
It were shame should their successors slight 'em,
They who Horace could quote, and who first of
all wrote
On our Tarporley glasses " Quassitum '' ;
O, famous Quassitum !
Famous in story Quaesitum !
There has pass'd very nigh a full century by
Since our fathers first filled a Qussitum.
II
Old Bacchus so jolly, who hates melancholy.
Our founders, how can he requite 'em ?
From the land of the vine let the best of his wine
Be reserv'd to o'erflow the Qussitum ;
O, famous Qussitum !
Jolly Bacchus, fill up the QujEsitum !
Whether claret or port, it must be the best sort,
If it fit be to fill a Quassitum.
Ill
The goblet, methinks, from which Jupiter drinks.
With thunder-cheer ter repetitum.
Since when Juno was gone he turn'd into the Swan,
Should be chang'd for a crystal Quaesitum ;
104
TARPORLEY HUNT SONG
O, famous Qussitum !
Fit for Olympus, Qussitum !
Cup-bearer Hebe, how happy would she be
With nectar to fill a Quxsitum.
IV
Those who dar'd with rude eye at Diana to
spy,
She unkennel'd her pack to affright 'em ;
She who smiles with delight on our banquet to-
night,
Bids us fill to the chace a Qussitum ;
Fill, fill the Quaesitum !
To the heart-stirring chace a Qussitum ;
She who sheds her bright beam upon fountain and
stream
With her smile shall make bright the Qussitum.
One bumper still let all fox-hunters fill,
'Tis a toast that will fondly excite 'em,
Since the brave can alone claim the fair as their
own,
Let us drink to our loves a Quassitum ;
Fill, fill the Quassitum !
A glowing o'erflowing Quaesitum !
From Beauty's sweet lip he who kisses would
sip,
With his own must first kiss the Quaesitum.
o 105
HUNTING SONGS
VI
Again ere I end, all who foxes befriend,
Let a bumper thrice honour'd delight 'em.
May the forward and fast still be up at the last.
Give the slow ones another Qussitum ;
Fill, fill the QucBsitum !
To good fellows all a Quxsitum !
Let him fast be or slow, each shall prove ere we go.
An excuse for another Quxsitum.
A " "Burst " in the Ball Week
JANUARY 19, i860
WE had danc'd the night through.
Till the candles burnt blue,
But were all in the saddle next morn ;
Once again with Tom Ranee,
In broad daylight to dance
To the music of hollo and horn.
II
We were all giddy still
With the waltz and quadrille.
When arous'd by the loud " Tally-ho ! "
I must tune my fast rhyme
Up to double-quick time.
For the movement was prestissimo.
106
A "BURST" IN THE BALL WEEK
III
The fox by one hound
Near the Smoker was found —
As he wip'd that dog's nose with his brush,
" I don't mean to die,"
Said bold Reynard, " not I ;
Nor care I for Edwards one rush."
IV
With a fox of such pluck,
'Twas a piece of rare luck
That no ploughboy to turn him was near ;
That no farmer was there
At the gem'men to swear.
No tailor to head his career.
Some, to lead off the ball.
Get away first of all.
Some linger too long at poussette ;
Down the middle some go.
In the deep ditch below.
Thrown out ere they up again get.
VI
One, pitch'd from his seat.
Was compell'd with wet feet,
His heels in the gutter to cool ;
While his horse, in full swing,
Danc'd a new Highland fling.
He himself stood and danc'd a pas seal.
lOJ
HUNTING SONGS
VII
"Tell me, Edwards," said one.
When the skurry was done,
" How long were we running this rig ? "
" To keep time, indeed, sir,
I little take heed, sir.
When dancing the Tally-ho jig.
VIII
But the time I can tell.
And the spot I know well.
Where the huntsman his fox overtook ;
Twenty-five minutes good.
When he reach'd Arley Wood,
Where he died on the banks of the brook.
IX
I could name the few first
Who went best in this burst ;
I could tell how the steady ones rac'd ;
But since all were content
With the pace themselves went.
What matters it where they were plac'd ?
X
If a live fox should run,
As that dead one has done.
O'er this country again, by good chance,
May I have my fleet bay
For a partner that day,
And be just where I was in the dance. i|
108
NEWSTYLE AND OLDSTYLE
Farmer Newstyk mtd Farmer Oldstyle
" /^~> OOD day," said Farmer Oldstyle, taking
v_J Newstyle by the arm ;
" I be cum to look aboit me, wilt 'ee show me o'er
thy farm ? "
Young Newstyle took his wideawake, and lighted
a cigar.
And said, " Won't I astonish you, old-fashioned as
you are !
II
" No doubt you have an aneroid ? ere starting, you
shall see
How truly mine prognosticates what weather there
will be."
" I aint got no such gimcrack, but I knows there'll
be a slush
When I sees th' oud ram tak' shelter wi' his tail
agen a bush."
Ill
" Allow me, first, to show you the analysis I keep,
And the compounds to explain of this experimental
heap.
Where hydrogen, and nitrogen, and oxygen abound.
To hasten germination and to fertilize the ground."
109
HUNTING SONGS
IV
" A pratty soight o' laming you have pil'd up of a
ruck ;
The only name it went by in my feyther's time was
muck ;
I knows not how that tool you calls a nollysis may
work ;
I turns it, when it's rotten, pretty handy wi' a fork."
V
" A famous pen of Cotswolds ! Pass your hand
along the back —
Fleeces fit for stuffing the Lord Chancellor's woolsack !
For premiums e'en Inquisitor would own these
wethers are fit ;
If you want to purchase good 'uns you must go to
Mr. Garfit.
VI
" Two bulls first-rate, of different breeds — the judges
all protest
Both are so super-excellent, they know not which is
best ;
Fair, could he see this Ayrshire, would with jealousy
be ril'd,
That hairy one's a Welshman, and was bred by Mr.
Wild."
VII
" Well, well, that little hairy bull he shanna be so bad ;
But what be yonder beast I hear a-bellowing like
mad,
I ID
NEWSTYLE AND OLDSTYLE
A snortin' fire and smoke out ? — be it some big
Roosian gun ?
Or be it twenty bullocks squz together into one ? "
VIII
" My steam Factotum that, sir, doing all I have to
do—
My ploughman, and my reaper, and my jolly
thrasher, too ;
Steam's yet but in its infancy, no mortal man alive
Can tell to what perfection modern farming will
arrive."
IX
" Steam, as yet, is but an infant " — He had scarcely
said the word
When through the tottering farmstead was a loud
explosion heard ;
The engine dealing death around, destruction and
dismay ;
Though steam be but an infant, this indeed was no
child's play.
X
The women scream'd like blazes as the blazing hay-
rick burn'd.
The sucking pigs were in a crack all into crackling
turn'd ;
Grill'd chickens clog the hen-coop, roasted ducklings
choke the gutter.
And turkeys round the poultry-yard on devil'd
pinions flutter.
1 1 1
HUNTING SONGS
XI
Two feet deep in buttermilk the stoker's two feet lie,
The cook, before she bakes it, finds a finger in the
pie ;
The labourers for their lost legs were looking round
the farm.
They could not lend a hand because they had not
got an arm.
XII
Oldstyle, all soot from head to foot, look'd like a big
black sheep ;
Newstyle was thrown upon his own experimental
heap :
" That weather-glass," said Oldstyle, " canna be in
proper fettle.
Or it might as well a tou'd us there was thunder in
the kettle."
XIII
" Steam is so expansive." " Ay," said Oldstyle, " so
I see ;
So expensive, as you call it, that it wunna do for me ;
According to my notion, that's a beast that canna
pay,
Who champs up for his morning feed a hundred ton
o' hay."
XIV
Then to himself, said Oldstyle, as he homewards
quickly went,
" I'll tak' no farm where th' doctor's bill be heavier
than the rent ;
I 12
HOME WITH THE HOUNDS
I've never in hot water been ; steam shanna speed
my plough,
I vv^ould Hefer thrash my oats out by the sweat of
my own brow.
XV
" I neether want to scald my pigs, nor toast my
cheese, not I,
Afore the butcher sticks 'em, or the factor comes to
buy ;
They shanna catch me here again to risk my limbs
and loif ;
I've nought at whoam to blow me up, except it be
my woif."
Home with the Hounds ; or, the
Hu?ttsma7z' s Lament
OVER-RIDDEN ! over-ridden !
All along of that the check ;
When the ditch that gemman slid in.
Don't I wish he'd broke his neck.
I to hunt my hounds am able.
Would the field but play me fair ;
Mobb'd at Smithfield by the rabble.
Who a fox could follow there ?
113
HUNTING SONGS
II
Let the tinker ride his kettle,
Let the tailor ride his goose.
How can hounds to hunting settle
With the like o' them let loose ?
What's the use on't when he scrambles
Through a run that butchers tit ?
Butcher'd foxhounds for the shambles
They be neither fat nor fit.
Ill
What's the use o' jockies thumping
Wi' their 'andwhips bits of blood ?
Tits by instinct shy of jumping.
For they could not if they would ;
Though the snob, who cannot guide her.
Mounts the mare as draws his trap ;
'Taint the red coat makes the rider.
Leathers, boots, nor yet the cap.
IV
They who come their coats to show, they
Better were at home in bed ;
What of hounds and hunting know they ?
Nothing else but " go ahead " ;
At the Kennel I could train 'em.
If they would but come to school,
Two and two in couples chain 'em.
Feed on meal, and keep 'em cool.
114
HOME WITH THE HOUNDS
Gemmen, gemmen, shame upon 'em,
Plague my heart out worse than all.
Worse than Bowdon mobs at Dunham,
Worse than cobblers at Poole Hall ;
Spurring at a fence their clippers,
When the hounds are in the rear !
Reg'lar gemmen ! self and whippers
Tipping reg'lar once a year !
Well ! soft solder next I'll try on,
Rating only riles a swell ;
Mister Brancker ! Mister Lyon !
Mister Hornby ! — hope you're well ;
'Taint the pack that I'm afraid on,
And I likes to see you first.
But when so much steam be laid on
Beant you fear'd the copper'll burst ?
VII
'Eantipole^ I see'd him sprawling
Underneath a horse's hoof ;
T'ruJence only heerd me calling
Just in time to keep aloof ;
Vulcan lam'd for life ! Old Victor
Ne'er again will he show fight ;
Venus, sin' that gelding kick'd her,
Aint he spoilt her beauty quite ?
115
HUNTING SONGS
VIII
Gentlemen, unto my thinking,
Should behave themselves as sich ;
'Tik'lar when the scent is sinking.
And the hounds are at a hitch ;
How my temper can I master.
Fretted till I fume and foam ?
I can only backwards cast, or
Blow my horn and take 'em home.
We are all of iis Tailors in Tur7t
I
I WILL sing you a song of a fox-hunting bout.
They shall tell their own tale who to-day were
thrown out ;
For the fastest as well as the slowest of men.
Snobs or top-sawyers, alike now and then.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
II
Says one, " From the cover I ne'er got away.
Old Quidnunc sat quoting The Tunes on his Grey,
How Lord Derby was wrong, and Lord Aberdeen
right.
And the hounds, ere he finished, were clean out of
sight."
We are all of us tailors in turn.
ii6
WE ARE ALL OF US TAILORS IN TURN
From an etching by Hablot K. Browtie {"Phiz")
^/"^^1'r >'T PO'n IT AT 5T1 TTn T TA T rT j
.' 1 ■■; ,■■■.:■^■^^\ . A '.'
^J ^f/.
0^*-!
ALL OF US TAILORS IN TURN
III
Says one, " When we started o'er fallow and grass,
I was close at the tail of the hounds, but, alas !
We came down to a drain in that black-bottom'd
fen,
0 had I but been on my brook-jumper, then ! " —
We are all of us tailors in turn.
IV
" Dismounting," says one, " at a gate that was fast.
The crowd, pushing through, knock'd me down as it
pass'd ;
My horse seized the moment to take his own fling,
Who'll again do, out hunting, a good-natured thing ! "
We are all of us tailors in turn.
V
" Down the lane went I merrily sailing along.
Till I found," says another, " my course was all
wrong ;
1 thought that his line toward the breeding-earth lay.
But he went, I've heard since, just the opposite way."
We are all of us tailors in turn.
VI
From the wine-cup o'er night some were sorry and
sick,
Some skirted, some cran'd, and some rode for a nick ;
Like whales in the water some flounder'd about,
Thrown off and thrown in, they were also thrown
out.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
117
HUNTING SONGS
VII
" You will find in the field a whole ton of lost
shoes." —
A credulous blacksmith, believing the news,
Thought his fortune were made if he walk'd o'er the
ground ; —
He lost a day's work, but he ne'er a shoe found !
We are all of us tailors in turn.
VIII
What deeds would one hero have done on his Grey,
Who was nowhere at all on his Chestnut to-day !
All join in the laugh when a braggart is beat,
And that jest is lov'd best which is aim'd at conceit.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
IX
Good fellows there are, unpretending and slow,
Who can ne'er be thrown out, for they ne'er mean
to go ;
But, when the run's over, these oftentimes tell
The story far better than they who went well.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
X
How trifling a cause will oft lose us a run !
From the find to the finish how few see the fun !
A mischance, it is call'd, when we come to a halt ;
I ne'er heard of one who confess'd it a fault.
Yet we're all of us tailors in turn.
ii8
A WORD ERE WE START
From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ")
A WORD ERE WE START
B
A Word ere we Start
I
OYS, to the hunting-field ! though 'tis November,
The wind's in the south ; — but a word ere we
start. —
Though keenly excited, I bid you remember
That hunting's a science, and riding an art.
II
The order of march and the due regulation
That guide us in warfare, we need in the chace —
Huntsman and Whip, each his own proper station.
Horse, hound and fox, each his own proper place.
Ill
The fox takes precedence of all from the cover ;
The horse is an animal purposely bred
After the pack to be ridden, not over —
Good hounds are not rear'd to be knocked on the
head.
IV
Strong be your tackle, and carefully fitted.
Breast-plate and bridle, girth, stirrup, and chain ;
You will need not two arms, if the mouth be well
bitted.
One hand lightly used will suffice for the rein.
119
HUNTING SONGS
Buckskin's the only wear fit for the saddle ;
Hats for Hyde Park, but a cap for the chace ;
In tops of black leather let fishermen paddle,
The calves of a fox-hunter white ones incase.
VI
If your horse be well bred and in blooming condition,
Both up to the country and up to your weight,
O, then give the reins to your youthful ambition.
Sit down in your saddle and keep his head straight !
VII
Pastime for princes ! — prime sport of our nation !
Strength in their sinew and bloom on their cheek ;
Health to the old, to the young recreation ;
All for enjoyment the hunting-field seek.
VIII
Eager and emulous only, not spiteful ; —
Grudging no friend, though ourselves he may beat ;
Just enough danger to make sport delightful !
Toil just sufficient to make slumber sweet !
Hard-riding Dick
I
FROM the cradle his name has been " Hard-
riding Dick,"
Since the time when cock-horse he bestraddled a stick ;
Since thetime when, unbreech'd, without saddle or rein,
He kick'd the old donkey along the green lane.
I20
HARD-RIDING DICK
From an etching by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz ")
U^^ /^
HARD-RIDING DICK
II
Dick, wasting no time o'er the classical page,
Spent his youth in the stable without any wage ;
The life of poor Dick, when he entered his teens,
Was to sleep in the hay-loft and breakfast on beans.
Ill
Promoted at length, Dick's adventures began : —
A stripling on foot, but when mounted a man ;
Capp'd, booted, and spurr'd, his young soul was on
fire.
The day he was dubb'd "Second Whip" to the Squire.
IV
See, how Dick, like a dart, shoots a-head of the pack ;
How he stops, turns, and twists, rates, and rattles
them back !
The laggard exciting, controlling the rash.
He can comb down a hair with the point of his lash.
V
O ! show me that country which Dick cannot cross —
Be it open or wood, be it upland or moss,
Through the fog or the sunshine, the calm or the
squall.
By day-light or star-light, or no light at all !
VI
Like a swallow can Dick o'er the water-flood skim.
And Dick, like a duck, in the saddle can swim ;
Up the steep mountain-side like a cat he can crawl.
He can squeeze like a mouse through a hole in the
wall!
Q 121
HUNTING SONGS
VII
He can tame the wild young one, inspirit the old,
The restive, the runaw^ay, handle and hold ;
Sharp steel or soft-solder, which e'er does the trick,
It makes little matter to Hard-riding Dick.
VIII
Bid the chief from the Desert bring hither his
mare.
To ride o'er the plain against Dick if he dare ;
Bring Cossack or Mexican, Spaniard or Gaul,
There's a Dick in our village will ride round them
all!
IX
A whip is Dick's sceptre, a saddle Dick's throne.
And a horse is the kingdom he rules as his own ;
While grasping ambition encircles the earth.
The dominions of Dick are enclosed in a girth.
Three ribs hath he broken, two legs, and one arm.
But there hangs, it is said, round his neck a life-
charm ;
Still long odds are offer'd that Dick, when he
drops.
Will die, as he lived, in his breeches and tops,
122
THOMPSON'S TRIP TO EPSOM
Thoftipsoji s Trip to Epsom
I
KIND friends ! delighted Thompson ! on the
night he came to town
They said : " If up to Epsom, we will call and take
you down."
Next morn, ere Boots awoke him, there was seen at
Thompson's door
The coach the ladies sat in and the satin that they
wore.
II
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! how could he
his bacon save,
How cut his mutton-chops up when his own he
could not shave ?
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " Waiter, say
we cannot wait ; "
With friends so fast his fate it was to fast upon a
fate !
Ill
" We're full inside, for empties there's an empty
dicky free,"
Alas ! ere long with Thompson's heart all dicky
will it be ;
Her beaming eye who tied his veil pierc'd thro' him
like a lance,
Of what avail was such a veil to shield from such a
glance ?
123
HUNTING SONGS
IV
Forgetting soon his breakfast spoon he takes a spoony
turn,
His heart feels hot within him like a heater in the urn ;
A sudden slip 'twixt cup and lip to Beauty from Bohea,
His tea no more he misses, thinks no more of Mrs. T.
A lottery they needs must have upon the Derby day.
Fair fingers cut the tickets, so of course it was fair play ;
My Lord, who draws the favourite, o'erwhelms them
with his thanks.
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! so they hand
him all the blanks.
VI
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! it was whisper'd
in a tone
Which meant, if words a meaning have, " How
hungry we are grown ! "
Poor Thompson sigh'd as they untied the hamper,
Thompson's sigh.
Say was it for his ladie-love or for the pigeon pie ?
VII
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! looking down
he now surveys
The fair insiders filling their inside with mayonnaise ;
For the luncheon stakes disqualified was Thompson,
they declare, '
A stomach twice as empty as their own would not
be fair.
124
THOMPSON'S TRIP TO EPSOM
VIII
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " Super-excel-
lent this ham."
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " What a
tender bit of lamb."
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " I prefer the
dry champagne."
Poor Thompson's had no breakfast ! " May I
trouble you again ? "
IX
When done at last their own repast poor Thompson,
better late
Than never, got possession of the hamper and a plate,
With two rejected drumsticks on a hollow dish he
drums,
And chirps are heard as dicky-bird picks up the
scatter'd crumbs.
Once more at home see Thompson, in his breakfast
parlour chair.
He knew better than to quarrel with his bread and
butter there ;
His wife with indignation of his aching stomach
heard,
Of the heartache which had troubled him he
whisper'd not a word.
125
HUNTING SONGS
A Moc/ern Stable
BEHOLD the new stable his lordship has built,
Its walls and its stalls painted, varnish'd and gilt ;
No prince in his palace. King, Sultan, or Czar,
Was e'er lodg'd in such state as these quadrupeds are.
II
Pitchfork and bucket, chain, buckle and rack,
Burnish'd up till they shine like the coats on their
back ;
I scarce know on which most applause to bestow,
On the gildings above or the geldings below.
Ill
What I marvell'd at most, in the front of each stall
Why a slab of blue slate should be fix'd in the wall ?
Why a horse (and the query still puzzles my pate)
Like a schoolboy should stand with his eyes on a
slate ?
IV
Must the heads of our horses be cramm'd now-a-day
With learning as well as their bellies with hay ?
Must our yearlings be coach'd till their little go won,
The trainer has taught them *' to read as they run."
126
LIFE OF ASSHETON SMITH
0?i Reading in the " T'ijnes" April 9, 1 860,
a Critique on the Life of Assheton
Smith
THE mighty Hunter taken to his rest,
His cherish'd sport now points the critic's jest,
Fleas'd of a sect facetiously to tell
A " meet " their heaven and a frost their hell.
Who blindly follow, clad in coats of pink,
A beast whose nature is to run and stink ;
When view'd,with shoutsof frantic joy they greet him.
Forbearing still, when they have kill'd, to eat him.
His head enshrin'd within a crystal case.
His " brush," a relic, on their walls they place.
In mad devotion to this beast unclean.
Encountering " Bullfinches " (whate'er that mean)
They ride to fall and rise again forthwith,
A sect whose great high-priest was Assheton Smith.
Let him who laughs our noble sport to scorn,
Meet me next year at Melton or at Quorn ;
Let the first train by which his bolts are sped
Bring down the Thunderer himself instead.
My cover hack (not Stamford owns a finer)
Can canter glibly like a penny-a-liner ;
Free of my stable let him take the pick.
Not one when mounted but can do the trick ;
Fast as his pen can run, if he can ride.
The foremost few will find him at their side ;
His leader left unfinished on the shelf.
To prove a leading article himself !
127
HUNTING SONGS
With closing daylight, when our pastime ends,
Together dining, we will part good friends ;
And home returning to his gas-lit court,
His mind enlighten'd by a good day's sport,
Of hounds and hunting some slight knowledge then
Shall guide the goose-quill, when he writes again.
Tar porky Swan - Hopp i?ig '
NOVEMBER 6, I 862
1
WHEN a Swan takes to singing they say she
will die,
But our Tarporley Swan proves that legend a lie ;
For a hundred years past she has swung at this door.
May she swing there and sing there a thousand years
more !
II
l^ara avis in terris our Swan though not black.
Though white her own pinions and white her own
back,
Still her flock, in November full-feather'd, are seen
Resplendent in plumage of scarlet and green.
Ill
Heralds sayshe is sprung from that White Swanof yore
Which our Sires at Blore Heath tothe battle-field bore;
When Qucesitum tneritis, loyal and true.
Their swords Cheshire men for Queen Margaret drew.
* Note 43.
128
TARPORLEY SWAN-HOPPING
IV
To and fro in her flight she has travers'd the Vale,
She has lov'd on an ocean of claret to sail ;
Whate'er takes her fancy she thinks it no sin,
So her dancing-days, now she's a hundred, begin.
You have heard in your youth of the Butterfly's Ball,
How the birds and the beasts she invited them all ;
So the Tarporley Swan, not a whit less gallant,
Invites all her friends to a Soiree dansante.
VI
Lest her flock at the Ball should themselves misbehave,
The old Swan thus a lecture on etiquette gave :
" Though, my sons, o'er the Vale you make light
of a fall,
Beware how you make a false step at the Ball.
vit
" In a valse if o'ercome by the whirl and the swing,
You your partner may fan with the tip of your wing ;
But expand not your pinions, 'twere folly to try.
In vain would their vastness with crinoline vie.
VIII
" When you sail down the middle, or swim through
a dance.
With grace and with stateliness Swan-like, advance.
Let your entrance, your exit no waddle disclose.
But hold all your heads up, and turn out your toes.
R 129
HUNTING SONGS
IX
"To the counsel convey'd in these motherly words
Give heed, and I trust you will all be good birds ;
I give you my blessing and bid you begone,
So away to the Ball with you, every one."
On the Proposed Division oj the
Cheshire Country
1865
FARMER DOBBIN AGAIN, OR, IT WONNA DO
I
FARMER DOBBIN ! you've heerd talk of him
afore now,
(My woif ou's a-nursing at whoam a nesh cow).
So a sope o' good woin wi' you green-collar gents,
While I spake up moi mind, and I hope no offence.
II
T'other day Maister Fair and moisel had a chat,
" Farmer Dobbin," says he, " do ye know what
they're at ? "
" No," says I. " Well," says he, " I have heerd a
strange tale :
They're for starting a new pack o' dogs in the Vale."
Ill
That's a fou nut to crack, if it beant spoke in jest.
It be worse boi the half than this forrin cow-pest ;
SoOithoug't Oi'dmake bowdjust to step up to-noight,
And to tell you moisel that that cock wonna fight.
130
FARMER DOBBIN AGAIN
IV
I know what lois is, for Oi've lived long enough.
We mun talc' as it comes, baith the smooth and the
rough ;
What ! sloice off the Vale ? Why Oi'd welly as lief
Have the fat aw cut off from moi Sunday roast-beef.
For our Parliament men it wur aw mighty fine
To score the owd county in two wi' a loin ;
Four members, aw reet uns, they say, to give maith,
Two for the North end and two for the Saith ;
VI
But this new-fangled split — now, I tell 'em aw four,
If they bean't plump agen it I'll back 'em no more ;
Sir Philip himsel', nor his brother staits/w^/;,
They shall nere catch a vote from owd Dobbin agen.
VII
What say crack sportsmen ? Squoir Tollemache ?
Squoir Glegg ? ^
S Squoir Dixon, the longest of aw in the leg ? V
^ What says Squoir Geoffrey ? — a mon of some weight.
One who hears pratty 'cute when there's mischief
agate.
VIII
And them two little birds that floy, hopping the twig,
What think brother Cissy and Guss o' this rig ?
Has your huntsman been tould what a loss will befall
him ?
And what says your poet, low-rate, as you call him ?
131
HUNTING SONGS
IX
Owd Sir Harry, he'd canter to Saighton one morn,
And the next be at Tidnock a-woinding his horn ;
Sartin sure, could th' owd manager hear it tawk'd
o'er,
He would jump from his grave to the saddle once
more.
Your chairman, Bowd Scarlet, a bumper disarves,
A hero who never does nothing by halves.
Ask him, and he'll soon finish up the discussion.
He never cut nothing in two but a Russian.
XI
The Fenians they say be a-coming red hot,
To blow us i' pieces wi' powder and shot ;
" Young Ireland " in toim may owd England upset.
But we donna want here a " Young Cheshire " — not
yet.
XII
As to haulving the Hunt betwixt owd pack and
new,
Oi'd as soon think o' cutting moi missis in two ;
To our Queen and our Country let aw on us stick,
To th' owd Pack, to th' owd Kennel, and four days
a wik.
132
KILLING NO MURDER
Killijtg no Murder
I KNOW not — search all England round,
If better Huntsman can be found,
A bolder rider or a neater.
When mounted for the field, than Peter ;
But this I know, there is not one
So bent on blood as Collison.
Hear now the doctrine he propounds,
All ye who love to follow hounds : —
Says he, " Since first my horn was blown.
This maxim have I made my own ;
Kill if you can with sport ; — but still —
Or with it or without it — kill.
A feather in my cap to pin,
A fresh one every brush I win !
That fox is doom'd who seeks for rest
In gorse or spinney when distrest ;
Though far and fast he may have sped.
He counts for nothing till he's dead.
I hold that Whip not worth his pay.
Who fails to keep him there at bay ;
When round and round the coverside
The mounted mob, like madmen, ride.
Now cross him here, now head him there.
While shouts and clamour rend the air.
Spare him, the gentle folk may say.
To live and fight another day ;
When April ends the hunting year.
How then should I in Bell appear .?
133
HUNTING SONGS
Or how my brother Huntsmen face
If short of booking fifty brace ?
Excuse me, gentlemen, I say.
My hounds have had but two to-day."
On Peter Collison s late Fall
1868
BAD luck betide that treacherous spot
Where Peter's horse, though at a trot,
Roll'd over, hurling headlong there
A Huntsman whom we ill could spare ;
As there he lay and gasp'd for breath.
Unconscious quite and pale as death.
The clinging hounds around him yell.
And wailing moans their sorrow tell.
Let , who over-rides them all,
Take warning by our Huntsman's fall ;
When such shall be that rider's fate
(And his it will be soon or late).
They o'er the downfall of their foe
Will not upraise the voice of woe ;
When prostrate, if the pack should greet him
With open mouths, 'twill be to eat him.
134
SIR CHARLES SLINGSBY AND HIS HORSE
"SALTFISH"
From a photograph
RIDING TO HOUNDS
Ridi7ig to Hounds
No inconsiderate rashness, or vain appetite
Of false encountering formidable things ;
But a true science of distinguishing
Ben Jonson.
AS when two dogs in furious combat close,
k. The bone forgotten whence the strife arose.
Some village cur secures the prize unseen,
And, while the mastiffs battle, picks it clean ;
So when two horsemen, jostling side by side.
Heed not the pack, but at each other ride.
More glorious still the loftier fences deem,
And face the brook where widest flows the stream ;
One breathless steed, when spurs no more avail.
Rolls o'er the cop, and hitches on the rail ; '
One floundering lies — to watery ditch consign'd,
While laughing schoolboy leaves them both behind,
Pricks on his pony 'till the brush be won.
And bears away the honours of the run.
Newby Ferry '
THE morning was mild as a morning in May,
Slingsby on Saltfish was out for the day ;
Thoughthe Ure was rain-swollen, the pack, dashing in,
Follow'd close on the fox they had found at the
Whin.
1 Note 44. 2 Note 45.
'35
HUNTING SONGS
II
They have cross'd it full cry, but the horsemen are
stay'd,
The ford is too deep for the boldest to wade ;
So to Newby they sped, like an army dispers'd.
Hoping each in his heart to be there with the first.
Ill
Lloyd, Robinson, Orvis, and Slingsby the brave.
Pressing on to that ferry to find there a grave ;
Little thought the four comrades when, rivals in
pace,
With such haste they spurr'd on that they rode a
death-race.
IV
Orvis now cries, in a voice of despair,
" They're away far ahead, and not one of us there !
Quickly, good ferrymen, haul to the shore.
Bad luck to your craft if we catch 'em no more ! "
Thus shouting, old Orvis leapt down to the bank.
And with Lloyd alongside led his horse to the plank ;
There stood they, dismounted, their hands on the rein,
Never more to set foot in the stirrup again !
VI
Eleven good men in the laden boat,
Eleven good steeds o'er the ferry float ;
Alas ! ere their ferrymen's task was done.
Two widows were weeping o'er tather and son !
136
NEWBY FERRY
VII
What meaneth that sudden and piercing cry
From the horsemen who stood on the bank hard by ?
The shadow of death seem'd to darken the wave.
And the torrent to pause as it open'd a grave.
VIII
Slingsby is sinking — his stretch'd arm had clung
To the rein of his horse as he overboard sprung ;
The barque, overburden'd, bends down on her side.
Heels o'er, and her freight is engulf'd in the tide.
IX
In that moment an age seem'd to intervene
Ere Vyner was first on the surface seen ;
The plank scarcely won ere his arm he extends
To reach and to rescue his sinking triends.
X
Whips knotted fast, in the haste of despair.
Reach not the doom'd who were drowning there ;
Swimmers undauntedly breasted the wave.
Till themselves were nigh sunk in their efforts to
save.
XI
Robinson (he who could bird-like skim
O'er fence and o'er fallow) unpractis'd to swim.
Hopeless of aid in his uttermost need.
Save in the strength of his gallant steed !
HUNTING SONGS
XII
Slowly that horse from the river's bed.
Still back'd by his rider, uprais'd his head ;
But the nostrils' faint breath and the terror-glaz'd eye
Tell how vain is all hope with its fury to vie.
XIII
Unappall'd, who could gaze on the heart-rending
sight ?
His rider unmov'd, in the saddle upright,
Calm for one moment, and then the death scream
As down, still unseated, he sank in the stream !
XIV
Slingsby meanwhile from the waters uprose.
Where deepest and strongest the mid-current flows ;
Manfully stemming its onward course.
He struck for the boat with his failing force.
XV
Then feebly one arm was uplifted, in vain
Striving to snatch at the chestnut's mane ;
For that faithful steed, through the rolling tide,
Had swum like a dog to his master's side.
XVI
At length by the stream he can buffet no more.
Borne, bleeding and pale, to the farther shore.
There, as the Slingsbys had oft-times lain.
Lay the last of that House in his harness slain !
138
HUNTING SONG
XVII
Sprung from a knightly and time-honour'd race.
Pride of thy county, and chief of her chace !
Though a stranger, not less is his sorrow sincere.
Who now weeps o'er the close of thy gallant career.
XVIII
Let Yorkshire, while England re-echoes her wail.
Bereft of her bravest, record the sad tale.
How Slingsby of Scriven, at Newby fell.
In the heat of that chace which he lov'd so well.
H.tmti?ig So7ig
OF all the recreations with which mortal man
is blest,
Go where he will, fox-hunting still is pleasantest and
best ;
The hunter knows no sorrow here, the cup of life
to him,
A bumper bright of fresh delight fill'd sparkling to
the brim.
Away, away we go,
With a tally, tally-ho.
With a tally, tally, tally, tally, tally, tally-ho !
139
HUNTING SONGS
II
O ! is it not — O ! is it not — a spirit-stirring sound,
The eager notes from tuneful throats that tell a fox
is found ?
O ! is it not — O ! is it not — a pleasant sight to see
The chequer'd pack, tan, white, and black, fly
scudding o'er the lea ?
Chorus.
Ill
How keen their emulation in the bustle of the
burst.
When side by side the foremost ride, each struggling
to be first ;
Intent on that sweet music which in front delights
their ear.
The sobbing loud of the panting crowd they heed
not in the rear.
Chorus.
IV
The field to all is open, whether clad in black or
red.
O'er rail and gate the feather-weight may thrust his
thorough-bred ;
While heavier men, well mounted, though not fore-
most in the fray.
If quick to start and stout of heart, need not be far
away.
Chorus.
140
TARPORLEY SONG
And since that joy is incomplete which Beauty
shuns to share,
Or maid or bride, if skill'd to ride, we fondly
welcome there ;
Where woodland hills our music fills and echo swells
the chorus.
Or when we fly with a scent breast high, and a
galloping fox before us.
Chorus.
1868.
Tarporley Song
1870
RECALLING the days of old Bluecap and
Barry,
Of Bedford and Gloster, George Heron and Sir
Harry,
A bumper to-night the QuEesitum shall carry.
Which nobody can deny.
II
Tho' his rivals by Meynell on mutton were fed.
When the race o'er the Beacon by Bluecap was led,
A hundred good yards was the winner ahead.
Which nobody can deny.
141
HUNTING SONGS
III
The gentry of Cheshire, whate'er their degrees,
Stanleys or Egertons, Leycesters or Leghs,
One and all with green ribbons have garter'd their
knees,
Which nobody can deny.
IV
Over grass while the youngsters were skimming the
vale,
Down the pavement away went the old ones full sail.
Each green collar flapp'd by a powder'd pigtail.
Which nobody can detjy.
When foxes were flyers and gorse covers few,
Those hounds of Sir Harry, where thickest it grew.
How they dash'd into Huxley and hustled it through,
IVhich nobody can deny.
VI
The sport they began may we still carry on.
And we forty good fellows, who meet at the Swan,
To the green collar stick, tho' our breeches be gone.
Which nobody can deny.
VII
Still, whether clad in short garments or long.
With a Cotton to sing us a fox-hunting song.
And a Corbet to lead us, we cannot go wrong.
Which nobody can deny.
142
WELLINGTON H. STAPLETON COTTON,
2nd VISCOUNT COMBERMERE
From a painting by H. G. Herkomer
I
SQUIRE OF GRUMBLETON
A Growl from the Squire of Gru7nbleto?i
I
1WAS born and bred a Tory,
And my prejudice is strong,
Young men, bear with me kindly.
If you think my notions wrong.
II
I learnt them from my father,
One whose pride it was to sit.
Ere the ballot-box was thought of,
By the side of Billy Pitt.
Ill
I love the gabled mansion
By my ancestors uprear'd,
Where the stranger-guest is welcome.
And the friend by time endear'd.
IV
I love the old grey bell-tower.
And its ivy-muffled clock ;
And I love the honest Parson
As himself he loves his flock.
Fresh youth I feel within me
When a morning fox is found.
And I hear the merry music
Through the ringing woods resound.
HUNTING SONGS
VI
And I love, when evening closes.
And a good day's sport is o'er,
Thrice to pour into the wine-cup
Ruddy port of thirty-four.
VII
I have told you what I love — now
Let me tell you what I hate —
That accurs'd Succession Duty
On the heir to my estate.
VIII
Old Nelson to the Frenchman
In a voice of thunder spoke,
What would Nelson say to Gladstone
With his tax on British oak ?
IX
Hounds I hate which, shy of stooping.
Must be lifted still and cast.
Like many a fool who follows.
Far too flashy and too fast.
iron engines which have silenc'd
In the barn the thresher's flail ;
Iron wires, a modern makeshift
For the honest post and rail.
144
SQUIRE OF GRUMBLETON
XI
Knaves and blacklegs, who have elbow'd
From the Turf all honest men,
Blasted names and ruin'd houses
Fallen ne'er to rise again.
XII
Cant and unwhipp'd swindlers —
Rant and rivalry of sect —
Pride and working wenches
In silk and satin deck'd.
XIII
Song from the green bough banish'd
The voiceless woodlands still.
The sparkle of the trout stream
Foul'd and blacken'd by the mill.
XIV
A Unionist each craftsman,
A poacher every clown.
Brawl and beerhouse in the Village,
Lust and ginshop in the Town.
XV
Though with all thy faults, dear England,
In my heart I love thee still.
These are plague-spots on thy beauty
Which mine eyes with sorrow fill.
T 145
HUNTING SONGS
The C overside Phantojn
ONE morning in November,
As the village clock struck ten.
Came trooping to the coverside
A field of hunting men ;
'Twas neither Quorn nor Pytchley horn
That summon'd our array ;
No ; we who met were a homely set,
In a province far away.
II
As there we stood, conversing.
Much amazement seiz'd the Hunt,
When, spick and span, an unknown man
Rode onwards to the front ;
All whisper'd, gazing wonderstruck,
" Who can the stranger be ? "
Forsooth they were, that man and mare,
A comely sight to see.
in
The mare a faultless chestnut
As was ever strapp'd by groom ;
Nor fault could in the man be found.
Nor flaw in his costume ;
A silk cord loop'd the hunting hat.
The gloves' consummate fit
No crease disturb'd, and burnish'd bright
Shone stirrup, chain, and bit.
146
THE COVERSIDE PHANTOM
IV
The rider's seat was firm and neat
As rider's seat could be ;
The buckskin white was button'd tight.
And knotted at the knee ;
Above the boots' jet polish
Was a top of tender stain,
Nor brown nor white, but a mixture light,
Of rose-leaves and champagne.
V
The heart that waistcoat buttons up
Must be a heart of steel,
As keen as the keenest rowel
On the spur that decks his heel ;
We look'd the stranger over.
And we gravely shook our heads.
And we felt a sad conviction
He would cut us into shreds.
VI
A glance I stole from my double sole
To my coat of faded red ;
The scarlet which had once been there
My countenance o'erspread ;
I blush'd with shame — no wonder !
So completely was the shine
By the man and mare beside me
Taken out of me and mine.
H7
HUNTING SONGS
VII
How his portrait sketch'd for " Baily "
Would the sporting world enchant,
By the pen of a Whyte-Melville,
Or the pencil of a Grant !
An Adonis, scarlet-coated !
A glorious field Apollo,
May we have pluck and the rare good luck,
When he leads the way, to follow !
VIII
So intense my admiration
(What I thought I dare not say).
But I felt inclin'd in my inmost mind,
To wish for a blank day,
Lest a piece of such rare metal.
So elaborately gilt.
Should expose its polish'd surface
To a scratch by being spilt.
IX
Sad to think, should such a get-up
By a downfall come to grief;
That a pink of such perfection
Should become a crumpled leaf !
Sad to think this bird of Paradise
Should risk its plumage bright
By encounter with a bullfinch,
Or a mud-stain in its flight !
1-48
THE COVERSIDE PHANTOM
But all that glitters is not gold,
However bright it seem ;
Ere long a sudden change came o'er
The spirit of my dream ;
No defeat ourselves awaited
From the man nor from his mount ;
No ground for the discomfort
We had felt on his account.
XI
A fox was found ; the stirring sound
That nerv'd us for the fray —
That hallo burst the bubble.
And the phantom scar'd away ;
We cross'd the vale o'er post and rail,
Up leaps and downward drops ;
But where, oh where, was the chestnut mare
And the man with tinted tops ?
XII
He was not with the foremost.
As they one and all declare ;
Nor was he with the hindmost, —
He was neither here nor there ;
The last, they say, seen of him
Was in front of the first fence.
And no one e'er could track the mare.
Or spot the rider thence.
149
HUNTING SONGS
XIII
All turquoise and enamel.
Like a watch trick'd up for show.
Though a pretty thing to look at,
Far too beautiful to go ;
He, the man at whose appearance
We had felt ourselves so small,
Was only the ninth part of one —
A tailor after all !
XIV
His own line, when he took it,
Was by railway ticket ta'en ;
First-class, a rattling gallop,
As he homeward went by train ;
A horse-box for his hunter.
And a band-box for himself,
One was shunted into hidlands.
T'other laid upon the shelf.
The Ladie of the Castle of Wi?tcieck
translated from the german
(adelbert chamisso)
I
" r7ATED Horseman ! onward speeding,
1 Hold ! — thy panting courser check ;-
Thee the Phantom Stag misleading,
Hurrieth to the lone Windeck ! "
150
THE LADIE OF WINDECK
II
Where two towers, their strength uprearing.
O'er a ruin'd gateway rise.
There the quarry disappearing
Vanish'd from the Hunter's eyes.
Ill
Lone and still ! — no echo sounded ;
Blaz'd the sun in noonday pride ;
Deep he drew his breath astounded.
And his streaming forehead dried.
IV
" Precious wine lies hid below, in
Ruin'd cellar here, they say ;
O ! that I, with cup o'erflowing.
Might my scorching thirst allay ! "
Scarcely by his parch'd lips spoken
Winged words the wish proclaim,
Ere from arch with ivy broken.
Forth a fair handmaiden came.
VI
Light of step, a glorious maiden !
Robe of shining white she wore ;
With her keys her belt was laden,
Drinking-horn in hand she bore.
151
HUNTING SONGS
VII
Precious wine, from cup o'erflowing.
With an eager mouth he quafFd ;
Fire he felt within him glowing.
As he drain'd the magic draught.
VIII
Eyes of deep blue, softly glancing ! —
Flowing locks of golden hue ! —
He with clasped hands advancing
'Gan the Maiden's love to sue.
IX
Fraught with strange mysterious meaning.
Pitying look she on him cast ;
Then, her form the ivy screening.
Swiftly, as she came, she past.
From that hour enchanted ever.
Spellbound to the Windeck lone.
From that hour he slumber'd never.
Rest, and peace, and hope unknown.
XI
Night and day that ruin'd portal
Pale and wan he hovers nigh,
Though unlike to living mortal.
Still without the power to die.
152
BEESTON CASTLE
^thtm
- --^^ ^t^--.X'.1<
THE TWO WIZARDS
XII
Once again the maid, appearing,
After many a year had past,
Prest his lip with kiss endearing.
Broke the spell of life at last.
TIdc Two Wizards
GIVE ear, ye who dwell in the Tarporley Vale,
While I tell you of Beeston a wonderful tale ;
Where its crag, castle-crown'd, overhanging the
steep.
Noddles down like the head of an old man asleep,
A cavern is scoop'd, though unseen by the eye,
In the side of that rock, where it stands high and dry.
There has dwelt for long ages, and there dwelleth
still,
A Magician — believe it or not, as you will ;
He was there when Earl Blundevill laid the first
stone
Of those walls, now with ivy and moss overgrown ;
He was there when King Henry proclaim'd himself
Lord,
When he belted his son with the Palatine sword ;
He to King Richard gave up this stronghold,
Therein to deposit his jewels and gold ;
He was there when the Puritans mounted the steep.
And defied the king's troops from its garrison'd keep ;
And there stood this Wizard to witness the fight.
When Rupert's good sword put those rebels to flight.
u 153
HUNTING SONGS
For two centuries then it was left to decay,
And its walls, weather-beaten, fell piece-meal away.
And his home grew so dull when the fighting was o'er,
The Wizard declar'd he could live there no more ;
Till the thought cross'd his brain that to cheer his
lone days
Some playmates the power of his magic might raise.
So at sunrise one morn stepping forth from his cell.
He uplifted his wand and he mutter'd a spell ;
Each wave of that wand was seen life to infuse.
And the stones that it touch'd, all became kangaroos.
He had hung round the walls of his cavern inside
The armour of those who had fought there and
died ;
Transforming those plates which long rust had worn
thin.
He fitted each beast with a jacket of skin ;
Then pluck'd from each sword-blade its black leather
sheath.
Which he twisted and stuck as a tail underneath.
And there, as a shepherd sits watching his flock.
Sits this kangaroo keeper a-perch on his rock.
Invisible still, but his care night and day
Is to feed them and watch lest they wander astray.
Ever anxious, he guards them more tenderly still.
When the huntsman his pack has let loose on the
hill;
And those hounds, terror-stricken, all riot eschew.
When they hear a strange voice crying, " Ware
Kangaroo ! "
154
THE TWO WIZARDS
To this Wizard invisible bidding farewell,
Of another I yet have a story to tell ;
No invisible sprite ! when he stands full in view,
You will own him a man, and a goodly man too.
He it is vv^ho by dint of his magical skill
Uplifted the stones from the high Stanna hill ;
Nor paus'd till those fragments, pil'd up to the sky,
Assum'd the fair form of that castle hard by ;
He brandish'd his spade, and along the hill-side
The ascent, by a roadway, made easy and wide ;
Unlike the hid portal I spoke of before,
Very plain to the eye is his wide-open door ;
Where the tiles of the pavement, the stones of the
wall
Unceasingly echo a welcome to all.
There are stables where steeds stand by tens in a
row.
There are chambers above, and vast cellars below ;
Each bed in those chambers holds nightly a guest.
Each bin in that cellar is fill'd with the best.
When this Wizard wends forth from his turreted walls.
Four horses are bitted and led from their stalls.
He mounts and looks down on a team from his
box,
All perfect in shape from their heads to their
hocks ;
The coats that they carry are burnish'd like gold.
Their fire by a touch of his finger controU'd ;
A whip for his wand, when their paces he springs,
You might fancy their shoulders were furnish'd with
wings ;
^55
HUNTING SONGS
Away ! rough or smooth, whether up-hill or down,
Through highway and byeway, through village and
town !
With that ease and that grace with which ladies can
wheedle
Stubborn silk through the eye of a delicate needle,
Through the arch with huge portal on either side
hung,
He his leaders can thrust whether restive or young ;
O'er the bridge at Bate's Mill he can twist at full
speed,
Charioteering — which proves him a Wizard indeed.
Faint harp-strings at night o'er his castle resound ;
Their tone when first heard by the country-folk
round,
They fancied (so far it surpass'd human skill)
That angels were tuning their harps on the hill ;
It was strung, I knew well, by an angel inside.
The fingers that swept it were those of his bride.
Oft-times they who deal in these magical arts
Bear hatred and malice to man in their hearts ;
But to enmity ne'er was this Wizard inclin'd,
A well-dispos'd being to all human kind ;
To console the afflicted, the poor to befriend.
Of his magic, is still the sole object and end ;
And each cottager's prayer is, that spells such as
these
He may long live to work in this Valley of Cheese.
156
H. REGINALD CORBET
From a painting by IV. Carter
ON A TAME FOX
072 a Tufne Fox
A PARLOUR PET AT DALEFORD, THE RESIDENCE OF THE
MASTER OF THE CHESHIRE HOUNDS
I
SQUIRE CORBET ! at all seasons
A fox is his delight,
A wild one for the morning,
And a tame one for the night ;
II
For the fox that scours the country
We a green gorse cover raise.
But parlour pug lies warm and snug
In a cover of green baize.
in
Or in his chair reposing.
Or o'er the saddle bent,
Corbet, wide awake or dozing.
Is never off the scent.
IV
He needs no kirtled housemaid,
The carpet on the stairs
Is dusted by the sweeping
Of the brush that Reynard wears.
V
This hunting man's housekeeper.
She, without distress of nerves.
Oft amongst the currant jelly
Finds a fox in her preserves.
^S7
HUNTING SONGS
VI
Bones of chicken ever picking.
This pet, so fed and nurs'd,
Though he never gave a gallop,
He may finish with a bui'st.
The NLare a7id her Master
I
THOUGH my sight is grow^n dim, though my
arm is grown weak,
Grey hairs on my forehead, and lines on my cheek ;
Though the verdure of youth is now yellow and
sere,
I feel my heart throb when November draws near.
II
I could pardon the wrongs thou hast done me. Old
Time !
If thy hand would but help me the stirrup to climb ;
The one pleasure left is to gaze on my mare,
Her with whom I lov'd best the excitement to share.
Ill
Sound wind and limb, without blemish or speck,
Her rider disabled, her owner a wreck !
Unstripp'd and unsaddled, she seems to ask why ;
Unspurr'd and unbooted, I make no reply.
158
THE MARE AND HER MASTER
IV
Remembrance then dwells on each hard-ridden
run,
On the country we cross'd, on the laurels we won ;
Fleet limbs once extended, now cribb'd in their
stall,
They speak of past triumphs, past gallops recall.
V
I remember, when baulk'd of our start at the find,
How we slipp'd, undismay'd, through the rabble
behind ;
No check to befriend us, still tracking the burst,
Till by dint of sheer swiftness the last became first.
VI
And that day I remember, when crossing the bed
Of a deep rolling river, the pack shot ahead ;
How the dandies, though cased in their waterproof
Peals,
Stood aghast as we stemm'd it, and stuck to their
heels.
VII
How ere Jack with his hammer had riven the nail,
And unhing'd the park-gate, we had skimm'd the oak
pale ;
Over bogs where the hoof of the cocktail stuck
fast.
How her foot without sinking Camilla-like pass'd.
159
HUNTING SONGS
VIII
I remember, though warn'd by the voice of Tom
Ranee —
" Have a care of that fence " — how we ventur'd the
chance ;
How we faced it and fell — from the depth of the drain
How we pick'd ourselves up and were with 'em
again.
IX
Over meadows of water, through forests of wood,
Over grass-land or plough, there is nothing like blood ;
Whate'er place I coveted, thou, my good mare.
Despite of all hindrances, landed me there.
X
The dearest of friends I that man must account,
To whom on her saddle I proffer a mount ;
And that friend shall confess that he never yet knew.
Till he handled my pet, what a flyer could do.
XI
Should dealers comedown from the Leicestershire vale.
And turn with good gold thy own weight in the scale,
Would I sell thee ? not I, for a millionaire's purse !
Through life we are wedded for better for worse.
XII
I can feed thee, and pet thee, and finger thy mane.
Though I ne'er throw my leg o'er thy quarters again ;
Gold shall ne'er purchase one lock of thy hair.
Death alone shall bereave the old man of his mare.
1871.
160
V
CHARLES CHOLMONDELEY
From a painting by Henry Calvert, 1 840
FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY
Farewell to Tarporley
TO comrades of the hunting-field, tho' sad to say
farewell,
'Tis pleasant still on olden days at Tarporley to dwell :
On friends for whom, alive or dead, our love is
unimpair'd.
The mirth and the adventure and the sport that we
have shar'd.
n
The feelings of good fellowship which Tarporley
unite,
The honour'd names recorded which have made its
annals bright,
Old Charley Cholmondeley's portrait and the fashion
of our clothes.
In the days of padded neckcloths, breeches green, and
silken hose.
Ill
The upright form of Delamere, Sir Richard's grace-
ful seat.
The brothers three from Dorfold sprung whom none
of us could beat ;
The fun with which Bob Grosvenor enliven'd every
speech.
The laugh of Charley Wicksted lengthen'd out into
a screech,
X i6i
HUNTING SONGS
IV
The classical Quassitum and the President's hard chair,
Each year's succeeding Patroness whose charms were
toasted there ;
The inevitable wrangle which the Farmer's cup
provokes,
Sir Watkin cracking biscuits, and Sir Harry cracking
jokes.
v
The match in which though Adelaide but held a
second place.
No judge was there to certify that Go-by won the
race.
The stakes withheld — the winner told jocosely by the
Hunt,
With nothing else to pocket he must pocket the
affront.
VI
Earl Wilton ever foremost amid Leicestershire high
flyers,
Coming down from Melton Mowbray to enlighten
Cheshire Squires ;
Belgrave who unbreech'd us, and one fatal afternoon
First cloth'd us to the ankle in the modern pantaloon.
VII
The foxes which from Huxley gorse have led us
many a dance,
Joe Maiden, best of huntsmen, best of whips old
Tommy Ranee ;
I 62
FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY
That good old soul, John Dixon, and his lengthy s:.
draught of ale,
That mirthful day when " Little Dogs " came home
without a tail.
VIII
The glory of that gallop which old Oulton Low
supplied,
The front-rank, men of Cheshire charging onward
side by side ;
The Baron with his spurs at work in rear of the
advance,
When Britain, in the field, for once ran clean away
from France.
IX
The find at Brindley cover and at Dorfold Hall the
kill,
The Breeches left behind us but the brush before us
still ;
The fox that skimm'd the Tilston cream — forget we
never shall
The score of hunting breeches that were wash'd in
that canal.
X
And that ill-starr'd disaster when, unconscious of the
leap,
I dropp'd into the water of a marl-pit six feet deep ;
Enough to damp the keenest — but conceive the
fearful sight.
When I found that underneath me lay the body of
Jack White.
163
HUNTING SONGS
XI
The harmony infus'd into the rhymes which I had
strung.
When first I heard the " Columbine " by James Smith
Barry sung ;
While canvas the remembrance of Sir Peter shall
prolong.
May the name of his successor be endear 'd to you
in song.
XII
The carving of the venison when it smok'd upon the
board.
The twinkling eye of Johnny Glegg, the chaff of
Charley Ford ;
The opening of the oysters, and the closing of the eyes
In slumber deep — that balmy sleep which midnight
cup supplies.
XIII
Sir Humphrey and Geof. Shakerley, whose friendship
never fails,
Tho' long of two opinions which was heaviest in the
scales ;
In love of sport as in their weight an even race they
run,
So here's a health to both of them and years of future
fun.
XIV
Old Time, who keeps his own account, however well
we wear.
Time whispers " to the old ones you must add
another pair,"
164
FAREWELL TO TARPORLEY
May Lascelles in his chosen home long, fong a
dweller be,
To Philo gorse a bumper, to Sir Philip three times
three.
XV
Young inheritors of hunting, ye who would the sport
should last.
Think not the chace a hustling race, fit only for the
fast ;
If sport in modern phrase must be synonymous with
speed.
The good old English animal will sink into a weed.
XVI
Accept the wish your Laureate leaves behind him ere
we part,
That wish shall find an echo in each Cheshire sports-
man's heart,
May Time still spare one favour'd pair, tho' other
creatures fail,
The Swan that floats above us, and the Fox that
skims the Vale !
xvii
The snobs who haunt the hunting-field, and rouse
the master's ire,
The fence of fair appearance masking lines of hidden
wire ;
A straight fox mobb'd and headed by the laggards
in the lane,
A good one dug and murder'd, I have seen such
sights with pain.
165
HUNTING SONGS
XVIII
I never kill'd save once a hound, I saw him on his
back
With deep remorse — he w^as, of course, the best one
in the pack ;
The thought oft-time has griev'd me with a wild fox
well away,
That friends right worthy of it should have miss'd the
lucky day,
XIX
If e'er my favourite cover unexpectedly was blank,
Then silent and dispirited my heart within me sank ;
But never till this moment has a tear bedimm'd mine
eye,
With sorrow such as now I feel in wishing you
Good-bye.
1872.
The Pheasant and the Fox
A FABLE
I
" /^CTOBER strips the forest, we have pass'd the
V-x equinox,
It is time to look about us," said the Pheasant to the
Fox ;
" I cannot roost in comfort at this season of the year.
The volleys of the battue seem to thunder in my ear."
166
THE PHEASANT AND THE FOX
II
" Time indeed it is," said Reynard, " for the fray to
be prepar'd.
For open war against us has already been declar'd ;
Two cubs, last week, two hopeful cubs, the finest out
of five.
Within their mother's hearing chopp'd, were eaten up
alive.
Ill
" Within our woodland shelter here, two winter
seasons through,
You and I have dwelt together in a friendship firm
and true ;
Still, I own it, to my yearning heart one envious
feeling clings.
Cock-pheasant ! what I covet is the privilege of
wings.
IV
" To you the gift is perilous, in safety while you run.
It is only when uprisingthat you temptthelevell'dgun;
Would that I could rid you of those wings you
rashly wear.
And plant upon my back instead, a well-proportioned
pair.
V
" Think oi Victory defeated, as to triumph on she sped,
Think of 'Boaster^ terror-stricken, as my pinions I
outspread ;
Think of Crafty s baffled cunning, think of Vul-
picide s despair.
Think of Leveller s amazement, as I mounted in
mid-air !
167
HUNTING SONGS
VI
" To the Huntsman, when at fault, then I jeeringly
would cry,
' Not gone to ground is the fox you found, but lost
in a cloudy sky ! '
Or, perch'd upon some tree-top, looking downwards
at the group.
And, lifting to one ear a pad, would halloo there,
' Who whoop ! ' "
VII
"Thank you, kindly," said the Pheasant, "true it
is that, while I run.
No worthy mark I offer to attract the murderous
gun;
But say, should hunger pinch you, could a Pheasant-
cock rely
On the abstinence of friendship, if he had not wings
to fly ? "
MORAL
Self, Self it is that rules us all — when hounds begin
to race.
To aid a friend in grief would you resign a forward
place ?
When planted at the brook, o'er which your rival's
horse has flown,
Don't you wish the rider in it, and the rider's luck
your own ?
i68
/
THE STRANGER'S STORY
The Stranger s Story
PART I. THE BREAKFAST
FOUR friends, all scarlet-coated,
Eager all to join the pack.
At the breakfast board were seated,
Jem and Jerry, Ned and Jack.
Giant Jem, a ponderous horseman,
With a bull-like head and throttle,
O'er each boot a calf expanding.
Like a cork in soda bottle ;
Still to add Jem never scrupled,
When the beef was on his plate,
To the four stone he quadrupled.
Many a pound of extra weight.
Jerry, bent on competition.
Spread his napkin underneath.
But the tongue's untiring motion
Check'd the action of his teeth.
He told them what he had done
On his chestnut and his grey.
And when that tale was ended.
What he meant to do to-day.
y 169
HUNTING SONGS
Ned was booted to perfection.
Better rider there was none,
But jealousy, when mounted.
Was the spur that prick'd him on.
To him the run was wormwood,
No enioyment in the burst.
Unless he led the gallop,
And was foremost of the first.
Jack, who never said, like Horner,
" How good a boy am I,"
Sat listening at the corner
Of the table meek and shy ;
No word he spoke, till question'd
On what horse he rode to-day ?
Then modestly he answer'd,
" I have nothing but the Bay."
Breakfast over on they canter,
Till the covert-side they reach ;
When you hear my story ended.
You will know the worth of each.
PART II. THE DINNER
At night again they gather'd
Round a board of ample fare.
And though myself a stranger guest,
They bade me welcome there.
170
THE STRANGER'S STORY
Jem, Jerry, Ned, swashbucklers,
You'd have thought by their discourse.
Each alternately extolling
First himself and then his horse.
Giant Jem, a road-abider.
One who seldom risk'd a tall,
The line the fox had taken
He describ'd it best of all.
Told them where he cross'd the river,
Told them where he fac'd the hill.
Told them too, and thought it true.
That he himself had seen the kill.
Jerry's tongue still faster prattled
As the wine-cup wet his lips ;
Had the pack apace thus rattled,
'Twould have baffled an Eclipse.
Nought I felt would baffle Jerry,
From the find until the death.
No rate of speed would e'er succeed
To put him out of breath.
Ned was far in commendation
Of himself ahead of each.
Still there lurk'd amari aliquid
Beneath his flowers of speech.
171
HUNTING SONGS
Still jarr'd some note discordant
As he blew the trumpet loud,
Still dimm'd the radiant glory
Of the day some little cloud.
At each daring deed of horsemanship
Amazement I express ;
'Mid such mighty men of valour
Which the mightiest ? who could guess ?
Till at length a tell-tale offer
Set the question quite at rest ;
Nor could I doubt which, out and out.
Of the four had seen it best.
Jack had never said, like Horner,
" How good a boy am I,"
But I saw within the corner
Of his lid a twinkle sly ;
When to Jack, though in a whisper,
Ned was overheard to say,
" If you'll take four hundred for him,
You shall have it for the Bay."
The Lovers'" Quarrel
FOR a maid fair and young to the portal was led.
For her pastime one morning, a bay thorough-
bred ;
At once with light step to the saddle she bounds.
Then away to the crowd which encircled the hounds.
172
THE LOVERS' QUARREL
'Mid the many who moved in that bustle and stir,
There was one, one whose heart lay a-bleeding for
her ;
One who thought, tho' as yet he approach'd not her
side.
With what care, if need were, he would guard her
and guide.
To and fro waves the gorse as the hounds are
thrown in,
'Tis a fox, and glad voices the chorus begin ;
That maiden's keen eye, o'er the crest of her bay.
Was the first to detect him when stealing away.
As she shot through the crowd at the covert-side
gate,
" 'Tis the same gallant fox that outstripp'd us of
late ;
The darling old fox ! " she exclaimed, with delight,
Then away like a dart to o'ertake the first flight.
Tho' he took the old line, the old pace was surpass'd
(He will own a good steed, he who lives to the
last),
Her own she press'd on without fear, for she knew
She was mounted on one that would carry her
through.
She had kept her own place with a feeling of pride.
When her ear caught the voice of a youth along-
side,
" There's a fence on ahead that no lady should face.
Turn aside to the left — I will show you the place."
173
HUNTING SONGS
Women mostly, they say, love to take their own line.
Giving thanks for advice which they mean to
decline ;
Whether women accept the advice or oppose it,
Depends, I think, much on the man who bestows it.
That voice seem'd to fall on her ear like a spell,
She turn'd, for she thought she could trust it right
well ;
To the field on the left they diverted their flight —
At that moment the pack took a turn to the right.
" Persevere," said the youth, " let us gain the beech-
wood,
The old fox will assuredly make his point good ; "
Knowing scarce what she did, she still press'd on the
bay.
Nor found out till too late, they were both led astray.
Youth and maid they stood still when they reach'd
the wood-side,
Forlorn, then, the hope any further to ride ;
In despair they look round, but no movement espy.
Not a hound to be seen either distant or nigh.
Both silent there stood they — indignant the maid.
The youth stung with grief at the part he had play'd ;
Still he thought, from the wreck he had made of the
day.
That some treasure of hope he might yet bear away.
174
'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
Thus the silence he broke : "Until hunting were done
I had hop'd, dearest maid, this avowal to shun,
Till the season were over to practise restraint,
Nor to vex you till then with a lover's complaint,
" But the moment is come, and the moment I seize.
Those glances of anger let pity appease,
Leave me — leave me no longer in anguish and doubt.
While I live you shall never again be thrown out."
"Is it thus," she exclaimed, "that a bride can be won ?
Wretched man that you are, you have lost me my run !
Farewell ! nor the hand of a huntress pursue,
When the whip which it grasps is deservedly due."
Though that lover rode home the most wretched of
men.
Though that maid vow'd a vow they should ne'er
meet again.
Love laughs at the quarrels of lovers they say,
When the season was o'er, they were married in May.
'Z/j Sixty Years Since
" \/OUR heart is fresh as ever, Ned,
1 Although your head be white ;
We must crack, another bottle, Ned,
Before we say good-night ;
Our legs across the saddle
Though we fling them never more.
We may rest them on the fender
While we talk our gallops o'er."
^7S
HUNTING SONGS
" By you 'tis somewhat hard. Jack,
Old Grizzle to be called,
You know that head of yours, Jack,
Is altogether bald.
Still I'm good, my jolly fellow,
For another flask of port.
In memory of those merry days
When fox-hunting was sport."
" How sorely, Ned, our Eton odes
Tormented those who scann'd 'em,
The traces were our longs and shorts.
Our gradus was the tandem ;
Bob Davis for our tutor.
With that colt — still four years old.
Though ten since he was leader,
And ten more since he was foal'd.
" Unaw'd by impositions,
While the lecture-room we shirk'd,
At our little-go in hunting
With what diligence we work'd ;
When from Canterbury gateway
We spurr'd the Oxford hack,
A shilling every milestone
Till we reach'd the Bicester pack ;
" Right welcome there the sport to share.
Himself so much enjoyed,
How kindly were we shaken
By the hand of old Griff Lloyd ;
176
'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
How we plunged into the river,
Led and cheer'd by Jersey's call :
' Come on ! ' he cried, ' the stream is wide
And deep enough for all.'
" How intense the admiration
Which to Heythrop's Duke we bore,
Riding royally to covert
In his chariot-and-tour ;
Cigars, as yet a novelty,
His Grace's ire provoking,
' What chance to pick the scent up.
Filthy fellows ! they are smoking.'
" The cheer of Philip Payne as he
The echoing woodlands drew.
The scarlet coats contending
With the coats of buff and blue ;
Stone walls o'er which without a hitch
The thoroughbred ones flew.
While blown and tir'd the hunter hir'd
Roll'd like a spent ball through."
" Well, Jack, do I remember
With what glee we sallied forth
To the fixtures of Ralph Lambton
When our home was in the North ;
How, when the day was over.
We around the Sedgefield fire.
Sang ' Ballinamoniora '
In honour of the Squire.
z 177
HUNTING SONGS
" And that week with old Sir Harry
Which at Tarporley we spent,
Where Chester's dewy pastures
Are renown'd for holding scent ;
Where Dorfold's Squire o'er saddle flaps
Unpadded threw his leg.
Where stride for stride, rode side by side.
Sir Richard and John Glegg.
" That Rupert of the hunting-field,
Tom Smith the lion-hearted,
Where grew the fence, where flow'd the stream.
Could baffle him when started ?
A game-cock in the battle-ring.
An eagle in his flight,
A shooting-star when mounted.
But a fixed one in the fight;
" Though no longer what we were, Ned,
Ere the reign of good Queen Vic,
Methinks we still could teach them
How their fathers did the trick ;
I hold the young ones cheap, Ned — "
" Hush, your son is at the door.
With his pipe of Latakia,
We had better say no more."
[78
THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON
The Close of the Seaso?i
SPRING ! I will give you the reason in rhyme
Why for hunting I hold it the pleasantest time,
When the gorse 'gins to blossom, the hazel to sprout.
When Spring flowers and Spring captains together
come out.
When with smiles and with sunshine all nature looks
gay,
When the fair one, equipped in fresh hunting array.
No splash of mud-dirt to encumber the skirt.
Though no fox should be found, may find leisure to
flirt.
When assured of success, ere the steeplechase day,
Jones writes to his tailor imploring delay,
When the silk jacket wins he will pay for the pink.
Is the promise, when written, worth paper and ink ?
November's young fox, as yet timid and shy,
O'er a country unknown will scarce venture to fly ;
One spared through the winter to wander astray.
Leads the pack stoutly back to his home far away.
Chill'd by checks and wrong casts, which the scurry
impede.
You may chance in December to lose a good steed ;
And what rider unvex'd can his temper restrain.
Urging home a tired hunter through darkness and
rain !
179
HUNTING SONGS
Trotting homeward in Spring on the hope we rely
That we reach it ere dark with our hunting-coat dry ;
The horse undistress'd by the work he has done,
The rider well pleased with his place in the run.
This world, can it show such a picture of woe
As a frozen-out Master imprison'd in snow ?
His feet on the fender he rides his arm-chair.
Even ' Baily ' avails not to soothe his despair.
Good sport with good cheer merry Christmas may
bring,
But the joy of all joys is a gallop in Spring,
By the thought, when a brook we encounter made
bold.
That the stream is less rapid, the water less cold.
When each cheer is by song of sweet birds echoed back,
Their music a prelude to that of the pack ;
When clouds soft and southerly streak the blue sky,
When the turf is elastic and scent is breast high.
'The Man with Ofie Hunter
THERE are lords who their hunters can count by
the score.
Scarce a Squire in the land but can stable his four ;
Like myself, there are few who, too poor to keep two,
Go a-hunting on one, and that one an old screw.
i8o
THE MAN WITH ONE HUNTER
One that flaps at a ditch, like a duck at a pond,
Well content if he land me three inches beyond ;
If the cop his two fore-legs successfully climb.
His hind ones will follow in due course of time.
I have oft thought it strange, with a harem of wives.
How among them the Turk to keep order contrives ;
One wife in an Englishman's house quantum suf..
But one horse in his stable is not quite enough.
I would sell without grief the last shirt from my
back.
Nor care though my coat were cut out from a sack.
If the duns would but leave me a saddle to sit on ;
And a horse underneath it with bridle and bit on.
No blot on my scutcheon, a gentleman born.
If of lowly descent I were far less forlorn ;
I might then to the post of a Huntsman aspire,
Or at least ride as Whip to some fox-hunting Squire.
Brother Tom, once in deeper distress than myself.
He, without even one, was laid quite on the shelf;
But ere cutting his throat he an heiress address'd.
And at once with a wife and a stud he was blest.
Though through life I have bent to Diana my knee.
She has never bestow'd a like favour on me.
Though unmounted herself does the goddess not
know.
He now needs a good horse who a-hunting would go.
i8i
HUNTING SONGS
Ye who own patent mangers, where flyers are fed.
Which the dealer supplies at three hundred a head.
Let a crumb from your stable in charity fall,
Give a mount to the man who can fill but one stall.
'Brother Tom
A SEQUEL TO THE MAN WITH ONE HUNTER
" Ogni medaglia ha il suo riverso "
RESCUED from suicide, brought back, to life
From the depth of despair by a stable and wife.
Brother Tom, to whom Hymen had given this lift,
Brother Tom of his luck I will tell you the drift.
That good wife he wedded is gone to her rest.
Leaving Tom of her lands and her fortune possest ;
But no ticket can life from vexations insure.
The rich have their troubles as well as the poor.
Two sons — on three hunters apiece they insist.
Their nights they devote to blind hookey and whist ;
Five grown-up daughters besides — Heaven bless
'em ! —
Who can tell what it costs a fond father to dress 'em ?
For those gowns light as gossamer, widely outspread.
When compressed in the bill become items of lead ;
And a feather, stuck there, is no more the light thing
That it was when first pluck'd from the ostrich's
wing.
182
FARMING AND FOX-HUNTING
With what care-laden clouds is the stable o'erhung.
The old ones need nursing, rough-riding the young ;
Too restive is one e'en for Rarey to tame.
One is wrong in the stifle, another foot-lame.
Bit-sore, not an oat will old Tearaway touch.
Give Plumper the muzzle, he feeds overmuch ;
Now some favourite mare is heard biting her crib.
Now a stable-boy kill'd by a kick in the rib.
Tom has always the cud of some grievance to chew.
Now he loses his temper at losing a shoe.
Now he blows his own nose when he hears his horse
sneeze.
Ever vext and perplext by such trifles as these.
What with horses and grooms, what with daughters
and sons.
Still behind him sits Care through the fastest of runs ;
Wealth I declare a delusion and snare,
Reduced to one horse I have only one care.
Farming and Fox-hunting
FARMERS, listen to the ditty
Of a friend who loves you weli ;
If you will not, more the pity,
Nothing but the truth I tell.
Let us while we each our work do
In good fellowship unite ;
Why should we, as Russ and Turk do,
Fox-hunters and Farmers fight ?
183
HUNTING SONGS
If the noble sport decrying,
Growl you will, we can but laugh ;
Freely from the farmstead buying
Oats, we do not want your chaff.
Spent by what we call a " splitter,"
Steeds are bedded in the stall.
You who grow such costly litter.
Men of straw we cannot call.
Selling till the sport is over
Many a waggon load of hay.
Surely you must live in clover.
Surely fox-hunting must pay.
Therefore should your fence be broken.
Post and rail to grief consign'd,
Let no angry word betoken
Damage to your peace of mind.
Bone-dust sown the pasture sod on,
Should the surface smooth and flat
By the tramp of hcof be trod on.
You must make no bones of that.
Should the green wheat in December
By the field be overrun,
Wait till yellow in September
Ere ye sue for damage done.
Should the hen-roost robb'd dismay you,
Reynard guilty of the theft ;
Wives be sure the Squire will pay you
Double for the ducklings left.
184
BOUGHT AND SOLD
Sad indeed, though Hnes of wire be
Harmless underneath the wave,
Fi-om his saddle should the Squire be
Telegraph'd into his grave.
Plainly by my pen depicted,
Let the evil and the good.
Profit won or harm inflicted,
Both be fairly understood.
Each dependent on the weather,
One for scent and one for growth.
Farm and Kennel link'd together.
Let us drink success to both !
Nov. 1877.
bought and Sold
UPSTOOD the auctioneer, and while
His customers he scann'd.
The smile upon his features
Was insidiously bland :
" I have now to offer, gentlemen.
An animal — Lot three —
Both power and pace his make and shape
Will fully guarantee.
" Though qualified at Melton,
Or at Quorn to play his game.
All fences and all countries
Are alike to him the same.
2 A 185
HUNTING SONGS
" They tell me, who have ridden him.
That through the longest day
He, when the best are beaten.
Never fails to stick and stay."
I look'd him o'er, perfection quite !
A hunter every inch !
And at once, whate'er the figure,
I determined not to flinch.
Quickly started at " one hundred,"
He as quickly sprung to " two,"
As down the ride they ran him
Up and up the bidding flew.
A pause — then " Going, going, gone ! "
Three hundred held him fast ;
The bidding stopp'd the hammer dropp'd.
And mine he was at last.
They who came to see the beauty
I had purchased at the sale.
They all pronounced him perfect
From the forelock to the tail.
Then came the wish'd-for morning
When I mounted first my steed
In triumphant expectation
That the gallop I should lead.
Off ! and hustling through the melie.
At the foremost fence we fly ;
One and all my rivals clear'd it,
One and all — but where was I ?
i86
BOUGHT AND SOLD
Like some equestrian statue
Made of marble or of brass,
Or like a tree deep rooted.
We were fixtures on the grass.
I turn'd again and faced it,
Dealt the whip and plied the spur.
He touch'd it with his nostril,
But no further would he stir.
In vain I tried to coax him.
Tried to rouse him with a shout,
I raced him round the pasture,
But I never got him out.
In despair I view'd the fast ones,
Speeding onward in their flight ;
Eyed with envy every straggler.
Till the last was out of sight.
Good indeed he was at staying.
For no power could move him on ;
What mockery, remember'd then.
Was " Going, going, gone ! "
Then the secret unsuspected.
The truth till then unknown,
Came out, — the splendid creature
Had a temper of his own,
" Rarey upon Restiveness,"
Who now that volume heeds ?
Hunting days are far too precious
To be spent in taming steeds.
187
HUNTING SONGS
If on horseback at our fences
We must permanently stick,
A donkey far more cheaply
Would suffice to do the trick.
They say, in love and warfare,
All is fair that serves our end ;
They who say the same of horseflesh
Would have sold him to a friend.
But sound as when I bought him.
Neither blemish'd, blind, nor lame ;
I sent him with clear conscience
To the hammer whence he came.
Moral
Youth, bear in mind that beauty
Lies no deeper than the skin,
That which maketh or which marreth
Is the temper hid within.
Whether horse it be or helpmate.
To your lot whate'er may fall ;
Still that which can and will not.
Is the saddest lot for all !
I
i88
AN AUSTRALIAN STAG-HUNT
A71 Australiaji Stag-hunt
AS DESCRIBED BY A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE
SPORTSMAN
Melbourne, 1878.
THE sport which at Melbourne they stag-hunt-
ing call,
Is to clear the stiff rail and to charge the stone wall ;
At the fence in his front whatsoe'er be its size
With the speed of a whirlwind the colonist flies.
Like the ground which he rides on, himself hard
as nails,
His heart, while his horse remains fit, never fails ;
But unlike the hard ground which he treads on, full
oft
That horse's condition is puffy and soft.
At noon-day the stag stood erect in his cart.
Till the long pole and whip have provoked him
to start ;
At home whippers-in have much work to fulfil,
A whipper-out here is more requisite still.
The line which they took to the Muse is unknown.
What horses were pounded, what riders were thrown ;
That they cross'd o'er the water, suffice it to say.
Where at bay stood the stag, and so ended the day.
189
HUNTING SONGS
There those steeds that were bankrupt of breath in
the hunt.
Were right glad to recover their wind in a punt ;
The stag safely snatch'd from the jaws of the pack.
To his hayrack and hovel they carted him back.
He whom fortune has here from Northamptonshire
sent,
With such pastime in Bucks will be little content ;
Though faster at Melton the thoroughbreds' flight,
The jumpers at Melbourne can beat them in
height.
He who laughs at their sport would be heartless
indeed.
For since hunting is hunting we wish them good
speed ;
They who lack a whole loaf must content be with
half.
They who have not a fox must put up with a calf.
On the Death of Major IVhyte-Melville
DECEMBER 5, I 878
IN the Vale of White Horse meeting
On a bright December day.
What means the look of triumph
Which so gladdens that array .?
190
MAJOR WHYTE-MELVILLE
It tells that morn how tidings
From the East have reach'd our shore.
How England's name on the roll of fame
Shines brilliantly once more.
There was one among the gathering
Which throng'd the covert side.
Whose heart beat high exulting
With a fellow-soldier's pride.
One whose pen of each past gallop
Could the memory prolong,
Embalm'd in pleasant story,
Or made musical in song.
His page with needful maxims
For the youthful rider fraught.
Ambitious all to follow him
And practise what he taught.
Young and old alike when speeding
To the cover round him press'd.
Glad to share his cheery converse,
Or to catch some happy jest.
That morn, due honour giving
To the brave whom Roberts led,
Not less o'er those he sorrow'd
Who were number'd with the dead.
The dead ! — how little thought he
That day their fate to share,
Unwarn'd when he to saddle sprang
That Death was clinging there !
IQI
HUNTING SONGS
O'erthrown, as onward fearlessly
He sped with keen delight.
He fell, as arrow-stricken
Falls an eagle in his flight.
Who, reading now those pages,
Which his loss will more endear.
His sudden fate recalling.
Will not blot them with a tear ?
And who among his comrades,
When they o'er that valley ride.
Will not pause and point with sorrow
To the spot where Melville died ?
Found at Last
ONE day by a statue of Cupid beguiled.
Forth wander'd a maiden in search of the
child ;
In fancy she hoped a sweet infant to find,
With a bow in his hand and a quiver behind.
She knew the boy's shoulders were furnish 'd with
wings.
So she sought the green wood, where the nightin-
gale sings ;
The birds flutter'd round in the branches above,
But in vain she look'd there for the pinions of Love.
She wander'd along where the meadows were strown
With the flowers and the verdure of hay yet un-
mown ;
192
FOUND AT LAST
Though the air was so fragrant, the sunbeams so
bright.
There was nothing like Love, save the butterfly's
flight.
In a step that was seen through the forest to glide.
She thought that one morn she his mother espied ;
Diana it proved, who her hunting-horn blew,
But who cared not for Love, nor his hiding-place
knew.
Then the maid when reminded whence Venus had
sprung,
To the ocean went down and thus plaintively
sung :
" O Venus, a sight of thy darling I crave.
Bid him rise for one moment and float on the wave."
She watch'd the green billows, she watch'd the white
foam,
Unheeded her prayer, she went back to her home ;
She had vow'd ne'er again on a love chase to start.
When Love came unbidden and knock'd at her
heart.
Uninvited he came whom so long she had sought.
How unlike the sweet child she had imaged in
thought ;
Then the boy whom ere vex'd by his tyrannous
sway,
She had wish'd for in vain, she in vain wish'd
away.
2 B 193
HUNTING SONGS
A Lo7icio7i ^Ballad
SHOWING HOW CABBY LOST HIS KEEPSAKE
A JOLLY young cabman, one noon in Pall Mall,
As I jauntingly plied, looking out for a Swell,
A sweet voice said timidly, " What is your fare
To carry me, cabman, to Euston Square ? "
I answer'd, " Ere maiden so comely and neat
Should be soil'd in her dress or be wet in her feet,
I would drive you, though more than a bob is my
fare —
I would drive you for nothing to Euston Square ! "
When the maid and her bandbox were seated inside.
To look down the peephole I open'd it wide,
And I felt as she turn'd her fair face to my view,
I instead of one Hansom was now driving two.
Then I tenderly touch'd to make pleasant the ride,
With the point of my whip the bay mare on her
side ;
My mare on her mettle was up to the trick.
And my heart as she trotted beat time double quick.
Hammer-cloth coachmen with nosegays on breast,
With dames in their carriages gorgeously drest.
Four-in-hand dragsmen with elbows set square.
As we met how they envied the cabman his fare.
194
A LONDON BALLAD
"Then," said I, "by your leave might I drive up
and dov^n,
I could show you the sights both in city and town."
" London sights ! " replied she. " Oh, how nice it
would be !
But at home sits my mother a-waiting for me."
How short seem'd the minutes ; why drove I so
fast ?
A journey so pleasant for ever should last ;
How I wish'd at the station instead of farewell.
How I wish'd I could carry her back to Pall Mall.
A bob she held up to the seat where I sat.
" No, I thank you ; " but soon I thought better of
that.
" As a keepsake," I said, " I will take what you give,
And will round my neck wear it as long as I live."
One hasty good-bye then she utter'd aloud.
One smile ere she left and was lost in the crowd ;
Strange it seems to me now that I left not my mare.
That I left not my cab to rush after her there.
Whether she travell'd first, second, or third.
Nor whither she went have I since ever heard ;
But in sadness I sigh'd, when a puff from the train,
PufFd away my last hope of e'er meeting again.
There I motionless sat, like a statue of stone,
And there still should I be had they left me alone.
Unconsciously dreaming of her who was gone.
Till aroused by a voice shouting " Cabby, move on."
19s
HUNTING SONGS
Crawling back from the station all London look'd
dull,
My heart, though my cushions were empty, was full ;
So lonesome, I thought it would cheer me to stop
As I pass'd by the gin-shop, and call'd for a drop.
When my home I had reach'd and had stabled my
mare.
When in haste I had climb'd to my lodging upstair,
A hole through the coin I was eager to bore.
That the keepsake might hang round my neck ever-
more.
I search'd where I'd hid it — struck dumb with
despair,
I found that save pence there was nothing left there ;
At the gin-shop, alas, by that one little glass
Had my keepsake of silver been changed into brass.
Hush ! Hush ! Hush !
I LOVE but one fair face,
And though much I love the chace,
A blank to me the pastime if that loved one be not
near ;
To the covert as we went,
Every thought on her was bent.
And pleasant were the words of love I whisper'd in
her ear ;
But the maiden's thoughts that day
While I woo'd her, where were they ?
196
HUSH ! HUSH ! HUSH !
Hope so fondly cherish'd was her silence meant to
crush ?
Was she thinking of the pack,
That no word could I win back.
As I rode beside my Lady-love, save " Hush, Hush,
Hush " ?
When the fox was view'd away.
Too discreet was I to say
One warning word to curb her keen impatience for
the race ;
Riding on throughout the burst.
Mid the foremost well-nigh first,
As with them she had started, with them still she
held her place ;
Though not a word I said.
Still I watch'd her as she sped.
The joyfulness of triumph gave her cheek a radiant
flush ;
Close beside her at the check,
When I stroked the chestnut's neck.
And her horsemanship applauded, all she said was
" Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! "
But when the day was o'er
And she reach'd her home once more.
Her hand she gently laid in mine to doff her riding
glove ;
And its pressure seem'd to say
Ere she took it quite away,
" A time there is for hunting and a time for making
ove.
There was heard a stifled sigh,
There was softness in her eye,
197
HUNTING SONGS
And her heart betray'd its secret in the crimson of
her blush.
Joy indeed it was to feel
What she could not now conceal.
That no longer to my love-tale would she answer
" Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! "
Cheshire s Welcome
JANUARY I 88 I
ERIN once the favoured home
Of melody and mirth,
The brightest gem of ocean
And the fairest flower of earth,
Erin where two seasons past
Allured by horn and hound,
A Royal Huntress sojourned
And a loving welcome found.
Where rebels now are rulers
To that land she bids adieu.
She comes where all both great and small
Are staunch good men and true ;
She seeks a shire where loyalty
In every bosom dwells.
Where Chester's vale full many a tale
Of merrie hunting tells.
Where we meet not to w^age warfare
With the Palatine Police,
Where friendship and good feeling
Are preservative of peace,
198
CHESHIRE'S WELCOME
Where should there be disturbance
When the fox from cover flies,
We find our compensation
In the gallop ere he dies.
Whene'er the pack of olden fame
At Combermere shall meet,
An Empress in the saddle there
With rapture we will greet,
Who takes, what all would willingly
To rank and beauty yield.
Alone by right of horsemanship
Precedence in the field.
Across the Deeside pastures
With the foremost she will race.
Or lead the way whene'er Wynnstay
Invites her to the chace ;
Or when from Stanners' fir-clad hill
A gallant fox takes flight,
Though with lightning speed they follow
She will keep the pack in sight.
She quits a court to share the sport
Which here without annoy
No league to mar the pastime
She may peaceably enjoy ;
That sport so rare unknown elsewhere
Alone can England give.
And many a year right welcome here
To share it may she live.
199
HUNTING SONGS
Lines
ON READING AN EXTRACT FROM THE HUNTING DIARY
OF VERNON DELVES BROUGHTON, ESQ., SHOWING
HOW AND WHERE THE DUKE OF GRAFTON's HOUNDS
KILLED THEIR GOOSEHOLME FOX ON 29TH NOV-
EMBER, 1872
A FOX, by the pack sorely press'd in his flight,
Reaching Marston St. Lawrence began to take
fright ;
In the housekeeper's room how alarming the crash,
As he shot like a thunderbolt in at the sash !
They screech'd with one voice when he first came
in view,
But the halloa they gave was a hullaballoo ;
Such a dust was ne'er rais'd in that parlour before
As now rais'd by the brush which was sweeping the
floor ;
Too late the old butler indignantly cried
" Not at home," the whole pack was already inside ;
Though the housewife's preserves harbour'd mice by
the score,
No fox until now had set foot in her store.
The table o'erturn'd, and the teacups dispers'd,
Such a break-up before never ended a burst ;
The servants pick'd up broken platter and bowl ;
They call'd ever after that parlour Pug's hole.
And a pad, which next morning was found on the floor,
By the page as a trophy was nail'd to the door.
200
LINES
Lilies
FOR INSCRIPTION ON THE STONE INTENDED TO MARK THE
SPOT WHERE THE TWO GENTLEMEN, WHOSE BOAT
WAS UPSET ON LOCHQUOICH, WERE FORTUNATELY
LANDED
"Mr. Allsopp and Mr. Burton, of Burton-on-Trent, have had a narrow
escape from drowning. On Friday last they went out fishing on Lochquoich,
the boat was upset and they were thrown into the water. Clinging to the
side of the boat they were drifted ashore on M'Phee's Island, a distance
of about 1000 yards from the scene of the accident. They were much
exhausted, and experienced great difficulty in wading ashore through the
heavy surf."
MALT and Hops while here afloat
Together in a fishing-boat,
On which of them to lay the fault
We know not, whether Hops or Malt ;
But though oppos'd to heavy wet.
Between them they the boat upset ;
Hops and Malt it little suited
To be to such extent diluted ;
For who would of the brew partake
When moisten'd by a whole Scotch lake !
Scarce left was any spirit more
In either, when they reach'd the shore,
Most thankful that they both had not
By this disaster gone to pot ;
The strength which bitter ale supplied
The bitterness of death defied.
Or they, by water carried here.
Had hence been carried on their bier.
2 C 20I
HUNTING SONGS
Beyond the Tweed on fishing bent.
Or brewing on the banks of Trent,
We trust their boat may like their ale
Henceforth maintain a steady sail.
Epitaph
ON THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S CHARGER, " COPEN-
HAGEN," so NAMED FROM THE CIRCUMSTANCE
OF HIS HAVING BEEN FOALED IN THE YEAR OF
THAT BATTLE. HE WAS BURIED AT STRATH-
FIELDS AYE, FEBRUARY 1 836
WITH years o'erburden'd, sunk the battle
steed ;—
War's funeral honours to his dust decreed ;
A foal when Cathcart overpower'd the Dane,
And Gambier's fleet despoil'd the northern main,
'Twas his to tread the Belgian field, and bear
A mightier chief to prouder triumphs there !
Let Strathfieldsaye to wondering patriots tell
How Wellesley wept when " Copenhagen " fell.
I
Epitaph 071 A. S. C. by X. T. Z.
LAID his bones beneath the greenwood tree.
And wept, like schoolboy, o'er my A. B. C.
202
THE ROEBUCK AT TOFT
On a Thor7i Tree planted over the Grave
of ^' Miss Miggs^' a "Brood Mare
WITH a thorn in her side the old mare we inter.
Though ahve she ne'er needed the prick of
a spur.
Six colts and eight fillies the stock, that she bred,
Each in turn first and foremost the hunting-field led.
This thorn if it rival the produce she foal'd,
Will be hung in due season with apples of gold ;
But whate'er fruit it bear it will not bear a sloe^
For no thorn save a quick thorn can out of her grow.
The Roebuck at Toft
AN OLD WAYSIDE INN REMOVED IN 1 864
ON the Mail have I travell'd times many and oft.
Looking out for the sign of the Roebuck at
Toft;
Or and gules was the blazonry, party per pale.
The head was attir'd like the haunches and tail.
In his muzzle an olive branch proper was stuck.
And the villagers call'd him the bloody-tail'd Buck.
The Chestnut-tree well I remember whose shade
Overhung the bright tints which the Roebuck dis-
play'd ;
And the bench which invited the weary to rest,
And mine Host who came out with a mug of his best !
203
HUNTING SONGS
They have fell'd the old tree, they have stopp'd the
old mail,
And alas ! the old cellar is empty of ale ;
And now from the post, where he swung high and dry,
They have pull'd down the Roebuck — I wish I knew
why —
I dare not inquire at the Jerryshop near.
Or the man might insist on my tasting his beer.
Charade
THE Squire, on his Grey,
Has been hunting all day.
So at night let him drown his fatigue in the bowl ;
But ere quenching his thirst.
To get rid of my first.
Let him call for my second to bring him my whole.
Welsh Hunting
A most singular freak of a pack of hounds was witnessed at Pontypridd last
week. The pack belonged to Mr. George Thomas, Ystradmynach, and
were returning from the hunt, when, on coming into the town, they ran into
the shop of Mr. Jenkins, grocer, and out again immediately, but with no less
than seven pounds of tallow candles, which they ravenously devoured in the
street. — Coicrt Journal.
1869
I
WHERE Jenkins, in Wales,
Soap and candles retails,
The pack, in despite of their Whip,
They took up the scent,
And away they went.
Each one with a tallow dip.
204
EPIGRAM ON A HARD-RIDING YOUTH
II
With a good seven pounds
These hungry hounds,
Away ! and away ! they go,
While joining the chace
FoUow'd Jenkins' best pace,
Shouting " Tallow ! Tallow-ho ! "
Paraphrase by a Master of Homids
Si j'avance suivez moi ; si je recule
Tuez moi ; si je tombe vengez moi.
Henri de la Rochejaquelein.
FOLLOW, when I take the lead ;
Pass me, when I fail in speed ;
But I pray you, one and all,
Jump not on me when I fall !
Epigram on a Hard-riding Youth
named Taylor
TAYLOR by name, but in no other sense.
No tailor is he when he faces a fence ;
To one Taylor alone can I fitly compare him, he
Reminds me, out hunting, of good Bishop Jeremy ;
For when fences are stiff, and the field does not
fancy 'em,
Due tor he then may be call'd Dubitantium ;
And, when pitch'd from the saddle, he falls on his
crown.
He reminds me again of the Bishop of Down.
205
HUNTING SONGS
Inscription
ON A GARDEN SEAT FORMED FROM THE
BONES OF AN OLD RACER ^
STILL, tho' bereft of speed,
Compell'd to carry weight ;
Alas ! unhappy steed,
Death cannot change thy fate.
II
Upon the turf still ridden,
Denied a grave below.
Thy weary bones forbidden
The rest that they bestow.
1 Note 46.
206
i
THE WAY TO THE STABLES— ARLEY HALL
JJAH Y3JIJ1A— a;: .v/ shi
♦
NOTES
NOTES TO THE HUNTING SONGS
Note i, p. i.
Wells in the saddle is sealed.
WELLS was a huntsman of the old school, whose like is seldom
seen in these degenerate days. Reappears to have adopted
the maxim of the old Cornish huntsman — " Master finds horse,
and I find neck." He doated upon every hound in his pack, with as
much fondness as a father feels for his children. In the course of his
career he fractured his ribs twice, and broke his collar-bone seven
times. After living six-and-thirty years under different managers of
the Bedfordshire Hounds, during twenty-four of which he hunted them
himself, he came to Mr. Wicksted, with whom he remained during the
eleven years that he hunted the Woore Country. He was then engaged
by Sir Thomas Boughey, and died in his service, March 30, 1847.
Note 2, p. 2.
The Vicar, the Squire, or tlie Major.
The Rev. Henry Tomkinson, Vicar of Davenham ; the Rev.
James Tomkinson (the Squire of Dorfold) ; and Major (the late
Colonel) Tomkinson of the Willingtons.
Note 3, p. 3.
Ford.
Charles Ford, Esq., was at that time one of the most active
members of the Gorse Cover Committee.
Note 4, p. 4.
Charlie flings on the saddle his rein.
Charles Wicksted, Esq., the hero of this Song, hunted the Woore
Country from the year 1825 to the year 1836.
It was ever Mr. Wicksted's chief delight to know that his hounds
2 D 209
NOTES TO THE
had afforded a good day's sport to his friends, though no on<? enjoyed
a run more keenly, or described one with more enthusiasm than
himself. The 'MVoore Country " was written in the year 1S30, in
reply to the following song called the " Cheshire Hunt," of which
Mr. Wicksted was the Author.
The Cheshire Hunt.
SONG.
Come, awake from your slumbers, jump out of your bed.
Drink your tea, mount your hack, and away to Well Head ;
For who'd be behindhand, or like to be late.
When Sir Harry's fleet pack at the coverside wait ?
Derry down, down, &c.
Those sons of old Bedford, so prized by George Heron,
So quick at a cast, and so ready to turn ;
If with these fast hounds you would play a good part,
Both the rider and horse must be quick at a start.
Hark ! hark ! they have found him ! who would not rejoice
At the soul-stirring sound of old Victor's loud voice?
He's away, I declare ! don't you hear? there's a hollow, —
And now we will see how the gentlemen follow.
But now let me ask who is thrusting along.
So anxious the first to get out of the throng?
Who's cramming his mare up yon steep rotten bank ?
With the rein on her neck, and both spurs in her flank ?
There's scarcely a young one, and ne'er an old stager,
For the first twenty minutes can live with the Major ;^
Though supposing this run for an hour should last,
I hope he won't find he has started too fast.
Who, glued to his saddle, with his horse seems to fly ?
'Tis a Lancashire Lord,^ who is worth a "Jew's eye"j
In this run I will wager he'll keep a front seat.
For unless his horse stops he can never be beat.
' Major Tomkinson. ^ The late Earl of Sefton
210
HUNTING SONGS
With a seat that's so graceful, a hand that's so light,
Now racing beside him conies Leicestershire White; *
Not yet gone to Melton, he this day for his pleasure,
Condescends to be rural, and hunt with the Cheshire.
Who's charging that rasper? do tell me, I beg,
With both hands to his bridle, and swinging his leg ;
On that very long mare, whose sides are so flat,
\\'ith the head of a buffalo, tail of a rat?
'Tis the gallant Sir Richard,- a rum one to follow.
Who dearly loves lifting the hounds to a hollow ;
A straightforward man who no jealousy knows,
And forgets all his pains when a-hunting he goes.
The next snug and quiet, without noise or bother,
On Shefifielder comes, the brave Colonel, his brother ;
He keeps steadily onward, no obstacle fears,
Like those true British heroes, the bold Grenadiers.
But who to the field is now making his bow ?
'Tis the Squire of Dorfold on famed Harry Gow ;
That preserver of foxes, that friend of the sport,
Though he proves no preserver — of claret and port.
And who's that, may I ask, who in purple is clad.
Riding wide of the pack, and tight holding his pad?
'Tis a bruising top-sawyer, and if there's a run.
The Rector of Davenham will see all the fun.
Now hustling and bustling, and rolling about,
And pushing his way through the midst of the rout,
Little Ireland ^ comes on, for a front place he strives.
Through rough and through smooth he his Tilbury drives.
Pray get out of the way ; at the fence why so tarry ?
Don't you see down upon us is coming Sir Harry ?^
And if you don't mind, you may perhaps rue the day.
When, like Wellington, you were upset by a Grey.
' John White, Esq. " Sir Richard Brooke, Bart.
' Ireland Blackburne, Esq. * Sir Harry Mainwaring, Bart.
21 1
NOTES TO THE
This Grey he can't hold, though his hand is not weak,
And his bit you may see has a very long cheek ;
But if the first flight he can't keep in his eye,
To be thereabouts he will gallantly try.
Now, leaving the crowd, our attention we fix
Upon two knowing sportsmen, both riding with sticks ;
The first so renowned on the turf, Squire France,
Who on his young Milo will lead them a dance.
The next is John Glegg, and I really don't brag.
When I say no one better can ride a good nag ;
A good nag when he has one, I mean — by the bye,
Do you know who has got one ? he's wanting to buy.
Now racing along with the foremost you see.
Quite determined to go, Charley Ford, on the Pea ;
This moment ecstatic, this joy of the chace,
His regrets for old Paddy can scarcely efface.
For Walmsley on Paddy has just now past by.
And on him poor Charley has cast a sheep's eye ;
But ne'er mind, for no pleasure's without its alloy.
And some day you'll again have a good one, " my boy."
Who's that ? I can't see, by " his figure I know, tho',"
It can be no other than Hammond ^ on Otho ;
If practice makes perfect, he's nothing to fear,
For his nag has been practised for many a year.
Going straight to the hounds, never known to cast wider.
Now comes little Rowley,^ the steeple-chace rider ;
Harry Brooke his antagonist, quiet and steady,
And Stanley^ who always for business is ready.
Then there's Squire Harper, whom some may call slow,
But I've seen him ride well when he chooses to go ;
Little Jemmy ^ comes next, and of danger shows sense.
From the back of Surveyor, surveying the fence.
' James W. Hammond, Esq., of Wistaston.
• Rowland Egerton-Warburton, Esq., of .^rley.
= Hon. W. O. Stanley.
* James Tomkinson, Esq., of Davenham.
212
HUNTING SONGS
But the pride of all Cheshire, the bold Delamere,
Alas ! I can't show you, for he is not here ;
His collar-bone's broken, don't be in a fright,
His spirit's not broken, he'll soon be all right.
And now having told you the whole of the field.
All Cheshire men true to no others will yield ;
Whilst the sparkling bottle is going its rounds
Let us drink to Sir Harry — Will Head and the hounds.
Note 5, p. 5. .
Our glass a qticesituin.
At the Tarporley Hunt meeting, all toasts considered worthy of the
honour are drunk in a " Qusesitum," a name given to the glasses from the
inscription they bear, Quasitum meritis.
Note 6, p. 7.
Once more a view hollo from old Oulton Lmve t
A gorse cover belonging to Sir Philip Egerton, formerly in great
repute, but which of late years has never held a fox. The run men-
tioned in the song took place on the i6th February 1833.
Note 7, p. 8.
Tie Willington Mare.
The property of Major Tomkinson of the Willingtons. She was
staked during the run and died the next day.
Note S, p. 8.
To see the Black Squire hoiv he rode the black mare.
The Rev. James Tomkinson of Dorfold.
Note 9, p. 8.
The odds are infighting that Britain beats France.
Mr. Brittain of Chester. Mr. France of Bostock Hall.
213
NOTES TO THE
Note io, p. 8.
Little Ireland kept up, like his namesake the nation.
Mr. Ireland Blackburne of Hale.
Note i i , p. 9.
The Maiden who rides like a man.
Joe Maiden was Huntsman to the Cheshire Hounds from the year
1832 to 1844. In that capacity, as far as my experience extends, I
have never seen his equal. He was moreover as pleasant a companion
to ride home with after a run as any gentleman could desire. After
continuing in Mr. White's service for two years, and after having acted,
during the interval, as Host of the Bluecap at Sandiway Head, he was
engaged in 1846 by Mr. Davenport to undertake the North Stafford-
shire Hounds. During the time that he hunted the North Warwick-
shire, under Mr. Shaw, he met with the accident which crippled him
for the remainder of his life, slipping with one leg into the boiling
copper. Suffering more severely from the effects of this as he ad-
vanced in age, he underwent the amputation of his leg in the year
1856. He died on the 20th of October 1864, aged 69, and was buried
at Maer.
So long as this fine old fellow was able to cross a saddle with his
wooden limb, I generally heard from him at the beginning of every
hunting season, and within two years of the time of his death I
received from him the following letter :
" WOLSTANTON,
"Nov. 17, 1862.
" Sir, — I have taken the liberty of sending you a list of our hounds.
It has been the worst scenting season I ever saw, our best day was on
Friday last.
" These hounds will be leaving here shortly to go to Trentham, the
seat of the Duke of Sutherland. I don't go with them. I shall stop
here the winter, and I don't intend going with hounds any more. I
214
HUNTING SONGS
have Rheumatic very bad at times and cannot ride to hounds, this
being my 54 season with Hounds.
"I have a very good entry, and they are all going on well.
I remain, Sir, — Your obedient Servt.,
"J. Maiden."
The following list will complete the succession of Cheshire
huntsmen from the time of Joe Maiden to the present day. William
Markwell came in 1844, and hunted the pack for ten years. In 1854
came George Whitmore ; in 1856, David Edwards; in 1859, Henry
Mason; Peter CoUison, succeeding in i860, came into Cheshire on
Mr. Baker's resignation of the North Warwickshire. Leaving in 1869,
he was engaged as Huntsman to the York and Ainsty, when John
Jones, his first-whip, was deservedly promoted to fill the vacancy.
Note 12, p. 9.
In the pride of his lieart thcfi the Manager cried.
Sir H. Mainwaring, who was Manager of the Cheshire Hounds for
a period of nineteen years.
Note 13, p. 9.
Come along, little Roivley.
Mr. Egerton-Warburton, of Arley.
Note 14, p. 9.
The Baron from Hanover hollo' d " zvhoo-hoofi."
Baron Osten, a Hanoverian, long distinguished as an oflScer in the
English service. His hunting accident, and miraculous escape from a
tiger in the East Indies, are well known.
Note 15, p. 9.
Oh I where and oh I ivhere was the Wistaston steed 1
The property of Mr. Hammond, of Wistaston.
NOTES TO THE
Note i6, p. lo.
T)ie Cestrian chestnut.
The property of Sir Philip Egerton.
Note 17, p. 10.
Where now is Dollgosh 1 Where the Racer from Da'enham 1
" Dollgosh " belonged to Mr. Ford, and the " Racer " to Mr. James
Tomkinson, of Davenham.
Note 18, p. 11.
Save at the Swan.
The Swan is the name of the Inn at which the Hunt Meeting is
held.
Note 19, p. 11.
France! ten to one.
The Half-bred Stakes at Tarporley had for the ten years previous
to 1834, with but two exceptions, been won by Mr. France of Bostock.
Note 20, p. 17.
Brown Forest of Mara I whose bounds ivere of yore
From Kellsborrow's Castle outstretch' d to the shore.
"The district extending from the banks of the Mersey to the
South boundary of the late Forest, was designated as the Forest of
Mara, whilst that of Mondrem stretched in the direction of Nantwich.
" It appears from Doomsday, that the attention of the Earls of
Chester, in the taste of the sovereigns of the time, had been directed at
that early period to forming chaces for their diversion. The Earl's
Forest is noticed in several instances, and it likewise appears that it
was not only formed of lands then found waste, but that several vills
had been afforested for the express purpose of adding to its limits."
— Ormerod's History of Cheshire, vol. ii. p. 50.
216 \
HUNTING SONGS
Note 21, p. 18.
In right of his bugle and greyhounds, to seize.
"The Master-Forestership of the whole was conferred by Randle I.
in the twelfth century on Ralph de Kingsley, to hold the same by
tenure of a horn." — Ormerod, vol. ii. p. 50.
Amongst the list of claims asserted by the Master-Forester, are the
following : —
"And claymeth to have the latter pannage in the said Forrest,
and claymeth to have windfallen wood . . .
" He claymeth to have all money for agistment of hogs within the
said Forest . . .
"And as to wayfe, he claymeth to have every wayfe and stray
beast as his own, after proclamation shall be made and not challenged
as the manner is." — Ormerod, vol. ii. p. 52.
Note 22, p. 18.
Whenever his liege lord chose a-hunting to ride.
" Cheshire tradition asserts that the ancient foresters were bound
to use this horn, and attend in their office with two white greyhounds,
whenever the Earl was disposed to honour the Forest of Delamere
with his presence in the chace." — Ormerod, vol. ii. p. 55.
Note 23, p. 18.
It pass' d from their lips to the mouth of a Done.
The Dones of Utkinton succeeded the Kingsleys as Chief-Foresters.
On the termination of this line, in 1715, the Forestership passed to
Richard Arderne, and through him to the Lords Alvanley.
Note 24, p. 19.
Thoti Palatine prophet I whose fame I revere.
Robert Nixon was born in the Parish of Over. " The birth of this
individual," says Ormerod, " has been assigned to the time of Edward
the Fourth, but a second story also exists, which refers him to the
time of James the First ; a date palpably false, as many of the sup-
posed prophecies were to be fulfilled at an antecedent period.
2 E 217
NOTES TO THE
" He is said to have attracted the royal notice by foretelling in
Cheshire the result of the battle of Bosworth, on recovering from
sudden stupor with which he was seized while the battle was fighting
in Leicestershire, and to have been sent for to Court shortly after-
wards, where he was starved (or, to use his own expression, clemmed)
to death through forgetfulness, in a manner which he himself had
predicted."
Note 25, p. 19.
" A foot with two heels, and a hand with three thumbs I "
Amongst the prophecies of Nixon are the following : —
" There shall be a miller named Peter,
With two heels on one foot." . . .
" A boy shall be born with three thumbs on one hand,
Who shall hold three Kings' horses,
Whilst England is three times won and lost in one day.
But after this shall be happy days."
" Twenty hundred horses shall want masters.
Till their girths rot under their bellies."
Note 26, p. 19.
Here hunted the Scot whom, too wise to show fight.
King James' diversion in the forest of Delamere, when returning
from Scotland, is thus described in Webb's Itinerary : —
" Making the house of Vale Royal four days his royal court, he
solaced himself and took pleasing entertainment in his disports in the
forest. . . . And where his Majesty, the day following, had such
successful pleasure in the hunting of his own hounds of a stag to
death, as it pleased him graciously to calculate the hours, and confer
with the keepers, and his honourable attendants, of the particular
events in that sport, and to question them whether they ever saw or
heard of the like expedition, and true performance of hounds well
hunting. At which his Highness Princely contentment we had much
218
HUNTING SONGS
cause to rejoice ; and the rather for that the diligence and service of Sir
John Done had so prosperously prepared his Majesty's sports, which
he also as graciously accepted."
Note 27, p. 20.
Behold I in the soil of our forest once more.
By the Act of Parliament for the enclosure of Delamere Forest,
passed in 1812, one moiety of the whole is allotted to the share of the
King, to be kept under the direction of the Surveyor-General of Woods
and Forests, as a nursery for timber only.
Note 28, p. 20.
Where, 'twixt the whalebones, the widow sat down.
Maria Hollingsworth, a German by birth, the widow of an English
soldier. Near two ribs of a whale which stood in Delamere Forest,
she constructed for herself a hut, and resided there several years.
Note 29, p. 22.
The Spectre Stag,
The subject of this ballad is taken from a collection of German
traditions in French, there entitled " La Chapelle de la Foret."
The tale of a forest phantom, we are told by Sir W. Scott, in the
Preface to his translation of the "Wild Jager," is universally believed in
Germany. This phantom has often been the subject of poetry, but
the final catastrophe to the Baron's hunting career, thus described in
the legend, I do not recollect to have seen mentioned elsewhere : —
" Voyant le chasseur noir s'avancer droit a lui, il sonna du cor pour
appeler ses gens ; mais il le fit avec une telle force que les veines se
creverent ; il tomba mort de son cheval. Ses descendans firent batir
en cet endroit une chapelle ou ils fonderent un benefice."
219
NOTES TO THE
Note 30, p. 23.
On the stag he would have slaughter' d
Was his naked body bound.
The ghost of another chasseur, whose history is given in the same
collection, makes the following confession : —
"J'ai fait enchatner et river sur des cerfs plus de cent des mal-
heureux braconniers, les faisant poursuivre par mes chiens jusqu'a ce
qu'ils tombassent quelque part, et que le malheureux qu'ils portaient
rendit I'ame au milieu des tourmens."
Note 31, p. 26.
A Bedford, a Gloster, to life we restore.
Bedford, Gloster, Nelson, and Victory were the names of hounds
in the Cheshire kennel.
Note 32, p. 27.
Mine be the warfare unsullied with guilt J
"Image of war without its guilt." — Somervile.
Note 33, p. 36.
TTie Tantivy Trot.
This song was written in the year 1834, at the request of Charles
Ford, Esq., for Cracknall, the coachman of the Birmingham Tantivy,
who once drove it at a sitting one hundred and twenty-five miles.
Some years after I saw it printed in an article by Nimrod in the New
Sporting Magazine, and attributed by hira to a young "Cantab."
Note 34, p. 38.
The tent of the Bey.
This tent was brought by Lord Hill from Egypt. It originally be-
longed to the famous Murad Bey.
220
HUNTING SONGS
Note 35, p. 40.
Weve an Eyton could prove to the Switzer.
The prize given by Lord Hill was won by Miss Eyton.
Noxe 36, p. 45.
The swell from the Leamington Spa.
Henry Williams, Esq., commonly known as " Swell Williams."
His father, General Williams, lived at Leamington.
Note 37, p. 47.
"The picture of the Cheshire Hunt," purchased by Wilbraham
Egerton, Esq., now hangs in the hall at Tatton.
Note 38, p. 51.
T7te Breeches.
This cover, once pre-eminent above all the gorses in the county
for the sport it had shown, belongs to John ToUemache, Esq.
Note 39, p. 61.
Tarwood.
The rum which I have attempted to describe took place on the
24th of December 1845. The Heythrop Hounds were kept by Lord
Redesdale. The " Jem " mentioned in the poem is Jem Hill the
Huntsman, and Jack Goddard arid Charles are the Whips. " The
peculiar feature of this run," says Mr. Whippy, "was the stoutness and
intrepidity of the fox. With the exception of just touching one corner
of Boys-Wood at Cokethorpe, he never once sought shelter in a cover
of any description. The distance from point to point is from 15 to 16
miles, and I am sure the distance run over must have been at least
20 miles. Time, i hour and 42 minutes."
221
NOTES TO THE
Note 40, p. 83.
Tom Ranee has got a single oie.
Tom Ranee came from Baron Rothschild to whip-in to the
Cheshire in 1830, and remained, through every change of Master
and Huntsman, for thirty-one years in that capacity, without aspiring
to the post of Huntsman. In the station of life in which he was
placed, no one ever did his duty better. I have seen him ride the
most unmanageable horses with rare nerve and temper, still keeping
his one eye open to detect, and his handy lash ready to reach any
riotous hound. Many a time in the course of a run have I been
beholden to him for his active assistance under a difificulty, and there
are others, I know, who would, if now alive, gratefully acknowledge
his services in the field. If after charging a fence you found yourself
on the other side planted in a pit (a mischance by no means un-
frequent in Cheshire), Tom Ranee was always at hand to pull your
horse out, or if discomforted by the loss of a stirrup-leather, Tom
was promptly at your side to touch his cap and proffer you one of
his own.
On retiring from service in 1861, the sum of five hundred pounds
was raised and invested by the Hunt for his benefit.
Note 41, p. 86.
Drink to the land where this Evergreen grows.
" This plant is only to be found in temperate climates. Provence
is its boundary to the South, and it reaches neither Sweden nor Russia
towards the North. Linnaeus lamented that he could hardly preserve
it alive in a green-house ; and so rare is it in many parts of Germany,
that Dillenius, their botanist, was in perfect ecstasy when he first
visited England, and saw our commons covered with the gay flowers of
the furze bush." — Phillips' Sylva Florifera.
Note 42, p. 86.
This strange match, so hastily made and so quickly decided, took
place on the Friday of the Tarporley Hunt week, 1854. The com-
petitors were Thomas Langford Brooke, of Mere, Esq., and John
Sidebottom, of Harewood, Esq. Davenport Bromley, Esq., was
Umpire.
222
I
HUNTING SONGS
Note 43, p. 128.
Tarporky Swan-Hopping.
This song was written on the occasion of the ball given to com-
memorate the centenary anniversary of the Club, 6th November 1862.
Note 44, p. 135.
Rolls o'er the cop and hitches on the rail.
' Slides into verse and hitches in a rhyme." — Pope.
Note 45, p. 135.
Neivhy Ferry.
The following account of this lamentable hunting accident is from
the Times newspaper ; —
The loss of life by the upsetting of a boat in which a number of
gentlemen connected with the York and Ainsty Hunt were crossing
the river Ure, near Ripley, on Thursday last, was fully as great as at
first reported. The number of persons drowned was six. They were
— Sir Charles Slingsby, of Scriven-park, near Knaresborough, the
master of the hounds ; Mr. E. Lloyd, of Lingcroft, near York ; Mr.
Edmund Robinson, of York ; Mr. William Orvys, the first whipper-in ;
Mr. James Warriner, gardener at Newby-hall, the seat of Lady Mary
Vyner ; and Mr. Christopher Warriner, the son of the former. The
Warriners had the charge of the boat. The hounds met on Thursday
morning, at 1 1 o'clock, at Stainley-house, half-way between Harrogate
and Ripon. There was a large field, and among the leading personages
were Sir Charles Slingsby, who, as already stated, was the master of
the hounds ; Viscount Downe, of Danby-lodge ; Lord Lascelles, of
Harewood ; Sir George Wombwell, of Newburgh-park ; Captain Vyner,
of Newby-hall ; Mr. Clare Vyner, of Newby-hall ; Mr. E. Lloyd, of
Lingcroft, near York ; Mr. E. Robinson, of York ; Major Mussinden,
Captain Molyneux, the Hon. Henry Molyneux, Captain Key, of
Fulford ; Mr. White, and several of the officers of the 15th Hussars,
stationed at York ; Mr. Wood, of Bellwood ; Mr. William Ingleby, of
225
NOTES TO THE
Ripley Castle ; and Mr. Darnborough, of Ripon. William Orvys, the
first whip, was in attendance, and, the weather being fine, anticipations
prevailed of good sport. No fox was found until the hounds reached
Monkton Whin, but a good run of about an hour's duration was had
towards Copgrove and Newby-hall, and near the latter the fox and the
pack crossed the River Ure. Several of the gentlemen who were in
pursuit attempted to cross the river at a ford some distance up the
stream, but Sir Charles Slingsby and a majority of those who were
close up made for the ferry, which is almost directly opposite Newby-
hall and signalled for the boat to be sent across. Swollen by the late
rains, and to a great extent diverted from its natural channel, the river,
at this point some fifty or sixty yards broad, swept along with a strong
deep current. With little or no hesitation the master of the hounds
sprang into the boat, to be piloted across by the Newby-hall gardener
and his son, and this example was so largely followed that in a very
short time some twelve or fourteen gentlemen, with their horses,
crowded into a vessel intended to accommodate only half that number.
Those who entered the boat were Sir Charles Slingsby, Orvys (the
whip), Sir George Wombwell, Captain Vyner, Mr. .Clare Vyner,
Mr. Lloyd, Mr. Robinson, Major Mussinden, Captain Molyneux,
the Hon. Henry Molyneux, Captain Key, Mr. White, and some more
military officers from York Barracks. Viscount Downe, Lord Lascelles,
and several others, who were either unable to find room in the boat,
or had their doubts as to its safety, remained on the banks awaiting its
return. No warning voice cautioned them when they started on what
proved to some of them a fatal journey ; indeed, their apparent luck in
having gained the start of the others was looked on with many envious
eyes. Any such feeling, was, however, of short duration. Seizing the
chain by which the flat-bottomed boat is propelled, Captain Vyner
and his brother pushed it off from the river side, and sent the vessel
right into the stream. Before one-third of the distance had been
traversed. Sir Charles Slingsby's horse became restive, and kicked the
animal belonging to Sir George Wombwell. The latter, a high-
mettled chestnut, returned the kick, and something very like a panic
arose among the horses. The boat was swayed first to one side and
then to the other, and finally it was fairly turned bottom upwards.
The scene which then ensued was of a very painful character. For
a moment the slimy bottom of the boat, rocked to and fro by the
struggling of the men and horses, was all that could be seen by the
spectators on the bank ; then here and there in different parts of the
stream heads began to appear, only to sink again amid agonised cries,
and hands and arms were flung up in despair. Horses were seen to
battle with the current, striking out regardless of the injuries they
224
HUNTING SONGS
inflicted on their masters, who were also swept by the current out
of the reach of those anxious to afford rehef. In some cases, how-
ever, the prompt measures taken by the spectators were effectual.
Those who could swim cast off their coats and plunged to save their
friends, while others, not so happily gifted, took less vigorous, though
not less useful, steps. Lines formed of whips, were tied together, and
thrown within reach of the drowning men, and several beams of wood
which fortunately lay scattered about, were quickly launched on the
stream. Captain Vyner was one of the first to get his head out of
water, and to save himself from the current by clinging to the up-
turned vessel. After a vigorous struggle he reached the top of the
boat, and was able to assist first Sir George Wombwell and afterwards
one of the York officers to the same position. Mr. White got on shore
by means of the chain stretched across the ferry, while others were
rescued by the means adopted for their safety from the banks. In a
very few minutes, however, it was found that six men and eleven
horses had been drowned. Two horses were rescued. An account in
a local journal says several gentlemen and horses were under the boat
when it floated bottom upwards. Among these were Sir George
Wombwell and an officer from York, who was very badly kicked by
the horses. Sir Charles Slingsby was seen by the spectators on the
bank to strike out for the opposite shore, but when nearing it he threw
up his hands, and the last seen of him was his body floating down the
river with his head and legs under water. None of the others drowned
were seen at all. Every effort was made by those upon the bank to
rescue the sufferers. Mr. William Ingleby threw off his coat and
plunged into the river, and made a desperate effort to reach Sir
Charles Slingsby, but in this he unhappily failed, and with great
difficulty and in a state of complete exhaustion reached the shore.
Captain Vyner and Captain Preston plunged into the river in the hope
of rendering assistance. Mr. Bartram, of Harrogate, rendered very
active aid, and succeeded in assisting to the shore one of those who
had been thrown into the river, and had clung to the chain of the
ferry. The body of Sir Charles Slingsby was discovered three hundred
yards below the scene of the accident by Mr. Denison, of Ripon, and
Mr. Wood, of the same city, about half-past four o'clock. The bodies
of Captain Lloyd and Mr. Robinson were afterwards taken out of
the river, and all were conveyed to Newby-hall to await a coroner's
inquest. Yesterday two more of the bodies were recovered, those of
William Orvys and Christopher Warriner, the eldest of that name.
The only body now to be recovered is that of Christopher Warriner's
son. Mr. Robinson's watch had stopped at ten minutes to two
o'clock. Sir Charles Slingsby was riding one of the oldest and most
2 F 225
NOTES TO THE
favourite of his hunters, 'Old Saltfish,' which was discovered lying
near the master whom it had served so faithfully for some fifteen
years.
We need hardly state that the intelligence of this melancholy catas-
trophe has cast a gloom over the whole district. Sir Charles Slingsby's
amiable disposition and genial manners rendered him most deservedly
popular throughout the whole of the Riding. The deceased, who was
unmarried, was the tenth baronet. He was son of Charles Slingsby,
Esq., who was second son of Sir Thomas Turner Slingsby, eighth
baronet. He was born on the 22nd of August 1824; succeeded his
uncle, Sir Thomas, in February 1835 ;' entered the Royal Horse
Guards 1843, became Lieutenant 1845, ^"^ retired 1847. He was a
deputy-lieutenant and a magistrate for the West Riding of Yorkshire.
His sister, Emma Louisa Catherine, who is still living, married in i860
Captain Leslie, of the Royal Horse Guards. Mr. Robinson, who
had the reputation of being one of the best riders in the county
of York, lived at one time at Thorpegreen-hall, near Ouseburn, which
he sold not long ago to Mr. H. S. Thompson, of Kirby-hall, whose
estate it adjoins. Orvys had long been connected with the York and
Ainsty hounds, and was one of the most experienced whips in York-
shire. Both the Warriners were married. The elder leaves nine
children, and the younger a wife and three children.
In conseqence of this lamentable occurrence the meets of the York
and Ainsty hounds have been suspended, and that of the Bramham
Moor hounds, appointed for yesterday (Friday), did not take place.
Among the gentlemen who were saved after the boat had been
upset were Major Mussinden, Captain Molyneux, the Hon. Henry
Molyneux, Mr. White, of the 15th Hussars, stationed at York ; and
Captain Key, of Fulford, near York.
"The Field," Feb. 13, 1869.
THE FEARFUL ACCIDENT WITH THE YORK AND AINSTY.
FROM AN EYE-WITNESS.
It was a beautiful morning on Thursday, February 4, when the
York and Ainsty met at Stainley House. We chopped the first fox in
Cayton Gill, but found again in Monckton Whin at 12.40. There was
a splendid scent, but the fox twisted about a good deal, and, though
the pace was tremendous, yet, after an hour's running, the fox crossed
the river at Newby, just in front of the hounds, and only about two
miles and a half from where he was found.
226
HUNTING SONGS
The river was very high from the floods, and a very strong stream
was running, in consequence of which the fox was carried over Newby
Weir, and the whole of the hounds also ; but they all got out safely,
and took up the scent immediately on the opposite side. There was
a ford just below, with posts marked with different distances up to the
height of five feet, so as to show where the river is fordable ; but on
that day the river was so high that not even the posts were visible.
We were all, therefore, obliged to make for the ferry.
The ferry boat was overloaded, and no sooner did it get into the
stream than the water began to rush in over the sides. Sir Charles
Slingsby's horse. Old Saltfish (whom he bought the first year he took
the hounds, fifteen years ago), finding there was something wrong,
jumped into the water. Sir Charles held on to the reins, to induce
him to swim alongside, but, not calculating sufficiently the force of the
stream and the weight of the horse, he was overbalanced and fell in.
(I have seen several papers state that there was then a rush made to
one side ; but the horses were so closely packed on board, like bullocks
in a bullock truck, that they could not have moved from any cause.)
The boat then swayed once or twice, and finally turned completely
over, for several seconds leaving nothing to the view but the bottom
of the boat. It seemed impossible that any should be saved, but by
degrees heads began to appear ; and Mr. Clare Vyner, having scrambled
on to the upturned boat, gallantly assisted all he could reach to gain
the same haven. The boat, being still held by the chain, acted as a
breakwater, and therefore all those who came up near the boat had no
stream to contend against. Unfortunately, Sir Charles Slingsby was
some way down the stream, in the full force of the current. He
struggled gamely to reach the boat but it was hopeless. If he had
only turned and swum with the stream, in all human probability he
would have been saved ; for when he was finally exhausted he sank
(still struggling to reach the boat) close to the north shore, whither he
had been carried by the stream, but where, unfortunately, there was
no one to help. Old Saltfish followed his master like a dog to the
very end, and at last swam past him, unfortunately, with the near side
next to Sir Charles, who with his last effort tried to grasp the horse's
neck ; but the mane being on the opposite side, he only succeeded in
catching the bridle. Both immediately sank — Sir Charles never to
be seen again alive, but the old horse rose again to the surface, and
then swam ashore.
Mr. Robinson — who was always extremely nervous in crossing
ferries, as he was unable to swim, and always entertained a horror of
being drowned — according to his usual custom, never got off his horse
on entering the boat, and when it upset he rode several yards down
227
NOTES TO THE
stream, still sitting on his horse. He looked calmly round, as if to
choose the best landing place, when his horse suddenly sank, either
from being exhausted before he came to the top, or from the reins
being touched to guide him ashore. After two fearful shrieks, Mr.
Robinson went down.
Captain Key, being the last on board, succeeded in jumping clear
of the boat as it turned over, and fortunately, being carried against the
chain, was able, by making use of it, to reach the shore in safety. Sir
George Wombwell, who may consider this as the most fortunate of his
many narrow escapes from death, came to the surface on the upstream
side of the boat, against which he was carried, and was promptly
rescued by Mr. Clare Vyner, though he himself was too far gone to
make the slightest effort to save himself, and was even unaware by
what means he was saved.
In the meantime those on shore had promptly done all in their
power. Whips were knotted together ; but, as the river was at least
eighty yards from bank to bank, and those in the water were more than
half-way across, every endeavour to cast them within reach failed.
Every pole that could be found was thrown, but to no purpose. Four
strong swimmers tried their best in vain. One, Mr. Preston, of Moreby,
had not waited to take off his boots, and it was with difficulty he was
rescued by those on shore. Mr. Ingleby, of Ripley Castle, and Captain
Vyner, of Linton Spring, succeeded in reaching Mr. Lloyd, who was
doing his best to gain the south shore. They had brought him almost
in reach of those on the bank, when he suddenly sank, and they, ex-
hausted by the long run, the extreme coldness of the water, and the
force of the current, were unable to make another effort to recover him.
They were obliged to receive assistance from the shore to save them-
selves.
Mr. Richard Thompson, of Kirby, swam off to the help of Sir
Charles ; but the latter being carried further away from him by the
current, Mr. Thompson was obliged to give up all hope of reaching
him, and was himself helped out by getting hold of two whips tied
together; one end being thrown to him from the bank. As soon as
he was a little recovered he ran down the bank and swam across a
canal to an island, where the river makes a bend, in hopes that the
body of Orvis, the huntsman, which was being carried down by the
current, might be washed within reach. Unfortunately, Orvis was
carried to the other shore, and the weir being only fifty yards below,
he could make no further effort. The two gardeners were never seen
alive after the boat was upset.
Thus Yorkshire has lost by this unprecedented catastrophe Sir
Charles Slingsby, perhaps the best gentleman huntsman that has ever
228
HUNTING SONGS
lived — one whose genial manners and kind disposition endeared him
to all who had the good fortune to come in contact with him ; Mr.
Robinson, who was not only the finest horseman and best rider to
hounds I have ever known, but the least jealous person that ever
followed hounds over a country ; Mr. Lloyd, the best man of his
weight (he rode fully i6st.) that ever crossed this deep plough — one
whom no fence was too strong for ; and, lastly, poor old Orvis, the
cheeriest of huntsmen and the most civil of servants. Four better-
known men, and whose loss would be more deeply mourned for, could
not be found anywhere. Aeqi/iesca?it in pace. The days of the York
are numbered for the present — never, I am afraid, again to equal the
last few years.
Note 46, p. 206.
A sketch of this seat was made for the Author in the year 1S33,
and the original then existed in the garden of General Moore, at
Hampton Court.
THE END
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