Baily's Magazine of Sports and Pastimes, Volume 85 January to June, 1906 (part 1 of 3)

Baily's Magazine of Sports and Pastimes, Volume 85 January to June, 1906

BAILY’S MAGAZINE OF Sports and Pastimes

VOL. LXXXV.

LONDON, VINTON & C^{o.} 1906.

BAILY’S MAGAZINE OF SPORTS & PASTIMES.

VOLUME THE EIGHTY-FIFTH. BEING NOS. 551–556. JANUARY TO JUNE, 1906.

LONDON: VINTON AND CO., LIMITED, 9, NEW BRIDGE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS E.C.

1906.

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ILLUSTRATIONS.

ENGRAVINGS. PAGE Biddulph, Mr. Assheton, M.F.H. 343 Cardwell, Colonel W. A., M.F.H. 91 Hawkins, Mr. Henry 259 Helmsley, Viscount, M.F.H. 427 Hirst, George H. Title Huntingdon, The Earl of, M.F.H. 1 Mashiter, Mr. Edward, M.F.H. 175

MISCELLANEOUS.

Ascetic’s Silver 406 Beech, The 374 Broadland Sportsman with his Punt and Dog 118 Borzoi Puilai 290 Borzoi Sandringham Moscow 288 Casting a Net for Small Line Bait 116 Clumber Spaniel 481 Cocker Spaniels 480 Country Fair in 1819, A 444 “Dick” 24 Diplomatist, Mr. Ramsay’s 308 Famous Liverpool Riders 210 Flair 490 Foxhounds 8 Gorgos 488 Gubbins, The late Mr. John R. 364 Hot on the Trail 396 Jack Shepherd on Whitethorn 356 Kerry Beagles 318 King Edward, Mr. Drage’s 316 Leicestershire Runners 110 Menella, Mr. W. Scott’s 310 Mother, The 188 Oxford and Cheltenham Coach 114 Pheasants, Koklass 64 Pheasants, Monaul 64 Pinderfields Horace, Mr. T. Smith’s 312 Present King II., Messrs. Forshaw’s 306 Proportions of the Horse 220 Puckeridge Colonist and Cardinal 104 Punt Gunning 464 Red Prince II. 438 Returning from Market 44 Ridgway, Mr. C. Henry 384 “Sent to Walks” 190 Sixth Viscount Galway 200 Swinton, David 20 Vanguard Running a Fox to Ground 198 Wales (Stallion), Lord Middleton’s 314 “When all is Quiet” 400 With the North Cotswold 275 Worry, The 396

PAGE Advent of the Otter-hunting Season (Illustrated) 397 Becking: The Last Shot at the Grouse 15 Beech as a Commercial Tree (Illustrated) 375 Billiard-Cue, The (Illustrated) 442 Biographies:— Biddulph, Mr. Assheton, M.F.H. 343 Cardwell, Colonel W. A., M.F.H. 91 Hawkins, Mr. Henry 259 Helmsley, Viscount, M.F.H. 427 Hirst, George H. 485 Huntingdon, The Earl of, M.F.H. 1 Mashiter, Mr. Edward, M.F.H. 175 Borzoi, The (Illustrated) 289 Breeds of British Salmon 195 Broads as a Sporting Centre, The (Illustrated) 115 Christmas Dream on Sport, A 3 Clever Shot, A 465 Cocks and Some Rabbits, A Few 192 Collection of Indian Weapons 92 Country Fair, A (Illustrated) 443 Cricket Notions 467 Cricket Topics 37 Development of the Modern Motor, The 13 Distemper in Hounds 176 Dressing Flies 367 Education at the Public Schools 433 Education of the Puppy (Illustrated) 187 Englishman’s Sport in Future Years 346 Famous Grand National Riders (Illustrated) 211 Farewell to a Hunter, A (Verses) 128 Foxhounds (Illustrated) 103 Foxhounds of Great Britain, The (Illustrated) 199 Foxhounds: Their Ancestry (Illustrated) 7 Foxhunting in France (Illustrated) 385 Goose Shooting in Manitoba 230 Gossip on Hunting Men, A 56 Gubbins, The Late Mr. John (Illustrated) 362 Half a Century’s Hunting Recollections—IV.-V. 31, 138 Hermit Family, The 377 Herod Blood 300 Hind-hunting 204 Hound Sales, Past and Present 456 Hundred Years Ago, A 36, 127, 217, 287, 398, 477 Hunt “Runners”—II., III., IV. (Illustrated) 19, 109, 272 Hunting Ladies 234 In Memoriam: The late Captain J. T. R. Lane Fox 265 Is Foxhunting Doomed? 40 Jack Shepherd (Illustrated) 357 Judging of Polo Ponies 447 Last of the Bitterns, The 303 Navicular Disease (Illustrated) 369 New Year at the Theatres, The 129 Notes and Sport of a Dry-fly Purist 120, 452 Old Horse, The 276 Olympic Games, The 462 “Our Van” (Illustrated) 67, 155, 241, 320, 405, 487 Oxford and Cheltenham Coach (Illustrated) 113 Pelota 353 Plea for the Hare, A 350 Pheasant Shooting in the Himalayas 65 Polo in 1906 402 Preparatory School, The 358 Pursuit of the Pike, In 47 Racing at Gibraltar in 1905 133 Recollections of Seventy-five Years’ Sport—I.-II. 183, 260 Rugby Football 143 Salmon’s Visual Apparatus, The (Illustrated) 469 Some Fables on Horses 391 Some Novelties in the Laws of Croquet 279 Some Sport in the Transvaal in 1878 292 Some Theories on Acquiring a Seat 237 Song of Homage, A (Verses) 299 South African Policy of the Marylebone Cricket Ministry 387 Sport at the Universities 381 Sport at Westminster 429 Sport and Animal Life at the Royal Academy 449 Sporting Intelligence 85, 171, 254, 339, 420, 500 Sport in the City: The Old Year and the New 26 Sportsman’s Library, The (Illustrated) 45, 218, 317, 399, 478 Spring Horse Shows, The (Illustrated) 305 Spring Trout and Spring Weather 266 Successful Steeplechase Sires (Illustrated) 437 Thoroughbred, The 147 Towered Bird, The 268 True Fishing Stories 283 Two Noted Hunting Sires 223 University Boat Race, The 228 Walker, Mr. Vyell Edward 151 What Next? 100

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BAILY’S MAGAZINE

OF

SPORTS AND PASTIMES.

┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ DIARY FOR JANUARY, 1906. │ ├──────┬─────┬────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │Day of│ Day │ OCCURRENCES. │ │Month.│ of │ │ │ │Week.│ │ ├──────┼─────┼────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ 1│ M │Manchester and Hamilton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 2│ TU │Manchester and Hamilton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ Essex Club Coursing Meeting. │ │ 3│ W │Gatwick Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 4│ TH │Gatwick Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 5│ F │Windsor Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 6│ S │Windsor Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 7│ =S= │=First Sunday after Epiphany.= │ │ 8│ M │Birmingham Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 9│ TU │Birmingham Races and Steeplechases. Tendering Hundred │ │ │ │ Coursing Meeting. │ │ 10│ W │Haydock Park Races and Steeplechases. Altcar Club │ │ │ │ Coursing Meeting. │ │ 11│ TH │Haydock Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 12│ F │Plumpton Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 13│ S │Plumpton Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 14│ =S= │=Second Sunday after Epiphany.= │ │ 15│ M │Wolverhampton Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 16│ TU │Wolverhampton Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 17│ W │Manchester Races and Steeplechases. Gravesend and Cliffe│ │ │ │ Coursing Meeting. │ │ 18│ TH │Manchester and Wye Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 19│ F │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 20│ S │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 21│ =S= │=Third Sunday after Epiphany.= │ │ 22│ M │ │ │ 23│ TU │Windsor Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 24│ W │Windsor and Tenby Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 25│ TH │Tenby Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 26│ F │Lingfield Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 27│ S │Lingfield Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 28│ =S= │=Fourth Sunday after Epiphany.= │ │ 29│ M │Nottingham Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 30│ TU │Nottingham Races and Steeplechases. Rochford Hundred │ │ │ │ Coursing Club. │ │ 31│ W │Gatwick Races and Steeplechases. │ └──────┴─────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

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BAILY’S MAGAZINE OF SPORTS AND PASTIMES NO. 551. JANUARY, 1906. VOL. LXXXV.

CONTENTS.

PAGE Sporting Diary for the Month v. The Earl of Huntingdon, M.F.H. 1 A Christmas Dream on Sport 3 Foxhounds—Their Ancestry (Illustrated) 7 The Development of the Modern Motor 13 Becking—The Last Shot at the Grouse 15 Hunt “Runners”—II. (Illustrated) 19 Sport in the City—The Old Year and the New 26 Half a Century’s Hunting Recollections—IV. 31 A Hundred Years Ago 36 Cricket Topics 37 Is Foxhunting Doomed? 40 The Sportsman’s Library (Illustrated) 45 In Pursuit of the Pike 47 A Gossip on Hunting Men 56 Pheasant Shooting in the Himalayas (Illustrated) 65 “Our Van”:— Racing 67 Staghounds 71 Hunting in Yorkshire—a Capital Suggestion 75 Spaniel Trials in the Vale of Neath 76 The Christmas Shows 77 Sport at the Universities 80 Golf 82 The London Playing Fields’ Society 83 “The Mountain Climber” at the Comedy Theatre 83 “Mr. Popple (of Ippleton)” at the Apollo Theatre 84 Sporting Intelligence 85

WITH ENGRAVED PORTRAIT OF THE EARL OF HUNTINGDON, M.F.H.

The Earl of Huntingdon, M.F.H.

Warner Francis John Plantagenet Hastings, fourteenth Earl of Huntingdon, was born in the year 1868. His career as a sportsman dawned three years later, for at that, we trust appreciative, age he was blooded with the old “H. H.” in the County Waterford, where his father, then Lord Hastings, hunted a part of the old Curraghmore country, and what is now the territory of the Coshmore and Coshbride Hunt. The late Earl, it may be observed, in 1872 became Master of the Ormond and King’s County, and held office until 1882.

The subject of our portrait was reared in the atmosphere of sport which is so peculiarly strong in Ireland; indeed, so intimate have been his relations with hounds and hunting from his earliest days, that he says he was “reared in the kennels.” He lost no time in mastering the art of handling a pack, having owned and hunted beagles at the age of fourteen. He kept a regular pack of harriers in 1886, and showed good sport with them. In 1897, being then twenty-nine years old, he was asked to accept the mastership of the Ormond, in succession to Mr. Asheton Biddulph, which he did, carrying the horn himself, and hunting the country to the great satisfaction of field and farmers alike until 1904. During the season 1900–1901 the Earl hunted the East Galway twice a week in addition to the Ormond, bringing his hounds over from Sharavogue by van. Though a veritable “glutton for work” where hunting is concerned, he confesses that this was a very arduous season. On one occasion he had to get home forty Irish miles (which is about fifty Statute miles) after hunting: this, we imagine, must be the record back home. He was frequently out from 7 a.m. till ten at night; and when it is remembered that he was hunting hounds five days a week, we think it will be admitted that to continue such work long would have killed Squire Osbaldeston himself.

During his first (1897–98) season of mastership in the Ormond country he also kept (and of course hunted) a pack of harriers. These, with the foxhounds, gave him enough to do. One day he had the bitch pack out cubbing in the early morning; came home to breakfast; took the dog pack out cubbing till lunch time; came home to lunch; had out the harriers in the afternoon, and enjoyed sport with all three. Had there been light and another pack of hounds convenient, we make no doubt the indefatigable master would have gone out again after dinner; but the day’s work as it stands probably occupies a unique position in the annals of hunting.

In 1903, Lieut.-Colonel Harrison acting deputy master for him in the Ormond country, he came over to England and acted as huntsman of the North Staffordshire, Messrs. Phillips and Dobson being masters; and in 1904 he assumed the mastership of the Hunt. We may here remark that this is the twentieth season he has carried the horn with beagles, harriers, and foxhounds, having hunted as well deer and otter. As he has hunted with no fewer than fifty-eight different packs of all sorts in his time, Lord Huntingdon’s experience is probably about as varied as that of any man now living. He hunted much in Leicestershire while still keeping his harriers, Somerby being his centre. Of good runs he has borne part in many; he thinks one of the best he ever saw was that with the Belvoir from Harley to Staunton on December 14th, 1892, one hour and thirty minutes.

Lord Huntingdon has played polo for many years. He is President of the King’s County Club, also the Crystal Palace Polo Club, and is a member of the Roehampton, Ranelagh, and other clubs; for many seasons he played back in the King’s County Irish team for the County Cup.

A first-class rabbit and rifle shot, he is fond of the gun, and since he took Madeley Manor from Lord Crewe has begun preserving there; this, however, is his first season at Madeley, and a few years later will no doubt see a much larger head of game there than now exists. He used to do a little racing and also a little race-riding; in 1898 he won the private sweepstakes at Croxton Park, on Captain Herbert Wilson’s Sailor, in a good field of sixteen starters.

He has twice visited the United States, and has been in Canada, Japan, and China, but has not done much big game shooting. Interested in yachting, he is Commodore of the Lough Dearg Corinthian Club. He fishes when he has nothing else to do, principally in the Shannon and Lough Dearg; but with his numerous occupations we gather that the occasions when he has leisure to use the salmon rod are somewhat rare. He is a keen motorist, and drives a great deal; the machine he now uses is a 24–40 h.p. Fiat.

For some years he kept a stud in Ireland and bred horses of various breeds; he has now given this up, but still breeds a few half-breds at Sharavogue.

Lord Huntingdon, who is a Deputy-Lieutenant of the King’s County, retired last year as Lieut.-Colonel of the 3rd Batt. Prince of Wales’ Leinster Regiment. He was unable to go to South Africa, owing to an accident. He succeeded his father in the earldom in 1885. In 1892 he married Maud Margaret, second daughter of Sir Samuel Wilson, late M.P. for Portsmouth, by whom he has a son, Francis, born 1901, and three daughters, who are very keen sportswomen, and never so happy as when riding to hounds. Lord Huntingdon is also very fond of driving four horses, and until motoring started made many driving tours with his yellow coach and team of greys. Lady Huntingdon is also very fond of hunting, and is out regularly with the North Staffordshire. One of Lord Huntingdon’s brothers is the well-known gentleman rider, the Hon. A. Hastings.

The family of Hastings is a very old one. John of Hastings was Seneschal of Aquitaine, and a claimant to the throne of Scotland. Sir William, who became first Baron Hastings, was Master of the Mint under King Edward IV., and first coined the piece known as a “noble.” The first Baron became very powerful, and was eventually beheaded by Richard Duke of Gloucester. The third Baron attended Henry VIII. in his French wars, and was present at the capture of Tournay in 1513; it was this ancestor who became the first Earl.

A Christmas Dream on Sport.

In our school-boy days there were very few of us who could resist the opportunity of having a good stuffing, especially at Christmas, when the mince pies and plum puddings were an extra attraction, and when even the most austere of mothers did not gainsay our desires, although knowing full well that our penalty would follow in the shape of a black dose, or something worse.

It is not, however, to boyhood alone that Christmas has its temptations, and its feasts have their unpleasant accompaniments of dyspepsia and derangement, and we as in our boyhood lie down only to indulge in dreams and nightmares. The remembrance of these phantasies of a disordered stomach have a knack of being difficult to shake off, so much so, that I have determined for this once to chalk down some of the ideas that seem this Christmas indelibly written on my brain, and thus to rid myself of them.

I was carried sometimes into the near future, and then again into remoter times, yet ever onwards, wondering that there was no finality, no halting place, no respite from the excitement which relentless time casts upon our little world of sport.

I was bent on hunting, but I looked in vain at my front door for my hunter or hack. Instead, I found a horseless machine, which whirled me dizzily away against my will, and landed me amongst a throng of people with like machines, and clad like Laplanders, so much so that I turned over in bed, and shouted vainly for the sight of a horse and hound. The scene changed, and I was in a throng of gay horsemen and women at the covert side, and the odour of violets and nosegays was not wanting. Positions were continually shifting, chiefly through the threatening heels of ill-tempered horses, when on a sudden a whistle sounded, followed by one shrill blast of a horn, and away went the throng, blindly as it seemed, jostling and pushing, each one thinking only of himself or herself. Carried away as I was, only a unit in this surging crowd, I had little time to collect my thoughts—all I know was that I saw no hounds, only just indistinctly heard them at starting. Yes, before us were white flags at regular intervals, and here and there a red one, from which the ever lengthening cavalcade in their gallop turned aside, and I heard the words “wheat,” “beans,” or “seeds” growled out by our leaders. Where the white flags predominated in front of us the hedges had been cut down and levelled, as if for a steeplechase. There were visions of that demon barbed wire on either hand, but I learnt that those white flags meant safety. The jostling soon ceased, but loose horses came as a fresh trial to my troubled brain, and, oh, the shaves I experienced to keep clear of them. Then we crossed a road, where a liveried hunt servant stood sentinel over the motor brigade, that but for him would have barred our way. After this all was confused galloping and jumping, until the horn sounded in a wooded hollow, and there was a baying of hounds at a hole, which betokened the end of a twenty-five minutes’ gallop after this supposed fox (if, indeed, it was one), but it was several more minutes before that strung-out array of riders drew together again, mopping and mud-stained, yet masterful in their happiness. They had had their gallop, the motors were near at hand, grooms were requisitioned from them, and thus away went the majority of that gay throng, back to their cities and suburbs, leaving but a few to work out the rest of the day in the woodlands, when I can distinctly swear that they found a fox, for I saw him cross a ride—a mangy little beggar was he—and we revelled in no more green fields that day. But, ah, I forgot to say that before starting a hat was thrust in front of me, whose owner whispered, “For the farmers’ field fund, please sir.” Only gold was taken!

And I awoke finding myself in a train, whose engine neither puffed nor smoked—all went by electricity.

And soliloquising, as I rubbed my eyes, the interpretation meant hunting in A.D. 1925. Again I dreamt. I was on a racecourse on a June day, when all was bright and beautiful. Such gorgeous stands, such crowds of fashionable and unfashionable people, such an array of motoring machines lining the course opposite the stands, such order and regularity, no hoarsely-shouting crowd of betting men, no Tattersall’s Enclosure. What did it all mean? The numbers were up in blazing letters of the runners for the first race. Was racing to be carried on in dumb show? I looked again, and beheld people like bees clustering round some low buildings, pigeonholed like enlarged telegraph offices, and numbers and names of horses figured here. There the money flowed in with startling rapidity. In some places only cheques and notes were received, in others gold, in others silver, and all payers had a diminutive numbered receipt. Then came the race. Each horse accurately numbered, and silence no longer reigned. An electric gong proclaimed the start, and thousands of eyes and thousands of voices bore witness to their excitement as the horses swept towards the winning post. What has won? The judge has touched one of a set of electric buttons that are in his box, and the winner’s number is simultaneously shown in half-a-dozen conspicuous places. Soon tinkles a bell on the top of the low building, and thither fly the bees to gather the honey that they have won. But this time they find their gains on the opposite side of the building from which their money was deposited. All the takings have been counted like magic, the winning number sweeps the pool, after due deduction made by way of percentage for much that the country stands in need of.

I noticed, too, that bright liveried messengers plied amongst the stalls and boxes of the stands, doing the work of payment and receipt for the brilliant company sitting there. All this was repeated again and again, until my brain became accustomed to it. Presently, as if to cast a shadow on the gay scene, a red disc appeared on the number-board. “Objection.” The paying-out pigeonholes were closed for that race, and we held our breath; but not for long, since the tribunal of stewards had been chosen beforehand, and unless the subject of the objection had to be adjourned unavoidably, the disc soon proclaimed “Over-ruled” or “Sustained,” and the pay-boxes for that race were opened after the last race of the day.

Here ready money ruled the day. The welsher had been forgotten; the bookmaker had turned backer; the plunger could not find himself below the bottom of his purse; and roguery was worsted.

The Jockey Club at that time was no longer wholly self elective. There was a certain proportion of its members affiliated by election to it, as representing the racecourse interests and owners, outside mere aristocratic connections. It was to them that the reforms in turf management were mainly due. Can all this really come to pass? It is but a dream, and I am awake. Nevertheless, that the totalizer or tote, as it is called in Australia, or the pari mutuel, as it is termed in France, or the pool, as it is more likely to find its name in this country, is destined ere long to become here also the rule of betting is my firm conviction, and with it will come aids to agriculture and assistance to poverty, as well as in alleviation of bodily suffering, such as will recommend it to peer and peasant alike.

Once again I dreamt, and my dream was of the future. It was shooting that filled my troubled brain. A letter was before me inviting me to a great battue, and yet it could not be intended for me, as a high rocketting pheasant requires to be of haystack proportions in order to suffer death at my hands. Nevertheless, it ran thus: “Dear ——, Will you do me the honour of joining our party for shooting my coverts during the week beginning the —— day of November? We hope to kill at least 3,000 pheasants. My land steward will send you full particulars of the rules which regulate my sport, to which I hope you will find no objection.” And this was what the steward said: “Dear Sir,—I am directed by Mr. —— to inform you that the following are the regulations which dominate his shooting, and which it is my duty to see carried out. No tips are allowed.

“Shooting will commence at 10.30 each day.

“A map will be furnished each day to you showing the beats and stands for the guns numbered in the usual way. Everything will be supplied you, except a loader, and any excess above 1,000 cartridges. Low flying birds may be passed by. A whistle will sound at the commencement of each beat.

“Lunch will be at 1 p.m., and will be announced by a gong. In case of rain, canvas covering will be provided over the shooting stands. A motor-car will meet you on Monday on the arrival of the train, and convey you to the Hall, and a like conveyance on Saturday will convey you back to the station.

“Enclosed is a banker’s order, which you will kindly fill up for the sum of £5, and return same, which goes to form the keepers’ fund.”

He might have added, but it was not on the circular, that a light dose of sal volatile will be provided to allay the headache which each day’s battue was likely to cause. Yet the method and completeness of arrangement impressed me.

I turned in my bed thinking of my spaniels and retrievers, and the many enjoyable raids I had had with them, when there appeared before me an autograph circular from a well-known London sporting agent, and thus it ran. “The Earl of ——— has arranged for the coming season to invite five approved guns to shoot over his extensive Norfolk estate in company with three guns of his own choice. The sport will extend over eleven days, six of which will be partridge drives, and five pheasant shoots. The bag should amount to at least 3,000 partridges and 4,000 pheasants. The appointed days for shooting will be fixed by the Earl. Terms, 300 guineas for each gun, to include all expenses, to be paid me in advance. All applications for this exceptional offer must be made to me on or before the —— day of ——— next, and guns will be accepted in their order of merit.”

I awoke. And so this was the shooting sport of A.D. 1925! Well, perhaps by that time the people of this country will for the most part have become Daniel Lamberts, and sitting or standing behind butts, and having all the more or less tame creatures for their slaughter brought to them, will be their only means of enjoyment. Thank heaven that your scribe will not survive to see these days, although we are already becoming very luxurious in our pursuit of shooting. Perhaps our middle-aged and older men will tell you that they are able to get this exercise in the enjoyment of golf, and that this is a set-off against the limited exercise that shooting now exhibits, and this may save them from falling a prey to fatty degeneration of the heart.

These dreams are horrible phantasies that we have to indulge in whether we like them or not, and seldom are they pleasant, nor will they come at call. I tried to dream into the future of fishing, a sport I love so well. But, alas! the spirit moved me not. Those lusty trout and grayling, and those sportive salmon, refused to be allured by any new means; their ways were just the same, and no newly-defined artifices sufficed to bring them to hand more easily or with less practical skill. Only the ranks of their enemies seemed to have increased. More and more fishermen came on the scene, who sought them out farther and wider throughout remote countries, and more money and greater artifice was employed to effect their capture, so that their preservation became a question of the day, as it has, indeed, become so to-day.

Your younger readers will perhaps hail with delight these halcyon days of sport, which, if my dreams have any portent, are destined to come upon us all the more swiftly, seeing that riches as they accumulate bring in their train luxury and indulgence, and that it is to wealth that our landed estates must come, unless they are destined to be swept away by the flood of social democracy, which, thank God, does not come within the scope of my dreams, for if so, “I had,” as Shakespeare says, “passed a miserable night, so full of ghastly dreams.”

If perchance, however, my dreams should prove ominous, let me implore you who in the radiance of youth have the opportunity of guiding and shaping the destiny of sport, to hold fast by the truer principles which have hitherto held sport so high in this country, casting aside its meretricious aids and surroundings, which only sap its true vitality, and would fain emasculate its worth to us as a nation. Stand fast by “the horse and hound,” and maintain a deaf ear to the tempter that whispers of the gorgeous trappings and luxurious surroundings, which are the death role of genuine sport.

Shakespeare once more comes to my mind when in “Troilus and Cressida” he exclaims, “My dreams will sure prove ominous to-day.”

BORDERER.

P.S.—Since writing the above article, I read with pleasure that the first blow has been struck at the Gimcrack Dinner by Mr. Hall Walker in favour of the Totalisator. He is not only an extensive owner of racehorses and a successful breeder, but also a man who has had ample opportunity of thinking out this subject from a national standpoint. This freely expressed opinion of Mr. Hall Walker’s on betting reform will, let us hope, bear fruit, even if it is after many days.

Foxhounds.

THEIR ANCESTRY.

It might raise a considerable amount of discussion to assert that the foxhound had a longer line of ancestry than other breeds brought under the fostering care of Englishmen, but this much can be said, that when public opinion was turning towards the correct methods for the attainment of animal perfection, interest was taken in foxhounds similar to that taken in the racehorse, the shorthorn, or the red Devon. Could such a date be accepted at about 1730?—which was nearly a quarter of a century before Eclipse was foaled. The newly formed Ormesby stock of shorthorns was then about to be removed to Ketton, near Darlington, and the Davys and Quartlys had not commenced their improvements on the Devons. But there is evidence that foxhounds were beginning to be thought of at the time, and by 1750 a great many noblemen and gentlemen were very intent on hound breeding.

The Dukes of Beaufort had hounds, bred and walked at Badminton; the Pelhams had already formed the Brocklesby; Mr. Hugo Meynell had friends enough to apply to for hounds to hunt Leicestershire three or four days a week; and there were North country packs of fairly large dimensions. It was, indeed, a very interesting subject, and it is not a little singular that the idea of breeding hounds on scientific principles commenced at almost the same time as a change was taking place in regard to the animal to be hunted. Nearly half the eighteenth century had passed away before our forefathers had given up the custom of hunting the wild stag and the hare as almost the only quarries to be hunted on a line of scent. Just as the story of the Silk Wood run relates that the fifth Duke of Beaufort changed from stag to fox, because the latter gave the better burst, and laid himself out for a more open country, there was a general consensus of opinion that the time had come for a great breed of hounds to be carefully bred and trained for this special running. The bold onward style and cunning of the fox wanted something with more dash than was required for the short-running deer, or the hare always wanting to retrace her own foil. The fox taught that exquisite forward cast that almost sums up the pleasure of hunting; and the faster hounds will throw themselves on a line that is always well ahead of them, the more exhilarating is the sport. That is what the old pioneers of foxhunting lived for, and one may suppose it was brought about by selecting the hounds of the day that possessed the particular dash required. At any rate, old letters and manuscripts show that a vast number of sportsmen became very keen in regard to breeding such hounds. Long journeys were taken to secure their blood, and as one of the pleasantest of sporting writers has curtly put it, “the love of foxhunting was well in the air.”

It is almost incredible what the sportsmen of 1750 did do. As Mr. Pelham, the ancestor of the Earls of Yarborough lent a hound called Jimper to Lord Percival in 1760, and as he was stated to be by one called Rockwood, there is a suggestion of a back pedigree at that time. In fact, there was another of Mr. Pelham’s of 1760 called Marquis, by Rockwood a son of Rattler, by Lord Monson’s Mischief. Again, there is another of Mr. Pelham’s in 1766, by Tickler son of Ferrymann by Twister out of Careful, a daughter of Lord Granby’s Danger. Sir Walter Vavasour appears to have been in the thick of the hound furore of the time, and so does Sir Roland Winnes, Mr. Hassell, Mr. Watson of Old Malton, Mr. Lane Fox, Lord Middleton, and the then Duke of Devonshire.

But for the fact that lists were not generally kept in these early days, there is every reason to think that present hound pedigrees could be traced from the hounds of 1730 or 1740, but the registration departments of many of the great kennels could not have been very perfect as although Brocklesby can boast of records to 1713, there must have been some breaks up to 1745, when Mr. Pelham—afterwards the first Lord Yarborough—saw the necessity of keeping such accounts of breeding clearly and regularly, and so kept his stud books in his own handwriting. Whether this practice lapsed or not is not recorded, but when Mr. Tongue (Cecil) formulated his stud book, he could not go much further back than 1787; or at least that was the last date he gave to a hound called Dover, by Lord Monson’s Driver out of Whimsey. Cecil was a most industrious investigator, and he would have gone back to the Ark with sufficient evidence for the undertaking. As a matter of fact, my old friend, who gave me most of his hound lists, pulled up at something like the years referred to, his very latest date being 1779, when mentioning a bitch called Rosamond, by Mr. Meynell’s Roister out of Lord Ludlow’s Tasty. Of course, in making such researches, the difficulties to overcome are that many packs have been dispersed, and so records have ended. That really happened to Mr. Meynell’s, Lord Ludlow’s, Mr. John Muster’s, and Lord Monson’s, to the detriment of perhaps the hereditary packs that had been indebted to them for blood.

Considering that several changes have taken place in its history during the past hundred and fifty years, it is remarkable that so much hereditary material is forthcoming from Lord Middleton’s pack, but this is partially due to the fact that one man and his son after him were the huntsmen to it for nearly eighty years. These were William Carter and Tom Carter, the former being in office when Sir Tatton Sykes took on the country (with his brother, Sir Mark Masterman Sykes), that is now occupied by Lord Middleton. That was in 1804, but William Carter, who must have been an intelligent fellow, and particularly fond of dates and pedigrees, knew all the hounds from 1764. The book he compiled—and which is at the present time in the possession of Lord Middleton—was really perfectly kept, and through its pages some of the entries can be most certainly traced up to Cecil’s Stud Book, published in 1864, and so on to occupants of the kennel benches to-day.

I have no doubt that several lines can be taken, but I turn, for example, to a bitch called Jointress, who had quite a large family, in different litters, numbering about sixteen couples. She was out of Rosamond, 1775, by Sir William Vavasour’s Twister, out of Doxey, and the line had still greater extent, as Jointress had a sister called Jessamy, who was almost as prolific in producing good ones. Amongst the daughters of Jointress was Magic, and the latter had a daughter called Prudence, whose descendants came into the pack that was transferred by Mr. C. Duncombe to Sir Masterman Sykes; but William Carter, in his note to that effect, declares that most of these hounds were drafted. There is, however, the strongest evidence that Prudence produced a son called Pillager, and he was the sire of another Prudence, and in like manner a dog called Fairplay—from Famous, a daughter of Jointress—was a notable sire, and a son of his called Fairplay came into the Sykes’ pack at the above-mentioned date; he was the sire of Brilliant and Blossom, entered in 1805, and Brilliant was the sire of Boaster and Blue-Cap, and also of Blossom, Barrister, and Barmaid. Blossom subsequently produced in 1814 three couples, named Bounty, Blue-Cap, Beauty, Barmaid, Boundless and Bloomy; and Blossom likewise produced in another litter Bachelor, Barrister, and Blameless. Of these Blue-Cap certainly became a sire of note, and two and a half couples in two litters were put on by him in 1823, and one couple the year before. Sir Tatton Sykes appears to have stuck to this line, as Barrister, son of Blue-Cap, was also bred from, and was the sire of Brusher, Topper, Blue-Cap, Bachelor, and Blossom, and this last-named Blue-Cap was the sire of Bellman and Barrister of 1834. Then Bonny Lass was by Brusher, and she was the dam of Bellmaid. However, the very best branch of this family tree became noticeable in 1832, when Blossom, the sister to Blue-Cap, was mated to the Osbaldeston Flagrant, and the result was three couples of puppies all put on in 1833; they were Furrier, Ferryman, Finder, Famous, Flagrant and Favorite. Flagrant was possibly the best, as he was bred from in his second season, and produced Dreadnought, Domo and Desperate for the 1835 entry; but Famous in 1838 had a couple and a half in the entry, and Desperate had a daughter called Dainty entered in 1841. Primrose, a daughter of Famous, was by Bondsman, one of the family, and so Primrose was inbred to it. It may be thought that Bondsman was the sheet anchor really of the sort, as he must have lived to be a nine-season hunter, and one of his daughters, Music, and two of her sons, Denmark and Vulcan, were in the pack that the eighth Lord Middleton took over from Sir Tatton Sykes in 1853. There is more of the blood besides in the Birdsall Kennel at the present time, and so with a clear pedigree of a hundred and thirty years, to the good bitch Jointress of 1778, and her descent is easily traceable to 1764.

Lord Middleton has another line, though that is quite as certain in straining through the sixth Lord Middleton’s Vanguard and Darling to the famous Corbet Trojan; and let it be known that all the Oakley Driver sort—and there are none better at the present moment—trace to it through the late Mr. Arkwright’s Cromy by Lord Middleton’s Chanticleer, and so on to Vanguard, and his dam, Traffic, a great-granddaughter of Trojan’s. There has been a fortunate dependence on the fame of many noted hounds, such as Trojan, Vanguard, and, a little later still, to the Osbaldeston Furrier. The great Squire was so celebrated for everything that pertained to sport, that his declaration of Furrier being the very best hound he had ever hunted in his life told immensely with the great judges who became his successors, Mr. G. S. Foljambe, Sir Richard Sutton, Lord Henry Bentinck, and Mr. Nicholas Parry. They made Furrier the corner-stone of all their kennel-breeding operations, and so it is not difficult to-day to trace the excellence of Lord Galway’s Barrister blood, the Dorimont blood of the Blankney, all that remains of the Puckeridge, and the old Quorn Dryden family to Furrier. The most popular sire of to-day, the Belvoir Stormer, hits, according to my making out, thirteen times to Furrier, and in Weathergage it was certainly noticeable eight times. In all the great hounds talked of in the last quarter of a century, such as the Fitzhardinge Cromwell, the Belvoir Weathergage, the Croome Rambler, the Grafton Woodman, the Southwold Freeman, or the Quorn Alfred, there is the line to the little black and white—some have said shabby-looking hound—Furrier, who was got by the Belvoir Saladin in 1820, Saladin being by Sultan, by Lord Sefton’s Sultan by Mr. Hugo Meynell’s Guzman, of 1794, and Guzman was by German, also belonging to Mr. Meynell. On the female line Furrier was related to the Badminton Topper, and Sir William Lowther’s Dashwood to a bitch called Amorous, of 1791. This is as far as “Cecil” thought it advisable to go.

Mr. G. S. Foljambe, in the year 1835, had got some double hitting to the Furrier family, as he bred the brothers Herald and Harbinger, by the Osbaldeston Ranter, son of Furrier, out of Harpy by Herald son of Hermit, son of Saladin, the sire of Furrier. From the brothers in question Mr. Foljambe bred almost a pack. His Layman of 1861 was by Nectar, son of Nectar of 1849, and the latter’s dam was Princess by Harbinger, whilst the dam of the first-mentioned Nectar was Conquest, her dam Captive by Herald. Barrister of 1860 hit twice to Layman, and so again to the memorable brothers, and their blood was also in Sportsman and Forester, and very much again in Lord Henry Bentinck’s Contest, who was by Comus, son of Mr. Foljambe’s Herald, out of Sanguine, by the same gentleman’s Sparkler, by Singer, son of Streamer, by the Vine Pilgrim out of Sybil, by the Osbaldeston Ranter, son of Furrier. This is all combined in modern day pedigrees, and especially through Sir Richard Sutton’s Dryden, son of the Burton Contest, as he was the sire of Destitute the dam of the famous Belvoir Senator, again through the Croome Rambler, a descendant of the above Contest on his sire’s side, and through the Grove Barrister’s on his dam’s. Also to the Belvoir Weathergage, who was by Warrior, son of Wonder, son of Chanticleer, son of Chaser, son of Brocklesby Rallywood, who traced three times to Furrier, and then there was Royalty, the dam of Weathergage, got by Rambler, brother to the third Rallywood. It may well appear that the perfection of hound breeding was gained through their ancestry to the Osbaldeston Furrier, and principally by the means of four hounds selected to perpetuate the sort by probably two of the greatest masters of hound breeding ever heard of—Mr. G. S. Foljambe, who relied on Harbinger and Herald, and Mr. Nicholas Parry, who chose Pilgrim and Rummager. The last line to old Furrier might have been lost in the changes of time, but it looks now as if it will be stronger than ever through the policy that has been pursued of late by the Marquis of Zetland, Mr. Edward Barclay, the present Master of the Puckeridge, and Captain Standish, the Master of the Hambledon, through four and a half couples of whelps purchased in 1894 by the Hon. L. Baring at the Puckeridge break-up sales. Captain Standish is also breeding from the present Puckeridge Cardinal, who inherits the old strain from Gulliver. High breeding and to follow in the steps of the old master’s must do a great deal, as after all is said and done they must have known much about it a hundred years ago. The picture which accompanies this paper is dated 1804, and called “Foxhounds,” by Philip Reinagle, R. A.; Sir Walter Gilbey in his interesting work on animal painters tells us that Reinagle was born in 1749, and that he commenced to paint hunting scenes when about thirty-four years old, in consequence of his intense love of sport. He must have known all about it by the running of the pack in the distance, and by the two hounds with their heads at just the right level for that exquisite pose known as heads up, sterns down, and racing.

G. S. LOWE.

The Development of the Modern Motor.

When the difficulties confronting the introduction and development of the modern motor-car are taken into consideration, the progress made may be regarded as remarkable. Although, as usual in mechanical matters, this country originated the idea, and had steam road carriages in use nearly a century ago, they succumbed to popular prejudices, were virtually interdicted, and the act of liberation came only in 1896, when the success of the internal combustion engine had revived them in a different form. Before they were again permitted to be used in England, France and other countries had obtained a decided lead in their design and construction, and for the last nine years British makers have been engaged in a keen struggle to regain what they lost by the tardy removal of their prohibition. That we have at last succeeded in holding our own in the competition was amply demonstrated by the exhibition held at Olympia in November last. Here the home productions compared favourably in every respect with the finest specimens from abroad; indeed, the show in Paris last month, though its artistic setting was superior, hardly afforded a better display, and was less international in character.

Automobilism may be regarded as still in its infancy, and although the late show introduced no revolutionary methods in principle or construction, it is impossible to foretell what radical changes may be brought about in course of time. At present the explosion engine carries all before it, but the use of steam has by no means been abandoned. Its advantages in flexibility and facility of control stand it in good stead, and although it costs more in fuel, this has become a matter of minor importance. The steam car is still engaging the attention of a few firms, and it may yet become a useful and acceptable type of vehicle. During the past year there has been a marked advance in every detail of construction, whilst the upholstering and appointments of the more pretentious cars have made them most luxurious equipages, the coachbuilder’s art being combined with the highest mechanical skill.

In the electric car, it is possible that those driven by petrol may, at some future time, find a serious competitor. The electric broughams used in towns exhibit the high state-of efficiency obtained by the employment of this propulsive agent, and the absence of noise and smell. Their future, however, depends upon the discovery of much more efficient accumulators or upon the establishment throughout the country of electrical charging stations, and until such time as one or other of these conditions is fulfilled their use must be limited to towns or the neighbourhood of works where their supply of electricity can alone be replenished.

The most important improvement introduced of late in connection with the motor is that of the six-cylinder engine. This stands to the credit of an English firm, and although when it was first brought out little was thought of it, experience has proved it to be of the greatest value, and it is being adopted by some of the best firms on the Continent. With fewer cylinders there are longer intervals between each recurring explosion, and the severity of each impulse has to be softened by the use of a heavy fly-wheel, which takes the jar off the driving gear, to which it communicates the power in a less violent and more protracted form. By the use of six cylinders a much greater continuity of propulsive effort is obtained, and to develop the same amount of power the violence of each explosion is diminished, with the result that there is greater smoothness in the running and less strain on the mechanism. Eight cylinders have been used by another firm, but it remains to be seen whether any advantage will be gained commensurate with the increased complication involved.

It is satisfactory to note that serious attention is now being given to the closing in of automobiles, and the latest car built for His Majesty the King is an instance of the advance made in this direction. No one would voluntarily ride in an ordinary open carriage in cold and wintry weather, yet people become so easily wedded to custom that they will travel long distances in open motor cars and expose themselves to the rigours of the blast of air that visits them with three times the severity, by reason of the speed at which they travel, that it would in a horse-drawn carriage. In the more commodious cars there is no difficulty in complying with a condition so essential to the comfort of the occupants; for, as it is, motoring in winter is a trying ordeal to all but the most robust. The motor car has assumed the form of an open conveyance owing to the fact that it has been developed on racing rather than utilitarian lines, and to the diminution of wind resistance being necessary to the attainment of high speeds. This is a factor of small account, however, when the pace is kept within legal or reasonable limits.

The dress of the motorist is fashioned and designed with a view to protect him from the effects of exposure to the weather, and in the more or less futile attempt to keep him warm when his journey is a long one and the day chilly. With the covered-in car the unsightly garments, masks, and goggles with which he has had perforce to bedeck himself, and which have brought much ridicule upon him, will be rendered unnecessary, and ladies and gentlemen when driving will be able to adopt more rational costumes than those which have distinguished them in the past.

Pneumatic tyres, which constitute the most costly item in the upkeep of a car, have been greatly improved, and retain their supremacy; for it is only by their use that high speeds are attainable and endurable. Not only do they conduce to comfort by their elasticity, but they save the mechanism from the severe shocks it would otherwise sustain in passing over rough roads. Metal-studded bands are coming largely into use for the double purpose of obtaining a better grip on slippery surfaces and preventing punctures, while at the same time they save the tyres from much wear and tear. Solid rubber tyres are offered as substitutes for pneumatics on slower and cheaper cars, and for various commercial vehicles, and sundry attempts are being made by the provision of springs to compensate for the elasticity they lack.

Up to the present time there are few signs of any appreciable reduction in the prices of cars, for, so far, improvements in details and the additions to their equipment have absorbed whatever may otherwise have been saved by economies in construction. Some unpretentious but serviceable little cars of limited capacity may, however, be now obtained at something over £100, whilst those who are prepared to spend double this amount will have a wide choice. Not until types become fixed and standardisation of component parts becomes possible can prices be materially reduced.

E. T.

Becking.

THE LAST SHOT AT THE GROUSE.

It has been the fashion to say that since grouse driving became a science the proportion of birds killed and left upon the moors is only a question of the will of the occupier. This season, in Scotland at any rate, has proved that this is not the case. Although there were not many moors perhaps where more grouse ought to have been killed, there were a good many where it was attempted to slay more than proved to be possible. The fact is, when the grouse take to the tops they are practically safe; especially is this the case when these tops are the “march” between two shootings. Then the grouse see the flankers as King Louis of France saw the figures of men in Tenier’s pictures. They look “like maggots,” and grouse are not afraid of those immature insects, although they do not eat them. It is the height and the angle that make all the difference in driving grouse that have become wild enough to take to the “tops,” for the very object of resorting to these altitudes seems to be the better to keep watch and ward against the arrival of the enemy.

As the season advances in the Highlands, bags quickly sink from hundreds of brace per day to tens, and very soon after this they would sink to units were it thought worth while to organise driving parties for the units; but it is not, and consequently the Highland grouse are growing to be almost as difficult to regulate in point of numbers, and more difficult in point of sex, than they were before driving came in. For the latter practice has everywhere increased the wild habit; it has not merely taught existing birds wildness for the time being, but the habit of standing up to look for danger instead of crouching in the heather to hide from it, has become hereditary and instinctive where driving has been the longest practised. Unless moors are very hilly this habit does not much matter, because, provided grouse can be properly flanked and flagged, they can also be driven, but on the tops in Scotland this is not possible, and the outcome is unfortunately that too many of the hens and the young males get killed on the flat ground. The old cocks are the first to take possession of their fastnesses, the tops, and there they remain until, in the breeding season, they take possession of the best breeding sites and drive away all the younger and more healthy birds. The worst feature of this is that these old cocks are like master swans, and think they require a kingdom for themselves, a kingdom without subjects, for none of their kind are permitted to live near them. Consequently the birds left to breed may be numerous, and yet be of no use. They have to move off at breeding time because of the persecution of the old birds. There is no much employed method of getting rid of these old cocks when driving them fails in the hills. There was one before the days of driving, but it is almost a lost art. This was called “becking.”

The practice of becking was very simple and easy to learn, indeed the grouse themselves teach it better than any schoolmaster. Any time in August, when the shooting lodge is really on the moor and not under it, one has but to sleep with an open window, and the first sound of the coming day to greet the awakening sleeper will be object lessons in becking. It is a habit of the proud old cock grouse to challenge each other in the morning. This they do by fluttering up into the air vertically some ten or a dozen feet and crowing. Rarely is the challenge accepted in the autumn, probably because these old grouse have long ago settled their differences, and one no longer trespasses on the ground of the other. Each is king of his brood and ready to defend his castle, but neither will enter willingly into the domain of another bird. Nature is at peace with herself. But when the moorland keeper arises before light and gets upon the moor before the grouse are awake, when he hides in some peat hag, or other shelter, and starts to crow, every old cock grouse within earshot becomes angry at the unknown voice of an intruder, and instantly the challenge is accepted. The intruder not being in a position to go out in search of mortal combat the oldest inhabitant comes to seek him, but instead meets a charge of shot, which unceremoniously, and in revolt of sporting feeling, knocks him over on the ground without giving him the proverbial chance for his life.

Before driving game came in, this was the only way to find grouse for the table, after the spirit of winter wildness had entered into the birds. Nobody thought of it as sport, but the keepers knew of it as a necessity in preserving, for the reason that it killed off the old cocks and none besides. It was an automatic selection of the most unfit, and had it been practised beyond the necessity of the table of the owner, would have done much more for the stock than any other thing could. But it was confined and limited by the state of the larder. Now even this demand has stopped, because cold storage supplies the table with better birds, that is young ones, killed perhaps on August 12th in one year, and eaten on August 11th upon the next, and admirable birds they are, too.

But not only has the necessity of the table ceased to operate for the good of the grouse stock, but driving the birds has rendered “becking” a lost labour in many places.

It is no good going out to beck on ground where the broods once were, after they have all united as one vast pack and gone somewhere else. That is too obvious almost to name, but suppose the neighbourhood of a big pack is found, and the “becking” keeper attempts to call up the old grouse, he soon finds out that the voice of the charmer has ceased to charm. What is the reason? Well, when there are practically one hundred challenges issued at the same time from every direction, and in voices unfamiliar to the hearers, the grouse become so used to the call to battle, that they take no notice of the battle-cry. If they did the attempt to find the offender by his challenge, would be like the attempt to flush a land-rail by following his “croak.” Voices resound on every side, and an angry bird soon finds that the only outlet to pent-up wrath is to challenge too, but not to search for challengers that are in as many directions as echo itself.

Once I read somewhere how a keeper had surprised himself in a morning’s “becking.” Soon after taking up position he was greeted by a return challenge, and the proud old cock soon appeared on a little “knowie” not far off. The keeper shot, but when the smoke had cleared there stood the bird as proud as ever, he shot again, and the black powder smoke hung in the still morning air, but it cleared at last, and still the bird was there to challenge. He shot again, again, and yet again, and at last, when the smoke cleared, the bird had evidently been killed. So he crept forth from his hiding place to gather this very refractory old cock. But instead of finding him, he found five fathers of broods which had each heard the stranger, and wanted to give him battle. Each in turn had seen his predecessor strutting on the “knowie,” and thinking the strange voice belonged to it, had arrived to do battle exactly at the instant his wished-for antagonist had “bitten the peat.” But, as the keeper probably knew very well, it would have been quite natural had he missed each of five birds in turn, for grouse, standing in the heather, require to be at least ten or fifteen yards nearer the gunner than when they are flying, and if they are not that much nearer it is just a little more easy to miss than to kill. Probably the reason is that the heather turns a good many pellets that might have hit, and also that when wings are closed, and the birds are facing the gunner, the only vitals are the head and neck. The wings glance a great many of the pellets.

I do not profess to be able to call grouse, but I have done the shooting while a keeper has successfully called up grouse after grouse. The puzzle is, why they do not mind the shooting. Obviously they are not troubled with “nerves,” and are so much preoccupied in their wish to make the stranger “leave that,” that they forget to enquire what made the thunder.

On the occasion referred to, I was provided with a very full choke twelve bore, which killed at least fifteen yards further away than an ordinary game gun, so that when a grouse appeared on a little “knowie,” I was prompt to align him and to pay no attention to the keeper’s advice that it was “beyont range.” I knew that keepers usually took only very certain chances, and that the cult of the choke bore was not within my companion, so I let off and my grouse disappeared. I, too, was evidently in for great good luck, like the keeper quoted above, for no sooner had one been knocked over than another was up and seeking for war; but not for five times, only four. After this there was a pause too long for patience, and I went forward to gather my game, and end the morning’s sport. The first grouse I came to was only wounded, he had an injured eye or head, and sat bunched up with the bad eye towards me. It ought to have been an easy bird to gather, but over confidence, or want of care, made him suspicious, and he flew away, and when I pulled trigger at him I found that I had not cocked my gun. There was no other grouse to be found, and it became obvious that I had only had one quick change artist to deal with all the time; he had evidently been knocked off his perch by shot that had not penetrated, or had made him uncomfortable enough for him to move at each shot.

I am told that the principal difference between a good shot and a bad one at driven grouse is, that the former knows how to select the easy birds. Without going as far as that I can say with certainty that a grouse, five yards too far off, becomes about twenty times as difficult as he is five yards nearer.

But although this experience of mine was as far from a brilliant success as could be thought of, yet I believe that “becking” is absolutely necessary to the highest possible preservation wherever the grouse do not pack. I should say it was just as useful where they do pack if it could be carried out, but it cannot. When hunger begins to harass the birds in the winter months, they often divide the sexes, like the high churches, as Sir Fred Millbank observed thirty years ago, and obviously when the cocks are all in the fellowship of the unemployed they are not looking out for somebody to have a row with. Nevertheless, there is often much open weather between the end of grouse driving and the end of the season, on December 10th, and where it can be practised successfully, it is well to remember, in the interests of the breeding stock, that “becking” is the only automatic selection of old cocks that has ever been practised, and had probably something to do with the fact that there were more grouse in Scotland in 1872, and before, than there are in these days of scientific heather management and artistic killing of grouse. On dog moors it is particularly necessary, and on them can be easily made successful.

One excellent sportsman of Shropshire, who was not unknown on the Chirk Castle moors, used to tell me that it was quite wonderful how well grouse kept, as he often had them in March. He explained that it was only the cocks that kept so long; and this was before cold storage was thought of.

B.

Hunt “Runners.” II. DAVID SWINTON AND DICK BAKER.

Successive generations of Belvoir Hunt followers will remember the beaming countenance of old David Swinton, the enthusiastic foot-hunter. He always dressed in black, with a clerical-looking wideawake, and carried a stout oak staff. Swinton takes us a long way back into hunting history, for his first day’s sport with the Duke of Rutland’s hounds was in the middle ’thirties, when he was a lad at school. To-day, as he sits by the fireside, approaching his eightieth birthday, he is still hale and hearty, though not an active pedestrian, and is in the unique position of one who has enjoyed sport with the Belvoir hounds under the mastership of two Dukes of Rutland, Lord Forester, and Sir Gilbert Greenall. Though the classic pack can boast of huntsmen who served long tenures of office, Swinton has reminiscences of five since 1836, namely, Thomas Goosey, Will Goodall, James Cooper, Frank Gillard, and Ben Capell. Generations of sportsmen have come and gone in that time, and there are not many of Swinton’s early contemporaries left, though foxhunters are a long-lived race.

Until a season or two ago we still had with us Mr. John Welby, the Squire of Allington, one of the best that ever crossed a country, Lord Wilton, and Sir Thomas Whichcote, who were undefeated horsemen in their day. Another hardy old sportsman who rode up to the last, and only joined the great majority a few years ago, was Mr. John Nichols, of Sleaford, who, like Swinton, was entered to sport by Thomas Goosey, and would hunt with no hounds other than the Duke’s. The old runner had just the same sentiment, and although he has had a look at other hunts, he was always loyal in his allegiance to the ducal pack.

The Belvoir, so far as we know, have never had a paid runner, but Swinton became an institution, and certainly during Frank Gillard’s term of office was most useful in performing many little duties which help to keep the internal machinery of a hunt in smooth working order. Though scarlet-coated runners are to be seen with the Belvoir on the Leicestershire side, dividing their attentions between the packs that hunt within distance of Melton, they are never seen so far afield as Lincolnshire. The reason for this is that the area traversed is very wide, and the going is so much heavier that a man on foot would have little chance of keeping in touch with the hunt.

David Swinton dates back to the days when there were active pedestrians in the land, his keenness to see a hunt carrying him through a day’s fatigue such as the rising generation would never dream of. He thought nothing of going on foot ten or twelve miles to a fixture, and would “shog” home at hound pace with the pack at dusk, cutting corners when possible, but often arriving at his destination as soon as they did. Until three seasons ago, when in his seventy-sixth year, he often came out to get a sight of the sport he loved so well. His last appearance was at a Caythorpe fixture, where, he relates, our present field master, Mr. E. W. Griffith, found him out, and noting that he looked tired after walking, presented him with some money, that he might drive on the next occasion, and save his energies.

The other day we found old David in his cottage at Ancaster, the unquenchable fires of the chase burning brightly within him as he revived memories of many a happy day. “I enjoy hunting as much as ever, though now I can only read Mr. Tally-ho’s letters in the Grantham Journal; but I follow hounds, for I know every yard of the country,” said the old man, as he leaned on his famous oak staff. “My first sight of the Belvoir hounds I remember as well as if it were yesterday. I was a small boy, standing by Fulbeck Gorse, which was a very thick covert, and old Thomas Goosey, the huntsman, told one of his whips to go in on foot and see to the earth. The sharp gorse was not to his liking, and laughing, I said, ‘Why, he can’t half go through it!’ To which old Goosey replied, ‘It would fetch the bread and butter out of your fat legs, you young rascal!’ That was in 1836. After that I never missed a chance to run with hounds. I was a tailor, and had lots of work to do, but I planned it to see as much hunting as possible, my wife and I often being up nearly all night stitching, to get clothes finished off.”

Lord Forester held the mastership of the Belvoir from 1831 to 1857, and Swinton reminds us that he was “a tall, fine gentleman, and a splendid horseman, who rode right up to the pack.” He used to stutter when giving his huntsman orders. Will Goodall carried the horn in those days; he had been second whip to Goosey, and was promoted over Tom Flint, who had “developed a thirst.” Those were long days for hunt servants at Belvoir, for the rule was to draw covert while daylight lasted, no matter what might be the distance back to kennels.

Swinton in those days had a tailor’s shop at Ropsley, where they had a half-way kennel for hounds when hunting the wide fixtures on the Lincolnshire side of the country between twenty and thirty miles distant from Belvoir. Thus he saw a good deal of Goodall and his whips, for after making the hounds comfortable for the night, they used to refresh at the Fox Brush Inn. About eight o’clock at night Goodall used to mount an old brown hack mare, and gallop the fourteen miles back to Belvoir in the hour, to be ready to hunt a fresh pack on the Leicestershire side next morning. He always took a whipper-in with him. Goodall was a very daring horseman, and he took his fatal fall when only forty-one years of age off a horse called Rollison; it happened on the first of April, and he died on the first of May. “I made his last pair of breeches, poor chap!” says David.

The next huntsman, James Cooper, was a little fellow, sharp as a needle, and a very fine horseman who loved a good horse, having one of his own called Turpin. In those days David used to work very hard making liveries; this gave him the chance to stay at villages on the far side of the country for a week together, and he managed to see much hunting. He has been out on foot four days in succession, doing sometimes thirty miles in the day; but of course that made a hard week’s work. He did not care how he got out so long as he could go. For a time he had a little white pony which could go any distance, and he used to lead through gaps and keep going on the road to make his point, not being very far behind at the finish.

The most memorable day’s sport he ever had was March 6th, 1871, when the Prince of Wales, now King Edward VII., hunted with Squire Henry Chaplin and the Blankney hounds. It was a very rough morning, and David, though doubtful if they would hunt, walked from Ropsley to Navenby, fifteen miles, on the chance. He made for Wellingore Gorse, where he met the Rev. —— Peacock, rector of Caythorpe. A few minutes later a fine old fox came into the gorse with his tongue hanging out, as if he had been a bit dusted. So David walked about, wide of the covert to keep him there, and be sure to see if he left. Not long afterwards Charley Hawtin, the Blankney huntsman, came up with hounds hunting the line into the gorse.

Well, they got him away, and ran for the best part of three hours, although he returned to the gorse twice. At last he got to the end of his tether, and David viewed him crawling into the gorse dead beat. As Mr. Henry Chaplin rode up with the Prince of Wales and Lord Brownlow, the smothered worry could be heard going on. The gorse was very thick, but David crawled in on hands and knees and got the dead fox away from the hounds, bringing him outside. “You are a rum fellow,” said the huntsman, “not one in fifty dare do a thing like that, you might have got killed yourself.” “Its all right,” said David, “naught never in danger, but I should like one end of the fox now I have rescued him!” They gave him the mask, which he had set up in memory of the Royal day. Mr. Chaplin asked him if he intended to eat it.

It was a long spell of fine sport they had during the twenty-six seasons Frank Gillard was huntsman, 1870 to 1896; he was in touch with all the country side, and people did all they could to further a day’s sport. Many is the half sovereign David had from Gillard to see that earths were stopped or gates shut after hunting. When it came to digging out a fox it always meant five shillings to distribute amongst those who worked at the job. “Frank Gillard could always trust me,” said David; “he used to say when he heard my halloa, ‘There’s old Dave’s voice, true as a clock!’ You know I never barked false! What long days Gillard did make to be sure, he was never tired of hunting! I have often spoken to him in Ancaster Street, as he rode through with his hounds at eight o’clock at night, and often it was raining hard. He had to get on to Grantham where the three-horse van was in waiting for the hounds, and that meant reaching Belvoir kennels at nine o’clock or after.”

After hunting three years on foot without a ride, David was given a mount by a friend on a nice little horse, and as he rode up to the meet, old Tom Chambers and the whips shouted: “Hurray, we’ve got old Dave mounted at last! What are you doing up there old friend, are you purchasing?” “How the swells did laugh to be sure!” adds David.

One of the hardest days he ever did on foot was a hunt from Barkstone Gorse. They found at twelve o’clock, and never stopped going until three o’clock. David thinks he did not stand still five minutes, and for an hour and a half he had the Rev. —— Andrews, of Carlton, running with him, till he said, “I can’t stand it any longer. Swinton, you’re killing me!” Hounds kept running in big circles out to Sparrow Gorse, and David viewed the fox several times, and never really lost sight of the hunt for more than ten minutes at a time, as he managed to keep inside the circle. Well, hounds hunted him right well, getting him very tired, so that he returned to Barkstone Gorse. He viewed him again coming away, but before hounds had run two fields they threw up, and David could not make head or tail of it, no more could the huntsman, though he did all he knew to help hounds to recover the line. “Well,” I said, “Gillard, he’s done you!” To which he rejoined, “I think by the looks of you he’s done you twice over!” “No mistake, I did have a doing that day.”

Times have altered since those days, and since Sir Gilbert Greenall became master nine years ago. With Ben Capell huntsman, a day’s sport is very much faster, and David has got very much older. He tells the whips to-day that they live like gentlemen, compared with what the Belvoir hunt servants had to do in the past, for everything now is planned to save wear and tear to horses and men.

The old runner’s experiences give us an outline of two different phases in the history of foxhunting, which might be termed the ancient and modern systems of conducting a day’s sport. Though there are some left to tell us of the great changes that have come over our sport, still Swinton’s story goes to prove that hunting people are as kind and generous to-day as they were seventy years ago, for the old runner has many good friends to help him in his declining days.

DICK BAKER.

A man of cheerful, if somewhat rubicund, countenance is Dick Baker. His outlook upon life is that of one who takes no thought for the morrow, and can justify this light-hearted attitude of mind by the circumstance that the world has always treated him well in every sense of the word “treat”; for Dick acknowledges that he is “very fond of his refreshment.” There are many people who welcome their acquaintances with a smile; Dick goes one better, for he generally starts laughing when any one speaks to him; his risible faculty is so delicately poised, that “good morning” has been known to provoke a jovial roar. He may be said to have solved the great problem set by some novelist-philosopher a generation ago, “How to be Happy on Nothing a Year.”

Dick Baker was born sixty-six years ago. How he came to adopt the career he has followed since he was twenty-one years of age, he can hardly explain. He was always fond of horse and hound, and he never took kindly to discipline; running with hounds therefore appealed to him as the ideal occupation for an active and hardy young man who liked to be his own master. Fondness for refreshment, notwithstanding, Dick has reached a hale and happy old age. He can still “keep going” throughout the longest day, and thanks to an outdoor life and a sound constitution, suffers from neither cold nor rain. He dates his career as a runner from about the year 1860, and probably knows more about the Essex, Hertfordshire, and Puckeridge countries than any man living, having spent forty-five seasons running with those packs.

He was for several years under Mr. Parry, when that gentleman was master of the Puckeridge, and he tells many anecdotes of the various huntsmen he has known, Dick Simpson, Hedges, Allen, and Will Wells among the number. Dick’s early ambition was to be a hunt servant, but the Fates denied him; he is, he now admits, safer on his own legs than in the saddle. Upon a day it fell that Mr. Rowland Bevan gave Dick his horse to lead home after a hard gallop. Dick thought it a pity not to try what he could do as a horseman, and reflecting that, inasmuch as the horse had had a long day, it would at least be quiet on this occasion, he mounted. Before he got the horse home he had taken three heavy falls on the macadam; but seemingly he was born a master of what some one has called the “inexact science of falling,” for he boasts that he was none the worse. He has confidence in his lucky star, and expresses it in a fashion that has the merit of originality.

“Why, Dick, I thought you were dead,” said a member of the Puckeridge on one occasion.

“No,” replied Dick, calmly; “God never kills good-looking people.”

How far Dick’s appearance justifies his opinion of his personal attractions our readers are able to judge for themselves.

His master passion is anxiety to be identified with the hunt; to be recognised as a member of the staff. To this end Dick, through the good offices of an indulgent member who at the time held office as hon. secretary, took advantage of the visit of a photographer to the Puckeridge kennels to get his portrait taken with a couple of hounds; in character, as it were. It is probable that this was the proudest moment of his life. That he possesses some business capacity which might have been profitably directed into other channels, is proved by the way he turned this opportunity to account. He ordered a dozen copies of the photograph at the aforesaid member’s expense, and retailed them to members of the Hunt at two shillings apiece.

Dick acknowledges but one enemy in this world, and for that enemy he cherishes hate, the deeper because he cannot be avenged of the outrage it committed upon him. This enemy is the Great Eastern Railway Company, which, with the heartlessness peculiar to railway companies, once “ran him in” for travelling without a ticket. It was really not his fault, he explains; he finished a long day with hounds many miles from home, and thinking he had a shilling in his pocket jumped into the train intending to pay at the other end. The fact that he was mistaken as to the contents of his pocket does not, in his well-considered opinion, justify the Company in haling him before the Bench, and getting him fined ten and sixpence and costs. It was the most costly journey he ever made, and he is unlikely to forget either it or the sequel.

Entertaining, as already mentioned, strong objections to anything like discipline, a master of hounds being, in his judgment, the one mortal being who is entitled to command his fellow-creatures, Dick has rarely attempted permanent work: and when he has done so it has always proved temporary after all; for what reason it seems unnecessary to enquire. In summer he is usually to be found in attendance at cricket matches, and in less exalted cricket spheres rather fancies himself as a bowler. He possesses quite a remarkable instinct for discovering occasions, show, celebration, athletic meeting, or what not, which will yield an odd shilling; and will put in much more and harder work to earn the odd shilling than he could ever be persuaded to do to earn the certain half-crown. He has a family; and it is in no spirit of reflection upon a hard-working spouse that he responds to enquiries with the cheerful—always cheerful—assurance that “the cubs are all right.”

Sport in the City. THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

There are times when the tented field is as still as death, times when even the hub of the universe is as dull as any Little Pedlington in the Kingdom. We usually make up for it, however, by a great bustle of company meetings in the concluding month of the year, and these functions have been characterised during the past few weeks by a quite unwonted show of animation. The shareholder, as a rule, is a very patient and long-suffering kind of animal. He pockets his grievances, passes the resolutions submitted for his acceptance, and goes away thankful, in most cases, for very small mercies indeed. When he does break out, however, he is apt to be a very ugly customer, and the lot of the proverbial policeman is quite a happy one in comparison with that of the luckless wight whom duty compels to face the music in his capacity as a director. I do not know whether it is the contagion of heated political assemblies that is spreading its virus in the City, or whether we have come under some malign planetary influence; but certain it is that there is a nasty spirit abroad, and the shareholder goes to his meeting prepossessed with the idea that it is enough to be a director to be either a fool or a knave. For several years in succession it was the fate of the Westralian companies to furnish occasion for these angry gatherings. They, however, are at length vouchsafed a well-earned rest, and the miserable wretches who pull the labouring oar in South African ventures are being given their turn.

That, perhaps, is not altogether surprising. Eldorado has become, in the popular imagination, a veritable Nazareth, out of which no good can come, and since shareholders cannot get out to Johannesburg to vent their wrath upon the heads on which it might with some propriety descend, they are with one accord taking it out of the English companies operating in South Africa which lie within their reach. This is not in consonance with strict justice, no doubt; but it will serve its purpose all the same, for it can hardly fail to convey a hint to quarters in which hints are greatly needed that the time has come for setting their houses in order, lest a worse thing befal. It is probably the case, as I have seen it stated, that the noise is made in inverse proportion to the stake. The big shareholder is intelligent enough to know something of the difficulties which follow upon the heels of a war and broad-minded enough to make allowances. The man with ten shares or twenty, who gets no dividend, and sees the market go steadily or unsteadily against him, loses all patience, and is fired with an ardent longing to break somebody’s head. What the small man voices, however, the big man feels, and the moral which these merry meetings should convey to Johannesburg is that shareholders have not put their money into South African ventures as an erratic form of recreation, but with the reasonable expectation of getting in their own lifetime a reasonable return. It is too much the fashion out there to regard the shareholder as a negligible quantity. Everybody seems to be bitten with the idea that the thing to aim at is bigness of aggregate return, bigness of mills, bigness of expenditure, bigness of everything except of the dividend declared. Megalomania of this description spells ruin to the proprietorial interest, and it is not compensated for by all the booby-talk about prolonging the lives of the mines. It is easy to understand the advantage of this prolongation to directors and managers and secretaries and engineers, and all the other hangers-on of the industry; but where the shareholder benefits from a division of his dividend by two and doubling the terms of years in which it is paid, is more than the average arithmetician can understand. The wrong turn was given to everything by Lord Milner, who saw with his mind’s eye a population of several millions on the Rand, and laid his lines accordingly. Lord Selborne, who is apparently a man of sense and moderation, is doing his best to curb and correct the extravagant ideas that had their genesis in the time of his predecessor, and there is much reliable information to warrant the belief that 1906 will be attended with very different results from 1905. It need be, for only another such year as the last is required, and South Africa will be for ever and a day undone so far as the British public is concerned.

The change of Government made no more difference in the markets than if it had been a change of footmen. The event had, in City parlance, been already discounted. To men who had imagined to themselves the vain thing that their exit would shake the financial spheres, as some of them doubtless did, it must have been gall and wormwood to see quotations actually rise on the day when their resignation became an accomplished fact. This could only be due to a sense of general relief, and to the feeling that the Liberal bark would prove far worse than its bite, so far as the interests dear to the City are concerned. It certainly was not owing to the new team being conspicuously strong either in business or finance. It is an anomaly, to say the least, that the transformation should result in a barrister being enthroned as the Chancellor of the Exchequer and a solicitor installed as the President of the Board of Trade; but Mr. Asquith has shown himself quite at home with figures and fiscal questions during the past two years, and Mr. Lloyd-George has the reputation in the House of knowing a thing or two besides the wickedness of Mr. Chamberlain and the clauses of the Education Act.

Until the elections are over and done with, it is not probable that we shall witness anything very theatrical in Throgmorton Street; but the knowing ones are counting upon a marked improvement of gilt-edged securities when things have settled down. Just as Nature abhors a vacuum, so does the Stock Exchange abhor stagnation, and the one question on everybody’s lips is what to go for in the New Year. Yankees, too dangerous; Home Rails, not to be touched with a barge-pole; Foreign Rails, quite high enough already; Foreigners, not another eighth to be squeezed out of them; Breweries, wait a bit; Copper stocks, a gamble for lunatics. Such is the rough-and-ready pronouncement of three out of four of the old hands one meets. What all are agreed upon is that gilt-edged descriptions must advance and that Kaffirs cannot, the one owing to the plethora of money they see looming in the near distance, the other to the alleged but scarcely demonstrated fact that the public have spewed out their mining stocks and will not have them back at any price. I always like to note these confident predictions. They are so often made and so seldom borne out by the event. How easy it would be to make fortunes if they were! Except for the puff palpable—the price of which is as well known as that of a postage stamp—the financial press is shrewd enough for the most part to refrain from prognostications after the manner of the vaticinators in the sporting journals; but how much it would add to the gaiety of nations if they made selections for the rise and fall after the fashion of their compeers in Fleet Street! The only thing that may always be predicted with certainty of markets is that what will happen will be the unforeseen, and this is intelligible enough. The calculable influences are few in comparison with the incalculable—something occurs to upset the best-laid schemes of mice and men—and you will meet a dozen men who have made their little pile out of the short view for one who has staked his fortune without regret upon the long one.

I will not emulate, therefore, the fame of Zadkiel. I shall not prophesy because I do not know; but it scarcely needs a prophet to perceive that much in the coming year, if not everything, turns upon the course of events in the Empire of the Czar. It is easy to see how pregnant with possibilities is the situation if one takes into account that big dominating factor, and rules out all the rest as of minor account or of no account at all; and it is equally easy to perceive that we are at the mercy of a chapter of accidents. None will undertake to say what the outcome will be, least of all a Russian himself who knows his people and the subtle influences by which they are or may be moved. I have had the advantage during the past few weeks of coming into contact with several recent arrivals from that unhappy country, and the accounts they give are so confused and so contradictory as to leave one in a more impenetrable fog than if one had never taken any pains to learn the truth at all. On some things, however, they are all agreed. Russian news in the newspapers, so they say, must be taken with a liberal quantum of salt. The Jews, not without reason, hate Russia, or rather the established order in Russia; they control, directly or indirectly, the bulk of the leading journals of all countries, and the news agencies as well; their mission is to set down things in malice, to paint everything in the blackest colours, to ruin Russian credit abroad, and to bring down upon the Russian people the execration of the civilised world. The fires of revolution are alight, it is true, but the conflagration is not so widespread nor so all-consuming as the enemies of Russia would have the world believe, and a free and purified Russia will emerge. What will happen then is the problem; and all my Russian friends are at one in saying that any representative Government that may be established will set before itself two objects of policy—a better understanding with England, based upon a solemn renunciation of any designs against India, and development of the resources of the Empire by the aid of foreign capital.

So far as the former of these objects is concerned, it goes almost without saying that any English Government in power would go more than half-way to meet amicable and sincere advances; and as to the latter—with another entente cordiale once established—the chances are that British capital will flow into Russia as it has flowed in turn into America, North and South, into Africa, into Australasia, into India, and into every quarter of the globe in which capital can be freely and safely employed. It is premature, perhaps, to say that Russian ventures will be the outstanding feature of 1906; but the event is on the cards, and the pioneer enterprises are already on the stocks. The world has not been standing still while the nations have been at war and the heathen have been raging furiously. During the past year or two, no end of little expeditions have been poking their noses into the recesses of the Ural region and the vast areas of the Siberian provinces, sending back reports of riches, mineral and agricultural, beyond the dreams of avarice. It is difficult to believe that resources of this description still exist in their virgin state so near comparatively to the Western capitals; but the evidence, coming as it does from so many capable and unimpeachable sources, is quite irresistible, and the inference appears to be inevitable that the exploitation of Russia is the next big task to which the world of finance and industry will direct its attention. The exploitation of China may wait, or be relegated to our friends and allies, the Japanese.

It must not be presumed from our readiness to settle the affairs of the nations that we have lapsed into indifference in the City as regards various little matters of domestic concern with respect to which agitation has been simmering for some time past. The relations of the House and the public are being canvassed more freely now than I have ever known, from within as well as from without. There is a consensus of opinion that things are not quite what they ought to be, as indeed they never have been and never will be even in this best of all possible worlds; but the insiders are afraid of pulling bricks about lest they should bring the entire edifice about their ears, while the outsiders are wanting in the organisation to give the old walls such a shove as would be felt by those within. It will not be long, however, before events compel the general overhaul which is recognised as a prime essential to the revival of business on such a scale as will enable the Stock Exchange man to live without sapping the very vitals of his clients. The complaints of the latter go to the very foundations of business as it is carried on to-day. Why should one pay brokerage when he buys? In every other business, it is the seller alone who pays. The answer is that the buyer must pay, or the broker, who deals with a jobber, would get no benefit from the transaction; to which comes the rejoinder that the jobber is the fifth wheel on the coach, and should not be privileged if he wishes to dispose of his wares. The force of the argument for dispensing with the middleman is perceived by all who are not hide-bound by tradition, use and custom, while practical recognition is being given to it in much of the business that is being transacted outside.

Then it is perceived that no sort of logical justification exists for the enormous difference made in brokerage between one class of goods and another, and between one client and another. For example, bonds are bought and sold on a commission of 1/16 per cent., mining shares on varying scales which work out at an average of ¾ per cent., which is enough to kill the finest business in the world. This excessive charge is not defended; but it is explained. When mining shares were first introduced, the public were very shy of them—and the House, too, for that matter—and promoting firms were ready to pay liberal commissions in order to get them placed, an operation often attended with difficulty and risk. Thus there came to be established a standard of expectation, the public paying whatever charge the broker chose to exact, and the mining market became the happy hunting-ground of new recruits by the thousand, who perceived in it the opportunity of quickly getting rich. Short cuts of this kind, however, generally prove the long way round in the end. Brokers as a class cannot thrive by bleeding their clients white by excessive commissions and contangoes. Either they make losses, which wipe out their gains, and more, or they kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. They cannot acquit themselves altogether of some share in the collapse by which speculation of this character has been overtaken. Commonsense and competition point with unerring finger the direction of amendment and reform, and I expect to see established at no distant date an almost universal charge of ¼ per cent. upon the money, whether shares are bought or sold, or ½ per cent. if commission be charged on sales alone. Pending this concession, it is not probable that speculation will revive upon any considerable scale in the market which has been in the past the most attractive of all markets, and may be again if things are well and wisely handled. The loss of it would not be compensated for by rubber trash and cab companies, over which there will be some burning of fingers before long. “Trash,” did I say? Well, of course, that is much too sweeping a generalisation. As a fact, the great majority of the rubber concerns are moderately capitalised, and the demand for their product is going up with such leaps and bounds that they can only be regarded as sound and stable concerns. That, however, is where the trouble comes in. On the back of every successful form of enterprise kindred ventures are too often floated without much regard to the question whether they contain the elements of success or not. Like the razors that were made to sell, and not to shave, these undertakings are launched for the sake of the promotion, and for no other reason apparent to the wit of man. Promotion in the miscellaneous market has seldom much behind it. The shares once placed, those who are in may whistle for the day they will get out. There is but one fitting inscription for that section, regarded as a whole—“Abandon hope all ye who enter here.” Mining descriptions, with all their drawbacks and all their dangers, have as a rule at least the inestimable advantage of a “shop.” Mining promotions, I am given to understand, are likely to be almost nominal in the coming year; but there are miscellaneous things enough to stagger humanity awaiting a favourable moment to be launched.

G. P. F.

Half a Century’s Hunting Recollections. IV.

The mention of red deer reminds me of roe. As all the sporting world knows, Mr. Seymour Dubourg, before he took the South Berks country, was master of the Ripley and Knaphill Harriers. With these, at the end of the season, he used to hunt an occasional carted stag, but more frequently the wild roe deer, which were at that time to be found (they were never plentiful) between Windlesham, Bagshot, and Easthampstead, also in the heath and pinewood country south-west of the River Blackwater. It was a most interesting sport, and none the less attractive as coming at a time when foxhunting is practically over. The hounds were small foxhound bitches, I should say rather under than over twenty inches. With so accomplished a huntsman as Mr. Dubourg, I make no doubt that they did their work, as harriers, as it ought to the done. However that may be, they were the best pack of staghounds I ever saw. They went the pace, and were not big enough to kill a deer, bar accidents. With roe they drove like furies, but, I suppose from their harrier training, hardly ever over-ran it.

It is the manner of a roe, when first found, to make a point of 2 or 3 miles; then he returns almost to the starting place, or anyhow to its neighbourhood, and begins “making work.” In the straight part of his flight he is seldom far in front of hounds. But having begun his dodges, if he gets half a chance he will steal away, and, as likely at not, run the pack out of scent. His resources are legion. He can squat like a hare, swim like a fish, meuse through a fence like a rabbit, and jump over any ordinary park palings. He is most difficult to view, as he will crawl up a ditch or drain, and utilises every depression in the ground, and of course every bit of covert. He has the cunning of fox and hare combined, but not very much more stoutness than the last named. In France, roe-hunting packs are not uncommon, and a friend of my own has one in Belgium, which, however, hunts hare as well. And a French friend of mine once asked me to stay with him for roe-hunting, promising to mount me, and doubtless I should have had a most enjoyable visit, but I preferred to stay at Melton. By the way, this gentleman valued Belvoir blood above all else.

The objections to the roe as a beast of chase may be gathered from the above. It is pretty hunting, but almost all in covert. The advantages are that you can hunt him all through the winter as you do the fox, and also that you can draw for him without any bother of “tufting,” as you never find more than a brace, or at most three together. When the latter is the case, it is a family party—buck, doe, and kid. The latter would stand but a poor chance were it not for its squatting, when the hounds dash away and settle to the moving scent. When roe are carefully preserved the woods will be full of them, as the young trees will soon tell you. I know nowhere at present, even in Scotland, where they are too numerous, and in the country I have described I should say that they are all but extinct, although some three years ago I saw a brace when Mr. Garth was drawing St. Leonard’s Forest.

With Mr. Dubourg’s hounds one had to ride up to them, if one wanted the venison. If he happens to read this, he will doubtless remember what happened once near Black Bushes Farm. Hounds had been running some time, and we thought “catching time” could not be far off. They came to (for that country at least) a very small wood. We each took one side of the covert (only the master and writer being there), but to our surprise saw no hounds away. To dive into the wood was, for Mr. Dubourg, “the work of an instant.” Arrived at his pack, he found that in those very few minutes they had not only killed the buck but (not bad judges!) had eaten the haunches, &c., and left only the head, neck, and forequarters. Unlike our other deer, the roe is at his best as venison, from the middle or end of October to the end of the hunting season. He sheds his horns late in the autumn. Roe venison has an undeservedly bad name, as lessees of Highland shootings often kill them in the grouse season.

As July and August are the months in which most of them pair, August for choice, côtelette de chevreuil is best avoided until after the stalking season. By the way, the “stags” mentioned in the late Colonel Anstruther Thomson’s most interesting book were roe. My kind old friend wrote to me shortly before his death, to explain that his South Country hunt servants would call them stags, hence he got in the way of it. Of course, no red deer have been wild in Fife since almost prehistoric times. But some folks never can learn the proper names of deer. Once, in forest-hunting with our late Queen’s hounds, I saw an “instructor” from Sandhurst, who told me that the deer had just passed him, and that it was a fallow deer! “Are you sure of that?” said I (I never yet saw one there, unless he had been put there). “Oh, yes, it had no horns!” was the startling reply.

A short time ago there was a discussion in the Field as to whether the progeny of hounds hunting deer, or hares, should be elegible for the Foxhound Stud book. I think it was decided against them, the theory being that staghounds do not carry a head. Now this is merely a question of their quarry. After a few days roehunting, Mr. Dubourg, (by invitation), uncarted a stag near Bracknell. Comins, at that time the Royal huntsman (or acting huntsman?), had been roehunting, and we both remarked the head these hounds carried then. We had a good run and took our stag safely, but from the moment the hounds were laid on, they went stringing along (I do not mean “tailing,” a very different thing) “just exactly like my hounds,” as Comins said to me. I saw the Queen’s hounds once run a cub in Swinley Forest, on a steaming, warm, wet October morning, and as they crossed a ride, close to the said cub, which was dead beat, they carried a head that neither Belvoir, Quorn, nor Pytchley, could have beaten. They were stopped just in time to save young Reynard. It was in October, as aforesaid, by which time a cub should be pretty well able to take his own part. Strange blunders have found their way into sporting history and been accepted as facts merely for want of contradiction, e.g., how often have we read that, in the spring, Mr. Meynell entered his young hounds to hare, for want of woodlands.

The absurdity of entering young hounds just in from walks, and with all their troubles before them, is obvious to any one who has ever been within measurable distance of a kennel. And as for no cubhunting ground, what was wrong with Charnwood Forest, the best cubhunting district in the world, and even better then than now, in the days preceding the Enclosure Act? Then, also, foxes were not much outnumbered by pheasants. Another victim of misstatement is Mr. (“Flying”) Childe, of Kinlet. I lately read that he hunted the Ludlow country after he left Leicestershire. It was the other way about. He and the first Lord Forester went to Loughborough for the Quorn together, Melton not being invented when he gave up the Ludlow country, and set the fashion of pressing on hounds. In fact, Mr. Meynell describes Mr. Cecil Forester as coming out of cover between the fox and the pack! Again, the name of Mr. Childe’s Arab was not “Skim,” as we are told, but Selim, corrupted into Slim. His tail (grey) is still at Kinlet. He left some good hunting stock behind him, and I know where a portrait of a chestnut son of his is to be seen. Of Mr. Meynell “Nimrod” says, “In chase no man rode harder.” But he gave his hounds room, which from all accounts the immigrants from Salop did not. Yet I have read that he and his field merely crawled over a country. Also quite lately I have seen Mr. Edge, the welter weight Nottingham Squire, who refused a thousand guineas for his two horses, Banker and Remus, described as the “humble, silent friend” of Mr. Assheton Smith! Why on earth will people write on subjects of which they are ignorant? An outsider, writing on sport, or soldiering, is sure to make a spectacle of himself. Though this is a hunting subject, I cannot but call attention to a masterpiece of this kind in “Charles O’Malley,” by the late Mr. Charles Lever. In one of the Peninsula battles, he tells us that a general officer galloped up and gave the word, “14th, threes about, charge!” As this involved their charging tail foremost, no wonder that the French fled precipitately!

I am often asked whether hunting has altered during my time. I answer, “In the Shires little, if at all, but provincial sport has, I fancy, deteriorated. In bad scenting countries nose should be more thought of than looks, but is it so? We hear a lot more about bad scenting weather than we used to do. No one would keep a throaty hound, though no less an authority than “the other Tom Smith,” uncle, by-the-by, of my dear friend “Doggie,” of that ilk, has said that he never knew a throaty hound without a good nose. The greatest enemy to hunting, in these days, is the shooting tenant. He destroys the breed of good wild foxes, and can only be disposed of by the hunt renting shootings. But for the railways, the Quorn country would be more easily crossed now than when I first knew it. “Oxers” have nearly all vanished, hand-gates and bridges have replaced yawning sepulchres—notably so at John O’Gaunt, the bottom below Wartnaby Pond, and at Sherbroke’s covert, over the Smite, which is the “march” ’twixt Quorn and Belvoir. Also the Twyford brook need no longer be ridden at, unless one chooses. The Whissendine brook, however, retains its old fame. “Lady Stamford’s Bridge,” over the South Croxton and Queniboro’ brook, was just made in the earliest of the sixties. As regards dress, we are not very different from the heroes depicted by old H. Alken, in Nimrod’s “The Chase.” “Snob, the tip-top provincial,” appeared then in a frock coat, and so he would now. But I have always wondered why the artist should have made the fence which stopped “the little bay horse” a high bank, suggestive of Shropshire, or Essex, but of a pattern non-existent in any part of the county of Leicester, and especially as the letterpress so carefully describes the obstacle—ditch from you, but the lower part of the fence bristling towards you after the fashion of the old “Prepare to receive cavalry” of an infantry square. In the old days the master was dressed like other people. He often wore a hat, and so did many more. Mr. Tailby always wore a cap. Lord Gifford dressed like a hunt servant, ditto Captain Percy Williams and Colonel Thomson; but they did not spoil the effect with a moustache. One very dear friend of mine, who dressed the character, though “with a beard on him like Robinson Crusoe,” was tipped a sovereign by a stranger, who had been impressed by the masterly way in which he hunted and killed his fox. I regret to say that it did not profit him, as, on his return, the predominant partner nailed it, to keep as a curiosity, as (she said) the only money that “Charlie” had ever in his life honestly earned! A master’s, as indeed a huntsman’s and first whip’s second horseman, used to be dressed like yours or mine. Now most hunts have, in servants alone, six “scarlet and leathers” men. This hardly makes for economy, and we hear too much of expense. Up to the end of the late Duke of Rutland’s reign, the hunt servants wore brown cords, “drab shags,” as Mr. Jorrocks called them. I think white cords look better, but looks are not everything. No men ever went better to hounds than his late Grace’s servants, and what do the breeks matter if their wearer can, and will, give you a lead over the Smite?”

As regards horses, I think, speaking under correction, that we have got them too high on the leg; the result is that “boots” form a predominant item in the saddler’s bill. I have before remarked that, in my young days, there was about one roarer in a hunt. Now, if there be only one in a stud the owner is lucky. As we breed our racehorses from roarers, and as they are the sires of our hunters, this is not wonderful.

In talking of dress, I ought to have mentioned that, as a small boy, visiting a schoolfellow in Cornwall, I saw a pack of harriers belonging to the last Lord Vivian but one, with which every one was in red coats, officials and all. A similarly attired Yorkshire huntsman of harriers told me that he and his whip wore pink, as being more easily distinguished on the moors. This is a good reason. I have omitted to mention a pack of staghounds which, for some seasons, showed excellent sport—I mean the Collinedale. Mr. George Nourse was master, and hunted them himself. A better staghound huntsman I never saw. This was lucky, as he was not well whipped in to.

The first time I ever saw these hounds is worthy of mention. A friend of mine asked me at the club whether I should like a mount with staghounds next day. I gratefully accepted the offer, and asked at what station I should meet him. “Oh,” said he, “come to my house to breakfast and we’ll ride on to the meet.” I asked no questions, but duly appeared at my friend’s very charming house; a little beyond the Swiss Cottage station, and then nearly in the country. We rode on to the meet, which was at the Welsh Harp, Hendon. We had two stags, but they had hardly got over their autumn dissipation. One turned round and charged the hounds, and the other went over a fine country, the Harrow Weald, but not far enough for me to get on terms with my mount, a hard-pulling four-year-old, with a very light bridle. And the Berkhamsted, which are still going, deserve a word of chronicle. I only saw them once, but thought them a marvellously clever pack, and not too big. Any possible deficiency of size was made up for in the person of their master, the late Mr. R. Rawle. He was a keen sportsman, a capital huntsman, and as polite and kind as any man could be. I was never impertinent enough to ask him his weight, but, crushing though it was, he got wonderfully to his hounds. He rode the right sort to carry weight. None of your seventeen-hand prize-winners in a show ring, but steeds more on the lines of the baby hippopotamus, with well-bred heads; hence these triumphs.

An old Suffolk M.F.H. told me, in my youth, that Mr. R. Gurney’s famous “Sober Robin” was only 15.2. He also remembered the moonlight steeplechase from Ipswich Barracks. Another fine old sportsman told me that he recollected the “orange” coats worn with the Atherstone in Lord Vernon’s time. He described them as looking much like ordinary “pink,” until you saw one of each together, then the difference was clearly marked.

F. J. KING KING.

(To be continued.)

A Hundred Years Ago.

(FROM THE SPORTING MAGAZINE OF 1805.)

A bet was made some time since between Peter Mackenzie, Esq., of South Molton, and two brother shots, for twenty guineas aside, that the former gentleman did not kill one brace of partridges every day, Sundays excepted, for six weeks in succession from the first day of September last. This was determined on Saturday, October 12th, when Mr. M. having completed his engagement with apparent ease was consequently declared winner. This is looked upon by the amateurs as one of the first field exploits that has been performed for many years.

EXTRAORDINARY STEEPLE-RACE.

On the last Wednesday in November came on for decision a match which had excited much interest in the sporting world, and which amongst that community is denominated a Steeple-Race, the parties undertaking to surmount all obstructions and to pursue in their progress as straight a line as possible. The contest lay between Mr. Bullivant, of Sproxton; Mr. Day, of Wymondham; and Mr. Frisby, of Waltham; and was for a sweepstake of 100 guineas staked by each. They started from Womack’s Lodge at half-past twelve o’clock (the riders attired in handsome jockey dresses of orange, crimson and sky blue respectively, worn by the gentlemen in the order we have named them above) to run round Woodal Head and back again—a distance somewhat exceeding eight miles. They continued nearly together until they came within a mile and a half of the goal, when Mr. Bullivant, on his well-known horse Sentinel, took the lead, and appearances promised a fine race between him and Mr. Day; but unfortunately in passing through a hand-gate, owing partly to a slip, Mr. Day’s horse came in full contact with the gate-post; the rider was thrown with great violence and, as well as the horse, was much hurt. Nevertheless, Mr. Day remounted in an instant, and continued his course. Mr. Bullivant, however, during the interruption, made such progress as enabled him to win the race easily. The contest for a second place now became extremely severe between Mr. Day and Mr. Frisby: the last half mile was run neck and neck, and Mr. Day only beat his opponent by half a neck. The race was performed in 25 min. 35 sec.

* * * * *

NEWMARKET JOCKIES. Court of King’s Bench, December 6th. Irish v. Chifney.—The defendant in this case is the celebrated Newmarket jockey, the plaintiff is a bit-maker. When the cause was called on, Mr. Serjeant Best asked whether or not the defendant was ready to start? and being answered in the affirmative, the learned Serjeant led off in a superior stile. The action was brought upon an agreement signed by the defendant for the payment of £15 which the plaintiff claimed as his due, for making a certain number of bits for racers which Mr. Chifney conceived were superior to any others, and the principle of which originated from his own fertile invention. The agreement was proved by a very respectable witness, and the defendant’s counsel endeavoured to cross the witness in order to prove that these bits had been exposed to sale contrary to the orders of Mr. Chifney; but on this point he failed, as the witness would not take the bit; and although he was finally rubbed down, came in for the legal plate without any competitor. There was no kind of defence, and the jury found a verdict for the plaintiff for fifteen pounds.

Cricket Topics.

The first two days of the Cattle Show found the delegates of County Cricket busy at Lord’s, appointing on the Monday their umpires, and on the Tuesday their matches. In the absence of the Australian team, the programme has settled down very much on the usual lines of a domestic English cricket season. Mr. Lacey, the head Secretary of the M.C.C., announced that he was arranging fixtures for a West Indian team that is desirous of playing a series of matches in this country next summer. Mr. Lacey is reported to have said that as the West Indians were coming for the purpose of improving the standard of cricket in the West Indies, and not with the idea of making money, he trusted that he would receive the assistance of the counties in doing all that was possible to make the tour a success.

We have not seen an authentic list of the matches arranged, but we gather that our visitors will play a very mixed card, commencing at the Crystal Palace on June 11th, against a London County team of Mr. W. G. Grace’s.

Other fixtures in chronological order are against Essex, Middlesex, Warwickshire, Wiltshire, Hampshire, South Wales, Kent, M.C.C., Derbyshire, “All Scotland” at Edinburgh, and “All England” at that great centre of gate-money, Blackpool. Then against Yorkshire at Harrogate, and to finish with a burst of alliteration, Norfolk, Notts, and Northampton. This seems a fairly good all-round sample of English cricket, and our visitors ought to get a good look at the game as played in England; and we hope that they will achieve their purpose, insisted upon by Mr. Lacey, of improving the standard of the game in the West Indies.

In 1900, when a team visited us from the West Indies, the Marylebone Club did what they could to discourage our guests and to lower the standard of their play by a proclamation that none of the West Indian matches were to count in the first-class averages. We hope that this time Mr. Lacey will advise his Committee to join in the general note of encouragement by permitting at any rate some of their matches—for instance, those against Surrey, Yorkshire, and Kent, to rank as high as, say, Somerset v. Hants.

There is nothing very interesting about county cricket nowadays, not even in regard to the arrangement of championship matches.

It is worthy of notice that Northamptonshire, who only just wriggled into the first-class last season, have had to struggle hard to maintain their position there, and have only just succeeded in arranging sufficient matches to again qualify. This came through the agency of Notts, who have dropped their matches with Kent, and have taken on Northants instead. For a long time Notts and Kent have been regular antagonists, and it seems almost a pity that their matches should be dropped; but even the best friends amongst the counties sometimes drift apart for a year or so, as has been shown again this year in the coy conduct of Surrey, who again refuse to play with Somerset, the county which has done so much to encourage Surrey cricket, originally by consistently beating her, and then by paying her the compliment of adopting and developing her most promising young players. Apropos of Somerset, we read with regret that Mr. S. M. J. Woods has announced his intention of retiring from the captaincy of the eleven at the end of next season.

Certainly his twelve years of office are very noticeable. In 1894 Mr. Woods took over a team of mixed possibilities and impossibilities, and has kept the concern going up to to-day, with most attractive and varying vicissitudes, and probably “Great Heart,” as he has been styled by his friend Mr. C. B. Fry, is about the only man who could have so long stood the strain of so frequently facing fearful odds. Somerset have now fifteen years’ experience of first-class cricket and have done many brilliant things, but for the second year in succession, and despite the fact that the Australian matches brought them in a nice profit, the club is confronted with an adverse balance well over four hundred pounds. It would almost seem as if cricket, the national game, were a hybrid growth in Somerset, where the natives do not support the game very conspicuously either by play or pay.

The dates of the big matches at Lord’s are: Oxford and Cambridge, July 5th; Gentlemen and Players, July 9th; and Eton and Harrow, July 13th. It will be seen that these games follow one another as closely as possible, so it is to be hoped, for the sake of the Marylebone Club finances, that the weather for that fortnight may prove favourable. For many years the match between Oxford University and M.C.C. and Ground has been arranged at Lord’s as the match to immediately precede the Oxford and Cambridge match, and in order to give the Oxonians a day of rest before the stress and strain of the ’Varsity match, the game with the M.C.C. has been limited to two days’ play, and in an epoch of good wickets this has taken much of the interest out of the game. Common sense has at length prevailed in this matter, and now the Oxford v. M.C.C. match has been moved forward to a week before the Oxford and Cambridge match, and the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday preceding the ’Varsity match are allotted to Middlesex against Essex at Lord’s.

It seems a pity that the Hastings Cricket Festival should die out, but such would appear to be the case, as no matches have up to now been arranged for it. We hear that the last three years have each proved disastrous financially, and the promoters probably consider that they will be justified in contenting themselves with the week of Sussex county cricket which has been allotted to them by the County Committee at the end of August, when Warwickshire and Essex are to be engaged.

Of benefit matches there are not so many as usual. According to custom, the Whit-Monday match at Lord’s, between Somerset and Middlesex, is given as a benefit to a deserving member of the ground staff of the M.C.C. V. A. Titchmarsh, at one time the mainstay of Herts, and nowadays one of the most reliable of umpires, takes his turn on June 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and we wish him a bumper.

The great match of the year at Old Trafford, is the August Bank Holiday battle with Yorkshire, and this is to be for the benefit of John Tyldesley, who cannot possibly get more from it than he richly deserves, both from his country and his county.

At the Oval, Walter Lees is to have a benefit, and he too deserves well at the hands of Surrey cricketers, and was probably very unlucky never to have actually taken part in a Test Match, after having so often last season been amongst those selected to play for England.

At Lord’s the programme is no more interesting than is usually the case at headquarters in the absence of an Australian team. Middlesex, of course, will play all their home matches there, and, apart from the three big-gate matches already referred to, there is nothing very attractive about the fixtures arranged for Lord’s. Yorkshire, Sussex, Derbyshire, Kent, and Notts play the M.C.C. and Ground, the latter county, as usual, playing the opening match at Lord’s, beginning on the first Wednesday in May. They are quite devoid of interest these three days’ matches between some generally moderate Marylebone amateurs, pulled through by the professional element, against a county team from which the most prominent members are for this unimportant occasion taking a rest.

We wonder if the management at Lord’s will one day be able to devise some better plan of disposing of their dates and their money. To our mind the game between Actors and Jockeys played last September might to advantage be moved forward into the season proper.

It has always been very difficult to gain any reliable information as to the personal profits made by members of Australian teams touring in this country. Our enterprising contemporary the Daily Mail, has endeavoured to shed some light upon the profits of the last tour, by the help of some evidence given in the bankruptcy proceedings of S. E. Gregory. According to Gregory’s evidence as reported, the members of the team were to share and share alike in the profits of the tour. That was tacitly agreed upon. All the members signed an agreement on board the steamer Majestic, between America and London, by which they bound themselves to keep order, to abstain from writing for the Press, and to observe minor conditions. There had as yet been no balance-sheet of the tour prepared, but it was anticipated that the gross proceeds would be about £800 a man. Out of that the players had to pay their travelling expenses to and from England, and while in England. The Melbourne Cricket Club advanced the necessary money to players, and had it deducted from each man’s share.

The players very seldom saw one another except on the cricket field or on the boat coming out. One of the team had told him he had about £50 still to come, which would mean about £500 net for the tour. With regard to his expenses in England, Gregory said: “I had to go very slow not to spend more than £150. That amount went in cab fares, theatres, return “shouts,” clothes, and cricket bats, although most of our bats were presented to us.”

These figures are in a way interesting, and we cannot understand how the Marylebone Club was able to lose so much money over their tour in Australia, when Australian visitors are able to carry away a profit of £800 per head amongst fourteen of them, besides enriching the coffers of our counties to a very considerable extent.

The English team in South Africa succeeded in winning their first match at Cape Town, against the Western Province XI., by an innings and 127 runs. Towards the total of 365 compiled by Mr. Warner’s team, the captain scored 56, Denton 78, Mr. Fane 60, and Relf 61 not out. For the Western Province Whitehead took six wickets for 160 runs, but Kotze, who made such an impression in this country with his extra fast deliveries, proved altogether unsuccessful.

The home team could only accomplish 26 and 142 in their two hands, Coggings with 20 and 43 being their most successful batsman; whilst of the English bowlers who were tried Haigh and Mr. J. N. Crawford have the best figures, getting five wickets each for 31 and 5 runs respectively.

Against the country districts at Worcester in Cape Colony the visitors won by an innings and 52 runs, and apparently the country districts batsmen cannot be of any high calibre, since in their first innings Mr. Hartley took nine wickets for 26 runs, and in their second Mr. Leveson-Gower had five for 14; Mr. Leveson-Gower also scored 82 runs, which constituted quite a successful first appearance for him in the team.

We note from South African Exchanges that Major R. M. Poore, of Hampshire fame, is again busy playing for his regiment, the 7th Hussars, at Potchefstroom. His scores of 44 not out, and 115, prove him to be in good form, so that he is likely to render a good account of himself when he runs up against the English bowlers; as he did against Lord Hawke’s team in 1896, when he took more than one century off the late George Lohmann and some very fair amateur bowlers.

Is Foxhunting Doomed?

The above question, though not a very cheerful one to mention near the commencement of the hunting season, is one which has nevertheless to be faced by all hunting men, with whom the answer must chiefly rest. The reply, as to most complex questions, must be both “yes” and “no.” Geographically and in the very nature of things, hunting is doomed in the ever-increasing black countries of mines and factories, of bricks and mortar, of railways and canals, and with the modern innovation of light railways even crossing our fields.

When even Salisbury Plain has become a military camp, who can say that Dartmoor and Exmoor will not in another generation re-echo the sound of bugle and trumpet instead of the horn of the hunter?

Still, where estates are large, the Master of Foxhounds, patient and realising the changed conditions of modern hunting and fox preserving, and the farmers long-suffering, as they will still be if properly treated, foxhunting may yet survive for another century at least.

What hunting men must realise and acknowledge is that, now that the feudal system is as extinct as the dodo, and scarcely one applicant for a vacant farm can be found where we used to have twenty, hunting can only be carried on through the goodwill of the occupier of the land which is ridden over, whether landowner or tenant farmer. In the good old times, before the disastrous season of 1879 and the extension of foreign competition, when farmers were rich and the “fields” were small and consisted chiefly of his own friends and neighbours, the farmer as depicted in Punch might be the first to ignore the warning cry of “’ware wheat!” on his own farm, but now that times are permanently bad but few farmers can afford to hunt, and railway facilities—and now that modern Juggernaut the motor car (patronised even by masters of foxhounds who will probably soon adopt a motor-hound van)—bring strangers by the hundred who know not wheat from grass nor seeds from bare stubble, and care less, and spend nothing in the neighbourhood, no wonder the crushed farmer turns, and some even insist on their undoubted legal right of warning off the trespasser, and if necessary protecting their own property vi et armis (with a pitchfork). Hunting, formerly arising out of the absolute rights of the lord over his serf, continued through the mutual good feeling between landlord and tenant, but now that many landlords are absentees and scarcely know a single tenant by sight, they cannot expect to let their land while still retaining it for sporting purposes without compensating the tenant or recognising the sacrifices which he endures for sport. One who was “blooded” by that best of sportsmen, the late Sir Charles Slingsby, half a century ago, at the early age of six years, and has had a life-long experience of every phase of country life both as landowner and farmer, while equally keen on both hunting and shooting, can see a good deal of both sides of this question.

To begin at the top, though the Master of Foxhounds, especially nowadays, has of all men the most need of tact and the patience of Job, how many are there in possession of those estimable qualities?

Although James Pigg had his prototype, dear old Jorrocks must be regarded as somewhat of a caricature; but Lord Scamperdale and his bully, Jack Spraggon, were taken from real characters, and the race, I fear, is not now altogether extinct. I have known a master, an old country squire and no ignorant upstart, abuse as a vulpicide another poor crippled squire in his carriage before the whole field, with the not unnatural result that he who for fifty years had preserved foxes throughout his vast extent of coverts solely for the benefit of others, as he could never hunt himself, went home and ordered every fox on his estate to be killed for two years as an object lesson; thereby quite ruining one day in every week. One cannot approve of such wholesale punishing of the innocent with the guilty, but cannot wonder at it. The same master, before throwing off, abused publicly on his own doorstep at a meet another landowner from whose five-acre covert I had myself had the satisfaction of holloaing away no less than seven foxes while shooting the week before. Another Master of Foxhounds in my hearing slanged the best of sportsmen and a keen fox preserver because he himself in a fit of temper had drawn blank at a hard gallop two hundred acres of coverts from which, to my own knowledge, five foxes at least had been halloaed away. My own Master of Foxhounds, a real good sort and an intimate friend, once received me, until I laughed him out of it instead of taking offence myself, with unaccountable coolness at Peterborough Hound Show; though I think he might have guessed that the unpleasing present which he had that morning received of the pads of a litter of cubs was scarcely likely to be sent by a keen preserver of foxes for twenty years with the well-known postmark of his own parish. Obviously I myself was the most injured as well as insulted party. Still, happily, these cases are exceptions in an experience of some scores of masters in every part of England, and I may especially mention the courtesy shown to a stranger in days of old in the Croome and Blackmore Vale countries.

It is vain for a Master of Foxhounds, not himself a landowner, to state that foxes do no harm to game, to me who have counted eighteen nests, say one hundred brace of partridges, destroyed around a single field; not that one grudged it, but one likes sometimes to have one’s sacrifices a little appreciated. We feel well repaid for the hundreds of rabbits consumed in the summer if only one of the right sort is found in our coverts when needed, and the master cheerily shouts as he dashes past, “I knew we could always depend on you, old chap.” Again, masters and fields, especially non-subscribers from towns, do not recognise the difficulty of showing foxes when needed. A good fox is not like a hand-reared pheasant, a tame animal to come when whistled for, but a wild animal going far afield and lying out in turnips or taking refuge in the tops of pollard trees; coverts may have been lately shot, timber may have been felled, a strange dog may have hunted them; worst of all, a fox may have been chopped there, or a score of things happened of which the grumblers are ignorant. A reputed millionaire Master of Foxhounds in a grass country brought his oats, hay and straw from abroad, losing hundreds of pounds of goodwill from the aggrieved farmers for every ten pounds saved. And now for the average man, who hunts to ride, or often only to sport pink at dinners or balls, and actually seems to believe himself that he confers a favour on the poor farmer by ruining his crops and breaking his fences and leaving his gates open, and whom he will sometimes curse incontinently if he is the least slow in throwing open his gates to the trespasser, to whom in rare cases he may throw a copper as to a beggar, contemptuously. Such an one buys everything at a distance, not only clothes, boots, saddlery and horse clothing, and stable utensils, but hay, corn and straw, while he buys his horses from the London dealer and not from the farmer. The chief reason of this is not only thoughtlessness but the fact that too many masters are morally the slaves of the servants who rob them, and who, with an ignorant, timid, or indifferent master, will often represent local goods as inferior, and even make them so to secure the commissions, as the cook does with eggs, poultry, meat, &c. It always puzzles me, too, why hunting men will pay two to three hundred guineas to a London dealer for a pig in a poke rather than buy a hunter from the breeder and trainer whose animal they can see day after day doing an excellent performance with hounds, and of which they may have any reasonable practical trial in the field before buying. The grooms can make the purchase a failure if they do not get substantial “regulars,” and their master is a duffer, and many men explain that with dealers they can swap and change, forgetting that it is the dealer and not themselves who is sure to benefit by each exchange.

It astonishes me as a practical breeder how valuable studs can be reared as well as herds of pedigree cattle and flocks of sheep in the Shires, where on every day in the week, Sundays only excepted, any one of half a dozen packs may stampede the lot, causing laming, staking and slipping, or casting their young; for it is trouble and risk enough with horses alone to have to round up and shut up all one’s brood mares and young stock rather than have them excited and dispersed over the adjoining parish through gaps and gates left open. It is not the fliers of the hunt who do the most damage, as experience teaches them to ride at the post or stiffest part of a fence that a horse will clear, instead of blundering through, but the ignoble army of skirters, who will tear down any fence in their efforts to regain the safety of the hard high road. Fortunately, the boastful thruster who shows off by turning a somersault through a new gate when hounds are not running is rare. Much might be done by reducing the quantity and improving the quality of the second horsemen, especially in the crowded Shires.

To sum up; the hunting man would do well in his own interest to show appreciation of the self-denial of the farmer by buying horses, forage and all that he can in the country which he affects, and avoid as far as possible all injury to growing crops, especially when hounds are not running or scent is bad—the days are only too few and choice when one must go straight and fast or go home—and then little harm results. Fences need seldom be broken nor gates left open where stock is, and any man who can afford to hunt can afford to pay a good subscription to enable the Hunt to compensate the farmer by removing and replacing the barbed wire, or, better still, supplying timber for fencing instead, and tactfully recouping Mrs. Farmer for loss of her just perquisite, poultry, even if, with the privilege of her sex, she sometimes opens her mouth a little widely and loudly. I have heard masters of hounds explaining to those who, like myself, have seen “bold Reynard” (see Sponge) carrying off fowls in broad daylight, that foxes do not injure poultry. Unfortunately the vulpine instinct is to prepare for a rainy day, and though we are assured that foxes leave home preserves alone as a reserve fund, it makes little difference whether neighbours or “travellers” clear off and bury the feathered contents of our henroost for future use, whether hungry or not, as the best fed dog will do with a number of bones.

Still, fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Farmer are a good sort, the former with an innate love of sport and the latter not impervious to soft sawder if laid on judiciously; and if game preservers will unselfishly remember the lines, even if exaggerated, that

“One fox upon foot more enjoyment will bring Than twice twenty thousand pheasants on wing;”

and if each Master of Foxhounds will spend as much of the needful as he can locally, and remember that in the twentieth century men do not come out to be d——d; and those who take part in the pleasures of the chase, would subscribe to the great and increasing expenses of the packs which they favour (?) with their presence, observe the courtesy which they would show when “standing down,” and show some consideration for farmers and their gates, fences and crops, I have no fear but that the farmer will do his part as he has hitherto done in the more prosperous past; and to the question as to whether hunting is doomed to extinction or not, we may hopefully and confidently respond, in the words of the good old song:

Oh, perish the thought, may the day never come When the gorse is uprooted, the foxhound is dumb.

J. J. D. J.

The Sportsman’s Library.

The “Live Stock Journal Almanac”[1] for 1906 contains a great many matters of interest. Sir Walter Gilbey’s article on “Farms and Small Holdings as Affected by Enclosures, Markets and Fairs” is full of information, and is particularly opportune in respect of the author’s remarks on small holdings. It is made clear that the oft-urged plea for the return of the excess urban population to rural pursuits cannot be acceded to under existing conditions. It was right of common that made the small holding possible in old days; and now that successive enclosure acts have removed the facilities the small holder enjoyed for pasturing his stock, the situation is radically altered.

Mr. G. S. Lowe contributes a very entertaining paper on “Horse Dealers Past and Present,” a subject full of possibilities, and of which he makes good use. Mr. C. J. Cornish deals with a topic that appeals to the naturalist in “Animals’ Foster-Children”; he reviews numerous curious cases of adoption, the strangest, perhaps, being the appropriation of chickens by a cat; the reverse, a hen taking possession of kittens, has also been recorded. All who wish to see betting placed on a sound and intelligible footing will be glad to see that Sir Walter Gilbey is heartily in favour of adopting the pari mutuel, or totaliser system, in this country; he makes out a strong case for it in “How Betting should Aid Agriculture.” The advantages of the system are so manifest that it is strange we should not have accepted it in England long since. Mr. C. B. Pitman, as usual, writes on “Thoroughbreds in 1905,” reviewing the performances of the more conspicuous horses of the season, the sales at Newmarket and Doncaster, and the show of the Royal Commission. Mr. Scarth Dixon writes on Cleveland bays and Yorkshire coach horses, and “E.” considers the Hackney: we notice that he regards the classes of Hackneys at the Royal this year as much above the average. The pony-breeding industry continues to make progress. Breeders of ponies for polo—all interested in the game—should read Mr. John Hill’s informing article on “Ponies in 1905.” In “Show Hunters of the Year” the successes of various studs and individual horses are reviewed; a portrait of Mr. Stokes’ gelding, Whiskey, accompanies the article. Mr. Vero Shaw deals with “Harness Horses”; old favourites, as he observes, have been mostly to the fore during the year. Passing over the very instructive articles on the heavy breeds of horses, we come to an essay by Mr. Harold Leeney, M.R.C.V.S., on “Brain Diseases in Animals,” an obscure subject to the lay reader. Mr. Leeney, however, tells us that the veterinary practitioner has to deal with a good many cases of brain and spinal cord trouble among domestic animals. Mr. C. Stein contributes an interesting article on “The Jersey Cow at Home,” while Mr. John Thornton’s comprehensive review of Shorthorns in 1905 is full of interest as usual. All the more notable varieties of cattle and sheep are dealt with in turn by acknowledged experts, but space forbids us to glance at the contents of these essays. Mr. F. Gresham must be thanked for his article on the “Working Spaniel,” directly and closely appealing to sportsmen who have ever used spaniels. Mr. Tegetmeier’s article on “The Management of Farmyard Poultry” contains many practical and useful hints.

Admirably illustrated and full of items of information indispensable to the dweller in the country, the Almanac seems to us to be more complete than ever this year.

We have received Part V. of “George Fothergill’s Sketch Book,” a work by this time well known to sportsmen who can appreciate clever drawings of hunting subjects, as well as to a wider circle of readers and picture-lovers. A coloured portrait of Mr. George Rimington, eldest brother of the soldier who made such a reputation in South Africa, forms the leading feature: it is faced by “Gone Away,” a set of hunting verses which possess spirit, rhythm and swing, recalling “We’ll all go a-hunting to-day.” The majority of the pages are occupied by sketches of Haughton le Skerne in co. Durham and its environs. The career of William Bewick, the artist-naturalist, furnishes Dr. Fothergill with subject matter for an interesting biographical sketch.

Thomas’ Hunting Diary, edited by Messrs. W. May and A. Coaten, and published at the County Gentleman and Land and Water office, grows larger and more complete every season. Mr. A. E. Burnaby contributes a good article on “The Art of Riding to Hounds.” Mr. Richard Ord has some very judicious observations to make on “The Duty of the Foxhunter towards the Farmer.” “Maintop,” the pseudonym adopted by a well-known Irish sportsman and writer, discusses “Knowledge of Hounds” in a particularly practical spirit, and incidentally touches lightly but firmly on the “sins of some ladies” in the hunting field. Then we have some chapters on hunting clothes and their care, and some informing pages concerning the packs of foxhounds abroad. It will perhaps surprise some readers to learn that foxhunting exists in nearly every British Colony.

Gale’s Almanac, published at 12, St. Bride Street, E.C., is full of information indispensable to racing men and to athletes, containing, as it does, a mine of facts relating to the turf, to cricket, football, billiards, athletics, rowing, lawn tennis, boxing and swimming. Racing occupies the bulk of the Almanac, and the information bearing on horses, their performances, form and prospects, is well worth careful study. The “Racing Facts” in particular appeal to us. The Almanac is well illustrated with portraits of owners, trainers, jockeys and horses of note.

The ever-welcome Badminton Diary, published at 43, Dover Street, W., makes its appearance this season in a new cover, which makes it look somewhat larger than the handy friend now so familiar. The new issue contains several new features, chiefly appealing to the motorist and polo player: the former will find a “motor trip register,” a list of motor records, motor road signs and identification marks. The lists of polo clubs, fixtures and records are also new.

It is interesting to see how fully those to whom is entrusted the development of our colonies are realising the value of game as an attraction to settlers of the most desirable stamp. We have received from the Agent-General of British Columbia a beautifully illustrated pamphlet which contains full particulars of the game, beast, bird and fish of that colony, with much helpful advice as to ways and means. The vast areas of virgin country offer great choice of game to the shooting man: three species of bear, four species of mountain sheep; also wapiti, caribou and deer. Various species of grouse, wildfowl and snipe are abundant, while every stream and lake offers salmon or trout-fishing, or both.

In Pursuit of the Pike.

If anybody had the requisite industry to compile a history of modern pike-fishing, it would be found that 1905 would stand out very prominently in at least two respects. In the first place, it has been a remarkable year for the number of heavy specimen fish caught by honest angling with rod and line; and in the second place, the year has been noteworthy for the number of curious stories which have appeared in the sporting prints dealing with what is commonly called the “voracity” of the pike. I have no wish to make this article a mere epitome of the angling reports which appear week by week in the various fishing journals, but as I have for many years past compiled a diary of all important catches, I am entitled to say that 1905 was a specially interesting year in the matter of big pike hooked and landed. This last reservation is needed, for we all hook, but very rarely land, the biggest fish in the waters wherein we angle. For instance, it has been my own ambition for years to catch a 20 lb. pike, and I have spent months and months at the water side in its vain pursuit; yet nothing bigger than a ten-pounder has ever fallen to my lot, while I have had the grim pleasure of seeing comparative novices hook and carry away with unconcern fish I myself would almost have given an ear to have played on my own rod. Yet I verily believe I have hooked fish of specimen size. Thus, I have an old spoon bait which is not merely indented with numberless teeth marks, but is even jagged and torn as though it had been placed in a vice and then wrenched. It was no ten-pounder which did that! But this and all other similar phantom fish are for the moment excluded from our chronicles. We will deal only with pike whose capture and weight are completely verified.

To deal with big pike is to open the door for the weaver of fishing yarns. A good deal of misconception exists as to the weight of pike. There is a boatman on Windermere Lake who tells you, and possibly believes it, that he knows of a pike at the southern end of the lake which must be 50 or 60 lb. weight. He has seen it! He will tell you how it pulls ducks beneath the water, how it takes a spinning bait and crumples rod and line ere it breaks everything before it, and he will solemnly warn novices not to allow themselves to be pulled out of their boat by this insatiable monster. All this is moonshine. The Lake district is favourable to the growth of big pike. Lakes ten, eight and six miles long, swarming with trout and perch, offer exceptional facilities for pike, yet very big fish are rarely caught. For many years past I have only heard of one twenty-pounder, though all the lakes are keenly fished. The record is a pike of 34 lb., caught in Bassenthwaite in 1861, on a spinning bait. The fact is that only few pike reach 20 lb., and fish over that weight, when caught, should be celebrated by a dinner and a fitting glass case. No, the modern pike is not the creature of our youthful imagination. I make it a point to verify all reported fish of over 20 lb., and it is curious how, after a few letters, these monster fish dwindle away. Thus, a 39 lb. pike from Ireland, reported in The Field and Fishing Gazette in 1904, turned out to be a twenty-eight-pounder when my inquiries were completed. All the apology offered by the correspondent for this most sinful deception was that it was a “mistake.” Then what is the biggest pike of which we have any record caught by angling? The honour belongs to Ireland. A pike was caught there in 1900, and sent to the Fishing Gazette Office, and it was made clear beyond doubt that it weighed 40½ lb. But the fish was caught in the spawning season, was heavy with several pounds of spawn, and in normal conditions would probably not have weighed more than about 35 lb. The fish next to this should really come before it, for it was caught in the early part of this year, in the winter, was free from spawn, and every ounce of it seems to be honest weight. It was caught in Lough Mask by a water bailiff named Connor, and its weight was verified by railway officials who saw it weighed, as well as by Williams and Son, the Dublin naturalists, to whom it was sent for preservation. It weighed 38 lb. Unhappily, we are not so clear as to the method of its capture. I wrote to Williams and Son, and received a letter back in which they lamented its inglorious end. They told me it was netted. I published this letter in the Fishing Gazette, when lo, the Rev. Mr. Curran wrote and denied it, and affirmed most positively that Connor caught it by fair fishing, on a rod and line, with a Blue Phantom as bait. Coming a little lower in the scale, there is no doubt at all about the next best fish to this monster from the Mask. The honour of catching the record English pike belongs to Mr. Alfred Jardine, who in 1879 caught one in a private water of the weight of 37 lb. He had already previously captured one of 36 lb. Since then that record has only twice been beaten by the two Irish pike mentioned above, and, as I have shown, one of them should be disqualified by reason of being with spawn, and the other is still invested with mystery as to the method of its capture. If we admit gaffed or netted fish into our chronicles we must enlarge our figures, for netting and gaffing are purposely carried on when the fish work into the shallows to deposit their spawn, and they naturally reach heavier weights then than at other times. There are authentic records of fish over 40 lb. thus caught.

In the early part of 1905, Major Mainwaring verified in The Field, two pike gaffed in Lough Mask—one 42 lb., the other 48 lb.; the latter had just spawned; otherwise, as the Major wrote, it might very easily have brought down the scale at 60 lb. Then there is a record of a pike weighing 61 lb. being caught in the River Bann in Ireland, in 1894, measuring over four feet, and containing over 7 lb. of spawn; and we have English records, mainly from the Norfolk Broads and the Lincolnshire Fens, of pike netted during the spawning period and weighing full 40 lb. We are face to face with the fact, therefore, that we can verify the capture of a pike 37 lb. by an English angler, and that by netting or gaffing, pike up to 60 lb. or thereabouts have been taken out of Irish waters.

It is necessary that these figures should be stated, because they are useful as a standard to compare the pike caught in the early months of 1905. The record for the season weighed 33½ lb. Quite a number over 30 lb. were caught, more so than for a number of years past. But, to my mind, the two facts of greatest importance which emerge from a study of my pike records are these: first, that February is the very best month of the year for catching pike; and second, that spinning is the deadliest method. Take the first of these propositions. In February last Mr. Oliver Procter and two friends had a day’s pike fishing on a private water in Nottinghamshire. The name of the place was not given, but internal evidence in their narrative tells me that it was the private lake at Clumber, the Duke of Newcastle’s place. In one day these three rods caught, by spinning, fifty-six pike, weighing 468½ lb. The best fish weighed 31 lb. and the smallest was actually 6 lb. One rod got 32 fish, weighing 275 lb.; another rod had 17 fish, weighing 119½ lb.; the other rod, Mr. Procter himself, had seven fish, weighing 74 lb. The latter average is very high, but it included the best fish of the day, the 31-pounder. As each rod could only keep three fish, all the rest were safely returned to the water. I have asked the reader to note that this was a February catch and that they were caught spinning. A few days later, in the same month, three Nottingham anglers had a day on this same water. By spinning they accounted for 52 pike, weighing 425 lb. The heaviest was 33½ lb., was the record pike of the year, and was caught by Mr. F. W. K. Wallis, of Nottingham. I have not yet done with February, nor with spinning. In the same month two Wolverhampton anglers, one of them a clergyman, fishing a water not named, caught 52 pike between them, all by spinning. The total weight was not recorded, but they gave away over 2 cwt. to the deserving poor of Wolverhampton. Another February case was that of Mr. R. C. H. Corfe and Mr. M. R. L. White, of the Fly Fishers’ Club. Spinning, they caught 55 pike in a day’s angling. The largest was only 18½ lb., but they touched bigger fish, for as they were landing a four-pounder it was wrenched off the hooks and carried away by a pike which Mr. White estimated at 30 lb. or thereabouts. They were all caught by spinning dace or sprats on an Abbey Mills spinner. Again, in that same February, a college student reported to The Field how, in two hours’ spinning, during a snow-storm, using a silver Devon on the Wye near Hereford, he caught four pike, 27½ lb., 15 lb., 8 lb. and 6 lb. These records, all from 1905, surely establish February’s claim to rank as the premier pike month of the year. Going further back, I find that other years substantiate this claim. Mr. Jardine, in his book on pike-fishing, gives a list of sixty record fish, and thirty of them belong to the end of January and the month of February.

There can be no doubt, therefore, that the angler who defers his pike fishing till the winter is nearing the end has the root of the matter in him. There are some waters in Lincolnshire, the home of big pike, where you are not thanked to go a-fishing till near the Christmas holidays. The old couplet about winter “driving into madness every plunging pike” was founded upon very close observation. The dying away of weeds and the consequent loss of shelter to the pike, and the hibernation of the small fish upon which he preys, added to the frost, give him a keen appetite, and it is then that the angler has his best chance, for, after all, you are likelier to catch any fish when he is hungry than when he is lazy and fat and has no need to bestir himself to find a meal. This very naturally brings me to the second of my propositions, that spinning is in winter the deadliest method of capturing pike. In the early autumn live-baiting and paternostering are, to my thinking, the more effective. The pike is then in his lair. He is lying up in his weed bed, grimly watching all that goes on in the watery world outside. You take your live bait, either on float-tackle or on a paternoster, and you drop it right in front of his nose; and he is a very sulky pike indeed who allows it to pass him by without a protest. If you are spinning you may cover acres of water and never have the luck to get near enough to him to attract his attention, but in winter the conditions are altogether different. Cold and hunger have driven him out of his summer fastnesses. He is roaming hither and thither in search of food. Every faculty is on the alert, and woe betide the hapless creature that comes within the range of his vision. It matters not whether it is a rat swimming across to his hole on the opposite bank, a dab-chick aimlessly swimming about, a water-hen or a duckling, it is all the same to Master Pike. What more natural, therefore, that a well-spun bait drawn across his very eyes should in a moment rouse him to anger? All the records I have already given were the result of spinning. Now in the Badminton volume on Pike Mr. Pennell, who is a confirmed pike-spinner, rather suggests that the biggest pike are generally caught with live-bait and not by spinning. True, Mr. Jardine’s 37-pounder was on live-bait, but the Irish 38-pounder, according to my clerical correspondent, was on a spinner. This year’s record, a 33½ pounder, was on a spinner, and so was Mr. Procter’s best fish, a 31-pounder. The record of 1903, a 34-lb. pike taken in the Wye, was caught by spinning a dace on Abbey tackle, and in February, it may be added. That same year Canon Dyke, of Ashford, Kent, wrote to The Field, saying that spinning had always brought him good results. He instanced several pike up to 28 lb. he himself had caught while spinning. More conclusive than this, however, was a remarkable diary published in The Field in 1903. In 204 days’ fishing the diarist caught 1,665 pike, an average of about eight fish per day. The gross weight was 2 tons 10 cwt. 62 lb., and it works out at an average of nearly 3½ lb. per fish; but the most striking thing about the record is this, that all were caught by spinning. About a dozen were taken on a spoon, the remainder fell victims to spinning a five-inch dace. The moral of this is obvious. If you want to catch large pike and many of them, you must spin. If you merely want an isolated fish, if you set your mind on some monster whom you know to inhabit a certain hole, you may adopt the method of the dry-fly man and stalk him with a lively roach of ½ lb. weight, but if you are in earnest and wish to make a big bag, you most assuredly will have to arm yourself with plenty of spinning tackle. I can give instances without end of good pike which have fallen to the spinner. Here are a recent few at random: a 27-pounder, 1903, from the Irish Blackwater, caught by spinning a trout; a 34½-pounder, caught with a spoon, by a Bolton angler, in 1903, at Lochmaben, near Dumfries, and so on. And here are other fine records to the credit of the spinner. In September, 1903, two members of the Palmerston Angling Society, fishing two days in a Cambridgeshire water, landed 127 pike, all of them falling to pickled sprats and dace.

Then there is a remarkable catch by Mr. F. Shroeder, a York angler, who, fishing Hornsea Mere, near Hull, in 1902, caught 65 pike in a day, weighing 348 lb. The heaviest was 13½ lb. Another day Mr. Shroeder tells me he caught ten pike in the same water before breakfast, weighing 110 lb., including a 23-pounder and a 20-pounder. I asked Mr. Shroeder how he got them, and his reply is, in the morning by spinning a dead bait on an ordinary flight, and in the afternoon by live-baiting, but principally by spinning. I have just tracked another remarkable catch to the credit of the spinner. Mr. Albert Shlor, of Worksop, wrote in October this year to the fishing papers, stating that he had just caught twenty-one pike, in a private lake, in five and a half hours, of a total weight of over 149 lb., the heaviest being 13 lb. 11 oz. I wrote to Mr. Shlor, and he tells me he caught them all by spinning. Fifteen were taken on a Colorado spoon. Then he put on a dead gudgeon, on an ordinary flight made by himself, and having no flanges or spinning arrangement, the spin being obtained, as in Mr. Shroeder’s case just mentioned, by bending the tail of the fish. Well, out of seven runs with this tackle Mr. Shlor, who is only twenty years of age, landed six pike. That is something like fishing, and it is something like spinning. For, as Mr. Shlor tells me, his brother, who was fishing with him and using live bait, only landed two fish, and only had three runs altogether! But if this is not enough, Mr. White, of the Fly Fishers’ Club, says in a letter that he has frequently had up to forty-five pike to his own rod in a single day by spinning, and once, in company with another, they took seventy-five in a day’s spinning, though they “shook off,” all under about 10 lb. or so. Had they retained all, their total would have been fully 100 pike for the day. And while this is in the printer’s hands, I have a letter from Mr. O. Overbeck, of Grimsby, the champion carp fisher, who tells me that it was spinning dead roach that he caught, at Clumber in 1903, thirty-one pike in four hours, of a total weight of 187½ lb.

Now, if spinning is the deadliest method, it is a fair question to inquire which particular form of spinner holds the field for the best results. Every pike angler has his favourite lure. Personally, I find the spoon the most effective. In an article in The Field once I gave the tabulated results of my season’s pike fishing. I used two artificial baits, a Kill-devil Devon and a common spoon, and pickled dace on an Archer spinner. The spoon easily came first, then the Kill-devil. I obtained the worst results with the natural bait, but the local conditions and personal preference count in this vexed question. For instance, in the Lake district a spoon is always the most effective. Pike there feed on perch every day of their lives. There is nothing tempting or novel to them in the sight of a spinning perch. Put a spoon on, or a Phantom, and you will be into good fish almost immediately. There is even room for taste in spoons. You may fish half a day on Esthwaite Lake with a plated spoon and never touch a fish. Change it for a Norwich spoon, on which is painted the head and eye of a fish, and you may catch half-a-dozen good pike in the hour. Who shall account for this? There are other waters where the spoon is never looked at by a fish. You must have real fish for bait, or you will do nothing at all. My own observation leads me to this conclusion, that in the North of England the spoon is the best lure; in the Midlands and the South natural fish have the advantage as bait. Finally, a word as to size. It seems to me that in spinning for pike the very reverse holds good to the ascertained facts of live-baiting. In the latter form of fishing you must have large baits to catch large fish. Mr. Jardine’s 37-pounder was caught with a ½-lb. roach. Some anglers—Mr. Pennell is one—use and recommend jack up to 2 lb. as lively bait for their big brothers and parents, but in spinning you must use a small bait. If it is a spoon, or an imitation fish, anything over three inches and a half is a waste of money and a menace to good results. Pickled dace or roach should never exceed five inches. Mr. M. R. L. White has often emphasised this point. He says he has many times turned a bad day into a good one by changing to the smallest bait he had, and he tells of one occasion where, obstinately sticking to big bait, he hardly got a fish, while his friend, fishing the same water with him, but using smaller bait, landed thirty-five. A correspondent in the Fishing Gazette last year drew attention to the fact that the three largest pike which had come under his personal notice were taken on small baits, one of 38 lb. on a spoon only an inch and a half long; another of 32½ lb. on a roach of three and a half inches, and a third of 30 lb., also on a very small roach. I am entitled to claim, therefore, that this rapid survey of some recent records of pike fishing demonstrates three facts which are worth remembering: that February or thereabouts is the best time to catch pike, that spinning is the deadliest method, and that a small spinner, whether natural or artificial, has undoubtedly all the advantages on its side.

It is with some diffidence that I approach the second half of my subject. For years the angling humorist has poked fun at what the newspapers all agree in terming the “voracity” of the pike. Let me say at the outset that the reader will find nothing here of that pike which chased an angler round a three-acre field in a snow-storm; nor of that other pike which leaped out of the water, seized the angler’s pannier and made off with its contents; nor of that other which, when an unfortunate rodsman fell into the river, kindly took him in his mouth and gently conveyed him to the bank again. The recital of these yarns must be sought for elsewhere. Still, I cannot help recalling the capital story told by Lord Claud Hamilton at the last dinner of the Fly Fishers’ Club. An Irishman had caught a big pike. Noting a lump in its stomach, he cut it open. “As I cut it open there was a mighty rush and a flapping of wings, and away flew a wild duck; and, begorra, when I looked inside, there was a nest with four eggs, and she had been after sitting on that nest.” The pike has always been fair game for the yarn-spinner, and some of the very best of his products have naturally come from Ireland. The most curious story of 1905 hailed from Pickering, in Yorkshire. Dr. Robertson, of that town, is its author. He tells how he was sent for by a farmer friend to see his son, who, so ran the message, had been bitten by a fish. On arrival, the doctor found that the lad’s foot bore unmistakable marks of teeth, and the wound was so severe it required stitching. The lad’s story was that he had been bathing. After leaving the river he sat on the edge of the bank, with his foot near the water, and while there a pike jumped up and bit him. His cries attracted a woman, who bound his foot up and assisted him home. To complete the story, a local angler was shown the spot, and on casting over it with a spinning bait he hooked and caught a 6 lb. pike. Now, there is nothing improbable in this, though a good deal of unkind fun was poked at Dr. Robertson. But the doctor was responsible for nothing beyond telling the tale; and remember, he had seen the lad and stitched up the wound, he had seen the woman who had carried him home, and he had seen the angler who subsequently caught a pike at the very spot. What we know of the propensities of the pike is sufficient to make us believe anything which throws light upon the ferocity of his nature. Most anglers have had their hands gashed by the snapping brutes during the operation of releasing tackle on waters where most of the fish have to be returned. I have seen an oar deeply bitten by a 10 lb. pike; and one of my heavy fishing boots has marks on the heel where a small pike once caught on like grim death. Indeed, my companion had to kick him loose. For my own part, I believe Dr. Robertson’s story. He had no motive to embellish it, and there were so many parties to it that exaggeration would sooner or later have been discovered. As it is, the incident is a striking corroboration of the remarkable stories collected by Mr. Pennell in the Badminton volume on Pike.

Now, the orthodox stories of pike “voracity” divide themselves into two clearly-defined sections. The first of these is concerned with its gluttonous appetite—its onslaught on smaller fish, its appetite for rats, ducks and kindred morsels. I have collected some thousands of these incidents. But why reproduce them? We all know that the pike has a fearful appetite, that his swallowing powers are enormous, and that sometimes, to use an expressive Americanism, he bites off more than he can chew. Thus, we read of a 3½ lb. pike choked trying to swallow a 1¼ lb. trout; of a 9 lb. pike containing a 1½ lb. perch; of a 28 lb. pike containing a 6 lb. grilse; of a 2 lb. pike taking a spoon when he was so full that the tail of a pound trout was protruding from his mouth; of an Irish pike of 3½ lb. containing a trout of 1¼ lb.; and of others containing ducks, rats, waterhens, and even stoats. The plain fact is, of course, that the pike is a creature of prey, and like all creatures of prey, he is savage and implacable. He eats till he is full, and even then he takes good care not to refuse any tempting morsel which comes within range of his fearful jaws. His destructiveness can hardly be estimated in figures. If he eats his own weight per week, which is surely under the estimate, he requires a fish colony for his own table purposes alone.

A pike of 25 lb. was this season netted in the Lune, a first-class northern trout-stream. By his look he was an old fish, and he was well fed. How many tons of trout had he got through in his long lifetime? It is bad enough when they confine themselves to big fish, but when they get among the fry it is even worse, for they are destroying the very sources of a stream’s productiveness. And, alas, they have a liking for young and tender fish, as the keepers of our best waters know to their cost. Last year a pike of 4 lb. 11 oz. was caught by a Birmingham angler, and on opening it at the clubhouse its stomach was found to contain no fewer than 274 small fish of an inch to an inch and a half long, the fry of roach and bream. No wonder that in trout and salmon waters the pike is regarded as a pest and is kept down by every method the wit of the harassed keeper can devise.

To my mind, the most interesting pike stories are those which centre round its capture. What must Mr. White’s feelings have been like when his 4 lb. pike was snatched off the hooks and carried away by a 30-pounder just as he was about to gaff it? Or that of the angler in Tyrone, who, reeling in an 8 lb. pike, had it attacked by a much larger pike, which, though it could not pull the fish off the hooks, scored it with wounds five inches long, and half an inch deep.

Most of us have had similar experiences, if on a small scale. In a trout stream where pike abound, it is a common thing to lose your trout just at the supreme moment through a pike thinking he has a greater right to him than you have. But it is not often that the angler is so fortunate as was a correspondent who wrote to the Fishing Gazette. His 2 lb. trout was seized by a 5 lb. pike. The pike held on while the angler reeled in towards the boat; then the attendant slipped his net beneath them and landed the pair. Thus was piracy adequately punished. Sometimes, ignoring the bait, a pike will seize the float or the lead, and his teeth becoming entangled in the line he will be landed.

Once an account appeared in The Field of a good-sized pike caught in a most remarkable fashion. A net of fish as bait was hanging over the side of a boat. A pike attacked these fish, and becoming involved in the mesh was drawn aboard and killed. I think there can be no reasonable doubt about the fact that pike do not feel pain. Else why do they repeatedly go for the same bait? I was once minnowing for trout and hooked a big pike. He broke me and sailed away with a yard of gut, to say nothing of three triangles somewhere about his jaws. I put on another minnow and resumed fishing. Two or three times that pike followed my bait to a yard of the side, irresolute. At last he took it. He was more than I could manage, and again he broke me, and again he sailed off with minnow, hooks, and half my cast. He had now two minnow tackles about him, representing six triangles, or eighteen hooks in all, and if they caused no pain they at least must have produced discomfort. But note what happened. In my bag I found by accident I had put in an old spoon on gimp. I put this on my trout line and cast again. Would it be believed, that pike came once more and took my spoon. Surely, thought I, he is mine this time. I played him ten minutes and then drew him to the side, but somehow, my line fouled and we parted company, myself minus a spoon and triangles. Altogether that pike had twenty-four hooks of mine in his possession. I returned next day with a pike rod and tackle, but he had had enough. Now, although this is an extreme case, it is almost paralleled by other experiences. An angler last season on Frensham Pond, Surrey, using two rods, hooked a pike and lost it on one tackle, the line breaking. Within five minutes the same pike took the other bait and was landed on the other rod, with the first tackle securely fixed in his jaws. A very curious instance was reported from the Thames. In March, 1903, a Mr. Wilton hooked a pike which broke away and took his Archer spinner with him. On February 28th, 1904, eleven months later, Mr. Wilton and his nephew were fishing in the same spot. The nephew hooked a pike, and, on taking it out of the water, Mr. Wilton’s spinner was found in his lower jaw. There was no doubt about it being the same spinner, as Brookes, the fisherman to the Guards Club at Maidenhead, supplied it and was there when it was recovered, and identified it by his wrappings. The lapse of a year had dulled the pike’s memory of the earlier encounter, but there are innumerable instances of pike going for bait twice within a few minutes. Thus a Thames reporter tells how a trout spinner, in March, 1905, saw his bait taken and his line broken by a pike. He put on another bait and tackle. At the very first cast he hooked and landed the same pike, and thus recovered intact his first flight. Obviously the fish had felt neither pain nor discomfort from his first experience, otherwise he would never have been rash enough to repeat it five minutes later. One other similar instance out of many. In August of this year an angler caught a pike of about a pound in the Medway. He put it back, but first cut off part of one of its fins to test its rate of growth if ever it were caught again. Then he baited again, and in less than a quarter of an hour caught that identical pike a second time. So I might go on telling of pike that have gone for two baits at once and been hauled in by a couple of rods simultaneously; of pike that—but hold, enough! Surely I have fulfilled the purpose with which I set out, and that was to demonstrate the interest and excitement of winter pike-fishing, and to show that no branch of the angler’s art is more surrounded by incident and anecdote than the quest and capture of the king of all the coarse fish.

ERNEST PHILLIPS.

A Gossip on Hunting Men.

I do not suppose that William Somerville, the poet of “The Chase,” is much read nowadays, though, doubtless, musty and dust-covered, his poems lie among the neglected classics in the libraries of most country houses. Yet he can lay better claim than any other bard to the title of “Laureate of the Hunting Field” and he was a royal good sportsman to boot. “A squire, well-born and six foot high,” is his own description of himself to his brother poet, Allan Ramsay; and among the squires of his native Warwickshire he held a foremost place. For his estates brought him in £1,500 a year—a rental equivalent to at least £4,000 in the present day. A jovial soul he was, too, with a heart as big as his body. Generous to a fault, and freehanded in his spending of money, William Somerville, like many good sportsmen of the same type before and since, ran through his patrimony before he was forty. His friend, William Shenstone, another almost forgotten poet, gives us a melancholy picture of the latter days of the sporting squire, whose verses won the high commendation of Johnson and Addison. “Plagued and threatened by wretches that are low in every sense, he was forced to drink himself into pains of the body, to get rid of the pains of the mind.” He died in 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near Henley-in-Arden. In the churchyard there is a monumental urn erected to his memory by Shenstone, but “Tempus edax rerum” has made the inscription almost indecipherable.

I am reminded of Somerville in writing this rambling gossip on hunting men, because no one has depicted with more animation and spirit than he the opening of the hunting season; and there are at any rate three lines of his which are familiar to all educated sportsmen, if only through Mr. Jorrocks’s emendation:

“My hoarse-sounding horn Invites thee to the Chase, the Sport of Kings, Image of war without its guilt.”

It is to Somerville, then, that we owe the phrase, “the sport of Kings,” more often, with better reason, nowadays, applied to the Turf.

Indeed, the Chase no longer merits the designation in its literal sense, for Royalty is conspicuous by its absence from the hunting field. I note, too, that English statesmen are no longer so keen to ride with hounds as they once were. Golf seems to have more charms for Ministers than hunting. Time was when Premiers and Secretaries of State were as familiar figures at a meet of hounds as at a meeting of the Cabinet. Sir Robert Walpole, the Duke of Grafton, Lord Althorp, Lord Palmerston, Earl Granville, were all hard riders to hounds and loved no sport better than the Chase. Even Mr. Gladstone, though not much of a sportsman in his later life, was, I am told, in his earlier days sometimes to be seen in Nottinghamshire, mounted on his old white mare, galloping after hounds with his friend and Parliamentary patron, the Duke of Newcastle. And I have met those who remember seeing the “Grand Old Man” at a still earlier period of his career, in Berwickshire, keeping close up to Willie Hay, of Dunse Castle, during a hard run.

And this, let me tell you, was no mean feat, for Willie Hay, when mounted on his famous hunter, Crafty, despite his welter weight, was hard to beat. In fact, he nearly always led the field with Crafty under him; and after a bursting hour and twenty minutes the horse seemed as little the worse for the going as his master, for both were thoroughbred ones. Willie, to distinguish him from others of his numerous clan, was known as “Hay of Drumelzier.” He came of an old Border stock—for he was of the Tweeddale blood on his mother’s side—and there was a touch of the ancestral reiver about him—the lawlessness, the recklessness, the boldness of the Border cattle-lifter, were latent in Willie and found vent in the hunting field. He was present at Waterloo as a spectator, like the Duke of Richmond, but tradition has it that, unable to control himself at the sight and sound of battle, he dashed incontinently into the fray and rode right through one of the cavalry charges unhurt, more fortunate than his younger brother, an officer in a Highland regiment, who was slain on the slopes of Mont St. Jean.

The late Earl of Wemyss, then Lord Elcho, was another Scotsman of that time who had a reputation for dare-devil riding. Indeed, he was known all over the country, not only as a splendid horseman, but as one of the finest all-round sportsmen of his day. As a youngster he had gone the pace and “made things hum” to such a tune that his father found it necessary to screw him up tightly.

But this did not prevent him from getting a pack of hounds together in 1830. He had the misfortune to lose his huntsman at the commencement of his first season—the man broke his leg and died from the effects of the accident—and Lord Elcho hunted the hounds himself. In this capacity he showed that he could combine with hard riding a creditable amount of Scottish canniness and caution.

In Joe Hogg, moreover, he had a capable first whip, a man who would follow wherever the master or the hounds led. One day the fox made for a bog and crossed it, the hounds, of course, following in pursuit, while behind them came Lord Elcho and Joe Hogg, the latter entering as keenly into the spirit of the adventure as his master. Next day some one said, “Joe, how did you feel when you were following his Lordship over the bog?” “Lord, sir,” he replied, “I did expect to be swallowed fairly up alive every time my horse jumped, but nothing else could be done, for the hounds were running right into him.” The bog was a mile and a half across, and the frost was just enough to make firm the driest parts, which admitted of the horses jumping from one tussock of grass to another.

Lord Saltoun, again, was an excellent rider, and with pluck enough to ride down the jagged steep of Berwick Law. He shone, too, with equal light at the festive board, where his rendering of the “Man with the Wooden Leg,” and other comic songs of the day, always “brought down the house.” He fought with his regiment at Waterloo, where he greatly distinguished himself in the defence of Hougomont, and afterwards remained in France with the army of occupation. And thereby hangs a tale.

While in quarters at St. Denis, Lord Saltoun, Lord William Lennox, Sim Fairfield, and one or two more, when they got to their billets in an hotel one night, found all their beds occupied. A French cavalry regiment had ridden up, and the officers had taken possession of every bedroom and locked themselves in. What was to be done? The Britishers were by no means disposed to submit tamely to this unceremonious invasion. They held a council of war. A bright idea suggested itself to Lord Saltoun, he propounded it to his comrades; it met with their enthusiastic approval, and they forthwith proceeded to carry it into execution. First, the waiter and ostler were bribed to secrecy. Then the conspirators went softly to work and changed all the boots which stood outside each door. When this was done, Sim Fairfield, who could play any instrument from a Jew’s harp to a trombone, got hold of a trumpet and sounded the French “Boot and Saddle.” In an instant every Frenchman was out of bed—doors were opened, boots eagerly snatched, and then—the band began to play! Never was there heard such scrambling and swearing: the air reeked with blasphemy. Men with large feet had got hold of small boots, men with small feet found themselves lost in “jacks” a world too wide for their shrunk shanks. Some tugged and cursed, others stumbled and swore, till they all got outside and finally galloped off. Then Lord Saltoun and his brother-plotters quickly took possession of the vacant beds, barricaded their doors, and slept the sleep of the just.

Another great Scottish foxhunter was brought to my mind not long since when I was skirting the coast along the Sound of Kilbrannan. About four miles from Campbeltown, in the Mull of Kintire, I passed the beautiful bay of Saddell, the graceful sweep of which attracted my attention, and as I let my eye wander upwards over the strip of creamy white beach I was struck by the singular charm of the landscape. Right up into the heart of the wooded hillside runs a lovely glen—in the foreground among its trim lawns, stands Saddell House; close by are the ruins of a grim old castle-keep, and one can trace the venerable avenue of stately beeches which leads to the ancient Abbey, where the old monks of Saddell enjoyed themselves six hundred years ago. It is a place which has a peculiar interest for sportsmen, for it was the home of John Campbell of Saddell, one of the greatest foxhunters of his day, whose hunting songs have won for him in Scotland a reputation as great as that of Whyte Melville or Egerton Warburton in England. A man, too, who could not only write good songs, but sing them as no one else could.

“Johnny” Campbell was a welter-weight, scaling something like sixteen stone, yet he was always in the first flight. He chose his horses more for strength than appearance, and was seldom seen on one over fifteen hands, but they were all short-legged, well-bred, steady and strong. He thought a good deal more of the safety of his horses than of his own. When he was at Melton Mowbray in 1832 English foxhunters looked upon him as the maddest of Scotchmen, because, in trying to save his horses, he would jump into the hedges instead of over them, quite regardless of the consequences to himself; for, like Assheton Smith, the Laird of Saddell did not mind how many falls he got. He was a tall, fine, handsome man, and when dressed at night in his scarlet coat with green facings and buff breeches (the uniform of the Buccleuch Hunt), his equal would have been hard to find in the three kingdoms.

It is not often that the qualities of poet, singer, bon vivant and sportsman are found combined in one personality as they were in “Johnny” Campbell, and, consequently, it is not surprising that the Laird of Saddell was immensely popular. Both in England and Scotland he was voted the best of good fellows, and was the life and soul of the convivial parties to which every host was eager to invite him. He would sometimes astonish and delight the company by improvising a song, setting it to an air and singing it the same evening. One memorable feat of this kind he achieved when he was a guest at Rossie Priory, the seat of Lord Kinnaird, in Perthshire, in 1831. They had had a famous run that morning with Mr. Dalzell’s hounds, and, taking that for his theme, he rattled off a parody of “We have been friends together.” Beginning with “We have seen a run together,” he described the run throughout, and concluded with:

“By Auchter House we hied him Still haunted by their cry; Till in Belmont Park we spied him, When we knew that he must die. Through the hedge he made one double, As his sinking soul did droop; ’Twas the end of all his trouble When we gave the shrill Who-whoop! Oh, now then let us rally; Let us toast the joyous tally, And a bumper to our ally, The gallant John Dalzell.”

But there were times when “Johnny” Campbell was not altogether a desirable companion to those who valued their lives and limbs, for he had a strong smack of Jack Mytton’s devilry in him, and when the demon of mischief possessed him he did not care a rap for his own skin or that of any of his companions. One night—or rather dark morning—a party of four gentlemen, including “Johnny” Campbell and Sir David Baird, who had been dining at Marchmont House, started to drive home to Dunse in a post-chaise. After passing through the park gates the post-boy got down to close them. Campbell thereupon leaned out of the window, and with a terrific “Who-oo-op awa’,” set the horses off in a panic. There was an open drain in front of them, a big mound of earth to the left, and a lake to the right. What the fate of the chaise and its occupants would have been had not the post-boy, who was a particularly smart young fellow, sprinted to the horses’ heads and stopped them just in time, one shudders to conjecture. Campbell laughed heartily, and thought it was an excellent joke. Sir David, who was a dare-devil himself of a different kind, preserved a saturnine indifference; but the other two were scared almost out of their senses. Never again would either of them trust himself in anything on wheels with Campbell of Saddell, for, as one of them remarked, “Johnny Campbell is one of the most agreeable companions—anywhere but in a post-chaise.”

Lord Eglinton, who for five-and-twenty years was, I suppose, the most popular man in the United Kingdom, was another notable hunting contemporary of Campbell of Saddell and Lords Elcho and Saltoun. He was then only twenty-four years of age, and the classic triumphs of Blue Bonnet, Van Tromp, and the immortal Flying Dutchman were yet in the future. But he had already proved himself an exceptionally bold and skilful horseman, both across country and on the flat. His half-brother, Charlie Lamb, too, was another of the right sort, who could hold his own with the best on the racecourse or with hounds. But Charlie had, what Lord Eglinton lacked, a dry humour, which gave a racy flavour to his personality. An anecdote of his earlier years will suffice for a sample:—

“Why don’t you send Charlie to sea?” an old friend and a right honourable old maid one day said to the Countess, his mother. “It is very bad for a young man to be idling away his time at home.”

After a short pause, Charlie, who was present, furnished the answer himself.

“Do you not think,” said he, “the stomach pump would answer as well?”

But enough of Scottish sportsmen for the present; let me turn to England and her foxhunters. The name of John Warde is, of course, familiar as a household word to every one who takes the slightest interest in hunting-lore, for was he not one of the greatest among the “Fathers of Foxhunting”?

Well, there are some stories of John Warde which will, I dare say, be new to many readers of BAILY. Richard Tattersall, the then head of the famous house, always gave a “Derby Dinner” late in the week preceding Epsom, to which some of the most distinguished men of the day were invited. John Warde never missed this function; indeed, the festive occasion would have been nothing without him to represent foxhunting. Sure as the dial to the sun, a few minutes before six his portly form would issue from his yellow chariot, in his silver knee and shoe buckles. The pipe of port which the host and his brother Edmund laid down annually had to pay a heavy tax laid on it, for each man had to drink “John Warde and the noble Science” in a silver fox’s head, which held nearly a pint, and admitted of no heel taps. None stood the ordeal better than “glorious John” himself; he would rise from the table steady as a rock, and before he left always made a point of going up to the drawing-room in the small hours to bid Mrs. Tattersall good-bye, for that good lady never went to bed till she had seen her husband precede her.

His mother lived to a great age, and became very deaf, but she always had her page-boy in every Sunday to say his Collect and Catechism, and although she could not hear a word he said, yet from the earnest expression of his face, and his never hesitating, she took it for granted that he repeated them properly, and invariably gave him a shilling. John, however, getting a hint that the young rascal imposed upon the good-natured lady, one Sunday morning hid himself in the room. As usual, young Buttons was called up, and requested to commence his religious exercise; then, with a perfectly solemn face, he began, “Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon,” and so on to the end of the old nursery rhyme.

“There’s a good boy,” said the old lady, putting into his hand a shilling. But just as Master Hopeful was departing, jubilant, whack came a whip, with which John had provided himself on spec, down upon his shoulders. The welting he got made him remember Collect and Catechism for many a day.

Warde attained the patriarchal age of eighty-five. Like all sportsmen of the “golden time,” he was a bon vivant, but in his last days he had to give up wine.

By a strange irony of fate, he died of water on the chest.

“This is a pretty business,” he said. “Here is a man dying of water, who never drank but one glassful of that nauseous liquid in his life.”

Hunting has its enthusiasts—its almost fanatical enthusiasts, I may say—and probably most readers of BAILY have met with one or more of them. For my part I have come across many, but neither in my experience nor my reading have I encountered a more thorough hunting enthusiast than the hero of the following anecdote.

Many years ago a Mr. Osbaldiston, younger son of a gentleman in the North of England, was foolish enough to fall in love with one of his father’s maid-servants, and quixotic enough to marry her. As soon as the news came to the parental ears the imprudent Benedict was turned out of doors, his only worldly possessions being a Southern hound in pup. He and his partner in disgrace started for London, and after a while the young man succeeded in obtaining a clerk’s situation in an attorney’s office at £60 a year. As time went on olive branches gathered about him to the tune of half-a-dozen, from which it may be supposed he had enough to do with his small pittance to keep eight pairs of grinders in work. Yet he not only discharged these onerous domestic duties as beseemed a good husband and father, but he also enjoyed his favourite sport, and kept a couple of horses and two couples of hounds!

But how in the name of wonder could a young man with an income of five and twenty shillings a week and with a wife and family to provide for, afford to keep horses and hounds? Of course he neglected his home and his business, and ended his days in the workhouse. Nothing of the kind! His wife and children were well fed and comfortably clothed, he never ran into debt, and always had a decent coat on his back. And the way Mr. Osbaldiston managed it was this:—

After office hours he acted as accountant for certain butchers in Clare Market, who paid him in kind. The best of the meat provided the daily dinner for himself and his family, and the scraps and offal fed the hounds which he kept in his garret. Having saved up sufficient to buy his horses, he stabled them in a cellar, fed them on grains from a brew house close by and damaged corn from a chandler’s—writing letters, correcting bills, keeping books, and assisting with legal information the proprietors, and so saving all expenditure of coin. Down in the country where he hunted in the season he gained the good-will of the farmers by giving them a hare now and then and tipping them a legal hint, while the gentlemen over whose manors he rode were so delighted with his enthusiasm for sport that he could go almost where he pleased. If any poor hunting enthusiast of to-day were to keep hounds in a garret and horses in a cellar, he would meet with a very different fate; he would promptly be indicted as a nuisance and summarily be suppressed by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Times are indeed changed!

The poet of “The Chase,” whom I have already quoted, describes hunting as the “image of war without its guilt.” It is not only the “image of war,” but it is the finest possible training for facing the perils and confronting the crises of actual warfare. The following anecdote of a once famous Leicestershire hunting-man, “Tommy” Yule, is one of the best illustrations of this truth that I have ever come across.

On the night of December 5th, 1857, the 11th Native Cavalry, stationed at Jalpaiguri, 650 strong, mutinied during the night, slew their English officers, and galloped off to meet the other portion of the regiment, then encamped some thirty miles off. Next day, having effected a junction with their comrades, they started to join the revolted Sepoys at Dacca. They rode in the direction of Purneah, with the intention of plundering that station on their way to the North-West. But they left out of their calculations a little man who was John Company’s Commissioner at Bhagalpur. Mr. Yule was an old Leicestershire hunting man, and was one of the most daring riders to hounds ever seen even in the Shires. He had ridden at both Newmarket and Liverpool as a gentleman jockey; he could box, shoot, fence, and play cricket in brilliant style—in fact, was a first-rate all-round man. He knew very little about soldiering, but he knew too much for the Pandies.

Well, to “Tommy” Yule the news was brought that the mutineers were “on the rampage.” At Bhagalpur he had with him fifty of Her Majesty’s 5th Regiment, 100 sailors, and two guns. As Commissioner of the district he was in command. Off he started without a moment’s delay to stop the game of murder, plunder, and ravishment. He came up with the rebels just outside Purneah, and dashed at them at once. They, however, had no heart for fighting, bolted, got round the station and made off for Dacca. But Yule’s blood was up. He had brought his stud of hunting elephants with him. He mounted fifty sailors and forty soldiers on them, and pounded after the flying foe. The little party marched all day and night, and got in front of their quarry the following morning. Then the rascals had to fight; ten Pandies to one Englishman, these were odds that even a modern Greek would face. They could not charge; their horses were fagged out. But Yule charged them, with some of his men on the elephants and some on foot, and killed 111 without losing a man. And the nerve, the pluck, the dash which achieved that brilliant success had been fostered and trained by hard riding over the pastures and bullfinches of Leicestershire.

I remember hearing Lord Wolseley tell the following story, which is a further proof of my assertion that hunting develops a man’s pluck and confidence.

“I once saw,” he said, “a Staff officer, a man well known in the hunting field, gallop with an order to a column of cavalry which had been drawn up in a sheltered position behind the village to be screened from the enemy’s fire. As he drew near the column, a round shot struck the ground under his horse’s belly. The horse made an effort to swerve, which was checked by its rider, without taking the cigar out of his mouth. He galloped up to the column, coolly gave his orders, and cantered back over the open ground, where the round shot were striking pretty thickly, still smoking his cigar as if he were taking his morning exercise. A few shots had previously plunged into the column, causing some excitement, which always happens when horses get knocked over; but the jolly indifference of this officer, and the manner in which he appeared altogether to ignore the existence of danger, had a capital effect upon the men.”

Lord Wolseley did not give the name of the officer, but I have been told that it was “Bob” Wood, sometime Colonel of the 8th Hussars.

Lord Roberts, too, paid a high tribute to a noted foxhunter when he declared, after his great campaign in Afghanistan, that one of the most valuable Staff officers in the British Army was Lord Melgund (the present Earl of Minto) who had few equals in those days as a cross-country rider.

The late Earl of Wilton, himself one of the finest horsemen and most enthusiastic followers of the chase the Shires have ever seen, used to say that he “had often heard the great Duke of Wellington remark that England would rue the day when her field sports were abandoned,” and that “amongst his best Peninsular officers were those who had most distinguished themselves in the hunting field,” courage and decision being the necessary attributes of success in the chase.

The “Iron Duke” himself was a keen lover of the sport. Mr. Larpent, who was Judge-Advocate of the British forces during the Peninsular War, relates, in his private journal, some anecdotes which prove how hard a rider and good a sportsman the conqueror of Napoleon was. For his own personal service Wellington kept fifteen horses, and paid high prices for them; and when one reads of such galloping to and fro as Mr. Larpent records, one is not surprised at the number of the Duke’s stud.

Here is an extract from the journal which illustrates both the tireless energy and the keen sportsmanship of the Duke:—

“Lord Wellington is quite well again; was out hunting on Thursday, and being kept in by rain all yesterday, is making up for it to-day by persisting in his expedition to the Fourth Division. He was to set out at seven this morning for the review of General Cole’s division, on a plain beyond Castel Rodriques, about twenty-eight miles from hence; was to be on the ground about ten, and was to be back to dinner to-day by four or five o’clock. This is something like vigour, and yet I think he overdoes it a little; he has, however, a notion that it is exercise makes headquarters more healthy than the rest of the Army generally is, and that the hounds are one great cause of this.”

Of these hounds Mr. Larpent gives the following details: “We have three odd sorts of packs of hounds here, and the men hunt desperately. Firstly, Lord Wellington’s, or as he is called here, ‘the Peer’s’; these are foxhounds, about sixteen couples; they have only killed one fox this year, and that was what is called mobbed. These hounds, from want of a huntsman, straggle about and run very ill, and the foxes run off to their holes in the rocks on the Coa. Captain Wright goes out, stops the holes overnight, halloes, and rides away violently. From a hard rock sometimes the horse gets up to his belly in wet gravelly sand; thus we have many horses lamed and some bad falls. The next set of hounds are numerous. The Commissary-General, Sir R. Kennedy, is a great man in this way, and several others. And thirdly, Captain Morherre, that is, the principal man of this place, has an old poacher in his establishment, with a dozen terriers, mongrels and ferrets, and he goes out with the officers to get rabbits. Lord Wellington has a good stud of about eight hunters. He rides hard, and only wants a good gallop, but I understand knows nothing of the sport, though very fond of it in his own way.”

The Duke, as most readers of BAILY are no doubt aware, was a warm friend and admirer of that great king of the hunting field, Thomas Assheton Smith, whom Napoleon introduced to his officers as “le premier chasseur d’Angleterre.” And it was always a subject of regret to the hero of Waterloo that Assheton Smith had not joined the Army; “For,” said the Duke, “he would have made one of the best cavalry officers in Europe,” and he frequently remarked that many of his own distinguished cavalry officers in the Peninsular War owed their horsemanship to the example of Assheton Smith.

I have said that the Duke took a keen interest in hunting, and I may add that he gave practical proof of his genuine love of the sport; for when he was once asked to subscribe to a pack which was in financial difficulties, he said, “Get what you can and put my name down for the difference.” The “difference” was £600 a year, which the Duke cheerfully paid for many years.

THORMANBY.

Pheasant Shooting in the Himalayas.

There is grand sport to be had in certain parts of the Himalayas in the glorious autumn weather peculiar to those mountain ranges.

For beauty of plumage and dashing flight few game-birds can compare to the monaul (Lophophorus impeyanus), and his haunts are among the wildest and most magnificent scenery.

In the Himalayan districts I am acquainted with, Kumaon and Garhwal, monaul are seldom found much below 8,000 feet altitude, but from that elevation up to about 12,000 feet are fairly plentiful. On the southern and western sides of the mountains, the forests monaul inhabit are usually evergreen oak, with a few spruce and cypress trees scattered about. On the northern and eastern slopes, which are clothed with forests to higher altitudes, monaul are found in woods of pine, deodar, spruce and birch. From the middle of October till end of December the weather is nearly always bright and clear in the Himalayas. The sun is not too powerful, and the nights cold and frosty. The best way to have sport with monaul is for two shooters, who know each other well, to go together, and beaters from six to a dozen, according to the nature of the ground. The beaters should be in charge of an experienced shikari, who is also a “master in language.” A local shikari will point out the best places for monaul, and the guns, one behind the other, about fifty yards apart, will walk slowly along the hillside, on a path if possible. One gun should be about sixty yards ahead of the beaters, and the other in line with them. The foremost gun, in most cases, will get the greatest number of shots.

The tactics of the beat, however, must vary according to the nature of the country, as ravines are usually beaten straight downwards, but in some cases, where a path leads zigzag up a long ravine, the beaters should get well ahead of the guns, and beat upwards. Monaul are exceptionally strong fliers, and about the toughest birds I know. If not hit well forward they will not come down, and the gun to use is a 12-bore cylinder with a charge of 1–3/16 oz. of No. 5, or 1¼ oz. No. 4 shot. I always use Ballistite powder and have never had a bad cartridge, always finding this powder equally good, whether in hot valleys at low elevations, or up in the cold at over 12,000 feet above sea level.

A mature cock monaul, with his plumage glistening in the sun, is a grand sight, and sometimes, especially early in the morning, he will fly with a kind of soaring motion, wings extended, as if to show himself off, and come sailing proudly overhead; at these times they are comparatively easy to shoot. Generally, however, they give really good rocketting shots, but at times will fly at a terrific pace straight down the hillside, keeping about the same distance from the ground all the way. These are difficult shots. A good dog is required to retrieve—a big dog—as monaul are heavy birds, full-grown cocks often weighing 5 pounds and more.

Another grand bird is the koklass (Pucrasia macrolopha), a beautifully-marked, gamey-looking bird, with a very quick flight. I believe the koklass to be the fastest game-birds that fly, and they get into their flight as quickly as partridges. Like monaul, too, they often dash straight down a hillside, keeping a few feet from the ground, and with a curve in their flight. They are found in the same forests as monaul, but also at lower elevations. In size they are about half the weight of monaul and much the same in shape. They are the best of all birds for the table.

The cheer (Phasianus wallichii) is, I believe, the only true pheasant found in India. They do not give as good sport as monaul and koklass, but I have often enjoyed myself with them. They frequent very steep pine-covered slopes, landslips, rocky scrub near precipices, and uninviting-looking places. Cheer shooting is about the hardest work I know, toiling about the steep hillsides among long grass and scrub. These birds lie very close, and after being flushed and marked down, often take a long time to rouse again. Wounded birds are extremely difficult to find, and your dog should be a steady and persevering retriever. Cheer are not found at very high elevations, from about 4,000 to 7,000 feet being their usual haunt, but occasionally, when the grass on the pine-covered slopes has been burnt, they will go into the oak forests above, where there is a thick undergrowth of ringalls. At these times they are harder to find than ever, and unless the beaters keep well in line, or you have a bustling spaniel to make them get up, it is almost impossible to bring any to bag.

Other so-called pheasants are the hubwaul or snow-cock (Tetrogallus himalayensis), the white-crested kalij (Euplocamus albocristatus), and the crimson tragopan (Ceriornis satyra).

The hubwaul is a fine bird, in shape like a gigantic partridge, found in coveys on the higher ranges above the forest limit. They are very wary and hard to circumvent, as they run long distances, and when put up often fly in a different direction to that expected. I have, however, often got at them in big ravines by sending a man to out-flank them on each side, myself keeping well out of sight behind boulders. I have also defeated them with the aid of a good bustling dog, and when they do come over one’s head give as good shots as any birds I know. In the winter they will come into wooded crags and precipitous ground, when the higher ranges are covered with deep snow.

The kalij pheasants are really more like jungle fowl than pheasants, frequenting thick scrub and undergrowth, near villages and in the vicinity of cattle sheds. They are great runners and fond of flying up into trees when bustled by dogs, but when they do fly put on a good pace and nearly always fly down hill. Plenty of beaters are required to put them up. Their flight is not high and bold like that of the monaul and koklass, and they are not found at high altitudes; from 4,000 feet to 8,000 feet being about the elevations at which they occur.

The tragopan is a very handsome bird, and rare, few being shot. He is the hardest bird of all to bring to bag, being a tremendous runner and keeping to the densest thickets, usually in ringalls and creeping rhododendrons, which are almost impenetrable to man. A good dog will flush them, when they will fly downwards a few feet over the undergrowth, taking long flights and running again immediately they alight.

In the autumn a varied bag can be made, either singly or with a boon companion. There is the friendly rivalry, the jolly fellowship of sportsmen, the chaff, the mid-day lunch by some brawling stream, the laze and smoke in the sunshine and clear mountain air, and the beat back to camp again in the evening. Scolopax rusticola is often to be found when beating for pheasants, also a solitary snipe or two; and two sportsmen who pull well together can have a rare time in the mountains, as besides shooting birds together they can often find room to separate and go after big game in different directions. Then there are the yarns to be told round the campfire after dinner, “sublime tobacco” to refresh the memory, and just “a dash” of good old Scotch to lubricate the throat and loosen the tongue.

A. P. DAVIS.

“Our Van.”

RACING.

Reading about the Derby autumn meeting in mid-winter is not so inappropriate as it might appear to be, for with sleet and snow falling on the first day the elements were more wintry than autumnal. I have seen this meeting celebrated with much more go than on the present occasion. It is essentially a meeting for hunting folk, so far as the county stand is concerned, and one seemed to miss far too many of the familiar faces. The impression conveyed by the gathering was of the lack-lustre order. Large fields of nurseries have long been a feature of the meeting, but of course the winning or losing of them conveys little merit or demerit. The fields for them have been larger; but I am not a worshipper of large fields, not being a clerk of the course or a holder of racecourse shares. From one point of view the field of twenty for the Gold Cup was very satisfactory, for it meant that twenty horses were thought to have a chance in a race of a mile and three-quarters. Fields for distance races undoubtedly have been looking up of late years. Yet few of our courses are less suitable for a race over such a distance as that at Derby—a parallelogram with rounded corners. So soon as horses have begun to stretch out along either of the longer sides—long only in comparison with the extreme shortness of the other two—than they have to steady for a corner. In such circumstances a mare like Hammerkop, who was carrying 9st. 3lb., could stand but little chance. At Newmarket she would have been well fancied. Yet there are people who grumble at those fine, straightaway stretches of turf, because the horses start so far away. These prefer courses of the circus order, for the sake of the spectacle. Although the regulation straight mile has by no means met with universal approbation, its introduction has more method than madness about it. In the formation of a new course the laying out of a straight mile must be associated with a good deal of luck, for, run in one direction, it might prove popular and the reverse if run the other way. At Gatwick there is a rise of some 6 ft. from start to finish of the straight mile, and at Newbury, I understand, the rise is much more than this. Experience has taught us that rising straight miles are not so popular as falling ones, which may be argued to show a tendency to weakness in horse-flesh, the qualities which take horses successfully up the long hill at Sandown being not often met with. Here we have a hint at a clashing of interests between such as like to have things made easy for them and those which may be regarded as making for the higher interests of the turf. This clashing of interests we shall always have with us, so we may take it by way of our daily salt, with equanimity.

The Derby Gold Cup, as a trophy, was a perfectly delightful production, it being a gold tankard in the 16th century style, and no one would appreciate it more than the owner, whose sideboard it was destined to adorn, for the race was won by Lord Rosebery’s Catscradle. Her starting price of 20 to 1 was justified by her previous running and when she made the first bend nearly last of all 40 to 1 would not have been taken. However, it was her day, and she came through her field to win in comfortable fashion by a couple of lengths from Airship. She ran practically unbacked by her connections. The race for the King’s Cup of two miles “did not fill.” Bachelor’s Button, who had acted as a spoil-sport at Lincoln, by frightening away opposition for the Jockey Club Plate, and walking over for the £300 given by the Jockey Club for the express purpose of furthering sport at meetings where such assistance would be welcome, had not been started for the Gold Cup. He was in reserve for the King’s Plate, but the race “did not fill,” so the meeting saved their £200 instead of increasing the winning account of Bachelor’s Button by that amount.

As season follows season the Manchester meetings attract a diminishing amount of attention. It is a question of reaping what you have sown. Large sums of money were spent upon an unsuitable site, much of the money in the erection of buildings more adapted to municipal purposes than to racing. Except that the big turn is one of the finest in England, the course has proved unsatisfactory, in consequence of the rapidity with which the going goes wrong under wet. In this respect the course is not much better than the old one, which it will quite resemble when it has undergone a course of protection from frost by means of hay for the same number of years. “Disappeared in the main drain, I assure you,” explained the late Duchess of Montrose on the occasion of one of her horses coming to grief in the evil going of the old course. People of the Turf standing of the late Duchess do not find themselves at the new course. The better classes of Manchester firmly decline to be attracted by the races, despite the club stand, the contrast with Liverpool being remarkable. The weather rarely fails to make the November meeting a ghastly affair. In going back to Castle Irwell the management deliberately went to the home of fog, and, in consequence, most of the racing, as a spectacle, is a farce. We are all aware that the period at which the November meeting is decided is too late for good weather, but any attempt to move the fixture forward, supposing such a desire existed, of which I have no knowledge, would scarcely meet with success. If the Stewards of the Jockey Club regard the meeting as an unimportant one they can claim to take this impression from evidence supplied by the meeting itself, the average value of stakes not entitling it to any standing. Eight of the twenty races provide the minimum £100 allowed to the winner, for instance. There must be some significance in the reduction of the Whitsuntide meeting, at which all the money is made, from four days to three. This year’s November meeting was treated to continuous wet, the going of each succeeding day being worse than that preceding it. The November Handicap was run on the last day, and the field of nineteen included some good handicap horses. As at Derby, form was knocked into a cocked hat, the 25 to 1 Ferment gaining a decisive victory. It is a pity that the racing season is each year brought to a close in this uncomfortable manner, and if one cannot quite go with those who recognise no racing previous to that taking place at the Newmarket Craven meeting one can at least see some plausibility in ending it with the Houghton. If mudlarking is to be done, one may as well do it personally, to the tune of hound music.

Although racing ends for the year at Manchester, the curtain cannot be said to fall until the Gimcrack Club dinner has been held. The function to which custom has given such wholehearted recognition sits well on the shoulders of the York Race Committee, which, as the Chairman at the recent dinner very properly pointed out, gives back to the Turf everything that is earned by the races. There are not many race-meetings of which this can be said; and what a contrast to money-grabbing Doncaster! Of course it is not wholly and solely custom that assigns to the Gimcrack dinner the importance which attaches to it. We have a trenchant way nowadays of kicking overboard any custom, however hoary, which has outlived its utility. For the Gimcrack dinner there is much need, for it is the only occasion of the year upon which Turf topics may be publicly ventilated. As to the kind of topics touched upon and their treatment, those depend upon the particular person who may be called upon to ventilate. When we consider that the guest of the evening, to whom free rein is given if he wants it, is the owner of the winner of the Gimcrack Stakes, we realise how very uncertain must be the question of oratory. It is possible to conceive an owner of a Gimcrack winner taking but little stock in the higher interests of the Turf. Mr. Hall Walker, whose filly, Colonia, won him the Gimcrack Stakes of 1905, is, however, not a man of this sort. How it came about I do not know, but some people expected Mr. Hall Walker to say “straight things” to the Jockey Club; but nothing could have been more exemplary than his references to that body. He was full of anxiety for the welfare of the Turf as connected with the welfare of the horse, and his enthusiasm led him to propound schemes some of us, I fear, will be inclined to regard as Utopian. Taking as his text the statement that, “In all the leading Continental States the production and development of the horse is made a subject of governmental care and solicitude,” Mr. Hall Walker proposed that the British Government should grant, if not funds, at least power to the Jockey Club, who was to embody amongst its functions that of a society for the encouragement of horse-breeding. In order to accomplish the desired ends, the Jockey Club was to have the power to establish race-meetings over all or any common land free from interference by local councils and the freedom to acquire by purchase any existing race-meeting. I do not pause to consider the plausibility of such a project or the probability of the Jockey Club embarking upon it, for I have used the word Utopian; Mr. Hall Walker next referred to the means by which any shortage in funds was to be made good. They were to be provided by the introduction of the pari-mutuel. He added—“The advantages of the pari-mutuel are clear and decided. In the first place, it would provide large sums of money for the end we have in view, and it would practically bring about the abolition of street betting.” The writer’s views on the subject differ from those advanced by Mr. Hall Walker, but space does not permit of a discussion of the question raised.

Lord Downe in a speech, the tone of which charmed every one, maintained that the only solution to the betting difficulty was to license bookmakers and making betting debts recoverable. Of course his lordship does not propose that the Jockey Club should take the initiative, remembering, as he does, that when the anti-gamblers were last at work, betting at Newmarket was disavowed. The Club could not well ask to have that legalised which they claim does not exist. That the licensing of bookmakers is a desirable thing all sensible men will gladly admit. Racing would be all the better for it, but unless the trend of thought takes an entirely new channel, I cannot see any form of Government legalising gambling in the shape of wagering on horse-races.

Viscount Helmsley, who added to the nice things said by Lord Downe about the Press, who came in for a rough handling at last year’s dinner, suggested the institution of races for ponies up to 14.2, for the encouragement of the breed. Racehorses in the past have not always been the 16 hands animals that are now so common. Two hundred years ago Mixbury, by Curwen’s Bay Barb, standing only 13.2, was the most famous galloway of his day. Pony and galloway racing is no new thing in the present generation, but it has not taken kindly to the sport. An experiment was made at Plumpton on Whit Monday, 1903, which resulted in complete failure, and it is not quite clear what racing under Jockey Club rules could do. A race here and there would not effect much, and it is an open question whether enough thoroughbreds of 14.2 and under exist to fill many races. There are at least a few clerks of the course who are enterprising enough to welcome any novelty, and if fields could be assured a first step would be taken. Without such assurance he would be a bold man to take the step of opening such a race. It might be worth the while of those interested in pony breeding to provide the stake in the first instance, and see how the suggestion took with others. Experience in India teaches us that good sport is to be had out of ponies.

STAGHOUNDS.

Hind-hunting is at its best in November and December. The hinds are difficult to kill; they are then stronger than stags. It is for this reason that I record what must be considered to be a notable performance of the Devon and Somerset from the Heathpoult on December 3rd. The fixture was for 10 a.m. You want all the daylight there is to kill a stout hind. There was a thick fog and they had to wait some time before it was possible to hunt. At last Mr. Morland Greig gave the word, and kennelling the pack, tufters were taken to Slowley. The run began almost at once, and the chase was nearly all over an enclosed country. The pace was often good, and the hunt lasted for two hours. But the feature of it was that we never got the pack, and that the whole was carried on by the huntsman with four or five couples of hounds. The hind escaped, but not till nearly four o’clock. A week later, in thick fog and driving rain, Mr. E. A. V. Stanley and the Quantock hounds drove a hind straight and fast from the same covert, and killed her near the pier-head at Minehead. Taking the weather into consideration this was a noteworthy gallop.

Two memorable runs have taken place with foxhounds during the past month. The week from December 5th to December 10th was perhaps the best of the season, and there was sport in every country. The Quorn was stopped by fog and hindered by absence of scent on the two days in the week—Monday, Friday—they were in the best country, but as we shall see, made up for it on Saturday. It is not the least remarkable feature of these waves of sport that they affect, about the same time, countries of different soils, climate, and contour, often widely separated by distance.

What I think may be called the two historic hunts of the month took place in Rutlandshire with the Cottesmore, and in Somersetshire with the West Somerset, on December 5th and 7th, while on the latter date the Pytchley had a good run, and on the Friday several packs, including the North Cotswold, enjoyed sport better than ordinary.

The Cottesmore met at Tilton on the first Tuesday in December. There were some preliminary chases which came to nothing, but served to show that there was a scent. The fox of the day was holloa’d away on the side of Skeffington Wood nearest the road. The hounds, when they hit the line, swung left-handed over the grass fields between the covert and the road. At Brown’s Wood, Thatcher, no doubt fearing a change, held the pack round outside. He was right, his fox had gone on across the road, but there was another line, and part of the pack were away. However, the huntsman and his division worked out the line over the road and into the fields beyond, the hounds clearly gaining confidence as they went. The whipper-in, having stopped the main body smartly, arrived in the nick of time with the rest of the pack. The hounds now settled to work, and improving the pace as they went, ran to Rolleston and on to Noseley, held on still to Glooston. At this, point the fox began to turn, and the Ram’s Head covert was reached and left behind. Thence they dipped down to the East Norton road, which the fox ran for some distance, and then turned left-handed as though for Launde Park Wood. By this time many good horses were stopping, for the pace and the severity of the country, which is all up and down—some of the hills are very steep—told on them. In the early part of the run the followers had been favoured by convenient gates, but now the pace improved, and it was not easy to skirt and keep one’s place, yet the fences, though fairly practicable, took much of the remaining steel out of the horses. When hounds turned up to Prior’s Coppice they began to run for blood. Bending towards Owston Wood the field thinned down, and horses began to stop everywhere. In the meantime hounds ran from scent to view, and rolled their fox over in the open close to Cheseldyne Copse. The run lasted one hour and forty minutes, covered fourteen miles as hounds ran, but as the course was a wide curve the point is of course not a long one. The run is remarkable for the wise tactics of the huntsman at the beginning, for extraordinary excellence of the country crossed, as well as for the steadiness of hounds in a well-foxed country, and the condition they showed in hunting for so long a time, and fairly running into their fox at last. That the pace was fast is shown by the number of horses in the best-mounted field in England that stopped by the way.

Into close connection with this run we may bring the other great hunt of the month. Although the country was very different the chase was not dissimilar. Indeed, before we can admit a run to the list of great chases it must fulfil certain conditions, of which the principal is that it must be fast and continuous. If hounds are merely hunting more or less for two or three hours at a slow pace, we often have an interesting day’s sport, but we have not had a great run. I should like to add that it must be after a single fox, but that would exclude so many famous hunts, but if the fox that started is the fox killed, then, no doubt, the triumph is all the greater. The West Somerset run was after one fox, the time was an hour and thirty-five minutes, the pace was good, the distance covered as hounds ran was fifteen miles, and the point rather over seven.

The fox was found on Sir Walter Trevelyan’s property and on the shooting in the occupation of Mr. Townsend Marryat, of Treborough Lodge, who had been keeping the Roadwater coverts quiet for the Hunt.

The fixture was the “Valiant Soldier,” Roadwater—a well-known anglers’ house—on Wednesday, December 7th. The fox was afoot in ten minutes after the start, and it was about twenty minutes more before he was fairly away. Once he was headed, but he resolutely swung round to make his point. Then the pace was very fast, and indeed there was need to gallop to keep on terms with the pack in this rather difficult country. The fox’s point was up wind for a certain well-known covert, but this he failed to reach, turning away within sight. Judging from the pace hounds had brought him along he had no choice but to turn or die. This move saved him for the time, for he gained ground and reached Sir John Ferguson Davie’s covert at Bittescombe Manor, within the borders of the Tiverton Hunt. Finding, however, no refuge there the fox turned back and made for Clatworthy Wood. Hounds were now gaining. He was too hot to stay in the covert and he broke again. The pack turned him in a big field, and catching a view rolled him over. The fox was easily identified as the one that started, as he was curiously marked.

As a run it was a hound chase, for the pack were not touched from find to finish. They cast themselves when necessary and twice picked up the line on the roads. They killed him unaided, as although the Master saw the kill he could not get to them, nor could the huntsman. Every hound was up—a great performance in a rough country. The mask was given to Miss Luttrell and will find a place at Dunster Castle, rightly enough, since the hounds are lent to the country by Mr. G. F. Luttrell.

While on the subject of historic runs news reaches me of a run with Sir John Amory’s staghounds which is in every respect a record, at all events, since the days of the Rev. Jack Russell. The distance, the pace and the line of country taken by the deer were all alike remarkable and interesting. This wonderful stag-hunt took place on Saturday, December 9th. The fixture was Chawleigh, in the Eggesford country, so long known to foxhunters as Lord Portsmouth’s. Seven deer were roused; a young stag was chosen. The hounds were laid on and the stag began by making a wide ring. He then ran by rather devious ways to the River Taw, which stag and hounds crossed. Those who have seen this river in flood will know that the ordinary fords are then impassable. Some miles had to be covered to reach a bridge and return towards the place where hounds were last seen. Luckily the stag and hounds had not vanished into space. The stag probably meant to return to the moors, but on reaching the railway he was blanched by a passing train, and this gave the field time to come up. The quarry was now driven clean out of his country, and he ran straight forward, heading for Torrington, near to which place they took him at 4.15, having been running for four hours and a half. The hounds were left at Eggesford, and the Master, Mr. Ian Amory, his brother, and Mr. de Las Casas made their way back to Tiverton which they reached about midnight.

In illustration of the fact that hounds can run in distant countries on the same day, the Quorn and Cottesmore both had a scent on the 9th, though the latter were hindered by fog. The Quorn were in that section of their country in which Bunny Park is a favourite covert. This part of the country has some plough, but grass and arable alike often carry a good scent, and on Saturday, 9th, hounds ran brilliantly over both alike. Scent held all day, but the fox was saved in the first run by a timely rabbit-hole, in the second by the darkening twilight of a short winter day. The Cottesmore, again, had a run on Tuesday, 12th, which would have been noteworthy had it been possible to see it, but fog caused many of the best followers to miss the fun. I think a great run should, especially in the grass countries, have its glory and pleasure divided between the hounds and the horses. In that most delightful country, Lord Bathurst’s division of the V.W.H., a very noteworthy gallop came off on November 24th. The point was the best I have to record this month, being nine miles in a straight line, with a deviation making up three more perhaps. Thus it will be observed that the run was unusually straight. This country is somewhat heavy going in wet weather, when it holds the best scent. Somerford Common supplied the fox. The pack started at once and settled to run. There was thenceforth small opportunity to make up a bad start. There was a short hesitation at Flisbridge, then they went on through Oaksey Wood, crossed into the Duke of Beaufort’s country, and arrived at Redmorton, where few saw the end. The fox saved his life here, as the covert was full of foxes.

The North Cotswold bitches are giving their master a brilliant season to finish with. Nor can we imagine a greater pleasure to any one than to see a pack one has built up one’s self gaining triumph after triumph. I cannot help thinking that the fact that this pack kill their foxes is one reason for their success.

Hounds that are successful become so full of confidence in their huntsman and in themselves, that they make light of difficulties that would daunt others. It looks as if Belvoir blood needed a quick huntsman to bring out its best qualities, for I have heard people say that they were not so fond of the strains in provincial countries. But facts are stubborn things, and the Duke’s kennel seems to be the true foundation on which to build a fast and killing pack.

Of the other packs hunting in fashionable countries, Mr. Fernie’s, the Atherstone and the Pytchley have all enjoyed good sport during December without, so far, any run above their usual level, which, be it remembered, is very high. It takes a very excellent gallop indeed to be considered out of the usual run of these countries.

Sometimes I think it possible that farmers may wonder whether the deeds of hunting people are in proportion to their professions of gratitude. At all events, the Warwickshire Hunt are doing their best to manifest the reality of their regard. They have voluntarily taxed themselves 10s. or £1 a-piece, according to their means, one-half of the fund so collected going to the “Royal Agricultural Benevolent Society,” and the other half to the relief of farmers in distress within the limits of the Warwickshire Hunt country. This scheme will, it may be hoped, find imitators in other countries. This and the Hunt Servants’ Benevolent Fund are the charities which no hunting people ought to neglect.

Rumours die hard, and the report that Mr. Hubert Wilson is going to resign the Cheshire is still going about. The fact is that he is willing to go on, and the country most anxious to keep him. The sport he has shown and his popularity, together with that of his huntsman Champion, should promise and secure a long reign. Frequent changes of mastership are a disadvantage not only to the individual country, but to hunting at large. So far there are but two countries likely to be vacant, and I hear that there are many applications for the North Cotswold, the chance of possessing that incomparable pack of bitches being no doubt a great attraction. The other pack is the Ledbury, which it is expected Mr. Carnaby Forster will resign before long, and I fear that the state of his health makes the report more than probable. He will leave a fine pack and a tradition of good sport behind.

HUNTING IN YORKSHIRE—A CAPITAL SUGGESTION.

The most important event in connection with hunting which has taken place in Yorkshire since the season begun—perhaps the most important event in the hunting history of the century so far—was the cap which was taken at the Habton fixture of the Sinnington Hunt on December 7th for the Hunt Servants’ Benefit Society; for if Lord Helmsley’s example is followed, as followed no doubt it will be and should be, that deserving Society will receive such an access of income as will enable it to fulfil all the duties of a benefit society in a manner which its founders in their most sanguine moments never dreamed of. Lord Helmsley’s happy inspiration met with a cordial response from those who threw in their lot with his hounds on the 7th, and, as many anticipated, annual subscribers to the Society answered cheerily to the courteous appeal of Mr. Alfred Pearson, who stood at the gate with the cap; the result was that a sum of £21 was collected. Ever prompt in anything which furthers the interests of hunting and those who hunt, Captain Lane Fox announced that a cap would be taken at Tockwith for the same purpose on the 15th, and though at the time of writing no account is to hand of what took place, there is no doubt that the response from the Bramham Moor field will be found as generous as that of their Sinnington friends. If this happy idea of Lord Helmsley’s is taken up all over the country and becomes an annual institution, as there is no reason that it should not, it would mean an access of income to the Hunt Servants’ Benefit Society of something between £4,000 and £5,000, and yet none would feel one penny the worse for the trifle he had given, whilst he would enjoy his sport all the better for knowing that he had done something to assist a deserving body of men to whom he owed so much.

The Bramham Moor have had a succession of good sport. On November 18th they had a capital day from Hutton Hall. They did little with their first fox, but with number two they had a brilliant forty-five minutes over the cream of the Ainsty country. He was an outlying fox, found in a turnip field outside Robin Hood’s Wood, and they raced him by Healaugh, Duce Wood, Askham Grange, and Ainsty Spring, and rolled him over in Bilbrough Park. A travelling fox was viewed as they were breaking this one up, and they ran him hard by Catterton, and then round by Askham Richard, and on to Healaugh, where they rolled him over.

On the 24th they had another good day. Finding a fox in White Syke Whin they ran him by Hutton Thorns, Rufforth and Rufforth Whin, and a ring round by the Harrogate railway, nearly to Hutton Thorns again, and up to Rufforth Village, where they checked. Hitting off the line they hunted on over the Boroughbridge road and into Red House Wood, where they marked their fox to ground.

They had another good Friday on December 8th, when they met at Wighill Village. Curiously enough, like the Hutton Hall day, it was a day of outlying foxes. A fox was viewed as hounds were moving off to try Shire Oaks, and for an hour hounds ran him very cheerily by Duce Wood, New Buildings and Wighill Avenue, over the Thorp Arch road, and on to the Carrs, below Esedike. Thence they ran a very similar ring by Shire Oaks and back by Wighill Avenue and Village, to the banks of the Wharfe, where they marked him to ground. Then came a fine burst of twenty minutes from Shire Oaks, by Tadcaster and Catterton Spring to Healaugh Church, near which the fox got to ground just in front of hounds. The day was brought to a conclusion by a gallop with another outlying fox, who jumped up in front of hounds at Angram, and they hunted him cheerily by Askham Whin, Collier Hagg, Healaugh and Normans to Askham Whin, where he beat them.

The Sinnington had a capital day from Habton Village on December 7th. They found their first fox in Skelton Whin, and had a good hour’s run with him by Riseborough and back through Skelton Whin up to Little Barugh, whence they ran a ring back to the whin and killed. They had barely eaten their fox when another went away, and they ran him at a good pace by Riseborough Hill and Normanby, and past Hobground House to Brawby Bridge, where a check took place. The fox was thought to have gone to ground, but he had gone through, and it was probably him that they killed when they went back to Riseborough.

SPANIEL TRIALS IN THE VALE OF NEATH.

Wales seems to be popular ground for the decision of spaniel trials, for since the Sporting Spaniel Society instituted working tests for “the handy man” of the varieties of dogs which are used in field sports in the autumn of 1898 the Principality has been visited some four or five times. In 1904 Sir Watkin Wynn’s unrivalled coverts in Wynnstay Park were placed at the service of the Club, and a very successful meeting was the result, but for the gathering which was held early in December the Vale of Neath was revisited, Mr. A. T. Williams, the President of the promoting Society, having invited the Committee to decide the competitions on his shooting at Gilfach, only a little over a mile from the flourishing town of Neath. It was to be regretted that the entry was so meagre, only half-a-dozen owners supporting the stakes; for not since the trials were started in Mr. Arkwright’s park near Chesterfield had better ground been visited, although no fault could be found with that at Ynisy Gerwn, on the other side of the valley, when the Welsh spaniels of Mr. A. T. Williams, Mr. W. H. David, and other local breeders, made so bold a show at one of the largest supported meetings of the series. The poor entry, by the way, was not caused by lack of interest in the work of the Club, but, for one reason and another, such men as Mr. Winton Smith, Mr. J. Alexander, Mr. Charles Watts, and Mr. J. P. Gardiner, whose spaniels had gained high honours at other trials, were prevented from sending dogs which had been broken and thoroughly trained with a view to competing. Then Mrs. H. D. Greene, the wife of the member for Shrewsbury, who is a great admirer of the Welsh spaniel, had to withdraw her entries because one of her brace was shot only the day before the trials when being put through her final facings. That was a great disappointment to the Shropshire lady, who had hoped to do well with the representatives of the Longmynd kennel. The conditions of the competitions were the same as usual, the spaniels being shot over in the customary sporting manner, while the principal points which were considered by the judges were scenting power, keenness, perseverance, obedience, freedom from chase, dropping to shot, style, method of beating and working to the gun, whether in covert, hedgerow, or in the open. In the single stakes the spaniels were also expected to retrieve at command, tenderly, quickly, and right up to the hand. Additional points, of course, were given for dropping to hand and shot, standing to game and flushing it at command.

The trials were worked on very sporting lines, and Mr. Williams and his keeper had certainly spared no trouble in preparing the shoot for the meeting, rides having been cut through gorse and bracken, while on the low-lying ground—which could not be worked because of the heavy rain on the first day—the earths had been stopped. The coverts swarmed with rabbits, and at the top of the hill on open fields a few hares were started from their forms and gave the shooters employment as well as providing capital tests for the spaniels.

As had been the case at all recent meetings, the chief honours were taken by the spaniels of Mr. C. C. Eversfield, a Sussex owner, and the best dog at the trials was Velox Powder, a liver-and-white dog of the old-fashioned English springer type, bred by Sir Thomas Boughey, and about as useful a dog in the field as any man could have. He took a positive delight in working rough ground to his owner’s command; he was absolutely steady to both shot and wing, while as to chasing a legged or running rabbit, nothing seemed to be further from his thoughts. He quite outshone all his kennel mates, and in addition to winning the chief single dog stake, he was awarded the dog championship, that which was offered for bitches being taken by Denne Ballistite, a daughter of Velox Powder. Brace and novice honours also went to Mr. Eversfield’s spaniels; in fact, the only other single dog at the meeting which showed anything like form was Mr. Arkwright’s Beni Hassan, an alert young spaniel of the Sussex type, which had been bred by Lord Tredegar. She was very nicely handled by Gaunt, who is so well known in connection with the Sutton pointers at the spring and autumn trials. The pick of the teams were the Welsh spaniels of Mr. A. T. Williams, and no finer work was seen during the meeting than that which they put in on the second day, when set the task of beating a patch of young gorse. They faced it unflinchingly, the English team sent from Hampshire by Mr. Warwick having to be almost forced into it, and even then it was all too evident that their task was distasteful. In rough covert it was once more shown that Welsh spaniels are unrivalled.

Further trials were held under the management of the Spaniel Club on Mr. Fydell Rowley’s estate near St. Neots in Christmas week. They promised to be a great success, judged by the good entry which was received by Mr. John Cowell.

THE CHRISTMAS SHOWS.

The brief series of Christmas Shows which begin at Norwich, are continued at Birmingham and Edinburgh, and terminate at Islington, have not presented any feature of very special importance, but the interest in them has been well maintained and the quality of the exhibits up to the average. The Norwich Show has for many years been the first, and it is always a very pleasant one, though it would be still more so if the final phase of the judging, when the champion prizes are awarded, was not unduly prolonged, a number of visitors being obliged to leave the Hall to catch their trains before the prizes have been allotted. The exhibitors included, as usual, His Majesty the King, who sent several entries of cattle from Sandringham with which he was moderately successful, and two or three pens of Southdowns, with one of which he won the championship for the best pen of sheep in the Show. This same pen of Southdowns, it may be added, went on to Birmingham, and, after winning first prize in its class, was given the reserve number for the championship, the actual winners being a pen of Hampshire Down lambs from the flock of Mr. James Flower, who is almost invincible with this breed. But the rubber game had to be played at Islington, and the King’s Southdowns came victorious out of the contest, for they were first in their class, first for the cup given to the best of the breed, first for the champion plate given to the best pen of short-woolled sheep, and finally took the Prince of Wales’ challenge cup for the best pen of sheep in the whole Show. As His Majesty won this cup last year with another pen of Southdowns, it has now become his absolute property.

To revert to the Norwich Show, in the contest for the champion prize for cattle the issue was narrowed down to Mr. E. T. Learner’s cross-bred (Shorthorn and Aberdeen Angus) heifer Luxury and one of the many good animals which Mr. R. W. Hudson sent from Danesfield. The verdict was given in favour of Mr. Learner’s cross-bred. Mr. Learner’s heifer and Mr. Hudson’s exhibit both went on to Birmingham, where, by the way, the Norwich judgment was reversed, Mr. Hudson’s beast being greatly admired for its admirable quality. The Norwich Show always has three or four classes for the red-polled breeds, and the competition is not altogether confined to the Eastern counties, for Sir Walter Corbet generally sends some of his Shropshire herd, and he did so with marked success on the present occasion, his principal opponent being Lord Amherst of Hackney.

Not a few of the Norwich exhibits went on to Birmingham, where the Show opened, as usual, on the Saturday week following Norwich, that is to say, on November 25th, and there was a notable gathering of Midland agriculturists, though Lord Bradford, the President for the year, was not well enough to attend, while by a melancholy coincidence the late President, Sir Henry Wiggin, had died a few days before the Show. The most salient feature of the Birmingham Show was the unbroken success of His Majesty the King, who sent from Windsor ten entries of Herefords, Shorthorns, and Devons, and won with them four first prizes, a second, and two thirds, while in addition to this he was awarded three special prizes for the best of each breed, and the President’s prize of £25 for the best of the exhibits in the cattle classes. After all these awards had been made the contest for the three challenge cups began, being presented by Messrs. Elkington, Thorley, and Webb, for the best animal in the Show; but while the Elkington challenge up has no restriction as to breeder, it is stipulated in the conditions of the two others that they shall be given to animals which have not passed out of their breeders’ hands. This did not prove any obstacle to the King winning all three, for he makes it a rule to exhibit only home-bred stock, so that the Hereford steer, the Shorthorn heifer, and the Devon steer, which had each been proclaimed the best of its breed, were all three in the ring to compete for these valued trophies. They had to meet two or three very fine specimens of the Aberdeen Angus and Shorthorn cross-breds, exhibited by Mr. R. W. Hudson and by Mr. Learner, to which reference has already been made in connection with the Norwich Show. The judges, however, gave the preference to the King’s trio, and, after eliminating the Devon, they dwelt for a long time between the two others, their ultimate decision being in favour of the Hereford steer, which scaled nearly 18 cwt., and was preferred to the Shorthorn heifer. Thus the King won all that was possible in the cattle section at Bingley Hall.

While it was in progress the Scottish National Show was being held in Edinburgh, and the principal winner there was a heifer of the Aberdeen-Angus breed, which, as will be seen below, not only carried all before her at Edinburgh, but followed up this by winning the Championship at Islington. This heifer, bred, and still owned, by Colonel McInroy, C.B., of the Burn, Edzell, has a remarkable record, and at the age of two years nine months her live weight was just over 16 cwt., which for an Aberdeen-Angus is very good. Burn Bellona, as this heifer was called, was much admired at Edinburgh, but it was scarcely to be expected that she would secure so complete a triumph at Islington, especially with such a strong opposition to face as she had in the Norwich and Birmingham champions, to say nothing of the King’s other representatives. His Majesty, strongly as he has been represented on previous occasions, has never had so many entries at Islington as this winter, he having sent nineteen head of cattle, sheep, and pigs from Sandringham, several cattle from Windsor, two of Aberdeen-Angus from Ballater. It was generally expected that His Majesty would follow up his Bingley Hall triumph, an impression which was strengthened when it was seen that the Hereford and the Shorthorn had won the Cup as the best of their breeds. These prizes had been won before the arrival of the King, who had, at considerable personal inconvenience, arranged, upon the eve of a political crisis, to come up and see the Show. His Majesty was received on his arrival from Sandringham, shortly before three o’clock, by Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, Lord Tredegar, the President of the Smithfield Club, Sir Walter Gilbey, Chairman of the Royal Agricultural Hall Company, the Earl of Coventry, Sir R. Nigel Kingscote, and Sir John Swinburne, and he paid a visit to the avenues in which the Devons, Herefords, and Shorthorns were placed, these being the classes in which his most successful exhibits were located. After he had inspected them, his pens of Southdown sheep, one of which had already been awarded the Championship, were brought out for the King to see, and not the least interesting feature of his visit was the presentation of some of the New Zealand football players, who had been invited to lunch by the Council of the Smithfield Club, and who could scarcely have anticipated being accorded such an honour. His Majesty’s engagements did not admit of his remaining to see the championship for cattle decided, the judges having been so much retarded by the even quality of the competitors, and had he been able to stay, he would not have had the satisfaction of witnessing a repetition of the Birmingham triumph, as the Hereford steer and the Shorthorn heifer were both beaten by Colonel McInroy’s Aberdeen-Angus heifer referred to above. Moreover, the Hereford steer, which had been placed in front of the Shorthorn heifer, had lost flesh a trifle since Birmingham, and their respective positions were reversed, the Shorthorn heifer being the “runner up.”

There was a general meeting of the Club on Tuesday, when Lord Tredegar, whose elevation in the peerage will give general satisfaction, took the chair for the last time, and will be succeeded by the Prince of Wales, whose term of office now begins, so that all bodes well for the Smithfield Club Show in 1906.

SPORT AT THE UNIVERSITIES.

Unlike wild partridges after their flight, it does not take Light and Dark Blue athletes long to settle down. Reinforced by an exceptionally smart lot of all-round Freshmen, they got to work betimes this year, and with admirable results. Rarely, if ever, have the respective prospects been so rosy in most departments of sport at this stage. And October Term, 1905, will long be remembered for the many fresh records accomplished during the preliminary and (so to speak) educational period of preparation and practice. “Wet-bobs” on both rivers have been very busy. Magdalen (Oxford) and Third Trinity (Cambridge) carried off the Coxwainless Fours, the last-named “for the sixth successive year”—a record, by the way. They won with great ease, but Magdalen only just snatched the Oxford race from New College, after a magnificent finish. Racing on the Cam for the Colquhoun Sculls was of the sensational order. In heat 1, President R. V. Powell (Eton and Third Trinity) won with great ease in the grand time of 7 min. 49 sec., or eight seconds better than R. H. Nelson’s 1902 record. D. C. Stuart (Cheltenham and Trinity Hall) qualified to meet him in the final, and the well-known L. R. C. man only succumbed by one second in the truly marvellous time of 7 min. 46 sec. This record is likely to stand for many a long year. Both the Trial Eights races were rowed on December 3rd, the Dark Blues’ at Moulsford, and the Light Blues’ at Ely. H. C. Bucknall’s crew had an easy victory on the Thames, and Lewis’s crew even an easier on the Ouse, but, individually, some promising work was shown. It is probable that Messrs. Kirby, Illingworth, Wilson, Arbuthnot (Oxford), and Cochrane, Donaldson, Lewis, Shimwell (Cambridge), will receive ample trial for the representative eights early in the new year. As several Old Blues and Seniors otherwise are also available this year, a stubborn fight is thus early anticipated for either March 31st or April 7th.

Athletes proper have been equally busy. The Oxford Freshmen’s Sports unearthed some promising talent in Messrs. Lloyd (Ramsgate), Stevens (an American Rhodes Scholar), Hallowes (a distance runner above the average), Doorly (another Rhodes Scholar, high jumper), and Darling (the Old Winchester quarter-miler). On the whole the performances were fully average, as proved later by the L.A.C. v. O.U.A.C. meeting result. The Dark Blues won by the odd event, despite the fact that they were mainly represented by junior men. As President Cornwallis will be assisted by numerous Old Blues in the spring, he ought to put a strong team against Cambridge on March 30th or April 6th. The Cambridge Freshmens’ performances in toto were hardly so good, but Messrs. Halliday (Harrow), K. G. Macleod (Fettes), Horfield (Harrow), and Just (St. Paul’s), all shone out individually. Some of the Old Blues have already been giving a foretaste of later quality. R. P. Crabbe (Corpus) created a new half-mile record for Fenner’s ground by running that distance in the splendid time of 1 min. 56½ sec. on November 15th. Other fine performances have been done with the hammer, at long-jumping and distance running. On November 29th, F. M. Edwards (Queen’s) won the Sidney College Strangers’ Three Miles Race in 14 min. 42⅖ sec., or only four seconds outside H. W. Gregson’s record. The Trinity College v. Racing Club de France International meeting at Fenner’s was won by the Light Blues by 6 events to 3. For the Collegians, Messrs. Welsh, Just, Ryle, and the Hon. G. W. Lyttelton did best. The latter’s “put” of 38 ft. 5½ in. was exceptional for this early stage of the season. Messrs. Soalhat, Molinie, and De Fleurac showed fine form for the Frenchmen, who, by the way, were not at full strength.

Two Inter-’Varsity contests have been decided before Christmas, as usual, i.e., the cross-country race at Roehampton on December 9th, and the Rugby football match at Queen’s Club three days later. As generally expected, the Cantabs excelled at hare and hounds work, winning by 23 points to 32. A. H. Pearson (Westminster and Cambridge) finished first, and in the grand time of 41 min. 11 sec., which creates another record. The previous best was A. R. Churchill’s 42 min. 17⅕ sec. last year. Although beaten, the Oxonians made a big fight of it, and F. O. Huyshe, their captain, gets his full Blue for finishing in the first three, an honour also attained by Pearson (Cambridge). The cross-country records now read: Cambridge, 16 wins; Oxford, 10 wins. Cambridge were very strong favourites for the Rugby football match, many critics anticipating a record score for them. In the result, however, Oxford put their detractors to the blush by holding their own splendidly from start to finish. The Light Blues won by 15 points (3 goals) to 13 points (2 goals and 1 try)—merely a matter of place-kicking as will be seen. It was a most interesting game, full of incident, surprise, and fluctuating fortune, in which the Oxford forwards were always in evidence. They beat their heavier Cambridge rivals fairly and squarely, and at half-back, too, the Oxonians were the smarter. The Cantab “threes” line was vastly superior, but rarely did they get the upper hand, thanks to excellent generalship by “Captain” Munro (Oxford) who, personally, was a class by himself. So far, Oxford claim 13 wins in these matches, Cambridge 12, and there have been 8 drawn games. The records of the two clubs after the match read:—

│ │ For. │ Against. ───────────┼───────────────────────┼─────────────────┼───────────────── │ P. W. L. D. │ G. T. P. │ G. T. P. Oxford │ 14 5 9 0 │ 24 18 179 │ 30 27 229 Cambridge │ 15 8 7 0 │ 40 23 271 │ 20 17 150

These emphatically show that records of any sort are “a slender plank to lean upon”—as Sterne has it.

Appreciable progress has also been made at Association football, golf, hockey, boxing and fencing, billiards, lacrosse, &c. Space will not permit detailed comment, but, so far, Oxford appear stronger at “Soccer” football, billiards and fencing. Both Universities are strong in boxers this year, and Cambridge appear smarter at golf, in particular, and lacrosse. As at present arranged, the dates of next term’s Inter-’Varsity contests read thus: Association football, at Queen’s Club, February 17th; Hockey match, at Surbiton, February 21st; Lacrosse match, at Lord’s, March 3rd; Sports, at Queen’s Club, March 30th or April 6th; and Boat Race, from Putney to Mortlake, March 31st or April 7th. Of all-round progress I hope to chat with readers of Baily later. As in the last, so in the present ministry, many ex-’Varsity athletes of renown find place, notably Sir Robert Reid, the new Lord Chancellor. Other prominent University athletes have been honoured by the King in various ways, and everybody congratulates Mr. W. H. Grenfell, M.P.—the modern Admirable Crichton of Sport—upon his accession to the peerage. Alas! that it should be so, one has also to extend the hearty sympathy of all University sportsmen to that fine old English gentleman and prince of good fellows, Mr. Albert Brassey, M.P., M.F.H., of the Heythrop Hounds, upon the death of his son. He was persona grata at Oxford and Cambridge alike, and played polo v. the Light Blues at Hurlingham only last year. His death at Huntingdon came as a shock to hundreds of his friends who will mourn him long.

GOLF.

The course of the Royal St. George’s Club at Sandwich has been reconstructed on lines calculated to meet the new conditions brought about by the rubber-cored ball. Large tracts of new ground have been brought into requisition, and several of the holes have been greatly changed, though the first and last remain as of yore. It is expected that when next a championship meeting is held at Sandwich the scores will be higher than heretofore.

The congestion on the golf course at North Berwick is to be relieved by the creation of new links at the East end of the town. The ground has been gone over by James Braid and Bernard Sayers, who have laid out a course nearly 3½ miles in length. At present the ground is rough, but experts are agreed that it can be put into excellent condition for golf. If the new links prove a success, they will increase the popularity of North Berwick vastly, for at present there is great difficulty in getting a comfortable game.

The Batty Tuke Cup has been won this season by Edinburgh University, who playing at North Berwick defeated somewhat easily St. Andrew’s University. Each University has now won the Cup twice.

Andrew and Jack Kirkaldy, of St. Andrew’s, played a match over the old course at Gullane against Bernard and George Sayers, of North Berwick, and won by 8 up and 7 to play on the two rounds.

THE LONDON PLAYING FIELDS’ SOCIETY.

The London Playing Fields’ Society, which already possess permanent playing fields in the south-west, north-west and south-east of London, is endeavouring to secure a permanent playing field in the east, so that each district of London may have its own field. An opportunity now presents itself of acquiring forty acres of suitable land close to Fairlop Station, on the Great Eastern Railway. The sum of £6,000 is required for the purchase and laying out of the field, towards which the M.C.C. have promised £200 and a member of the Society has offered £1,000. An appeal is now being issued for the balance of the sum required. The scheme is being warmly supported by many influential men, and the G.E.R. has already consented to make a reduction in fares for cricketers and football players using the ground when it is completed.

“THE MOUNTAIN CLIMBER” AT THE COMEDY THEATRE.

Mr. Huntley Wright has so often made us happy and merry in his studies of musical comedy, under the banner of Mr. George Edwardes, that it was with feelings of deep interest that we went to see him play unmusically at the Comedy Theatre.

“The Little Father of the Wilderness,” a comedy in one act by Messrs. Lloyd Osbourne and Austin Strong, presents Mr. Huntley Wright as Père Marlotte, a Jesuit priest of the period of Louis Quinze. He has done enormously good work as a missionary in North America, and has been summoned to the Court of the flippant monarch in connection, as he presumes, with the work of his life. It turned out otherwise, however, and to his sorrowful amazement, the Little Father finds that his presence at Court is only commanded in order that he may decide a bet of the merry monarch as to the height of the Falls of Niagara. The heart-broken little priest is disappearing from the Court for ever, but for the sudden appearance of a most important Canadian dignitary, who recognises in the priest “The Little Father of the Wilderness,” and explains to the King some of the wonderful services that Père Marlotte has rendered to the world.

The sketch closes with Père Marlotte, momentarily translated to the See of Toulouse, blessing the entire company, including the King. Mr. Huntley Wright is extremely good as the Little Father, and it would be very difficult to find another part less like those in which we have been accustomed to see him at Daly’s Theatre.

Of “The Mountain Climber” we have not much to say, but all that we have to say is in praise of the performance. Any one in search of a hearty laugh should go to the Comedy Theatre “again and again and again”; for Miss Lottie Venne is playing there, and she is always worth taking a lot of pains to see, and in this production she has much to answer for. Mr. Huntley Wright as the spurious “Mountain Climber” is most actively amusing, and a great source of laughter throughout the play; but to some of us his acrobatic antics, expressive of mental distress, become somewhat upsetting, and one could have half wished that a rest-cure could have been instituted for this too highly strung hero. Mr. Wright is always funny, and we have no doubt but that a short experience of what we suppose we must style _un_musical comedy will bring him to a stage of less restlessness. At any rate, even if the entertainment is now just the same as it was upon the first night, we can confidently recommend it to readers of BAILY as a most amusing entertainment. And we have been told it is better than that!

“MR. POPPLE (OF IPPLETON)” AT THE APOLLO THEATRE.

Mr. Paul Rubens is a young gentleman of proved ability, and he has accomplished a feat of exceptional difficulty: he has produced a new and original comedy with music, in three acts, written and composed entirely by himself. That is a feat, but it need not be exceptional—the exceptional part of Mr. Paul Ruben’s performance is that his comedy is drawing crowded houses at every performance, and competition for stalls is quite fierce.

Mr. Popple is none other than our valued friend Mr. G. P. Huntley, very much at home in clothes of country cut and material, with fine pocket accommodation for apples and such country produce; in fact, at the finish of the play we are disappointed that he has not produced a ferret from some pocket. Mr. Popple is at home in his ulster and travelling cap, but he is certainly not at home either at the Hotel Blitz, Piccadilly, nor at the flat in Fount Street, kindly lent to him by an eminent actress, La Bolero, played by the charming Miss Ethel Irving.

And here is another important factor which makes for success, and much of the popularity of the production could be traced to the personality and charming singing of Miss Irving. Moreover, Miss Marie Illington is here with that artistic method of hers which gives point to any lines she has to speak. Miss Coralie Blythe also is good as the maid to La Bolero, and in the scene at the Motor Carnival scores a success with a song about “Bah! said the Black Sheep.”

There is a definite story running through the piece, and there are some tuneful musical numbers of the Rubens school. Probably the majority of the admirers of the author-composer would prefer more of his composition, without there being less of his authorship, if such a consummation could be arrived at. But at all events, so long as Freddy Popple is none other than Mr. G. P. Huntley, we fancy that his stay in town is likely to be a prolonged one. And probably by the time he is able to return to Ippleton he will find an improved train service, which will do away with that tiresome change of trains at East Wobsley.

Well done, Mr. Huntley, and well done, Mr. Rubens.

Sporting Intelligence. [During November—December, 1905.]

We regret to record the death, from heart disease, of Mr. Harvey Combe, which occurred on November 27th. On the death of his father, Mr. R. H. Combe, the deceased took his colours and had since kept some horses in training. Mr. Combe was only 44 years of age.

The sad accident which happened to Mr. Ralph A. Brassey whilst riding Carrigdown at the Cambridge University Steeplechases, on November 28th, we regret to say terminated fatally on the morning of December 4th, at the Huntingdon Hospital, the unfortunate young gentleman never having recovered consciousness. He was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Brassey, and was only 22 years of age, whilst he had been four years at New College, Oxford. The deceased was Master of the University Draghounds, and in other branches of outdoor sports and pastimes was more or less prominent, indeed, he for the two past years represented his University against Cambridge in the polo matches.

The Ystrad and Pentyrch Hounds had a marvellous escape on November 28th. While crossing the Great Western Railway an express train dashed into the pack, but fortunately only one hound out of seventeen couples was killed.

As the result of injuries received while riding his horse Wych Elm in the Open Military Steeplechase at Aldershot, we regret to record that Captain E. Meyricke died on November 30th. The deceased, who was only 30 years of age, was a good all-round sportsman.

It is reported that Prince Edward and Prince Albert of Wales had their first experience with hounds during the month of November, meeting the West Norfolk at Herdman’s Barn, Massingham.

Mr. Charles Seymour died at his residence at Fulham on December 3rd, aged 73 years. Mr. Seymour, who came of old coaching stock, in his younger days drove the London and Hatfield coach, and was considered a fine whip.

The usual December sales were held at Newmarket, by Messrs. Tattersall, from Monday, the 4th, to Friday, the 8th December. The attendance was good and business throughout brisk; the total realised during the week being close upon £110,000.

The highest price obtained, on Tuesday, was 7,500 gs., paid for Delaunay, who goes to France, being purchased for M. de St. Alary from Sir James Miller. M. F. Brugmann bought Roquebrune, dam of Rock Sand, for 4,500 gs., and she goes to Belgium; Mr. Simons Harrison gave 2,500 gs. for La Sagasse from the same owner. Mr. Basil Hanbury’s Desinvolture made 1,000 gs.; from Mr. R. H. Henning’s lot Sir E. Cassel bought Xeny for 1,650 gs., and the Marquis of Serramezzana secured Best Light at 1,000 gs.

On Wednesday the Duke of Devonshire purchased the St. Simon mare Grand Prix at 3,000 gs.; Count Lehndorff took Flor Fina at 1,300 gs., and Ladyland at 1,000 gs., both from Mr. Simons Harrison’s contingent. Mr. Cleary gave 1,250 gs. for Refusal, by Bendor; Mr. W. B. Purefoy’s Nausicaa went to Sir E. Cassel at 1,000 gs. On the following day Mr. Cheri-Halbroun was a considerable purchaser, and he secured Lord Clonmell’s Galopin mare Dainty, at 2,000 gs., Sir R. Waldie Griffith’s Vittel, 850 gs., Mr. J. B. Joel’s Yola, 720 gs., and a number of others. Lord Clonmell gave 650 gs. for Mr. W. M. G. Singer’s Ladasia, and Sir P. Walker took Therapia from Mr. J. G. Baird Hay at 650 gs. The best prices obtained for the Duke of Portland’s were 880 gs. for Flete, Mr. Gurry, and 710 gs. for Raeburn, Baron Harkanyi. On the concluding day Sir E. Cassel sold Love Charm, Exchequer, and April Morn, each making 500 gs.; Mr. James Joicey’s Orpheus obtaining the same figure.

While hunting with the Atherstone from Newbold Revel Park, on December 8th, Colonel Worsley Worswick, of Normanton Hall, Hinckley, had a bad fall and succumbed to the injuries received on the following morning. It appears the horse fell at a stiff fence. The deceased was very popular in the country, and as a tribute of respect hunting was suspended for a week.

Mr. Alfred A. Stokes, Hon. Secretary to the Ledbury Hunt, died at his residence, The White House, Pauntley, Newent, on December 10th, at the age of 67.

The huntsman to the Bexhill Harriers, Carey Witherden, has been the recipient of a testimonial in recognition of his services with the pack during a period of nineteen years and under seven masterships.

As a result of injuries received while out hunting with the Essex Union Hunt six days previously, Mr. Albert E. Clear, of Maldon, died on December 13th. Mr. Clear was well known as a breeder and exhibitor of wire-haired fox-terriers.

The list of winning owners during the past season is for the first time headed by Colonel W. Hall Walker, M.P., whose six horses have secured stakes to the value of £23,687. Lord Derby occupies second position with £18,524; the next best being Mr. S. B. Joel with £17,944.

We regret to record the death of Mr. E. D. Brickwood, which occurred in London on December 14th, in his sixty-eighth year. The deceased gentleman, who was a brilliant oarsman in the late ’fifties and early ’sixties, was a well-known writer, and for forty years had editorial charge of the rowing department of the Field.

The famous stallion Diamond Jubilee, bred by and the property of H.M. the King, has been sold to the well-known Argentine breeder, Senor Ignacio Correas, at a high price, 30,000 guineas being stated as the figure. Foaled in March, 1897, Diamond Jubilee is by St. Simon, dam Perdita II.; in 1900 he won the Two Thousand Guineas, Derby, and St. Leger.

With reference to the several cases reported of hounds being impaled upon the spiked iron fencing in use in many parts of the country, Mr. Henry O. Ll. Baker, of Hardwicke Court, Gloucester, writes: “Spiked railings are much on the increase round new houses in the country. If owners could see the many cases that I know of, of unfortunate dogs being impaled on this very un-English kind of fence, they would do something to lessen the danger. A strip of wood fixed on the top of the spikes is all that is required. However much any one may object to hounds or dogs of any sort crossing their gardens, no one, I am sure, wishes to torture them. What is known as the bow-topped fencing answers the same purpose, without the risk of such terrible cruelty.”

Mr. R. W. McKergow, the Master of the Southdown Hounds, has called attention to a deterrent to the pleasure of hunting which has arisen through the inconsiderate behaviour of motor-car drivers at meets. The complaint has, of course, been lodged before now by other Masters who have also suffered from the same trouble, but the thoughtlessness, it is probably nothing more, still goes on. As Mr. McKergow points out, it is now a usual thing for several motor-car drivers to run right up to hounds and horses, continually sounding the “hooter” and keeping the machinery in motion, with the result that horses are frequently upset, to the great danger and discomfort of pedestrians, horsemen, and hounds.

The Master of the Southdown, however, has, says the Field, still another charge to bring, for he adds that when hounds move off the cars make for the most convenient spot to view fox and hounds, and so considerably interfere with sport by heading the fox, and he suggests as a remedy that if owners of cars would give instructions to their drivers not to get within, say, 200 yards of horses and hounds at the meet and to desist from following they would confer a great favour on all lovers of hunting. There is, unhappily, too little of the give and take policy observed nowadays, but it surely is not too much to expect motor-car owners, who, of course, have every right to attend an appointment, to observe these “rules and regulations,” and so help to make and not mar the enjoyment of their mounted fellows.

Mr. Ernest Robinson, who held the mastership of the disbanded West Surrey Staghounds during the last two years of their existence, was the recipient of a presentation from the members and farmers at the recent meet of the Ripley and Knaphill Harriers at Knowle Hill Park. The gift consisted of an illuminated address and a handsome silver salver, which, on behalf of the subscribers, were handed to Mr. Robinson by Mr. C. E. Denny, who said that this was a small expression of the warm thanks and appreciation of some of those who had enjoyed sport with the West Surrey. Mr. Denny mentioned that with the wind-up of the Hunt, after paying other things, he had about £80 in hand, which was to be handed over to the Royal Agricultural Benevolent Institution in the names of the farmers over whose land they had hunted, giving them a life membership of £10 10s. each.

At the recent Smithfield Club Show, London, the St. Pancras Ironwork Co., Ltd., 171, St. Pancras Road, London, N.W., so well known for their patent stable fittings, made a new exhibit in the form of a steam motor wagon and petrol van, showing good design and workmanship of the highest class.

TURF.

LEICESTER AUTUMN MEETING.

November 13th.—The November Auction Nursery Handicap of 500 sovs.; five furlongs. Sir E. Cassel’s br. g. Goldrock, by Bill of Portland—Goldlike, 9st. W. Halsey 1 Mr. J. Perkins’ bl. c. Pescadero, 8st. E. Wheatley 2 Mr. B. Gottschalk’s b. filly by Teufel—Ilfracombe, A. 7st. 3lb. Templeman 3 10 to 1 agst. Goldrock.

The Atherstone Plate (Handicap) of 200 sovs.; one mile and a half. Mr. R. J. Hannam’s b. c. North Deighton, by Kendal—Lady Liberty, 4 yrs., 6st. 2lb. (car. 6st. 6lb.) J. Cockeram 1 Sir E. Cassel’s br. h. Exchequer, 5 yrs., 9st. 1lb. W. Halsey † Lord Ellesmere’s br. c. Winwick, 3 yrs., 8st. 3lb. W. Griggs † 10 to 1 agst. North Deighton.

November 14th.—The Leicestershire November Selling Handicap Plate of 500 sovs.; one mile and a quarter. Mr. S. Loates’ b. gelding by Buccaneer—St. Ange, 3 yrs., 6st. 8lb. C. Heckford 1 Mr. C. P. B. Wood’s b. h. Prince Royal, 3 yrs., 8st. 9lb. H. Jones 2 Mr. R. J. Hannan’s ch. colt by Ugly—Bramble Jelly, 3 yrs., 8st. 1lb. E. Wheatley 3 100 to 8 agst. St. Ange gelding.

DERBY NOVEMBER MEETING.

November 15th.—The Markeaton Plate (Handicap) of 500 sovs.; the Straight Mile. Mr. W. Dunne’s b. or br. c. Earla Mor, by Desmond—Weeping Ash, 4 yrs., 8st. 13lb. H. Jones 1 Mr. W. Bass’s b. f. Royal Lass, 3 yrs., 6st. 2lb. A. Vivian 2 Mr. Keswick’s b. h. Csardas, 6 yrs., 7st. 12lb. W. Higgs 3 3 to 1 agst. Earla Mor.

The Chesterfield Nursery Plate (Handicap) of 1,000 sovs.; for two-year-olds; five furlongs, straight. Mr. F. C. Pratt’s b. g. Sophron, by Janissary—Miss Chiffinch, 7st. 9lb. W. Griggs 1 Mr. L. E. B. Homan’s b. f. Scotch Mistake, 8st. 2lb. F. Hardy 2 Mr. W. Bass’s ch. filly by Bend Or—Wasp, 8st. 3lb O. Madden 3 100 to 6 agst. Sophron.

November 16th.—Chatsworth Plate (Handicap) of 200 sovs.; five furlongs, straight. Mr. Ned Clark’s b. g. Rising Falcon, by St. Issey—Magpie, 5 yrs., 10st. 2lb. O. Madden 1 Lord Marcus Beresford’s ch. c. Rosemarket, 3 yrs., A. 6st. 7lb. Templeman 2 Mr. C. Hibbert’s b. f. Snowflight, 3 yrs., 7st. 7lb. C. Trigg 3 100 to 12 agst. Rising Falcon.

The Friary Nursery Plate (Handicap) of 200 sovs. for two-year-olds; five furlongs, straight. Mr. G. Miller’s b. c. Lamb and Flag, by Wolf’s Crag—Royaume, 7st. 5lb. A. Vivian 1 Mr. W. Goodchild’s b. c. Crusader, 7st. (car. 7st. 1lb.) C. Trigg 2 Mr. J. T. Whipp’s ch. colt by Galloping Lad—Evelyn, 7st. 8lb. E. Wheatley 3 10 to 1 agst. Lamb and Flag.

The Derby Gold Cup (Handicap) of 2,000 sovs.; one mile and six furlongs. Lord Rosebery’s ch. f. Catscradle, by St. A. Frusquin—Catriona, 4 yrs., 6st. 7lb. Templeman 1 Mr. R. H. Henning’s br. c. Airship, 4 yrs., 8st. 5lb. W. Halsey 2 Lord Brackley’s ch. c. Imari, 4 yrs., 7st. 2lb. W. Saxby 3 20 to 1 agst. Catscradle.

NOTTINGHAM DECEMBER.

December 2nd.—The Midland Handicap Steeplechase Plate of 400 sovs.; three miles. Mr. B. W. Parr’s ch. m. Aunt May, by Ascetic—Mayo, F. aged, 12st. 4lb. Freemantle 1 Mr. C. Bower Ismay’s b. h. Theodocion, aged, 11st. 6lb. W. Morgan 2 Mr. J. E. Rogerson’s b. g. Wee Busbie, aged, 11st. 2lb. D. Phelan 3 3 to 1 agst. Aunt May.

November 17th.—The Allestree Plate of 225 sovs.; one mile three furlongs. Mr. G. A. Prentice’s br. c. Hong Kong, by Queen’s Birthday—Merry Wife, 4 yrs., 7st. 11lb. O. Madden 1 Sir E. Cassel’s b. h. Love Charm, 5 yrs., 9st. 2lb. W. Halsey 2 Mr. C. P. B. Wood’s b. h. Princess Royal, 5 yrs. 8st. 4lb. W. Higgs 3 7 to 2 agst. Hong Kong.

The Osmaston Nursery Plate of 460 sovs.; seven furlongs. Mr. A. Stedall’s b. g. Kolo, by Matchmaker—Cloon, 7st. 1lb. C. Trigg 1 Mr. J. A. de Rothschild’s br. c. Beppo, 8st. 11lb. W. Halsey 2 Mr. L. Neumann’s b. f. Scylla, 7st. 10lb. Wm. Griggs 3 100 to 8 agst. Kolo.

The Chaddesden Plate of 225 sovs.; six furlongs. Lord Dalmeny’s b. m. Caravel, by Pioneer—Kendal Belle, 5 yrs., 8st. 11lb. W. Higgs 1 Mr. J. Osborne’s ch. f. Flamston Pin, 4 yrs., 6st. 2lb. Flanagan 2 Major E. Loder’s b. h. Gold Lock, 5 yrs., 8st. 6lb. W. Halsey 3 100 to 12 agst. Caravel.

HOOTON PARK.

November 17th.—The Autumn Hurdle Race of 400 sovs.; two miles and a quarter. Lord Cholmondeley’s b. h. Salute, by Carbine—Festa, 5 yrs., 10st. 8lb. Williamson 1 Mr. Deer’s Booty, 6 yrs., 11st. Mr. I. Anthony 2 Mr. J. B. Joel’s His Lordship, 6 yrs., 11st. Mr. Payne 3 10 to 1 agst. Salute.

November 18th.—The Cheshire Autumn Steeplechase of 400 sovs.; two miles and a half. Mr. F. Bibby’s Wild Boer, by Victor Wild—Tati, 5 yrs., 10st. 11lb. Mason 1 Mr. J. Purcell’s Woodsdown, 5 yrs., 10st. 11lb. Mr. J. Manley 2 Mr. J. Edwards’s Mintstalk, aged, 10st, 10lb. A. Taylor 3 4 to 1 agst. Wild Boer.

BIRMINGHAM NOVEMBER.

November 20th.—November Nursery Plate (Handicap) of 200 sovs., for two-year-olds; seven furlongs, straight. Mr. C. O. Medlock’s br. g. Adversary, by Matchmaker—Wayward Aggie, 7st. 2lb. W. Griggs 1 Mr. Wm. Johnston’s br. c. Dundreary, 6st. 10lb. A. Vivian 2 Mr. H. S. Gray’s ch. f. Flowerer, 7st. 5lb. A. Templeman 3 7 to 2 agst. Adversary.

Autumn Plate (High-weight Handicap) of 250 sovs.; one mile and five furlongs. Mr. C. Mynor’s b. g. Thremhall, by Gonsalvo—Oubliette, aged, 8st. O. Madden 1 Mr. C. Lythe’s ch. h. Leviathan, aged, 7st. 1lb. A. Vivian 2 Mr. S. Loates’ b. gelding by Buccaneer—St. Ange, 3 yrs., 6st. 11lb. C. Heckford 3 6 to 1 agst. Thremhall.

WARWICK NOVEMBER MEETING.

November 21st.—The November Handicap Plate of 500 sovs.; one mile and six furlongs. Major Gordon’s br. h. Spinning Minnow, by Isinglass—Go Lightly, 5 yrs., 6st. 11lb. J. Howard 1 Mr. F. Langstaff’s b. m. Debutante, 5 yrs., 6st. 6lb. J. Cockeram 2 Lord Penrhyn’s br. g. Haresfield, aged, 8st. H. Randall 3 100 to 7 agst. Spinning Minnow.

November 22nd.—The Midland Counties’ Handicap Plate of 500 sovs.; one mile. Mr. W. Goodchild’s b. g. Schnapps, by Cherry Ripe—Muzzie, 5 yrs., 7st. H. Blades 1 Mr. L. de Rothschild’s ch. h. Kunstler, aged, 6st. 8lb. A. Vivian 2 Lord Dudley’s b. m. Mida, 5 yrs., 8st. 12lb. O. Madden 3 100 to 15 agst. Schnapps.

The Warwick Nursery Handicap Plate of 300 sovs., for two-year-olds; five furlongs. Mr. A. Bostock’s b. f. Ignorance, by Pride—Spellbound, 7st. 13lb. O. Madden 1 Mr. P. Nelke’s br. f. Winnie K., 7st. 8lb. W. Saxby 2 Mr. W. R. Wyndham’s b. or br. f. Nairobi, 8st. 9lb. A. Vivian 3 8 to 1 agst. Ignorance.

MANCHESTER NOVEMBER.

November 23rd.—The Lancashire Nursery Handicap of 500 sovs., for two-year-olds; six furlongs, straight. Mr. B. W. Parr’s ch. f. Naitooma, by Winkfield—Elissa, 6st. C. Heckford 1 Mr. J. L. Dugdale’s br. c. Crathorne, 9st. O. Madden 2 Mr. B. S. Strauss’s b. c. Zarifer, 6st. 6lb. J. Plant 3 100 to 7 agst. Naitooma.

November 24th.—The Castle Irwell Handicap of 462 sovs.; one mile. Mr. L. Robinson’s b. c. Roseate Dawn, by Enthusiast—Honeydew, 4 yrs., 8st. 9lb. W. Halsey 1 Major E. Loder’s b. h. Gold Luck, 5 yrs., 11st, 9lb. O. Madden 2 Lord Ellesmere’s b. or br. f. Koorhaan, 3 yrs., 6st. A. 7lb. Templeman 3 100 to 8 agst. Roseate Dawn.

November 25th.—The Manchester November Handicap of 1,325 sovs.; one mile and a half. Mr. A. Belmont’s b. f. Ferment, by Octagon—Felicia, 3 yrs., 6st. 2lb. T. Jennings 1 Lord Brackley’s ch. c. Imari, 4 yrs., 7st. 5lb. W. Saxby 2 Mr. G. A. Prentice’s b. h. Spinning Minnow, 5 yrs., 6st. 10lb. J. Howard 3 25 to 1 agst. Ferment.

KEMPTON PARK.

December 1st.—The Kempton Park Hurdle Handicap of 218 sovs.; two miles. Mr. H. Heasman’s b. h. Stephanas, by St. Serf—Lucky Lady, 5 yrs., 11st. 13lb. T. Fitton 1 Col. R. L. Birkin’s b. c. Baron Crofton, 4 yrs., Mr. R. 11st. 4lb. Payne 2 Mr. R. Campbell’s ch. g. St. Enogat, 6 yrs., 10st. Mr. H. M. 10lb. Ripley 3 9 to 1 agst. Stephanas.

December 2nd.—The Middlesex Steeplechase Handicap of 250 sovs.; two miles. Mr. P. Glesson’s Lord of the Level, by Mocheath—Mome d’Amour, 5 yrs., 10st. 7lb. F. Mason 1 Lord Howard de Walden’s b. g. Centre Board, 5 yrs., 11st. 6lb. H. Aylin 2 Mr. O. H. Jones’s b. g. Armature, 5 yrs., 11st. 2lb. R. Chadwick 3 100 to 7 agst. Lord of the Level.

HAYDOCK PARK.

December 1st.—The Garswood Handicap Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. T. O.’K. White’s ch. c. Mount Prospect II., by Mr. J. Wildfowler—Gretchen, 4 yrs., 12st. 1lb. Widger 1 Mr. C. Bower Ismay’s b. h. Theodocian, aged, 12st. Sewell 2 Mr. F. Straker’s ch. m. Consequence, 5 yrs., 11st. 6lb. D. Phelan 3 7 to 2 agst. Mount Prospect II.

December 2nd.—The Haydock Park Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. T. Clyde’s ch. g. Onward, by Red Prince J. Walsh, II.—Cedula, 5 yrs., 10st. 10lb. jun. 1 Sir P. Walker’s ch. g. Flutterer, aged, 11st. 4lb. E. Sullivan 2 6 to 5 on Onward.

GATWICK DECEMBER.

December 6th.—The Croydon Hurdle Race of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. H. Heasman’s b. h. Stephanas, by St. Serf—Lucky Lady, 5 yrs., 12st. 4lb. T. Fitton 1 Mr. F. Bibby’s ch. h. Wild Boer, 5 yrs., 11st. 3lb. F. Mason 2 Mr. C. J. Habin’s bl. m. Bell Sound, aged, 11st. 6lb. J. Barnard 3 4 to 1 agst. Stephanas.

December 7th.—The Stayers’ Selling Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; three miles. Mr. R. W. Colling’s b. m. Eahlswith, by Mr. R. Freemason—Orxema, 5 yrs., 11st. 13lb. Walker 1 Mr. D. J. Cogan’s br. or br. f. High Wind, 4 yrs., 10st. 8lb. F. Mason 2 Captain H. F. Watson’s b. g. George Fordham, aged, 11st. 9lb. A. Birch 3 2 to 1 agst. Eahlswith.

SANDOWN PARK.

December 8th.—The Grand Annual Steeplechase of 269 sovs.; two miles. Mr. T. Clyde’s br. g. Sachem, by Noble Chieftain—Talavera, 4 yrs., 10st. 81b. J. O’Brien 1 Mr. R. Jones’s ch. f. Silver Tyne, 4 yrs., 10st. 13lb. T. Knight 2 Mr. R. Campbell’s ch. g. St. Enogat, 6 yrs., 10st. Mr. H. M. 4lb. Ripley 3 4 to 1 agst. Sachem.

December 9th.—The Sandown Handicap Steeplechase of 269 sovs.; about 3½ miles. Mr. T. Clyde’s ch. g. Dathi, by Enthusiast—Freshet, aged, 11st. 10lb. J. O’Brien 1 Mr. E. Christie Miller’s b. g. Witney, 6 yrs., 10st. Mr. W. 11lb. Bulteel 2 Mr. H. R. Taylor’s b. m. Libertie, aged, 12st. 2lb. W. Dollery 3 4 to 1 agst. Dathi.

FOOTBALL.

November 15th.—At Oxford, the University v. Clapton; former won by 6 goals to 0.†

November 18th.—At Cambridge, the University v. Clapton; latter won by 3 goals to 1.†

November 18th.—At Edinburgh, Scotland v. New Zealand; latter won by 12 points to 7.*

November 18th.—At Richmond, Richmond v. Oxford University; former won by 8 points to 0.*

November 20th.—At Oxford, the University v. Edinburgh Academicals; latter won by 29 points.*

November 22nd.—At Oxford, the University v. The Army; former won by 3 goals to 2.†

November 25th—At Dublin, Ireland v. New Zealand; latter won by 15 points to 0.*

November 26th.—At Cambridge, the University v. Dublin University; drawn, 10 points each.*

November 26th.—At Blackheath, Blackheath v. Richmond; former won by 20 points to 3.*

November 27th.—At Oxford, the University v. Edinburgh University; latter won by 25 points to 13.*

December 2nd.—At Crystal Palace, England v. New Zealand; latter won by 5 tries to 0.*

December 2nd.—At Leyton, Cambridge University v. The Army; former won by 10 goals to 1.†

December 2nd.—At Blackheath, Blackheath v. Oxford University; latter won by 13 points to 3.

December 9th.—At Queen’s Club, Oxford v. Cambridge; latter won by 15 points to 13.*

December 9th.—At Tottenham, Tottenham Hotspurs v. Corinthians; former won by 3 goals to 1.†

December 13th.—At Headingley, Yorkshire v. New Zealand; latter won by 40 points to 0.*

December 16th.—At Cardiff, Wales v. New Zealand; former won by 1 try to 0.*

* Under Rugby Rules.

† Under Association Rules.

-----

Footnote 1:

“Live Stock Journal Almanac,” 1906. Vinton & Co., Ltd., 9, New Bridge Street, Ludgate Circus, E.C. Price 1s.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

BAILY’S MAGAZINE

OF

SPORTS AND PASTIMES.

┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ DIARY FOR FEBRUARY, 1906. │ ├──────┬─────┬────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │Day of│ Day │ OCCURRENCES. │ │Month.│ of │ │ │ │Week.│ │ ├──────┼─────┼────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ 1│ TH │Gatwick Park Races and Steeplechases. Partridge and │ │ │ │ Pheasant Shooting Ends. │ │ 2│ F │Kempton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 3│ S │Kempton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 4│ =S= │=Fifth Sunday after Epiphany.= │ │ 5│ M │Doncaster Hunt Meeting. │ │ 6│ TU │Doncaster Hunt Meeting. │ │ 7│ W │Leicester Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 8│ TH │Leicester Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 9│ F │Sundown Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 10│ S │Sandown Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 11│ =S= │=Septuagesima Sunday.= │ │ 12│ M │Manchester Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 13│ TU │Manchester Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 14│ W │Windsor Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 15│ TH │Windsor Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 16│ F │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 17│ S │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 18│ =S= │=Sexagesima Sunday.= │ │ 19│ M │Birmingham Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 20│ TU │Birmingham Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 21│ W │Warwick Races and Steeplechases. Waterloo Cup. │ │ 22│ TH │Warwick Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 23│ F │Lingfield Park and Haydock Park Races and Steeplechases.│ │ 24│ S │Lingfield Park and Haydock Park Races and Steeplechases.│ │ │ │ │ │ 25│ =S= │=Quinquagesima Sunday.= │ │ 26│ M │Southwell and Plumpton Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 27│ TU │Southwell and Ludlow Club Races and Steeplechases. Shire│ │ │ │ Horse Show at Royal Agricultural Hall (4 days). │ │ 28│ W │Ludlow Club Races and Steeplechases. │ └──────┴─────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

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BAILY’S MAGAZINE OF SPORTS AND PASTIMES NO. 552. FEBRUARY, 1906. VOL. LXXXV.

CONTENTS.

PAGE Sporting Diary for the Month v. Colonel W. A. Cardwell, M.F.H. 91 Collection of Indian Weapons 92 What Next? 100 Foxhounds (Illustrated) 103 Hunt “Runners”—III. (Illustrated) 109 Oxford and Cheltenham Coach (Illustrated) 113 The Broads as a Sporting Centre (Illustrated) 115 Notes and Sport of a Dry-Fly Purist 120 A Hundred Years Ago 127 A Farewell to a Hunter (Verses) 128 The New Year at the Theatres 129 Racing at Gibraltar, in 1905 133 Half a Century’s Hunting Recollections—V. 138 Rugby Football 143 The Thoroughbred 147 Mr. Vyell Edward Walker 151 “Our Van”:— Racing 155 The late Mr. W. G. Craven 158 Hunting 159 Hunting in Yorkshire 163 American v. English Foxhound Match 166 The New Army Polo Committee 166 The M.C.C. Cricket Team in South Africa 167 Golf 168 The Winter Exhibition at Burlington House 168 Pelota at the Winter Club 169 Fancy Dress Balls at Covent Garden 169 “Cinderella” at the Empire 170 Ballet at the Alhambra 170 Sporting Intelligence 171

WITH ENGRAVED PORTRAIT OF COLONEL W. A. CARDWELL, M.F.H.

Colonel W. A. Cardwell, M.F.H.

Born in the year 1847, William Alexander Cardwell was entered to foxhunting when nine years old, having been blooded with the Southdown in the fifties when Mr. Donovan held office. He made his mark in the cricket-field among his contemporaries, and when he went to Harrow in 1862, took with him a reputation which gained for him the distinction of being first choice for his House eleven. Unfortunately his health broke down while at school, and in 1864 he had to leave and go abroad under medical orders. After a year or two on the Continent he returned home to finish his education at Oxford, where he found time and opportunity to indulge his taste for sport and games. He was a member of the Bullingdon Club, and in 1869–70 was master of the ’Varsity draghounds. He also played in his College (St. John’s) cricket eleven, and coxed his college eight. Colonel Cardwell was a good lightweight in his young days; he rode in all the College “grinds,” and also in the inter-’Varsity steeplechases at Aylesbury, with a fair measure of success. He was the possessor of a mare named “The Kitten,” in those days, and he cherishes for her memory the affection which is the rightful due of an animal on which the owner won his first race, for “The Kitten” carried Colonel Cardwell successfully in a good many steeplechases. He hunted frequently with the Quorn and the Bicester in his younger days, and has also seen much sport with the Badminton and Vale of White Horse; but residing, as he does, on the south coast, he has of late years done most hunting with the Southdown and East Sussex, after, of course, his own pack, the Eastbourne, of which he has been master since 1895. In August and September he usually hunts with the Devon and Somerset and the Quantock staghounds from Minehead. Sport in Sussex is carried on under very happy conditions; the farmers are a thoroughly good lot of sportsmen who always have a welcome for the hounds, and do all they can to further the interests of the Hunt. Wire, that burning question in so many more conspicuous countries, is practically unknown in the territory of the Eastbourne Hunt. As there is a good deal of game preservation in the country, the Master has considerable difficulty early in the season in arranging meets to suit the convenience of covert owners, who are also shooting men, but his experience is that consideration on the one side is invariably responded to by consideration on the other. Foxes are fairly plentiful in the Eastbourne country; mange gave trouble at one time, but the Hunt is now nearly free from it.

Colonel Cardwell has maintained his interest in cricket since his college days, and for twenty years was captain of the Eastbourne club. He was also captain of the Eastbourne Polo Club. Love of polo seems to have been hereditary, for his son, Mr. H. B. Cardwell, was captain of the Oxford Polo Club, and played in the winning team of the Eden Park Club for the County Cup in the years 1901 and 1902.

Colonel Cardwell has always taken a great interest in Volunteer Artillery. He raised the 2nd Sussex R.G. Artillery Volunteers, and commanded it for twenty-seven years, having retired only in June, 1903; he has also taken great interest in horsing and training the sixteen-pounder batteries.

In 1872 he married a daughter of the late Sir B. C. Brodie, Bart., of Brockham Warren, Betchworth, by whom he has four daughters and two sons, all of whom inherit their father’s sporting proclivities, and ride very straight to hounds.

Collection of Indian Weapons.

The eyes of the world have been lately turned to the stately progress which has been made by the Prince and Princess of Wales through the length and breadth of our Indian Empire. In a sense they may have had wider and more instructive experiences than fell to the lot of our King when, thirty years ago, he undertook the same Royal duty, and for the first time made the peoples of our great dependency personally acquainted with a Shahzada. But in some respects they have probably found that, since that date, something of the old glamour has passed away from the East. It has more and more assimilated Western ideas, and the great princes and feudatories have all been anxious to show to their future Sovereign how nearly they, their subjects, their armies, and their various public institutions, have approached English models. Practical value has been everywhere in evidence as much as possible, and as the old native picturesqueness has been somewhat dimmed, the ancient characteristics of the land may have been less sharply accentuated. In nothing has this been more seen than in the warlike equipment of the armies of the semi-independent states. All of these, with a view to taking their share in the defence of the peninsula, according to the requirements of modern war, are now trained, equipped and armed like British Sepoys, and the quaint bravery of mediæval sword, spear, shield, and armour has very generally disappeared. It is worth while, therefore, to say something about these time-honoured arms before they have become altogether things of the past.

A quarter of a century ago it was possible to find in India many of the weapons with which the natives had been provided in the days before the Pax Britannica secured the personal security of every individual inhabitant from raid and outrage, before the disarming act had been put in force in all districts under British rule, and while the military forces of semi-independent states still preserved their Oriental character. Now, I am told that, though many weapons may be bought, their genuineness is in most cases more than doubtful. The stock of old weapons has been absorbed in various ways, and there is no longer any production of such things for practical use. The tulwars and daggers which are sold to the globe trotters who, in their thousands, sweep over India during every cold season, are “bazaar made,” i.e., they are made by inferior workmen in the bazaar for sale and not for strife, and are very poor imitations of the real arms once worn by the old fighting men.

When I was serving in India, not long after the King’s visit, the country was still comparatively free from the tourist, and anybody who had a taste for Eastern art in any form was able, during his sporting excursions or in his other peregrinations, to meet men who still owned genuine old articles and were not indisposed to part with them, and made acquaintance with English officials and influential natives who were good-natured enough to assist him in his collections.

Many Europeans did not take advantage of their opportunities, but fortunately for myself I did not altogether neglect mine, and I now reap the reward by seeing, hanging in my modest hall, such a representative display of Indian weapons as it would be very difficult, if not almost impossible, to procure nowadays without the aid of great influence, much exertion, and a very considerable expenditure of money. Many of these weapons have been used by myself and friends in somewhat feeble attempts to emulate the feats performed with them by natives, and I have therefore a slight personal knowledge of their qualities and characteristics, and may at any rate claim that they have always been to me things of the greatest interest.

First let me notice the fact that it is not every Indian sword that can be handled and tested by a European. Our Aryan brethren have very small extremities, and the hilts of their swords do not, as a rule, give space for the more massive and heavily-jointed hand of an Englishman. It seems marvellous indeed how the sometimes ponderous weapons can have been easily wielded by the slight limbs for whose use they were made, but it must be supposed that well-trained wiry sinews may have as much executive power and endurance as bulging muscle, and that the proper method of using the individual weapon may have drawn more upon dexterity than upon the exertion of strength. And here it must be pointed out that, in all specially Oriental feats of arms, success is by no means to be attained by the exertion of great force. It rather depends upon accuracy of eye, perfect coolness of nerve, and deftness of hand. In the particular performance which English soldiers have most eagerly adopted from their Indian comrades and made their own, and has been found such an admirable exercise for promoting horsemanship and soldierly efficiency—tent-pegging—no great strength is required. And, in the same way, the class of swordsmanship for which Indian men-at-arms have been so remarkable is a matter of perfect mastery in handling a blade rather than of weightily applied blows. Probably no more graphic description of the difference which even to-day exists between Eastern and Western swordsmanship was ever written than in the story, in Sir Walter Scott’s “Talisman,” of Richard Cœur de Lion and Saladin giving each other proofs of the powers of their swords. I would fain quote the passage, but it would take up too much space, and I can only suggest that reference be made to it, and, if the whole romance has not before been studied, I congratulate the person who has so much available delight still untasted.

So many spectators have watched, in England, illustrations of tent-pegging at military tournaments and other gatherings that it is unnecessary to describe it, but it may fairly be said that the feat requires a higher form of skill and more consummate horsemanship than the old English exercises of a like nature, tilting at the ring or tilting at the quintain, neither of which appeals either to the performer or to the spectator as an example of very formidable fighting qualities.

The Oriental ideas about the use of the sword differ so completely from those of Western peoples that they may be briefly referred to. In Europe, the sword has generally been used for a trenchant cut, though the employment of the point has also been cultivated by some nations, especially among the higher ranks. About the only army in history that has used the point alone was that of Rome. The legionaries did little or no cutting, and this was the more remarkable because the Roman broadsword was a very short weapon, and all modern experience has seemed to point out that, if a sword is to be principally used for pointing, it must be of more than ordinary length. But, in the East, the trenchant cut, depending for its effect on the weight and power with which it is delivered, has never found favour, and the use of the point has equally been of very small consideration. The Oriental swordsman has always made use of what may be called a drawing cut, placing against the object that he wishes to sever the edge of his weapon, and either pulling it towards him or pushing it away from him, preferably the latter. The action is not, of course, in itself so instantaneous as that of the trenchant cut, but the whole time consumed by the swordsman is no longer in one case than the other, and may even possibly be shorter, for there is no preliminary swing of the arm and the drawing cut can be delivered without leaving a position of defence. The curved shape of most Oriental sword blades has been adopted for the purpose of giving the greatest effect to the drawing cut, as will be apparent to any one who considers the matter, for the curve naturally follows the action in the most complete manner, the keen edge being in contact with its object throughout the whole length of its blade. How deep an Oriental sword could bite in the hands of a skilful man, when used in the way that has been described, has been proved from time immemorial. On the battlefield it was no unfrequent circumstance to see heads and limbs cut clean off, and the wounds were generally of a terrible character. So well known was the deadly power of the Indian sword that, in our Eastern wars, precaution were often taken by our soldiers to protect with chains the shoulder and forearms (the places at which the enemy most often struck), and this modified form of armour may still be seen in the shoulder chains on one of the many patterns of service coat that have been issued to our cavalry in recent years.

Among the most popular feats of swordsmanship that are to be seen even to-day in the East are those that Saladin exhibited to Richard Cœur de Lion, cutting in two a down cushion or severing a floating veil—feats absolutely impossible of execution with a European sabre—and these are done, with many variations, not only dismounted but on horseback at full speed. Then there is the well-known performance of cutting a dead sheep in two. The sheep is hung by its hind-legs from the arm of a sort of gallows, and the swordsman, galloping past, delivers a back cut at it, aiming between the ribs and the haunch, and seldom failing to sever it. This feat, as it is now generally performed, is not so difficult as it may appear from description, for the carcase is skinned, and the backbone, with the slenderest portion of the body, offer really small resistance to a keen blade. But it is understood that, in olden days, it was not usual to skin the sheep, and the presence of skin and wool must then have made the swordsman’s task hard indeed. Many English officers have, with fair success, tried to cut a sheep in two, but, even though they used the curved Eastern sword, they always seemed to perform the feat by main force, and not by the proper use of the drawing cut, and I have in my possession a tulwar with a notch in the blade, showing where, in the hands of a very powerful man, it rent a sheep’s backbone. If a native had handled the weapon no such accident could have happened, for the drawing cut, depending only on the keen edge and the way in which it is applied, could not possibly have chipped the blade, no sudden shock being given by it to the highly-tempered steel. Lemoncutting, which is now often seen in England, was introduced from India, and here again neatness of performance is much more likely to be attained by the drawing cut than by the swashing blow employed by so many of our cavalrymen. True, the swords generally available for our competitions at home are hardly ever sharp enough to be used in the best way, and indeed the clumsy weapon now issued to English soldiers, with its absurd steel scabbard that quickly blunts a keen edge, is ill adapted for any practical purpose whatever.

So far, I have only talked about the most common and characteristic swords of India, which, with many minor distinctions and under the names of Tulwar, Selappa, Tegha, &c., &c., are found everywhere from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, but there are several other swords, completely different, which are peculiar to individual tribes or nations among the vast congeries of races united under British rule or influence. First, the long, straight, double-edged blade, fitted into a gauntlet hilt which, though found in the north and south of India, is best known in the Punjab, where the Sikhs, in their sword play, still practise its use. The generic name of this sword is Pata, and it is said to have been the principal weapon used by the cavalry of the Great Mogul. To a European eye, it certainly appears a somewhat unwieldy weapon and ill-adapted to the purposes of a mounted man. Its blade is over three feet long, and it is fixed in a handle made like a plate mail gauntlet, which covers the arm nearly as far as the elbow. On account of its peculiar hilt, this sword is not manipulated like others from the wrist, but from the elbow; and, as far as I know, it is the only weapon known in the world which does not in some degree demand flexibility of wrist. Unlike the curved Tulwar, which has a rigid and rather narrow blade, the blade of the Pata is broad and flexible, and I have one specimen before me in which the point will almost meet the hilt. The qualities of steel from which the two kinds of swords are made are in this respect very different, but they are alike in that both can take the finest of edges. And all Eastern swords have this also in common, that all have wooden or leather sheaths, so that no risk is run that the edge of the blade shall ever be dulled from want of care. To-day, the Pata is never carried by Indian princes or nobles, even on occasions of state and ceremony, and it is never seen in the hands of anybody except the professional swordsmen, who give exhibitions of their skill at the great fairs and at Mohammedan or Hindoo festivals, such as the Mohurrum or the Dussera. The performances of any one of these men are wonderful. He will show the keenness of his weapon and his command of its weight by cutting in two a leaf laid flat on the outstretched palm of a friend, or by severing a cloth hanging loose in the air. He will then squat down on his hams and will slice from side to side a small nut, which is tossed on to the flat ground in front of him. He will grasp a sword in each hand and, so armed, will spring from his feet and throw somersaults backwards and forwards. Again, with sword and shield in his hands, he will leap head foremost through the stretched-out loop of a rope, held by two men at the height of their heads, as a circus-rider leaps through a paper hoop, and alight safely on his feet. These exhibitions are extremely popular, and the harvest of small change collected by the plucky athlete from the crowd of gaping spectators must do something to prevent the knowledge of the old sword-play from dying out. I have never seen or heard of a European essaying to handle the Pata, and, indeed, I have seldom seen a Pata whose gauntlet hilt would admit the grasp of even a small European hand.

Another straight-bladed and double-edged sword is the Khanda of the Rajput, and as the Rajputs are the most long-descended, chivalrous, and warlike of all the nations in India, so was the Khanda held in the highest honour and reverence, so was it worshipped yearly at the festival of the Karga S’hapna as a symbol of Heri, the god of battle, and so was an oath sworn upon it the most binding of compacts. Even to-day the Khanda, or indeed any sword, is recognised as an offering showing the profoundest homage and the strictest fidelity, by the universal Indian custom of presenting the hilt to a superior, who touches it in acknowledgment of the implied loyalty. The Khanda, like the Pata, is made of flexible steel of various degrees of excellence, though all blades are of the most reliable description. A rough test may be given, by which the merit of any particular straight blade may be approximately gauged. If it has one groove running down its length, it is good; if it has two, it is better, and if it has three, it is of special worth. Sometimes the Khanda has a long iron spike projecting from the hilt, and this was probably for the purpose of using the sword double-handed in case of need, and it could possibly also serve as an additional weapon in a close mêlée. It is to be remarked that, in using the Pata, Khanda, and other straight swords, the drawing cut is still the favourite, though the form of the blade involves that it must be somewhat modified.

Pass we to a class of swords which demand special remark, on account of their appropriateness to the districts in which they have originated, and of these there are two especially which attract our notice as being essentially the same in character, though they differ somewhat in shape. The Kukri, the national weapon of Nepal, is only eighteen or nineteen inches in total length, and has a blade of bright steel, incurved, heavy, and widening towards the point. It has more the qualities of a good billhook than anything else, and it was no doubt originally devised to do duty as a billhook as much as for fighting purposes, for the Gorkha had to clear his way through the thickly growing vegetation of the Terai forests. I have often lent to my shikaris, when shooting in the Western Ghauts, a Kukri for use in the jungle, and it always proved invaluable. What a handy tool it is in the grasp of its true proprietor, the Gorkha, is well known—how formidable it is as a weapon, those who have been in action with our Gorkha battalions can emphatically testify, and this can be the more clearly realised when it is told that, with his Kukri, the Gorkha can strike off the head of a bullock at one blow.

Like the Gorkha Kukri, the Ayda Katti, the big knife of the Coorg mountaineer, derives its shape from the daily requirements of life in dense jungles. The heavy monsoon clouds which, in their course, first meet and void their moisture on the hilly west coast of India, nourish an extraordinarily luxuriant vegetation, and the tribesmen there found the constant want of an implement to cut a path through the lush bamboos and creepers. The Coorg knife is about the same size as the Kukri, but is wider and heavier. It has also an incurved blade, and is equally useful for all the services of peace. The men of Coorg have had no recent experience of war, but legend tells that, sword in hand, they were in old days dreaded for their prowess in battle. The army of Hyder Ali found the Nairs (Coorg tribesmen) the most redoubtable opponents that it had to deal with before it had the ill-fortune to be marched against British battalions. The Coorg knife has the peculiarity that it alone, of all varieties of swords, never has a sheath. It is so constantly required on the west coast that it is generally carried in the hand ready for immediate use. When, of necessity, it is put aside, it is carried, still with the blade uncovered, slung across the owner’s hips.

No record of Indian swords would be complete without some mention of the Salawar Yataghan, the Khyber or Afghan knife, though perhaps it more properly belongs to the frontier. This is the weapon that in the hands of the Ghazis, drunk with bhang and lust of slaughter, has, in the actions on the North-West Frontier, done such stern work, and has also been signalised as the terrible instrument with which the wounded, who fell into Afghan hands, have ever been bloodily dispatched and mutilated. It has a broad, heavy, single-edged, straight-backed blade with a sharp point, and is so balanced that its trenchant cut is weighty indeed.

The Afghan gives no drawing cut with his Yataghan, but cuts like a European and, on occasion, uses the point. The weapon seems to be especially devised for the use of desperate men who wish to kill, without any thought of protecting themselves, for its handle being absolutely plain and unguarded like that of an ordinary carving knife, it can never be used effectively for warding a blow or parrying a thrust. The blade is generally about two feet and two or three inches long, and, made of bright steel, seems to derive its strength from its proportions and its thickness rather than from high temper. The Salawar Yataghan cannot be classed as a weapon adapted to any of the scientific niceties of swordsmanship, but must be thought of rather as a murderous knife, fit alone for purposes of slaughter.

There are other forms of swords to be found on the frontiers of India, the Burmese Dha, the Malay Kris, &c., &c., but none of them have any special merit as warlike weapons, and they are really almost impotent for attack or defence when opposed to the more well-considered weapons of more cultivated peoples. All of them have their limitations of value; they can inflict injury, but from their form they are essentially feeble in defence.

It was natural that swords, in their hilts, their blades and their sheaths, should, from the variety and general elegance of their shapes, have been the basis of ornament to a very great extent. The Monarch, the great Prince, or the warlike leader of men has, if he allowed himself ornament at all (and here be it remarked that the most potent individuals have almost always been remarkable for their personal simplicity), generally lavished such ornament upon his sword, the emblem of his power. And when he sent a gift to a brother potentate, or a man whom he delighted to honour, it was not infrequently a sword of the most perfect quality, adorned with jewels and workmanship of notable value. The ornamentation of swords gives to us a strongly-marked and trustworthy indication of the religion and often of the nationality of the men who fashioned them. There is as much difference between the artistic ideas of the north and south of India as there is between the delicate and graceful architecture of the great Mohammedan shrines and palaces, and the heavy, massive and sometimes grotesque construction of the old Hindoo temples. To enter into all the peculiarities of ornament would take too long, but it may shortly be said that, bearing in mind that it is contrary to the Prophets’ law to reproduce the similitude of any living thing, a sword ornamented with delicate tracery and a floral pattern may generally be supposed to come from a Mohammedan race in the North, while one bearing representations of men, beasts or birds, has probably been made in the Brahminical South.

All kinds of materials have been used in ornamenting swords. Besides precious jewels, gold and silver, a place has been found for Jaipur enamel, Koftgari work, Bidri work, &c., &c., and all means have been taken to add to artistic beauty, contrast of colour and intrinsic value. If any one would see how rich is the effect thus produced, let him take an opportunity of visiting one of our great national collections, those places full of articles worthy to be “stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings.”

There is one most invaluable quality in which all Eastern swords are well-nigh perfect. They are all most admirably balanced and can all be most effectively employed with the minimum of personal exertion. To appreciate this transcendent quality at its proper value, it is only necessary to handle an English cavalry sword, which is as much lacking in true balance as any Indian sword possesses that most essential character. The West has still some lessons to learn from the immemorial East.

To talk of the swords only of India has exhausted all my space, and yet but a very meagre sketch has been accomplished. Perhaps what has been written may, however, induce some reader to make an exhaustive study of the subject. He would surely be rewarded by learning much that is of the highest artistic, historical and practical value.

The other weapons of India, and there are many, are of nearly, if not quite, equal interest. Perhaps I may some day be allowed to say something about them.

What Next?

Any one who has wielded his pen with the independence which you, Mr. Editor, have permitted me to practise must expect criticism, nor should he turn a deaf ear to it. Critics, friendly or otherwise, have passed judgment on my Christmas dream of sport, my hazy forecast of its future, and some have thrown at me the pertinent query of, “What next would you have us believe, ‘you veiled old prophet of Khorassan’?” My only answer to-day is that of the sucking dove. “Wait and see.”

In this new year I do not stand alone when the momentous question is passed round of “What next?” among sportsmen, politicians, and populations. Hard nuts to crack there are on every side, and we envy not the jaws whose lot it is to deal with some of them.

Sportsmen, however, are for the most part content to sail with the breeze—contrary winds are troublesome, and they do not like losing sight of old landmarks, albeit in times like the present they are being wafted farther and farther away from them. This their compass, if they will only stop to consult it, must tell them only too truly. Ought they to put back into harbour, or boldly dash on towards other coasts and new scenes, of which it may profit them to know more? Does it not behove them to live and learn in a wider sphere of life than when they started on their life’s voyage; and, as politicians would put it, to think Imperially, even of their sports?

Thus they must ere long come to see that in the unison of ideas, the blending of nationalities, and the gradual bridging over of our insular position, we are fated to learn, however unwillingly, that the past and the future stand in an entirely different relation to one another than they have been wont to do.

Sportsmen, I would appeal to you. Is it not in your inmost hearts a question of what next all round the country? It was, perhaps, a bold stroke on my part to advocate even the partial extinction of the bookmakers, the reform of the Jockey Club, and the use of the Totaliser, or pari-mutuel, so strongly as I did last month; yet common-sense, expediency and profit seem to put this in the forefront of reforms on the Turf in reply to the question which heads this article. Our object-lesson on this subject is, undoubtedly, France, where, since September last, the bookmaker as such has been totally excluded, and we are indebted to a very lucid and exhaustive letter from a French backer, in the Sporting Times, for a knowledge of the results of its first two months’ working. He tells us that, taking the race meetings of Longchamps, Maison-la-Flite, Chantilly, Auteuil, Colombus, St. Ouen, St. Cloud, Compiegne and Enghien, the sum of 5,927,318 francs (£237,092) more were taken at the mutuel than in 1904, the total takings from September 3rd to November 13th, 1905, being 66,917,515 francs (£2,676,700), against, in 1904, 55,787,910 francs (£2,231,516), showing an increase of over eleven million francs. It follows that the deduction of 8 per cent., which is made for the benefit of horse-breeding, agriculture and the poor of France, has brought an increase of 890,368 francs (£35,612)!

If the same ratio of increased receipts is maintained through next year’s racing, the Societé des Courses alone will secure as its share of the profit about one million two hundred thousand francs! Stubborn facts these, which even the most inveterate Radical voter may take to heart in choosing his candidate for whom to vote, although for this election at least all votes will have been cast ere this article is published. If it were possible to gauge the probable receipts in the United Kingdom of the Totaliser as compared with France, we believe that the figures would considerably exceed those of France, seeing that the stakes annually run for in the United Kingdom, including steeplechasing and hurdle-racing, amount to not far short of a million pounds, and that race-meetings in this country are more widely distributed than in France. I am below the mark in calculating that at least ten times the stakes are made in bets, from which the deduction of 8 per cent, would produce a sum of eight hundred thousand a year.

What would the poor, the sick and the honest unemployed give for a dole out of this fund?

What would oppressed agriculture, unendowed horse-breeding, or the poor Royal Agricultural Society, say to the chance of a dip into this lucky bag? In almost every other country besides our own where racing flourishes, such an opportunity of effecting an economic reform, without increasing taxation, or interfering with vested interests, has been hailed with delight. In fact, we stand alone as a civilised nation in our abstention from its adoption, yet we have not, as it would seem, the motive power. If our conscientious objectors could but be made to see that by its adoption the worst features of our gambling pursuits would be checked, if not abolished, and that true sport in all its branches would thrive under its ægis, perhaps our legislature would throw no obstacles in its way. Perhaps then our Jockey Club, always so slow to lead the way, would throw off their vis inertia and become its disciples?

Perhaps, however, this important question may remain buried in the lap of the future, unless public attention is called to it ever and again with increasing vehemence, and we are able to see more clearly the bane of our insular position, and the false pride which blinds and prejudices us.

I have had the opportunity of discussing this question with many racing men, and with scarcely an exception they have brought no arguments forward antagonistic to it, the majority indeed being its advocates; yet there comes the reiterated cry from those who call themselves practical men: “My dear fellow; how are you going to act about it! What chance is there of obtaining sanction from the legislature?”

Supposing I were to suggest the similitude of the bye-gone Welsh remedy, which in its result swept away the multiplication of turnpikes in South Wales some seventy years ago, which materially hindered the traffic between Wales and England. These Welshmen donned the nightdresses of women, calling themselves daughters of Rebecca, who was “not afraid to meet her enemies in the Gate,” and on swift cobs they swooped down at night on all the gates, smashing and burning them. Neither the police nor military could catch one of them, and very soon it began to dawn on the Government that a good reason underlaid this lawlessness. A Royal Commission was appointed, which was the means of an Act of Parliament being passed which swept away the objectionable gates and placed the roads under Government supervision, and they then became the best in the Kingdom.

And now to apply the simile. The legislature has decided by the Kempton Park case that a racecourse is not such a public place as stated in the last Betting Act, where betting can be prohibited. Why, therefore, should not the Totalizer be erected there, and betting by such means be allowed just as much and as legally as it is now carried on by bookmakers. This cannot, to my thinking, be considered as a lottery, pure and simple, because it does not depend upon your merely drawing out the lucky number. You have all the prowess of the horses and the skill of their riders weighing in the balance, and you stand in exactly the same position as the man that speculates in stocks, or insures his risks. Why not, therefore, erect the Totaliser on some enclosures on our racecourses? and even should they prove targets for the attack of the police, or possibly the bookmakers, at starting, I believe that ultimately, sooner indeed than later, their case will prevail, and then the greatest and most wholesome reform in racing will take effect. It will then be time for my critics to exclaim, “What next?”

As regards hunting, I have only to appeal to your correspondent J. J. D. J.’s article in your magazine of last month, “Is Hunting Doomed?” to show that we cannot hope to see it carried on in many countries in the same haphazard way as of old. Despite the fact that its devotees are as keen and as good as ever, its facilities are narrowed year by year, and its difficulties multiplied. Oh, that it were not so, for as your readers, especially your elder readers, must know, in “Borderer’s” heart as a true sport, where gain or loss has no part, hunting stands alone as the best, most ennobling, and manliest sport that we can enjoy. Cosmopolitan also it has hitherto been. How long it will remain so we dread to contemplate. That also lies in the lap of the future.

When the what next of shooting is considered, I confess to being completely carried off my legs. Gunners have of late increased so rapidly in numbers and methods, that we know not where we may not be within the next few years, looking at the fact that circumstances are annually lending themselves to the extension of game preserving, and that the nouveaux riches can so easily indulge in this taste, which requires little learning, and short practice. Its aids to introduction into Society; its excuses for hospitality; its Royal patronage—all bring it immeasurably to the front; and when we read, as we did last month, of over 8,000 pheasants being slaughtered in three days at Vater Priory, we wonder what are the probabilities, or possibilities, or the future of shooting. Truly they can only be measured by the depth of the purse. All else can be thrown in.

I see that the Sporting League have issued a manifesto, warning sportsmen of dreadful things which the change in the Government is likely to bring about. Lord Daney’s Betting Bill is to be revived in its worst phases, and the sporting correspondent of Truth vouchsafes the opinion that he will see the sun and the moon drop from the sky before ready money betting will be legalised! This latter declaration fills me with hope, knowing, as we do, how often these truthful prophecies turn out to be fallacious!

Nor do I set much value on the fears of the Sporting League, because, if the vox populi is tested, as we are given to understand that it will be under Radical dominion, the betting question is much more likely to take a wider range, and peer and peasant alike will have equal rights of investing their money under perfect security on racecourses without let or hindrance. This can only be accomplished by means of the Totaliser, and working men will soon come to know that the usages of our Colonies and other neighbouring countries to their own have come to appreciate the benefits that it confers on them, and thus they will demand a vote in its favour at home.

It will take me a long time to believe that the faddists and the working men are destined to lie down together in perfect peace. Their ideas and methods are so utterly opposed. Indeed, my faith in the coming about of this great reform rests in “the tail wagging the head,” and that if the Jockey Club are to be stirred up, and the middle classes moved to action, it will be done by the progressive shoulder-to-shoulder pressure of the people, when once they appreciate the position, and realise the advantages to be gained, of which no small share will fall to their lot.

Thus perhaps the answer to “What Next?” will ring out.

BORDERER.

Foxhounds.

THE SIRES OF THE DAY.

There will always be a certain amount of controversy in regard to the choice of sires. Some people are bigoted enough still in the belief that good looks and a level formation have nothing to do with the success of hound-breeding, and that attention only should be paid to abilities in the hunting field. If this had been the dictum of the Dukes of Rutland and Beaufort, or of Lord Henry Bentinck, or Mr. G. S. Foljambe, the breed would have well-nigh died out; but the great masters would have necks and shoulders, intelligent heads, deep ribs, straightness in fore-leg, and the round, cat-like foot. There is everything to charm one in the well-bred foxhound, and is there anything like him? The Peterborough Shows have done good in bringing the best-looking together, and in giving opportunities for seeing the best. There has been everything to prove that the best-looking are generally the greatest; they are so in nineteen cases out of twenty, and as they are picked for appearances as puppies, there should be nothing to offend the eye at all in any well-regulated pack. At Belvoir a moderate-looking one even cannot be seen. They are all beautiful hounds, and the difficulty is to find fault. This is the general high standard of the country, and with masters of hounds in great numbers who will have perfect hounds in and out of kennel, the conclusion must be arrived at that there is no other breed of animal so well looked after. The winners of the Champion Prizes at Peterborough during the last twenty years have been very great as sires. What a deal of good can be traced now to the Fitzwilliam Selim, and what a magnificent hound he was; and then there was the Warwickshire Hermit and Harper, the Oakley Rhymer, the Pytchley Paradox and Potentate, the Craven Vagabond, the Puckeridge Wellington, the Cleveland Galopin, and not to forget also the Quorn Alfred, the champion of his time, as did not Tom Firr lead him back a winner? There have been lots besides as either champions or winners in the couples of unentered ones, such as the Dumfriesshire Resolute, who has replenished half the Scotch kennels with good hounds, and the Pytchley Marquis, who stood in the ring with Resolute for the Single Puppy Cup, when the judges, Lord Enniskillen and Mr. Austin Mackenzie, eyed the couple for five minutes before they could decide that the Pytchley young one was a shade the better. Never have two young champions done more for the cause of sport, as to ask concerning all the good that has been done by Marquis is to set John Isaac on the pinnacle of excitement.

Belvoir has never shown at Peterborough or any other show. Frank Gillard used graciously to say that it was charity to give other people a chance; but anyway, the ducal kennel has always had plenty of good mention at Peterborough, as a great many winners have been by its sires; and it has become a practice also amongst far distant masters of hounds to visit Belvoir on the day after the show, and thus to extend their insight amongst all exquisites of the foxhound family. It is just thirty years ago (1876) since Belvoir Weathergage was entered, and what an enormous amount of good has come from this single hound. At home he was the sire of Gambler and Gameboy, besides others of lesser note; and for other packs there was the Brocklesby Weathergage, the Fitzwilliam Weathergage, the Grafton Why Not, the Southwold Freeman, and the Warwickshire Why Not, all very noted hounds. One can scarcely say how many more famous sons of Weathergage there were, but just as he was spoken of by Frank Gillard as the best hound he ever hunted, Mr. Rawnsley, of the Southwold, says the same of his son Freeman, whilst very similar in character must have been the Grafton Why Not. In the next generation the excellence was again well continued; as where have better hounds been seen than the sons of Gambler, with Nominal and Gordon at home, and Lord Middleton’s Grimthorpe and Grasper, Mr. Austin Mackenzie’s Rallywood, Lord Galway’s Gambler, and the Grafton General and Gorgon. Gameboy, brother to Gambler, brought more kudos into the famous line, as he was the sire of the Holderness Gaffer, sire of their Steadfast, and the latter has been very useful in many packs. The line has apparently got stronger in years and generations, as from Watchman, son of Nominal, comes Dexter, a great sire certainly during the last six or seven years, and his son Stormer is the most fashionable, if not the greatest, of the day.

Belvoir Stormer (1899) is a very grand hound of the Gambler type, but a bit on the big side, good twenty-four inches, but there is all the quality in him of the Belvoir hound, and he has beautiful legs and feet. I make him out to have as much or more Osbaldeston Furrier blood in him than in any other to be found in the Stud-book. It came in through Weathergage, of course, back to Senator, and he got it through his dam Destitute, by Sir Richard Sutton’s Dryden, by Lord Henry Bentinck’s Contest. But then there was so much Senator blood in Gratitude, the dam of Gambler, and again in Needy, the dam of Nominal, as she was by Syntax, son of the Grafton Silence, son of Statesman by Senator, by the Oakley Sportsman, her dam Needless by Contest, out of Novelty, by Senator. The success of Stormer for other packs than his own has been almost extraordinary, and this can be seen in Baily’s Directory, giving the names and the pedigrees of the prize puppies at the various kennel puppy shows. They were first in the Quorn, Tynedale, Duke of Buccleuch’s (in bitches), Pytchley (in bitches), Lord Middleton’s (in bitches), and second in the North Staffordshire (dogs), the latter a remarkable puppy called General (a present as a whelp from Mr. R. Corbett, of the South Cheshire, as he would persistently join the pack when at walk, and hunt like an old one before he was entered).

It may be thought that there was more honour attached to Stormer in his earlier days, as the sire of the Atherstone Struggler and Streamer; of Lord Bathurst’s Stentor, unfortunately dead, when he promised to be one of the pillars of the family, as besides being the best puppy of his year at Peterborough, he got some very good stock, as seen by the puppy shows. Then there is Lord Yarborough’s Harbinger, exceedingly good looking, and so good in his work as to have been used in his second season; and some others in various kennels thought very highly of. Stormer, though, was in no degree more useful or popular than his sire Dexter, whose son, Daystar, was supposed to have been the best-looking hound bred at Belvoir since Gambler, but he was unfortunately killed by a kick in the hunting field. Dasher, another son of Dexter, met with a similar fate. Both these hounds got beautiful stock. But besides Stormer, there was another son of Dexter of the same age in Handel, almost more bloodlike in outline than the other, and as the sire of the Warwickshire Traveller to be held much in esteem. Both Stormer and Handel are still in orders at Belvoir. Lord Middleton has a great opinion of his own Dexter by the old Belvoir hound, and he has used him freely. Some very good sorts are brought in through the Birdsall Dexter, as his dam Woodbine was by the Grafton Woodman, so on both sides accounting for his excellence in the field. There is really a plentitude of the Belvoir Dexter and Stormer blood throughout the country, as through the former’s son, Dasher, again comes in the Rufford Furrier, with every promise to become a great sire; and there was a young hound in the Bicester kennels last year called Deemster, by Dasher, out of a beautiful bitch called Bravery, that looked like making a name if he has gone on all right.

If a breeder of hounds commenced his operations from the Belvoir Weathergage (1876), there are probably six distinct lines to work upon, or most certainly four, and he need hardly go further afield for blood, but cross from one to the other, just as old Mr. Parry used to do with his Pilgrims and Rummagers, and Mr. G. S. Foljambe did from the brothers Harbinger and Herald. The subsequent occupants of their kennel benches were not too nearly bred, five generations off was old Parry’s plan; but still, they were all blood relations. To speak with any certainty I should take the four lines from the brothers Gambler and Gameboy, and the two others from the Grafton Whynot (1882) and the Southwold Freeman (1885). The Gamblers I have pretty well referred to above, but his brother, Gameboy, was almost as important as the sire of the Holderness Gaffer, sire of their Steadfast, and of Mr. Austin Mackenzie’s Guider and Gambler. Of these Gaffer occupies an important page in the “Foxhound Kennel Stud Book,” as he was the sire of the Warwickshire Sailor, the sire of the Brocklesby Wrangler. Steadfast, again, was the sire of two very good stud-hounds of the present day, namely, Lord Harrington’s Sultan and Salisbury (brothers). The Grafton Whynot was in no degree less important than any of the above, as he was the sire of Workman, sire of Wonder, sire of Woodman, whose good ones throughout the country have been almost legion, to include the Craven or Old Berks Woodman, the Vale of White Horse Worcester, the Grafton Whynot (of 1897), the Puckeridge Chancellor (1898), and the Badminton Whipster (in orders five years). In my most recent travels I have heard of nothing but praise of the Grafton Woodman’s stock, splendid for nose, hard workers, demons on a dying fox, and always dependable for season after season. The old dog was thirteen years old before he was put away last spring, and I shall always regret not seeing him, as, to judge him from every point, he must have belonged to the very greatest. His son, Worcester, in Mr. Butt Miller’s kennels, enjoys the same reputation so closely associated with his sire, as there could be no better foxhound on the line of a fox, and he has got good ones right and left for Lord Bathurst’s, the Duke of Beaufort’s, the Craven, the Morpeth, and other packs all having representatives by him, besides a big following at home. The Craven regretted that their litter by him of three couples were all bitches, as they were so good, and a dog to have been a sire would have been all too acceptable. However, Lord Bathurst has got two very good sons of Worcester in Weathergage and Wellington, who trace back on their dam’s side also to some very telling blood from Mr. Austin Mackenzie’s Dexter, Belvoir Weathergage again, Warwickshire Harper, and Lord Coventry’s Rambler. Cooper thought last year that Weathergage might be the best foxhound in England. He should not be missed, therefore, by hound-breeders. Mr. Butt Miller has naturally several young Worcester sires, the brothers Bandit and Barrister striking me as about the best when I saw them. It is noticeable that the Morpeth’s second prize puppy, Whynot, was a son of Worcester’s.

The Bicester have had reason to uphold the Grafton Woodman line, as some of their best are by Whynot, notably a grand third-season dog called Wrangler, who gave one the impression of becoming a stud-hound of note some day. There are two or three of Mr. Heywood Lonsdale’s worth taking a good journey to see, Conqueror being one, and he is quite one of Lord Chesham’s breeding, going back into the Blankney sorts. The second prize puppy of the kennel last year was by Conqueror.

To turn again, though, to the Grafton Whynot. I saw him last May, with nine seasons marked against him, and the rumour was that he had been promised to Squire Drake, who might breed a pack again for the Old Berks through this son of Woodman alone, if he could keep the old fellow in useful orders long enough. He got rare stock for the Grafton, and so did his son, Wiseacre, who died too prematurely; whilst another son called Waggoner—still available, I expect—had the reputation of being the hardest driver in the pack. Of the Grafton dogs, though, I liked President the best, and he was out of a Woodman bitch. The next share of usefulness to be credited to Woodman may come from the Puckeridge, as Mr. Edward Barclay bred from him in 1897 with a bitch that went back to old Mr. Parry’s sorts, through Lord Portsmouth’s Gainer, a very noted worker, as I well remember, and got by Mr. Parry’s Gulliver far back in the sixties. Gainer was so good that the late Lord Galway favoured him extensively, entering three couples by him from four litters in 1873. Mr. Lane Fox was one of his patrons, and also Belvoir; but for the latter great kennel he did not get them very good about the knees.

The result of Mr. Barclay’s patronage to the Grafton Wonder, was Chancellor, and he was like all the rest of them, quite A1 in his work, and going on into his eighth season, at any rate. He has been bred from for the last five years with bitches mostly of Belvoir extraction, and in the Puckeridge list of 1904 there were eight couples by him in different years; all very good, so Mr. Barclay and his late huntsman, Jem Cockayne, have stated; but the best of all was Cardinal, out of Dauntless, by Belvoir Watchman, son of Nominal, son of Gambler, son of Weathergage, her dam Dahlia by Shamrock, son of Dashwood by Founder, belonging to the Fallible family. A splendidly bred hound, therefore, is the Puckeridge Cardinal, entered in 1902, so now just in his prime. He is a fine big hound also, and so good in his work as to have left a very strong impression upon Jem Cockayne, who was never happy unless Mr. Barclay kept breeding from him heavily, and about the first thing he did when engaged for the North Warwickshire was to get Mr. Arkwright to do the same. He told me he should like to have a kennel full of Cardinals, and really the puppy boxes at Brent Pelham last year were full of them. Another by Chancellor in the Puckeridge Kennel is Colonist, a year younger than Cardinal, but with almost as great a reputation, and bred very like his companion, as he was out of Sarah, by Belvoir Dashwood. Colonist took second prize as a puppy at Peterborough.

Yet another line from the ever-telling Belvoir Weathergage may be traced from the Southwold Freeman, who was thought by Mr. Rawnsley to have been the best hound he ever hunted in his life, and for the last twenty years this gentleman has shown a strong determination to hold the line. He had five and a half couples by him before the good hound was a five-year-old, and six couples and a half were entered afterwards from numerous litters. The same line can be traced through several channels at the present time, and to Frantic, sister to Freeman. Much of his has been crossed again to the Grafton Woodman, as Workable, a well-known Southwold bitch, has been a great treasure in the field and as a breeder of good ones; and Valliant, possibly Mr. Rawnsley’s best sire, is by the Brocklesby Wrangler, one of the sorts, as I have mentioned in this paper, out of a Freeman-bred bitch. To trace the branches from the Belvoir Weathergage, there is everything, then, to show that the merit has been almost inexhaustible, and that, if anything, it has increased in intensity by intercrossing: the Grafton Wonder, with the Gambler line, as instanced in the case of the Puckeridge Cardinal, and the Freemans, as shown by the Brocklesby Wrangler and Vanity, in their production of the Southwold Valliant; and again in the case of Worcester breeding his best from Nominal- or Gambler-bred bitches. It is a problem of breeding, and all compassed in thirty years. I can hardly believe it to be so long ago, looking back to 1873, when chatting to Frank Gillard, on the old flags at Belvoir, we admired Warrior, the crack of the kennel, as I then opined, and how Gillard told me that the beautiful blood-like hound before us was rather the result of an experiment. He hardly dared to breed from Wonder, on account of his swine chap, but he was tempted by his beautiful voice, and his union with Susan produced a perfect litter, to comprise Woodman, Warrior, Woeful, Welcome and Whimsey, all good-looking enough to be put on, and useful in producing subsequent Belvoir beauties; but the star of all was Warrior, the sire of Weathergage. Nearly all the best foxhound sires of the day trace to the latter, and it would be no very bad policy to breed from the older ones of their generation as long as they can be found—Belvoir Stormer, Handel, Grafton Why Not, Cricklade Worcester, Brocklesby Wrangler and Badminton Dexter—but still to remember that there is a younger generation, or even two, that is quite as good, and maybe safer, when enumerating the sires of the day, as the Warwickshire Traveller, the Belvoir Vaulter and Royal, the Atherstone Struggler and Streamer, the Grafton Waggoner and President, the Birdsall Dexter, the Puckeridge Cardinal, the Bicester Wrangler, the Fitzwilliam Harper, the Southwold Valliant, the Cricklade Bandit and the Cirencester Weathergage.

G. S. LOWE.

Hunt “Runners.” III. “HARRY” AND SELLARS.

No better tribute to the scope of the runner’s usefulness could be put forth than the fact that he is running with us to-day. As might be expected, quite a little band of scarlet-coated runners live within easy reach of Melton and Oakham, a privileged area in which sport with one or other of the four Leicestershire packs may be seen on six days of the week. Theirs is a hard life at best, and were they not thoroughly endued with the spirit for sport, they could not for long follow their calling; but the runner of the rising generation has not the enthusiasm of a former generation. As for reminiscences, his begin and end with the week’s sport; as for the future, he hopes the going will not be any heavier in the coming week.

The journey to covert through the characteristic Leicestershire gates, across grass fields and cow pastures, is the runner’s opportunity to be useful; at the meet the possession by the great majority of hunting men of second horsemen render his services less in demand than they used to be. The hunt runner is not the character he was in our forefathers’ day; but there are still uses for him in certain districts. At the present time both the Quorn and the Cottesmore have recognised men to lead their terriers, and perform other functions. With the Belvoir a runner may be seen joining the hunt on a Leicestershire day, but he is more or less “on his own”; for if a terrier is out it is running with the pack or led by a second horseman. So far as the Lincolnshire side of the Belvoir country is concerned, it is no country for runners; the area traversed is very wide, and the going is much too heavy to let a man on foot keep in touch with a well-mounted hunt. The same applies to the Blankney country, where we never remember seeing a runner on any occasion; the Blankney Hunt terrier is always carried by one of the second horsemen, slung in a game-bag so that he can be brought on the scene at the shortest notice.

When Lord Lonsdale instituted his memorable reign as master of the Quorn in 1893, he organised every detail of his staff, from Tom Firr in leathers and swan-necked spurs, to the hunt runners carrying the very latest pattern of bolting apparatus. No commander-in-chief of an army ever entered on a plan of campaign better found in every department, and the result was entirely satisfactory for sport, good runs, with a fox at the finish, being the order of things. On the opening day of that season at Kirby Gate, we had the good fortune to be one of the field mounted by Mr. James Hornsby, who then lived at Stapleford Park. Amongst the crowd at the meet, the figure of Harry the runner came in for general observation. He turned out in scarlet coat of a texture not too heavy; white flannel knickerbockers, black stockings, and a well-groomed hunting cap. He led a couple of varminty wire-haired terriers of the celebrated Lonsdale breed, and strapped to his back was a patent sapper’s spade with pick, made of the best steel. Thus equipped, Harry appears in one of the Quorn series of hunt pictures by Major Giles, which depicts hounds marking to ground in one of the characteristic hills typical of the woodland side of Leicestershire. With Harry was another runner, a strong athletic young fellow with a heavy moustache, who carried a bolting apparatus in the shape of thirty-five feet of piping with a brush at the end of it, not unlike that used by chimney-sweeps. Known to the hunt department as Sunny Marlow, he has always worked with Harry.

On the occasion before us, contrary to custom, the first draw was Welby Fishponds, instead of Gartree Hill, and we were marshalled by the field master, Mr. Lancelot Lowther, a field away whilst hounds drew covert. At last the silver whistles proclaimed hounds away on the back of a fox, and the cavalcade swept down the hillside. After a hunt of about an hour, with a somewhat catchy scent, and a blind line of country that laid the field out like ninepins, hounds marked to ground over a drain between Old Dalby Wood and Sixhills. Before we had been there five minutes, Harry was on the scene with his apparatus and terriers. Unstrapping the spade, he took off his coat, and putting his back into the work, he cut the sods out in double quick time. It was a characteristic shallow Leicestershire drain, running across a grass field, and crowning down into it, a terrier was put in at the far end. This moved the fox, and Alfred Earp, the whipper-in, was ready to seize him by the brush as he tried to slip further up. Wriggling like an eel at arm’s length, he was flung adrift, and the pack coursing the length of a field, rolled him over—the first fox of the season.

An official Quorn runner must be a good hand with the spade, for he gets many a rough day’s work in the off season digging out badgers, which abound in high Leicestershire. As most people know, badgers are very untidy neighbours for a fox covert, working out the earths so that stopping out becomes an increased difficulty. Very often digging out a badger earth may mean a week or two of solid work, for badgers go very deep, often among the roots of trees. As a rule the soil is light and sandy, working well; where badgers have been imported into clay soil districts to work out earths for foxes, they have at first opportunity migrated to districts where the digging suited them better. This last autumn one of the hunt runners told us that after some very hard digging they got hold of three badgers whose combined weight turned the scale at a hundredweight, the largest measuring 3 ft. 10 in. in length. The badgers are killed, and their skins sent in to the Master of the Hunt as trophies.

Since Captain Forester undertook the mastership last season, Harry has again, we understand, become a paid member of the staff as in Lord Lonsdale’s time. If the two men are not seen running with the Hunt on the same day, the one is pretty sure to be stopping earths in another district for next day.

A runner with the Cottesmore has to put a great deal of travelling into a day’s hunting when the fixture is wide of Oakham; on Mondays and Thursdays an average journey to the meet is from twelve to fifteen miles, with no chance of a lift by rail. Sellars, who has been runner for the best part of twenty seasons, tells us that he frequently starts from Oakham, with his terriers, at eight o’clock in the morning, to reach such fixtures as Castle Bytham, Holywell Hall, Stocken-Hall, or Clipsham, by eleven. Fortunately at the end of the day, hounds work back towards Oakham, so that when they whip off the runner is nearer his well-earned supper. Sellars is a well-set-up, active fellow, who relies on his own energies to carry him through, and where the heart is keen for sport it is astonishing what a man can accomplish. A younger runner to-day of shorter build lessens his labours by using a bicycle, which certainly gives him an advantage in districts where the roads serve. But Sellars has ridden to hounds in his time second horseman, as far back as when William Neil carried the horn, and he is hardly likely to adopt the “wheel.” In his cap, scarlet coat and leggings, he is the typical, sharp-featured runner, in hard condition to go all day, perfectly at home in the country, which he knows by heart.

With the respectful manner of one who has been in touch with hunting all his life, Sellars is not a great talker; he is a silent admirer of all connected with the Cottesmore Hunt, in which his sun rises and sets. During the hunting season there is plenty of work to be had between times in the shape of badger digging and earth stopping, besides taking a turn as beater when there is shooting going on in the district. The hay and corn harvest gives every available hand the chance of a fair day’s work for good pay, the farmers then finding the Hunt runners employment.

Sellars calls to mind the memories of a long succession of brilliant Cottesmore Hunt servants: mentioning William Neil and his famous first whip, Jimmy Goddard, who was the beau ideal of a horseman, and hung a boot better than most. The long service of George Gillson, as huntsman for the best part of twenty years, was remarkable for consistent and good sport, very popular with the countryside. A whipper-in who had a long tenure of service at that time was George Jull, who remained on for a season or two under Arthur Thatcher, and then went to Ireland. Amongst the many occasions that Sellars has helped to extricate horse and rider after a fall, he calls to mind an incident when Jull came such a crumpler, that he had to be conveyed by the Hunt runner to the nearest farmhouse.

Sellars was one of those who rendered first aid when Colonel Little took a bad fall this season, his horse rolling over him with serious consequences. A runner, if he is worth his salt, must be ready for any emergency, from rendering “first aid” to handling a fox or leading an unwilling hound. Very often his duties are in the track of the hunt, shutting gates and collecting strayed stock, so that he must be included amongst those who further sport by repairing mistakes of the careless.

Oxford and Cheltenham Coach.

To some who have read and heard what a sight it was in the old days to witness the coaches—both mail and stage—coming into and leaving Cheltenham, it may be a matter of surprise to learn that as late as 1862 a mail coach was running daily between Oxford and Cheltenham, an illustration of which is given with this short article, this being taken from a water-colour drawing by Mr. Bayzand, of Oxford, who has very kindly given me some interesting particulars of the coach and those connected with it. And I am also indebted to the courtesy of my friend Mr. Hendy, of the G.P.O., for further information as to dates, &c., &c.

It appears that the coach first commenced to run in 1846–7, and did not carry mails until 1848, from which time till October 1st, 1855, mails were carried by it free of charge, i.e., merely in consideration of freedom from tolls; but from the date mentioned the sum of £150 per annum was given to the proprietors in addition to this privilege. The original owners were Mr. Waddell and Mr. Dangerfield, of Oxford, but after three or four years the concern was taken over and worked by Isaac Day, the trainer, of Northleach (through which quaint, and to this day remote, little town the coach of course passed daily), John Mills, of Burford, and Daniel Blake, of Cheltenham; and a little later still the last named took it over entirely, ultimately disposing of the business to Messrs. Edward Allen and William Colee, of the George Hotel, Cheltenham. Mr. Allen died in 1854, and the coach was then run by William Colee himself till the summer of 1856, when Mr. Richard Glover took it over, Colee retiring. George Colee, brother to William, is the coachman shown in picture, he used to drive from Oxford half the journey, bringing the up coach back, it being a day coach leaving Oxford and Cheltenham respectively at 11 a.m. Though starting from the “Old Three Cups Hotel,” Oxford, the coach was kept and horses stabled at the “Lamb and Flag,” St. Giles; the horsekeeper’s name there was Morgan. I am told that two portraits in the picture are particularly good—that of George Colee, and the grey leader; this mare was bought by Mr. Blake from Isaac Day, and I fancy she must have been a real good animal, as it is still remembered and recorded that her name was “Skater,” and she was blind. Isaac Day, by the way, was noted for his liking for a good cob, and no doubt during his connection with the coach he horsed his stage, or stages, well. The old trainer died in 1859, just about three years before the coach ceased to run, as it made its last journey in January, 1862, in which month the Witney branch of railway was opened. Though a mail the coach was not a fast one, being timed at from seven to eight miles an hour. After it ceased to run George Colee, I understand, contracted for the Steventon Mail, and one or two others local to Oxford, in which city he died. To those among the readers of these lines who knew Oxford in the old days, it may be of interest to note that in the picture the coach is represented on the Botley Road, passing Morrell’s old rick yard and the path leading to Ferry Hincksey, now all built over.

S. A. KINGLAKE.

The Broads as a Sporting Centre.

To the greater bulk of the thousands who visit the Broads season after season the great water-ways of Norfolk and Suffolk are an attractive summer holiday resort—that and that only. The all-round excellence and great variety of sport obtainable throughout the year is known only to a comparatively small number, and is indulged in by but few even of those. Probably summer sailing will remain the principal pastime—it is possibly the most enjoyable—on these waters for all time. And with good reason. Granted some knowledge of sailing craft and decent care in navigation, absolute safety is assured for even the smallest craft. The numerous regattas offer opportunities for the more skilful to prove their skill in friendly competition before admiring associates. Scores of miles of rivers and acres upon acres of broads are open to all—expert and novice alike. Equally enjoyable, in the opinion of many, is a holiday spent on a wherry, and not a few parties “swear by” the keen pleasure associated with a holiday under canvas, “camping out.” Inseparable from all is angling. And what a variety of anglers one meets with on the Broads! They fish from wherries, from yachts, from boats, from the bank, and, indeed, from any and every point of vantage. They use all sorts of tackling, from the boy’s polished ash-wood rod and ready furnished line—evidently purchased merely for the holiday and the fun of the thing—to the perfectly tapered roach pole and line of gossamer fineness, greatly prized tackling handled by an expert, who means fishing in all seriousness. Not infrequently a young couple, “pegged down” in very close proximity and evidently preoccupied with some other matter nearer and dearer than angling, allow the rod at their feet to angle for itself—which is, perhaps, the very best thing they can do if they really wish to catch fish.

The artist, the botanist, and entomologist are numbered among the holiday seekers; and the indolent individual, “come to do nothing but lazy around,” is also in evidence, of course. All alike are happy as the days come and go and the summer wears on. Not the least enjoyable time is the late evening, when the wherries and yachts are moored for the night and the canvas camps are lit up. The solemn quietude of Broadland reigns on all sides, and than Broadland at night, can anything be more quiet, more peaceful, more soothing? The distant barking of a dog, the sound of song or music floating on the air from some craft, the splash of oars as a belated boating party passes by on the smooth surface of the stream, the flop! of a big bream “priming”—all these only go to accentuate the actual and wonderful quiet. So quiet is it, indeed, that as our ardent angler, out fishing for the night, lights his pipe, the scratch of the match on the box may be heard for some considerable distance. Thus the summer wears away; the end of the holiday comes all too soon, and the Broads lie neglected—or nearly so.

Yet the opportunities for sport after the holiday folk have departed and before they return are many. Those sportsmen are not wanting who will tell you that they prefer the room of the holiday seekers to their company, and that “sport on the Broads has gone to the deuce since the advent of hordes of cheap trippers and big boys with boats.” This is, however, too severe an estimate of the character of those who frequent the Broads during the summer. Other and probably more sound reasons could be given for the falling off in sport of late years; although it must be acknowledged that the presence of large crowds through the summer must have a more or less bad effect on sport all the year round. That sport on the Broads has declined is, unfortunately, beyond doubt. Granted this, however, there still remains satisfying sport available if only the sportsman will adapt his methods to the altered condition of affairs.

Take, for instance, the rudd-fishing. The bags of these fish are considerably smaller now than they were ten, aye, even five years ago. It is quite possible that the crowds of summer holiday folk are partly responsible for this falling off; but is it not also probable that the gradual filling up of some parts of the Broads, mostly those parts where rudd do love to congregate, is by far the more important cause? Where the angler used to find the rudd in, say, two feet of water, there is now but a foot—in many cases barely that—yet the fish are still there. It is rather amusing than otherwise to watch the holiday folk going for these wary fish in such shallow water with the orthodox tackle of years gone by, i.e., a fine running line, float and shotted bottom; it is surprising to see a sportsman doing the same thing. Now, the rudd is essentially a summer-feeding fish, and what is more he is, when shoaling, a surface-feeding fish; therefore, even while the summer holiday folk are present, get you an eleven-foot fly rod, attach to the end of your taper line a two-yard fine taper gut cast, armed at the end with a fairly large crystal-bend hook; fill the hook with well-scoured gentles (half-a-dozen is not too many), and casting as you would with a fly, put this bait among the rudd that are shoaling in the shallow water, and see what will happen! The lid of your creel will constantly creak a welcome to a lusty specimen, and you will return to quarters with a heavy bag and a light heart, while the man with the float and shots will most probably return with a light bag, swearing at the decadence of sport on the Broads, and cursing the “cheap-tripper” as the cause of his non-success. So, too, with the bream-fishing. The day has gone by when you could pitch anywhere and make sure of a big bag of bream. This, also, is a summer-feeding fish, principally. Yet you have only to go about your work in a methodical and common-sense manner to command, at any rate, a respectable bag. Even while the crowd is in full evidence, look you for a quiet nook with a decent depth of water. You should have no difficulty in finding one; and having found it, nurse it even as a Thames or a Lea or a Trent angler nurses his swim. Bait it carefully, fish it as carefully with decent tackling, and success shall be yours clean in front of the man who, following the orthodox methods, follows also the “milky way” over the broad waters that are now continually disturbed by passing craft of all descriptions.

The best of the pike-fishing is to be had during the winter months, when the greater bulk of the weeds and rushes are rotted, and a keen frost is in the air. If you do not care to face the cold winds that sweep over Broadland at this time of year, then you must rest content with the comparatively indifferent sport with these fish obtainable in more genial weather conditions. But if you do not mind the cold, give the Broads a trial for pike during December, January or February. Certainly you will not be troubled with a crowd through the winter months! You will, as a matter of fact, have miles of river and acres of broad water to yourself. You can spin, paternoster or live-bait to your heart’s content, and you will catch fish that will handsomely reward you. No one who has only killed pike in Broadland during the late summer and early autumn months would credit the enormous increase in fighting power one’s quarry develops during the winter. The most successful tackling in the rivers is the paternoster, and for that matter it is the best on the Broads also. But spinning may be resorted to in the latter waters, and where a big fish is known to lie a live bait on snap tackle will most probably tempt him. You can catch your own baits from the rivers, but it is best to make sure of a supply from some fishing tackle dealer.

The ruthless destruction in the past of rare birds (and, by-the-by, the so-called “cheap-tripper” was not responsible for the unsportsmanlike slaughter) has rendered it necessary to protect many of them against utter extinction. The best of the wildfowling is strictly preserved. There is, however, some very good wildfowling to be had still from November until February. Here, again, the sportsman must not expect the bags obtainable years ago, but with careful stalking he should do fairly well. Some decent flight-shooting is also available. The three things absolutely necessary to success are, a handy punt, a hard-hitting gun, and a well-trained dog. The latter is the most important of all.

Notes and Sport of a Dry-Fly Purist.

THE TROUT SEASON, 1905.

Although at the present day, more than ever before, fishing in all its branches has an extensive literature of its own, there is, perhaps, no subject that requires more careful handling by an author anxious to interest his readers than dry-fly practice in general, and the sport obtained by his own rod in particular, during the long trout season. Nor is it easy to condense within the limit of a single article anything like full details of, and the actual incidents connected with, his captures—and also combine references to the delightful environment in which he is wont to pursue his fascinating art (the most humane of all sports where killing is concerned), and briefly to other matters, to embellish his descriptions. But I have done my best in what follows, and I hope the reader, all the better if he be an expert himself, will in imagination follow me through the verdant, flower-decked water meadows, and share the pleasures of an angler’s quest.

Long weeks before the first of April, which is the earliest date dry-fly sportsmen commence fishing in the Itchen, my preparations were completed—the eleven-foot “Perfection” split cane rod overhauled by its makers, and after many years’ hard work made to look like new (a trusty weapon as good as any angler need possess), was more than once taken from its case and within doors lovingly waved about as if casting a fly. An ample supply of well-tied flies was duly received, and on opening each small box the contents made one smile to look at because they would certainly be killers, i.e., red quills with gold tags, olives in three shades of colour as to wings, Englefield’s green quill-bodied flies with silver tags; gold-ribbed hare’s ear, and Wickham’s fancy, all dressed on sharp, full barbed, sneck-bend hooks in several sizes, and supplemented by old flies left over from previous seasons, which, when trout or grayling are well on the feed, are often accepted as readily as new ones—which would seem to prove that the fly is not of so much consequence as some people imagine. But beyond rod and flies, I attribute my success to always using a fine dressed running line, and the finest of gut collars, prepared by myself thus: Four strands of 18-inch picked refina natural gut knotted smoothly together, and pointed with two strands of 18-inch 4x fine drawn gut, forming a length of 2¾ yards, finer all through than usually supplied from shops, and yet strong enough to hold and play to a finish any trout up to 4 lb. I mention all this for the benefit of some men who I am certain do not fish fine enough in the clear Itchen.

All through April the river had a winterly appearance, the fish were not in condition, the weather unpropitious, and those too ardent anglers who did try met with poor sport; nor were blank days unknown.

For these reasons I did not make a beginning until May 19th, and it will somewhat simplify the following details of my dry-fly sport, and save much unedifying repetition, if I state at the beginning that all of it was obtained on the prolific River Itchen (at present as much deserving to be called “the queen of Hampshire rivers” as was formerly the Test), namely, from two meadows on the east bank above Winchester, where I rent the exclusive right ad medium flumen, but by the usual tacit understanding between owners of opposite banks, casting all across was not interfered with; in fact, it happened that no other rod fished there. It is a great advantage having even a small length of well-stocked water all to one’s self, and to watch it closely for flies and fish rising during the morning or evening, and take the benefit of such knowledge by resuming the rod at the nick of time, thus avoiding over-fatigue, and perhaps disappointment, while waiting long hours by the river-side to no purpose.

And by favour, annually granted to me for many years past for a liberal number of days after June, I plied my rod in the three miles of the main river, mill, and side streams of the Abbot’s Barton fishery between Durngate Mill and Headbourne Worthy. Also I was courteously offered sport in the lower reaches at Twyford and Shawford.

On my opening day, May 19th, at Winnall, a leash of trout weighing 5 lb. 2 oz. was killed. The next time I tried was on June 3rd, for only a quarter of an hour after sunset, in the much overfished public water known as “The Weirs,” when a brace, 2 lb. 1 oz., came to hand. On the 13th a brace was caught before noon in my private fishing, weighing 2 lb. 15 oz., and on the 22nd six, scaling respectively in the order of capture—1 lb. 9 oz., 1 lb. 5 oz., 1 lb. 5 oz., 2¼ lb., 2 lb., and 1¼ lb.; aggregating 9 lb. 11 oz., and proving the best day’s sport of the season, although on one of its hottest days. Two days after, in an hour while the sunset glory was fading, a handsome brace weighing 3¼ lb. was brought to grass. And during July, in the same limited extent of water, nearly always about sundown, the following were creeled—i.e., on the 1st three fish, 4 lb. 2 oz.; on the 3rd two, 2 lb. 3 oz.; on the 14th one, 1 lb. 14 oz.; on the 18th one, 1 lb. 2 oz.; and on the 29th one, 1 lb. 14 oz. Also on August 5th one, 1 lb. 9 oz., and on the 8th one, 1 lb. 5 oz.

On July 21st an early train landed me at Shawford, and on entering the beautiful park where is the seat of Sir Charles E. F., Bart., I turned short off to the right, and through a tangled undergrowth of wild flowers, weeds, and nettles, prickly bramble bushes and the trailing branches of Rosæ canina, soon reached the back stream, only to find a large group of cattle standing in it, tormented by flies, and churning the water into the colour of milk all the way down, spoiling one’s chance of fishing. But at the lower boundary of the demesne, where the main river mingles, it was clear and a few flies floating on it. Directly I knelt in the sedge a brace of partridges sprang from it and whirred away. Rooks were noisy in the elms, and from trees on a small eyot stock-doves told their monotonously mournful tales. But my eyes were watching a trout under an overhanging branch opposite. At length he rose and took a small, pale-winged sub-imago fly, and while I tied on to my fine gut cast the nearest artificial I could select in size and colour to the natural flies on the water, he dimpled the surface several times, but at the first wave of the rod down he sank to the bottom. Nevertheless, after a pause I threw my lure well over him—a yard in front, so that he might see it. At the first cast he moved, at the second boldly came up and snapped at it; was well hooked, played, and netted out, not much disturbing other trout in view, one of which a few minutes after shared the same fate, the brace weighing over 2 lb. Large fish are scarce in this fishery at present.

As I crossed over to the lower reach of the chief stream, my steps were stayed to admire the surroundings: the various stately trees in full foliage in solitary grandeur, or in groups adorning the emerald sward, which was profusely embroidered with Flora’s gifts. And on the river banks were seen the familiar flowers an angler loves, amongst them “love’s gentle gem, the sweet forget-me-not,” tall, graceful willow herb, spiked purple loosestrife, meadow sweet, mimulus reflected in the glassy stream, yellow iris, hemp agrimony, and a crowd of others. The blazing sun was now near the zenith, and the morning rise of ephemeridæ at its best; fish were feasting on them freely, not only in their haunts at the sides, but on the middle, over thick beds of starwort and waving crowfoot. For two hours I was almost constantly at work hooking and returning some ten- to eleven-inch fish and killing a leash about a pound each. It was very warm, and as I neared the small waterfall a clear space on the hard chalky bottom hidden from view almost tempted me to bathe; but instead I wetted a leaf of butterbur, and folding it inside my cap to cool my head, laid the rod aside and quietly sat on a prostrate tree to rest awhile. But reflecting that I had done fairly well, and the 2.36 Great Western train was available, I hastily put my tackle together, interviewed the keeper to show the sport, shouldered the creel, and arrived at the station just in time.

On July 31st I again had the privilege of fishing in the park. A gentle wind stirred the leaves to whisper, and it was only pleasantly warm. While I sat in the garden reach making all ready to begin sport, the gurgle of the falling water through the six hatches had a soothing influence on one’s spirit, and taking Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” from my side pocket I read a few passages, but as that was hardly in form for a dry-fly fisherman with the clear stream at his feet and fish in view waiting to be caught, I soon went above the hatches, and from the cottage gardens on the east side by 11.30 a.m. managed to creel a brace, and above Shawford Bridge from the west bank, another brace by two o’clock. Then, as before, I went back by train, and resumed practice in the evening; but there was no rise until 7.45, when phryganidæ were on or hovering over the surface of the water, chiefly in mid-channel, and trout, also grayling, were eagerly on the feed, making a splash, sometimes “a boil,” as they seized a fly. For a full hour with little cessation I was casting over them, hooking, unhooking, killing two brace, or returning fish. Altogether it was a fairly successful and very enjoyable day; but the four brace scaled only 7¾ lb.

By the courtesy of Alexander P. R——, Esq., I had the choice of a day’s fishing in his Twyford preserves, and after waiting for a favourable forecast of the weather, a bright morning and a gentle wind from the south tempted me to try on August 17th. A survey of the water showed it to be choked with weeds, some in flower standing out above the surface or greenly covering the bottom, except in a few places where the force of the stream had cleared spaces between, showing the chalky bed. Many dry-fly fishermen dislike such a dense mass of weeds, because it is so difficult to draw a hooked fish through or over them; but for several reasons I much prefer a fishery where they are seldom cut to one where they are shaved close by the chain scythe or torn out by grappling hooks, leaving little or no cover for the piscine denizens, and destroying their food; for young weeds are the habitat of larvæ, gammarus pulex, mollusca, &c., on which trout largely subsist. There are several inviting seats along the west bank on which one can rest at ease and watch for rises, or even cast one’s fly from, and also to admire the panoramic view along the bright water meadows stretching away to St. Cross, and beyond to historic Winchester, and shut in by undulating hilly downs on both sides, which ages long ago were probably the banks of a wide river, an estuary of the sea. Opposite is the church and pretty village of Twyford, where the remains of a Roman villa can be visited, and in the churchyard is a famous yew-tree.

From 9.30 a.m. until one o’clock I fished persistently, using small flies, but except one trout creeled weighing 1¼ lb., only undersized ones came to hand. There was no evening rise until 7.30, and very sparse then, but afterwards three trout were landed and put back, and one over a pound killed to make up a brace. The keeper then coming up to me, remarked that there had been no May-flies at Twyford this season.

On August 24th I made a good although delayed beginning on the Abbot’s Barton fishery. After stalking along the east bank from nine o’clock until nearly mid-day, and casting without once having a touch, hope waxed faint, and I thought I had made a mistake in choosing the day; but when the last meadow opposite the new gasworks was reached, a trout in position close under the sedge and sword-grass covered right bank on which I stood, was rising and sucking in large dark-winged olive duns as they floated toward him. I carefully drew back, and assuming the kneeling and crouching low down posture—also well hidden from view—I saw with satisfaction that I had not disturbed him from continuing his repast. But as I am not ambidextrous, it was difficult to place one’s fly by the right hand the proper distance before him. Trial after trial was made until he became suspicious and sank to the bottom, but was not scared away; I could see him plainly. Anon he rose again, but, fortunately for me, not so close to the sedge. To have made any bungle in casting now would have been fatal, therefore I felt it to be a crucial test of skill to place the lure just right. At the first presentation he took it, and by a gentle turn of the wrist, making a draw rather than a strike (for my red quill fly was dressed on a 000 hook), he was firmly hooked, and instantly rushing up stream ran out ten or fifteen yards of line ere I durst attempt to restrain him. And when I did so, wound the line in, and played from the bowed rod, he turned and scurried down stream, leaping out once only, but flouncing several times on the surface, thus helping to exhaust himself. Now was the moment for masterful pressure to be put on him; accordingly, when I drew back the line by degrees, and he felt the strain, he turned and headed up stream in wild affright, and it seemed some minutes before his struggles were over and he was safely netted out, the gut cast several times twisted tightly round his gills. He was a splendid trout weighing 2 lb. 13 oz. Men from the adjacent gasworks during the latter part of their dinner-hour had been watching behind me, but I was quite unconscious of their presence until they called out: “That is a nice fish, Sir,” and crowded round to admire it. About three o’clock another chance offered lower down at the first wide bend. Two fish, both within reach of where I knelt, were rising, but only at long intervals—probably their feast on flies was nearly finished and they had become fastidious, for when, at the second throw my fly covered the nearest one, he quietly sidled off under horse-tail weeds. But the other fish was not so shy, and after casting over him several times he accepted the fateful fly, was hooked in the tongue, and immediately bolting up stream made fast, for an anxious minute, in a weed-bed of water celery, from whence, however he was drawn forth by taking the line in the left-hand fingers and using gentle but gradually increasing force, while the right hand held the rod sloping backward from the vertical position, ready to play him when released. An excellent plan, but not fully effectual until the unavoidably slack line could be reeled in, the quarry held taut from the bending rod and drawn gasping into the landing net—a well-conditioned fish scaling 2 lb. 5 oz. The brace weighing 5 lb. 2 oz. was shown to the head keeper on my way back. There was absolutely not a single rise afterwards that I noticed. And another rod had the same experience, but not the same sport.

I have been particular in describing some of the details of the foregoing captures, as they are typical instances of dry-fly practice, and therefore, and also because the space at my disposal is necessarily limited, I may be excused for shortening what follows.

On September 1st three trout were killed, weighing 1 lb. 5 oz., 1 lb. 9 oz., and 1 lb. 2 oz.

On the 4th two, weighing 1¾ lb. and 1 lb. 10 oz.

On the 11th the vane stood due west, the sky was lowering, and rain fell at intervals, but a straight stick umbrella sufficed to keep one dry, and tied to the landing net handle when not in use, is far more convenient to carry than heavy waterproofs, which at best are heating and uncomfortable. I recommend fly-fishers to try it. Above the G.W. railway arch, on the broad shallows and past the “plantation,” grayling (only in recent years introduced) seem at last to have made their headquarters, and from eleven o’clock to three p.m. three were unavoidably hooked and returned, for the lessee of the fishery, Mr. J. E. B. C——, wishes them not to be taken at present, so that they may live to increase and multiply. But a leash of trout were caught and creeled during the time. And as the morning rise was nearly over I slowly retraced my steps, observant of any break of the surface of the water; climbed the steep railway bank, crossed over the bridge, passed down the line for a long distance to the stile, and resumed the rod on the Winnall side, where, from the last meadow bounded by the ditch, two more trout were killed, making up 2½ brace, scaling 6 lb. 6 oz. On my way I noticed a profusion of the coral-like hips of the wild rose, haws on the hedges, scarlet viscid berries on yew-trees, and beautiful clusters or cymes of clear red berries like currants on the water elder; also amongst many other wild flowers, scabious, candy-tuft, corn cockle, yellow foxglove, clover, ragwort, &c., and, standing erect, Lysimachia vulgaris.

On the 16th a fine trout weighing 1 lb. 14 oz. was hooked and landed when it was almost too dark to see where one’s fly fell.

On the 19th the wind was northeast, and therefore unfavourable; added to which in the upper half of the water mudding out was being done by one man, while another, in a ballast boat, poled it up and down laden with chalk to repair the banks. This not only disturbed the stream, but coloured it, and I was about to forego fishing, in despair, when, looking back as far as I could see clearly, fish were rising. By a wide détour I carefully got below them, and at once noticed that they were feeding on nymphæ and sub-imago flies, and the water there was less turbid, indeed during the men’s dinner-hour it cleared. By two o’clock two trout, weighing 2 lb. 1 oz. and 1 lb. 6 oz., were tempted to their fate by my red quill fly, and another soon after, 1½ lb. In the evening, after sunset, two more were killed, 1 lb. 7 oz. and 1 lb. 9 oz.

On the 27th five were drawn to net, and weighed by steelyard as soon as landed, and in the order of capture, 1 lb. 14 oz., 1 lb. 7 oz., 1 lb. 2 oz., 1 lb. 9 oz., and 1 lb. 5 oz. As the shadows made by the declining sun were lengthening swallows were congregating high in the air, looking like mere specks, and also many were swooping over the smooth river, snatching with unerring sight from its surface midges and black gnats; and yet not so later on at dusk, for a house-martin seized my artificial fly as it was being whirled in the air in the act of casting, and was fast hooked at the point of the beak, wildly fluttering in alarm until wound in to the top ring of the rod, there very tenderly handled, caressed, and released—not much pained or damaged.

On the 29th, after a stormy night, when a great number of eels were caught in the large iron grating trap at Durngate Mill, through which the main stream can be strained—a deadly device—I made no attempt to fish until after luncheon, when in no hopeful mood as to sport (for thunderclouds were gathering in the distance as black as ink, and a few premonitory big drops of rain were falling) I waited on the east bank watching for any movement. A trout rose under the opposite side and sucked in a natural fly. Many times my lure was presented, with occasional intervals between. At last he rose to it and fastened, fighting well, but a losing battle, and was soon brought to grass, weighing 1 lb. 7 oz. In the evening, when the weather had somewhat cleared, I went along the west side as far as the Spring Garden lower hatch, to make a last attempt to catch a goodly trout I had often observed and cast over. He fed close to a mass of green tussock grass overhanging the water, and under which was his haunt when idle. The set of the stream round the wide bend of the river brought floating ephemeridæ, trichoptera and nocturnal lepidoptera to the tussock, often touching and even clinging to its blades trailing on the surface; the wily fish therefore invariably took up one and the same position when hungry, opening his mouth wide to receive the tempting morsels. It was difficult for a dry fly to be placed in front of him by the most skilful angler, for his hook so often caught on the grass, which was tough, and in pulling the gut broke. I much coveted that fish, and did not like to be beaten. I had, therefore, a few days previously resorted to the expedient of having the huge tussock grubbed up and taken away entirely.

Approaching him now on tiptoe with the utmost circumspection, I knelt within a long casting distance of where he was rising, intently intercepting brown sedgeflies. I changed the small fly I had on for a red quill on No. 1 hook, and sent it forward over him in a line with the natural flies. No notice was taken of it; nor again and again, until, when a puff of wind diverted it to the right, he moved after it, and with an audible snap, and instant spring out of water, hooked himself. For several minutes an exciting time for me followed, and fatal for him, as he was netted out and killed—a beautifully marked fish, weighing 1 lb. 13 oz.

On the 30th, the last day of the trout season of 1905, an excellent finish was made in a few hours by the capture of three trout, weighing respectively 1½, 1¾ and 2¼ lb.

At foot is a concise statement of the above described sport—not so good as in many former seasons; but to kill an excessive number of fish, especially on a private fishery, is no longer the object of a dry-fly purist and sportsman. And it will be noticed that on most days I have only fished for a few hours, yet quite enough for pastime and recreation, and the full enjoyment of Nature’s many attractions while wandering by the peaceful river.

Date. No. of trout. lb. oz. May 19th 3 5 2 June 3rd 2 2 1 June 13th 2 2 15 June 22nd 6 9 11 July 1st 3 4 2 July 3rd 2 2 3 July 14th 1 1 14 July 18th 1 1 2 July 21st 5 5 0 July 29th 1 1 14 July 31st 8 7 12 Aug. 5th 1 1 9 Aug. 8th 1 1 5 Aug. 17th 2 2 6 Aug. 24th 2 5 2 Sept. 1st 3 4 0 Sept. 4th 2 3 6 Sept. 11th 5 6 6 Sept. 16th 1 1 14 Sept. 19th 5 7 15 Sept. 27th 5 7 5 Sept. 29th 2 3 4 Sept. 30th 3 5 8 —— —— —— Total 65 93 12 == == ==

RED QUILL.

A Hundred Years Ago.

(FROM THE SPORTING MAGAZINE OF 1806.)

WILTSHIRE HOUNDS.—Saturday, January 14th, a pack of foxhounds met at Horkwood, and soon after throwing in unkennelled a fox in the first stile. After trying the earths at Farmclose, Donhead, &c.—which had been previously stopped—he crossed the Salisbury Road, through Charlton; taking over Charlton fields he went for Melbury, over the heath, and then gallantly faced the hills, leaving Ashmoor close on the right and Ashcombe on the left; came into Cranbourne Chase; left Bussey Lodge far on the left, came to Chettle Down; leaving Chettle on the right, running nearly up to Handly, at which place he was headed; then running up to Critchell he was run into, attempting to cross the river by Horton Farm. This chase lasted an hour and thirty-five minutes, and the distance could not be less than twenty-five miles. It is supposed to have been the severest run ever remembered in this part of the country.

THORNVILLE ROYAL.

This magnificent seat of princely festivity and general hospitality, for so many years in the possession of Colonel Thornton, was on Monday, January 6th, surrendered to his successor, the present purchaser, Lord Stourton; but not until the Colonel who, determined never to violate the charter, had, according to annual custom, thrown his doors open, filled all his rooms and tables with his friends, during a whole month spent in unremitted cheerfulness and good humour, passing the days in various field sports, the evenings in convivial harmonious hilarity, inspired by the natural urbanity of the Colonel’s manners, and the choicest and oldest wines now in Great Britain. Perhaps a more splendid and brilliant Christmas was never witnessed in this country.

On New Year’s Day, the neighbourhood were indulged with the finest coursing possible in the park; after which a grand dinner, at which were wines—none under thirty years old, and many at the age of sixty. On this occasion the house and the Temple of Victory were illuminated in grateful remembrance of the soldiers of the York Militia.

After amusing the party and the rustics in the neighbourhood with seeing the upper lake let off, where pike from five to twenty pounds, carp from twelve to fifteen pounds, tench from four to six pounds, perch from two to three pounds, were discovered, to the great satisfaction of the curious in lake fish; a few were taken and one-half sent to the present owner, Lord Stourton.

The Colonel then, attended by his friends, proceeded to Falcover’s Hall, carrying with him the warmest wishes of all those who have so long and so often experienced the effects of his liberal disposition.

Thus terminated his residence at Thornville Royal, which for sixteen years has been the scene of every species of elegant mirth, wit and amusement, and where the prince and the peasant have been alike gratified by that benevolence and vivacity so peculiar to the character of Colonel Thornton.

A Farewell to a Hunter.

To no misfortune in the field He bows, fit ending of the game; No weight of years bids him to yield, But swift disease that warps his frame.

So Mercy stepping in must break The bonds that Love would fain hold fast, And hand-in-hand we come to take A look we know must be the last.

For ere to-morrow’s sun has died, His keen bold spirit will have found That refuge on the other side, Where dwell the shades of horse and hound.

Farewell, old friend, farewell! and when The last great leap is left behind, And passing from the haunts of men, By earthly limits unconfined,

You roam that strange mysterious land, That vast beyond where travellers wait, Where mortal foot may never stand, Nor mortal vision penetrate,

Oh, let your thoughts drift back and dwell On joys by memory roused from rest, When scent was keen, when hounds ran well, And Fortune gave us of her best.

Recall the pageant of the meet, The snug gorse covert on the hill, The good sound turf beneath your feet, The glorious run, the glorious kill.

Nor think as year by year decays In robes of russet, red, and gold, That wanting you, November days Can be to us as days of old.

B.

The New Year at the Theatres.

After establishing “Lights Out” as a success at the Waldorf Theatre, Mr. H. B. Irving proceeded early in the New Year to produce “The Jury of Fate” at the Shaftesbury Theatre, the house, by the way, in which Mr. McLellan’s first great success was first seen in London, “The Belle of New York.”

“The Jury of Fate” is a lurid story told in seven tableaux, and its most obvious disability is that since each tableaux must of necessity be abbreviated, the story can only be told in a spasmodic series of impressions, and the players have but a poor chance of getting a hold of their audience. The theme of the play is undoubtedly a good one, that of the man who at the early end of a misspent career prays of the messenger of Death that he may be allowed to live another life on earth in which he shall atone for his follies and wickedness, and so gain a favourable verdict from “The Jury of Fate.”

This is the first tableau, and the second tableau shows us twenty-five years later René Delorme at his old game again, a voluptuary with a pretty talent for drinking, who loses no time in snatching from a most admirable young worker his affianced bride, the fair Yvonne.

A year later we find René with his wife in the garden of an inn near Paris; he has by this time become a successful playwright, an unfaithful husband, and an industrious drunkard, and after an unfriendly conversation with his wife, he proceeds to inaugurate an intrigue with the mistress of a friend of his, who is unfortunately lunching at the same inn.

This lady appears as a kind of Public Prosecutor of Fate, and openly sets to work to ruin and destroy the too impressionable René, and we are not surprised to find a year later in the dining-room of René’s house that her unkindly influence has materially assisted the fine champagne in making a mess of the promising playwright.

This fourth tableau is perhaps the strongest of all, and it concludes with René, deserted by his friends and his wife, the author of a miserable failure just produced, confronted in his solitude by the ghostly figure of the stranger—Death.

Two years later we find René, at a low café in Paris, urging a mob of his discontented workmen to deeds of anarchy and pillage, and not even the dignified advice of David Martine, the workman of tableau two, and the respected and successful employer of labour in the subsequent tableaux, can save the degenerate from his degeneracy; for upon that self-same night René leads a disorderly attack upon the Martine Bridgeworks, and finding, as needs he must, his wife on the premises, most innocently conversing with Martine, a pistol shot makes him the murderer of his wife, according to the dictum, that “All men kill the thing they love.”

By this time “The Jury of Fate” have agreed upon their verdict, and it only remains for René to lose himself in a wood, accompanied only by a thunderstorm of portentous severity and ominous dread. To him arrives the Stranger with the sword, and, with only an unconvincing plea in mitigation of sentence, René falls prostrate before a very much misplaced crucifix, having done far more harm in his second effort than was the case in his previous conviction.

The part of René is in the very capable hands of Mr. H. B. Irving, and he plays it for all it is worth.

Another piece of fine acting is that of Mr. Matheson Lang, in the double part of Pierre and David Martine.

Miss Lillah McCarthy, whose work at the Court Theatre has given us so much pleasure, is excellent as Therese, the courtesan who causes René so much worry, and the part of the injured and slaughtered wife is well played by Miss Crystal Herne, a recruit from America.

The play is extremely well put on, and admirably acted, whilst the thunder and lightning and other meteorological effects are terrible in their perpetual and impressive reality.

At the Garrick Theatre, Mr. Arthur Bouchier had the courage to stem the prosperous tide of “The Walls of Jericho,” in order to produce “The Merchant of Venice” and the fine performances of himself as Shylock and Miss Violet Vanbrugh as Portia, with the environment of a beautiful production, have filled the Garrick for well over a hundred performances.

In our opinion Shylock is quite one of the best things Mr. Bouchier has done, most convincing in its masterly restraint and complex simplicity. And too much praise cannot be given to Miss Vanbrugh who is at her best in the trial scene, when the charm of her voice is heard to the utmost advantage. That experienced actor, Mr. Norman Forbes, affords a splendid study of Launcelot Gobbo, and is well supported by Mr. O. B. Clarence as Old Gobbo.

A happy memory of the early days of the O.U.D.C. is afforded by the fact that Mr. Alan Mackinnon supervised this production, and this carries our thoughts back to 1886, when Mr. Bouchier first dealt with Shylock at the then new theatre at Oxford.

The Vedrenne-Barker management at the Court Theatre continues to enjoy its well-earned prosperity. The plays are interesting and exceptionally well acted, and at present the name of Mr. Bernard Shaw is one to conjure with.

“Major Barbara” is his latest achievement, and if one confesses to a feeling of disappointment, the probable reason for it is that Mr. Shaw has led us to expect so much from him in the way of quality.

Mr. Shaw confesses in the prelude to one of his books, that by one of those little ironies of life which sometimes beset even such clever people as himself, he has only won the right to be listened to by the public after the vein of originality which was once so rich within him has been hopelessly worked out. Of the truth of this, there is in his new play, “Major Barbara,” very conspicuous evidence. The changes are once more rung upon the old theme which served Mr. Shaw in “Widower’s Houses,” and to a certain extent also in “Mrs. Warren’s Profession.” In “Widower’s Houses,” it is a man whose belief in his own honesty and usefulness is shattered by the sudden discovery that his income comes from a polluted source; in “Major Barbara,” the central figure, a woman, is by very much the same process suddenly thrust, as it were, into a moral cul-de-sac; that is to say, she is offered a sum of five thousand pounds which she would give her very soul to take, in order to save the lives of hundreds of starving folk, and at the same moment discovers that this money has been made by industries which cause the very starvation she is attempting to remedy. It is this situation which Mr. Shaw considers strong enough to justify him in putting into his heroine’s mouth some of the most sacred words which have ever been uttered—and it is at any rate a satisfaction to feel that his critics have for once drawn Mr. Shaw into the honest confession that he did himself consider that he had here created a serious and tragic situation. To be quite frank, there cannot be the faintest question but that the verdict in this little dispute must be against Mr. Shaw and with his critics. Mr. Shaw’s idea of a play seems to be that you can dive from the burlesque tosh of “Cholly” from the pantomime of the Greek Professor beating his drum straight into the sublimest realms of tragedy, much as a man can go straight out of the hot rooms into the plunge at a Turkish bath; but, as Dr. Johnson said of some contemporary writer who was at the moment attracting attention, “Sir, it does not do to be odd; you will not be read for long.”

At the Haymarket Theatre Mr. Charles Hawtrey is as delightfully vague as ever in “The Indecision of Mr. Kingsbury,” a play adapted from the French by Mr. Cosmo Gordon Lennox. Mr. Hawtrey is well supported by the author who plays the part of a full-blooded and voluble Frenchman; by Miss Fanny Brough as a distressed dowager; and Miss Nina Boucicault as a much maligned widow, who wins the hand of the undecided Mr. Kingsbury. The story is just strong enough to carry four acts, and there is plenty of fun in it, so that we may credit Mr. Cosmo Gordon Lennox with yet another success.

At the Imperial Theatre Mr. Lewis Waller has replaced “The Perfect Lover” by “The Harlequin King,” a costume play of mediæval romance, in which Harlequin, having in a fit of jealousy killed the heir apparent, proceeds immediately to occupy the throne.

It is a very confiding court in this eccentric kingdom, and the only person who discovers the imposture is a blind old lady, the Queen Mother, who at once finds it out, but for the good of the country consents to crown the Harlequin. As a reigning monarch Harlequin cuts a poor enough figure, and to us it is a great relief when in due course the time comes for him, in order to save his skin, to confess his fraud, and fly the country. Mr. Lewis Waller does the best that can be done for the wretched Harlequin, and Miss Millard is good as Columbina, but perhaps the best performance of all is that of Miss Mary Rorke as the blind Queen: as an example of quiet dignity and perfect elocution her performance is most valuable.

We could wish that Mr. Waller would once more produce a really good play; he and his company are well qualified to do full justice to a good play, and it seems a thousand pities that their abilities and enthusiasm should be devoted to nothing better than the “Perfect Lover” and this most recent production which, by the way, is styled “A Masquerade in four acts, by Rudolf Lothar, adapted by Louis N. Parker and Selwyn Brinton.”

The opening of the new Aldwych Theatre fitly enough signalised the return to London of Miss Ellaline Terriss and Mr. Seymour Hicks, after their triumphant tour in the provinces. “Bluebell in Fairyland,” that very successful Christmas piece which, two or three years ago, ran well into the late summer months, was the play selected for the opening, on December 23rd, of Mr. Hicks’ beautiful new playhouse. With the advantage of a large stage and every latest modern appliance, Mr. Hicks has been able to amplify and develop his production to a degree which was impossible at the Vaudeville Theatre. There are some two hundred performers engaged in this musical dream play, which is in two acts, of six and seven scenes respectively.

Miss Ellaline Terriss is Bluebell, as charming as ever, and one can utter no higher praise than that.

Mr. Seymour Hicks again doubles the parts of Dicky, the Shoeblack, and the Sleepy King, and infuses marvellous vitality into all that he does, even into the snores and grotesque clumsinesses of the Sleepy King.

There are many new-comers, prominent among them being Miss Sydney Fairbrother and Miss Maude Darrell, whilst one of the hits of the entertainment is the song of Miss Barbara Deane, in which she reproduces popular comic songs of the day with the method of a ballad-singer. Miss Barbara Deane has a charming voice, and as she has youth on her side, she should have a very distinguished future before her. Miss Dorothy Frostick—now almost “a grown-up”—and Miss Topsy Linden do some pretty dancing.

It was a marvellous tour de force on the part of Mr. Seymour Hicks, after less than a fortnight for rehearsal, and with no dress rehearsal at all, to have presented such a gigantic production, without a hitch, upon the very night which he had promised some months ago.

“Bluebell” is a delightful play, and the Aldwych is a beautiful theatre, and if Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Hicks gain half the success which they deserve, they should have a signal triumph.

At the Royalty Theatre, that delightful artiste, Mme. Réjane and M. De Ferandy have been giving a series of French plays, prominent among them being “Les Affaires sont les Affaires,” which Mr. Beerbohm Tree has shown us under the title of “Business is Business,” and “Décoré,” the amusing comedy of M. H. Meilhac.

For Christmas Mr. Beerbohm Tree deserted the popular “Oliver Twist,” and put up a revival of “The Tempest,” followed in January by “Twelfth Night,” which is to be supplanted, shortly before these lines attain the dignity of print, by one of the colossal productions for which His Majesty’s Theatre has become so renowned. Probably by the time these lines are read the version of “Nero,” by Mr. Stephen Phillips, will be the talk of the town.

QUID.

Racing at Gibraltar, in 1905.

BY AN OWNER.

The Gibraltar racing season has now come to an end, and but for a probable Sky meeting the first week or so in January, 1906, no more racing will be held here till March. In this article it is the endeavour of the writer to say a few words of interest regarding the general racing on the “Rock” and concerning the meetings during the present year. On the whole, the racing during the year has been very satisfactory; more meetings have been held and more patronage, both by owners and the general public, afforded to them than has been the case for some time. A certain portion of residents on the Rock always keep racers. The success, however, of “Gib.” racing is, in the main, dependent on the sport afforded to it by the officers, naval and military, of the garrison. This year there has happily been no lack of support, and a considerable number of officers of the Gunners and of the three line regiments stationed here own racers. A few lines may be with advantage devoted in explaining how the racing is carried on in the fortress.

The racer at “Gib.” is rather hard to define. Owing to the paucity of animals running in comparison with the number of races, it is impossible to have open events for the ordinary animals here, and the only method which has been found to answer is to have a system of classes. There are no less than four of these classes at present, and there is a rumour to the effect that a fifth class may shortly be formed. The classes are as follows:—

Class I.—Thoroughbreds. Any animal may, however, run in this class if the owner so wishes.

Classes II., III., IV.—Those animals classified as such by the Classification Committee consisting of six elected members of the various clubs. In Class II. one generally finds half-breds, English galloways, and ponies. Classes III. and IV. are confined to Barbs and Arabs. In Class III. animals which have been reduced from the second class are often running, and also those horses promoted by the above Committee from the fourth class.

The Barb pony constitutes the whole of Class IV., and naturally this class holds by far the greatest number of animals. Polo ponies, hunters, and, in fact, nearly all the general animals seen on the Rock, are classified as fourth class for the purpose of racing. Every animal, before being allowed to run in any race confined to Classes II., III., and IV., must be classified by the Classification Committee. This Committee records the animal’s height, colour, breed, sex, markings, &c., and places it in the class the various members think fit. As a general rule Barbs under 14.2 high are put in this class. Arabs and Barb horses in Class III., and half-breds in the second class. Animals which prove in their running to be too good for the class which they are in are promoted to the next higher one, or if in Classes I., II., and III., reduced if necessary.

To make this system of classification work properly, prizes more valuable in proportion are given to the higher classes. This scheme also induces owners to procure and race a better class animal. Even with this classification, so great is the difference in speed between animals in each special class, it is necessary to make each race a handicap. In fact, except for a few fourth class maiden races and the weight for age first class races, one may say that every race is a handicap.

A fifth class has been asked for by many, especially by officers of the line regiments quartered in the station. The point urged is that unless they have a very good Barb (and they are difficult to procure now) it is useless to run him in an ordinary race, as they cannot, in the first place, gallop with the majority of fourth class ponies which are raced; and secondly, owing to gentlemen riders only being allowed in the lowest class, capable light-weights for their ponies are impossible to be found. However, not being a member of the advisory committee who manage these matters, the writer will not touch any more on the subject of a lower class, beyond mentioning the fact that the introduction of this fifth class would give pleasure to many subalterns, and offer them an excellent chance of riding their own ponies in public.

Stakes vary in accordance with the class. No race above 100 dollars is allowed to be given in the fourth class, between 150 to 200 dollars is the limit for the third, and 200 to 300 dollars for second. In first class races the prize may be anything from 250 dollars upwards. Cups are sometimes given in conjunction with a money prize. A hundred dollars may be taken to average £15 English money, though the exchange varies slightly from time to time. Entrance fees are usually one-fifteenth to one-twentieth of the value of the stakes.

With reference to the above remarks on classes it may be of interest to readers to know where these animals are procured from.

No animals being bred on the Rock itself, all horses are imported privately or by dealers from Africa, Spain, England and France. The thoroughbreds racing in the first class come from English and French stables, and are not by any means the weedy types of broken-down platers that one would expect. Very few are stabled and trained at “Gib.,” but come down for the races from Madrid and Andalusia; certain well-known owners who are interested in the racing here vying with one another to bring down a better type of animal each successive meeting. During this season it may safely be said that a better lot of horses have run in first class races than ever previously, and there is every promise in the future of the good standard being upheld. The other three classes of horses are generally kept on the Rock itself or in the immediate vicinity. A second class horse is, as a rule, a half-bred, and imported from over the water or bred in the province of Andalusia.

The third class contains Barbs over 14.2, and the best class of Barb ponies, with a few Arabs. An owner wishing to procure a third class animal has generally to be content with buying a horse which has run at “Gib.” previously, owing to the fact of the classification Committee nearly always placing a raw horse (one just imported on to the Rock) in either the second or the fourth class. Fourth class horses are imported from Africa by the local dealer. There is only one dealer here at present, and he holds the monopoly of selling raw animals, regulating his supply according to the demand, thereby keeping up a fixed price. It should be mentioned that in “Gib.” it is customary to term all animals, whether 13 or 16 hands high, as horses. These fourth class horses are practically all Barbs of polo height (14.2 and under), generally very handy, but sluggish, and requiring an enormous amount of driving. They are nearly all stallions, very few mares ever being imported. Prices average about £30 for a raw animal from the dealer—Sant, senior, who is to be thoroughly recommended—though regiments buying a batch of seven or eight at a time will get them considerably cheaper. The element of luck is brought largely into the business of buying these animals raw, for the worst-looking Barbs often prove capable of beating those of much better conformation.

A third class animal is, as has been stated before, rather hard to procure raw. An Arab may be placed in this class, but the uncertainty of the classification of this class makes owners extremely shy of importing or having imported for them horses too good for fourth class but not up to second class form. A third class horse which has shown good form can be procured for £40 or £50, but prices vary according to the proximity of the meetings. A second class half-bred coming from Oran or Algiers may be bought for about £70. Thoroughbreds anything from £20 upwards. All betting is done through the means of the pari-mutuel, the unit of investment being one dollar (about three shillings) and five dollars. The various clubs deduct 5 per cent. on the turnover. Lotteries are held the night previous to racing, 250 dollars being the average pool to the winner, though of course pools vary considerably according to the number of speculators present.

Weights vary in handicaps from 12 st. 7 lb. downwards. Frequently, however, 13 st. is top weight, lowest weight being seldom less than 8 st. Weight for age races when held have a scale of weights as follows:—

2 years 8 st. 7 lb. 3 years 9 st. 7 lb. 4 years 10 st. 7 lb. 5 years 11 st. 2 lb. 6 years and aged 11 st. 9 lb.

A new innovation has come into force this year, to the effect that gentlemen riders only are allowed to ride in fourth class races. In all other races professionals may ride, gentlemen riders (who must be members of the Army or Navy or be given permission to ride by the Jockey Club) receiving a 5 lb. allowance when competing against them. The new rule above mentioned of confining fourth class races to gentlemen riders only and excluding professionals has, in a way, done good and been a success in bringing forward new riding blood and inducing more amateur jockeys to figure in the pigskin, but on the other hand, owners of horses handicapped at a low weight find it impossible to procure fit and capable gentlemen riders. In many cases this rule has curtailed entries and caused some dissatisfaction. Really capable professionals on the Rock are very few in number, and four of them stand out far and above their confrères—Frank Sant, Goodman, Aldorino and J. Zammit being their names. These four jockeys are all good and naturally in great request, especially the first named, who, having every attribute of a first-class jockey, could without doubt hold his own in most parts of the world. Five dollars (sixteen shillings) is the fixed fee to a losing jockey and 10 per cent. of the stakes to the winning one, though, as is always the case, large presents are often given.

Of gentlemen riders there are a number, though only a few are really useful. Some new riders have been performing lately, and there are several the writer could mention who with a little more practice will soon be able to hold their own with the second rank of professionals without the 5 lb. allowance. Mr. C. Larios, brother of the M.F.H., and first whip, Captain Taylor, R.G.A. (a veteran heavy-weight, but still a very cool rider), and Captain Salt, late of the Lancashire Fusiliers, are perhaps the pick of those riding at present.

A word about the various clubs. In “Gib.,” perhaps unfortunately, there are no less than three racing clubs, the Gibraltar Jockey Club, the Calpe Turf Club, and the Civilian Racing Club. The Gibraltar Jockey Club is the senior club in the Gibraltar racing world. It is composed mostly of military and naval officers with a few civilian representatives. This club practically governs the racing at “Gib.,” owning the course and being under the authority of the English Jockey Club. The Calpe Turf Club, founded and directed by the Messrs. Larios, and the Civilian Racing Club, managed by a civilian syndicate.

These two latter clubs are composed mainly of civilians with a few military and naval members. Both these two clubs conform to the rules of the Jockey Club. A movement is being set on foot by certain influential personages, interested in the welfare of the racing here, to combine the three clubs into one. This movement, as may be understood, would be in many ways beneficial. Owners, and others, however, rather welcome racing with different clubs, as there is considerable competition between them in the way the meetings are conducted, each trying to outdo the other in general arrangements.

Until recently all starting has been carried out by means of a flag, but last May the gate was first tried in five-furlong races. At the last meeting it was used at both the five- and six-furlong starting posts, and next year will probably be always adopted. Other improvements have taken place during the year, and it is proposed to enlarge the stands and premises, which will be greatly to the advantage of every one. Concerning the course, the writer will give a brief description for the benefit of those unacquainted with “Gib.” It is situated on the sandy isthmus that connects the Rock with the mainland of Spain. The course is a mile in circumference, and oval-shaped, while the going, though nominally of grass, is for the most part of a sandy nature. The last two furlongs constitute the straight, which is enclosed on either side by the orthodox white rails. The remainder of the course is marked out by means of large whitewashed stones dotted round at three yards’ interval. On the extreme outside is situated the tan galloping track. A small charge is made to all persons using the same by the Jockey Club.

At the Autumn meeting of the Jockey Club an objection was raised to a horse for having gone inside three of the stones marking the course, and to prevent a repetition of the occurrence the authorities decided that at all future meetings movable posts, strung together with white tape, should be used. It is, unfortunately, impossible to rail the course right round, owing to a rifle range being situated in the centre, and rails anywhere else, except in the straight, would interfere with the view of the targets. Tapes being very dangerous both to horses and riders, a scheme for the construction of permanent sockets holding movable posts is being considered.

Altogether during this year there have been sixteen days’ racing in “Gib.,” not including nine days at the neighbouring Spanish Club at Campamento (four miles off), with seven or eight races per day, with an occasional steeplechase for officers’ ponies. The Spanish Club, which is really another edition of the Gibraltar Civilian Racing Club, holds its meetings, as a rule, on Sundays, and is run on pretty well the same lines as those in force on the Rock, except that the Club recognises a fifth class with low stakes. The course is a very good one, though new, the going being nearly always better than here. The Club does very well in its own way, and those not averse to Sunday racing speak very well of it. The King of Spain encourages the Club, presenting money and cups to help the prizes. The sixteen days of racing above-mentioned were taken up by the various clubs as follows: The Jockey and Calpe Turf clubs seven days each, and the Civilian Racing Club two days. All the meetings were a success, but perhaps the honours of the best meeting held during the season lie with the Civilian Racing Club. This was the Royal Sky Meeting, specially organised on the occasion of the visit of Her Majesty the Queen to “Gib.” Saturday, May 6th, was the day in question, and on the Thursday previous no racing for the following Saturday was contemplated. Her Majesty, however, had expressed a wish to see some racing, and with very commendable promptitude the Civilian Racing Club obtained permission and organised the meeting. In spite of such short notice the entries were exceptionally large, and wisely confined to third and fourth class horses, so as to allow of the officers of the garrison being able to participate in the meeting more largely than usual.

Her Majesty very kindly gave and presented a cup in one of the races, which was won by Major Labalmondiere’s (R.G.A.) black Barb horse Dominico, carrying top weight, and ridden by Captain Taylor. Needless to say, both owner and rider came in for many congratulations in winning the much coveted cup.

In every way the meeting was a very great success, and it is only to be hoped that on some near future occasion Her Majesty will again be a spectator at a “Gib.” meeting.

The best race of the year as regards the class of animal was undoubtedly the first class weight for age race at the Calpe Turf Club Autumn Meeting. A field of ten better class horses has never been seen on the “Gib.” course previously. A good finish resulted in a win for that great supporter of the higher class racing at Gibraltar, Mr. Garvey, through the medium of his chestnut three-year-old English-bred filly Bizantina, closely followed home by Captain W. P. Salt’s Chartres, ridden by owner.

On the whole the various clubs have had an excellent season, and a great improvement on previous ones. The standard of horses racing in the various classes has improved, and the riding, especially of the amateurs, has been much better than formerly.

With the Gunners and the three line regiments, the Yorkshire Light Infantry, the Munster Fusiliers and the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry, keen on the “Great Game,” together with a large number of civilian Turfites, the prospects for the racing season of 1906 are very promising. Gibraltar and Campamento racing clubs can hardly expect to show such racing as is seen at home, but the writer doubts whether any stranger visiting our racecourses will have any cause to complain of the sport and amusement shown to him.

Half a Century’s Hunting Recollections. V.

Once in my life I have heard a fox cry out when seized by a hound; it was a cub, at Cream Gorse, and Tom Firr jumped down and saved it. The noise was a sort of twang! As I said at the time, it reminded me of the snapping of a harp string. I have more than once seen a fox turn to bay and defy a hound, and in such cases have been very sorry for him if, later on, the end came.

By the way, in my last I was made to say that the M.F.H. often wore a “cap.” I wrote a “hat”; not the same thing quite.

Of fatal accidents—fatal on the spot, I mean—I am happy to say that I have had but little experience. Both victims, however, were friends of mine. The first was Lord Somerville. We were out with Mr. Tailby, and were running from Manton Gorse; the ground was greasy to a degree; poor Somerville, Captain Smith, and I, all rode, I may say, together, at a low post and rails, but wide of each other. I never knew that any one had fallen, but Somerville’s horse, a favourite mare called Honesty, slipped, chested the rail, and landed completely on to him. Death must have been instantaneous. The other unfortunate was my dearest of dear old friends, Captain David Barclay. The accident happened just in front of my second horseman, and at a gap into the Sandy Lane, near Gartree Hill. In this case my poor friend’s mare, a star-gazing little beast, slid into the ditch, a deep one. The rider’s foot was caught on the top of a stake, and he was canted out of the saddle, alighting on his head. From all accounts he was dead when picked up.

To talk of a less sad subject, I may say that my old joke about the Peterborough Show having caused so much bad scenting weather has become quite a stock phrase. We have heard of going back to the bloodhound and the Welsh hound to regain the “tender nose.” Pace “Borderer,” the faults of the Welshmen are riot, babbling, and a disinclination to draw strong gorse, at least this is my limited experience. Whipcord might improve the riot, but I should fear that this class of hound would sulk under punishment. A friend of mine is trying the cross in his kennel; I hope he will succeed with it. As to bloodhounds, I have mentioned the North Warwickshire of 1861–2. They were originally bloodhound and Belvoir, and were first started in the Wheatland country. They were all that could be desired when I saw them.

There was a half-bred bloodhound, called Bonny Lass, in the Ludlow pack, in the days of my youth. I remember she was none of the stoutest with an afternoon fox; but Mr. Sitwell bred from her, and put forward at least one of her daughters, Brilliant (I think, by Harold). But the pure bloodhound is a single-handed dog. I worked one in a scratch pack, but she never would go to cry, nor believe a word that her comrades said. I had a day once with the bloodhound pack started by Lord Wolverton, but then owned by Lord Carrington. We met, by invitation, at the White Hart, Winkfield, and took the deer near Reading, at “something” field. The King, who was out, timed the run at “the best part of three hours,” but the hounds had very little to do with it. I only saw them run, as a pack, over one grass park at Binfield. Lords Carrington and Charles Beresford “rode the deer,” or we should not have known which way she had gone. She was taken in a pond of extra black mud. Beresford went in to take her, thereby giving an opening for some graceful badinage about blue water, and other hues. Except on the one occasion, hounds never seemed to settle even for one field, and there were lots left behind. The Berkshire yokels, who were only too fond of catching up an amiable Ascot staghound, with a view to bucksheesh, on delivery, tried the same game with some of the “Talbots,” but with direful results. They were savage, sulky brutes, and murderously quarrelsome in kennel. My bitch was good tempered enough, and, though noisy on any living scent, quite mute on a drag, which—boys will be boys—I occasionally ran.

Twice I have seen the haute école with hounds, the Quorn each time. The first time the owner of a circus, then performing at Leicester, came out on a trick horse. While we were drawing he cantered across the field and dropped his handkerchief, then, dismounting, sent his horse to fetch it, which the animal did, retriever fashion. Having thus advertised himself, he, when we got away, “took on” all the highest timber which he could find, but was caught by a blind ditch, “to him.” My friend, Dakin, of the Carbineers, offered the man £150 for his horse, which was refused, the price demanded being £300. As I said at the time, I did not know which of the two parties to this transaction was most wanting in wisdom. The horse was a weedy thoroughbred; and, unless one wanted handkerchiefs retrieved, worth in a fair some £30 to £20. The other time matters were more serious. The venue was Scraptoft, as before. But the impresario brought out some half-dozen of his lady riders. Their habits represented all the colours of the rainbow, and their behaviour was most alarming. Their intention seemed to be to wipe out all Melton and Harboro’. Poor Fred Archer’s half a length which he allowed to Mr. Coupland at a fence, was considered short measure, but half a head was more the form of these homicidal houris. At length they received, and took, a hint to the effect that they should not over-fatigue themselves in view of their evening performance.

I have said but little of the Belvoir, as Frank Gillard’s book deals with the days in which I knew them best. But, if I mistake not, he confuses the late Mr. Little Gilmour, an opulent Scotsman, who was a great friend of the late Duke of Rutland, and who, by the way, was a competitor in the Eglinton Tournament, with Mr. (or rather Captain), Parker Gillmore, the explorer, big game shooter, and author (“Ubique”). Mr. Little Gilmour, Lord Gardner, and Lord Wilton were the only ones I knew of the heroes depicted in “The Melton Breakfast,” of which meal the late Sir Frederick Johnstone seems to have had a monopoly. The scene of this banquet is a disputed point. Some say that it is the dining-room at “The Old Club” (which never was a “club” in the ordinary sense of the word), others that it is the coffee-room at the “George.” My “key” describes the servant as the waiter at the “George Inn.” Concerning the many remarkable men, remarkable for other things besides the chase, though of course they were foxhunters, I may, perhaps, be allowed to continue my “havers” in the coming by and by. Yet, two or three men I must crave permission to mention. One was the late Mr. Ambrose Isted, who was mentioned by “Nimrod” in his “Hunting Tours.” Being born deaf, he was also dumb, or nearly so. He was, however, a wonderfully good draughtsman; and, when I stayed in a country house with him, between pantomime and pencils, we got on as regular compadres. The engraving of Mr. Osbaldeston and Sir Harry Goodricke in “Silk and Scarlet” is from a sketch by him. I must really tell one tale about him. His property was in the Pytchley country, and I made his acquaintance there in the spring of 1862, when my “base” was Rugby. A brother officer of mine, poor Walter Bagenal, long since dead, was riding at a fence, when Mr. Isted, somewhere close by, made a sound of some kind and held up two fingers. I should never have even guessed his meaning, and should probably have got a “crowner,” but the Irish intuition of poor dear Bagenal rose to the occasion. Perceiving that the warning indicated a “double,” he roused little “Aladdin” and triumphantly cleared both ditches. In another style Mr. Henley Greaves was a wonderful man. What his weight was no one ever knew, but on foot he was a marvel of activity. I once came down with him to the Smite. The squire hailed two yokels, jumped the brook clean on foot, and then received his horse. I tried to imitate him, but “dropped my hind-legs.” Once I, out of curiosity, tried to follow him up a bridle road. He absolutely lost me. The pace he went between the gates, the way they seemed to open spontaneously for him, and the manner in which he slipped away on the further side, are beyond my powers of description.

Another remarkable man in a different way, and in his way a hero, was Mr. Baldwin, “the lion-hunter.” He had made so good a business of a big game shooting campaign in South Africa, that, what between the sale of his spoils, ivory, &c., and of his book—a most clever and amusing work, with no chronicle of the long-bow in it—he managed to have two or three seasons’ hunting in Leicestershire. I may say that I should imagine him to be the only man who has ever taken up a lion for a ride behind him! He confessed that the lion had every reason for annoyance, as he had been insulted by having dogs set on him. Anyhow, he did what I am told that lions seldom do. He not only charged his foe, but followed him up, and, overhauling him, jumped on to the horse’s hindquarters. Naturally the steed disapproved of this arrangement, and then it became a mere question as to whether the man or the lion should be kicked off first. Luckily it was the lion. Had Mr. Leo put his claws into the man’s back, it would have been a case of stand or fall together! Poor Baldwin lost an eye in a most unlucky manner. He never cared what he rode, though he rode them all in the right place; but his stud could not have been described as animals “suitable to carry a lady.” He was trying to open a gate, which was bushed up along the top bar, as in those days many were. In some inexplicable manner he got a thorn into one eye, and, having made up his mind to lose it, gave away a chance, by not only not consulting a specialist, but by coming out hunting again, if not the next day, at a suicidally early date. I last heard of him as hunting in Cheshire, and trust that he is still pursuing the chase.

I can just remember a certain sportsman, who shall be nameless, but who headed so many foxes, that Sir Richard Sutton, when Master of the Quorn, offered to settle an annuity on him, on condition of his leaving the country. Mr. Surtees often stayed at Quorn, and this offer is revived in “Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour,” as having been made to him by Lord Scamperdale. The history of the Quorn country is none too complete. Even in your Hunting Directory, Mr. Editor, there is no mention of the Donnington Hunt as carried on by the Marquis of Hastings, the last but one. They had very good sport, but I seem to have heard that many of their best things were with bagmen. These were trained, so the story goes, and even physicked. “I know not how the truth may be, I tell the tale as ’twas told to me.” The Marquis, like his son, was never a rider to hounds, but “Nimrod” tells of him that when buying horses from John Potter, of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, he took a delight in larking over all the artificial fences which the trial ground contained. He was passionately fond of hounds, and, judging from a sketch which he made of what he considered a perfect foxhound’s head, a pretty good judge of them. At his death the Hunt was carried on by Mr. J. Storey, of Lockington (the “old Jack Storey” of my youthful days), and, I fancy, Sir Seymour Blane; but to this I cannot swear. Sir Richard Sutton retrieved this country when he began to find the miles rather long between Harborough and Quorn, and put “Young Dick,” grandfather of the present Baronet, to represent him at Billesdon; or was it Oadby? No! I cannot help thinking that Dick Sutton’s kennels were at Skeffington. On this point I must confess myself open to correction.

The men of old time were not so particular about country as the heroes of to-day. Loughborough was the headquarters of the Quorn Hunt under Mr. Meynell, by no means in the cream of the country. The late Admiral Meynell once asked me (in the early sixties) whether Button (properly “Buddon”) Wood, close to Quorn, was still a crack covert. At that time I should think that very few Meltonians could have located the place at all, and it certainly is nasty to get away from. Still, even in those days it was not all beer and skittles. In the diary of Jones, Mr. Meynell’s cork-legged whip, appears this entry: “Found in Mr. Kent’s Thorns” (now generally called Cant’s Thorns). “The gentlemen over-rode the hounds at starting, and we lost him.” I have seen something very much like that happen at that place myself. Certainly a Leicestershire huntsman has not a bed of roses. As poor Tom Firr once said to me, at a check, “Most huntsmen have to think where their fox is gone, but I’ve also to guess where my field is coming to!” And of many men, riders or not, it may be said that, the longer they hunt the less they know about the chase!

No doubt in old days, when foxes were really wild and stout, grand sport was had in rough countries. Any one who has read “Nimrod’s” “Hunting Tours” must allow that. But the men of old times worked harder than the Agamemnons of to-day. “Nimrod,” in his northern tour, mentions the fact of the late Sir David Baird having ridden fifty miles to covert, and the same distance home, after hunting. And I have lived to see certain of the silver-gilt go by train from Melton to a meet at Brooksby, six miles. I should have thought that the bother of catching a train would be far greater than getting on to one’s hack, and cantering to the meet, especially as there are good grass sidings all the way. However, “Chacun à son gout,” and this is supposed to be a free country.

I have tried to remember all the packs with which I have ever hunted, not including harriers, whose name would be legion. But I have quite forgotten one, the Surrey Union to wit. I was at a “Crammer’s,” near Leatherhead, and as Paidogogos liked a holiday as well as I did, I got out as often as a certain very tidy little hireling could come. Colonel Sumner was Master, and his kennels were, I think, at Fetcham. He had a hound called Falstaff, of which I believe he thought highly, but I do not remember much about the pack. I do remember, though, a meet at Epsom Windmill, and also seeing a fox found on Box Hill. I see an advertisement in a Highland paper for “freshly caught foxes.” They are to be delivered in the Old Surrey country; I presume that the advertiser has shot his coverts. As he is the son of an old schoolfellow of mine, I will mention neither name nor place.

I can safely say that, out of Leicestershire, the most charming line of country over which I ever rode was with the Meynell. The late Mr. Clowes and Lord Waterpark were then joint masters. I cannot say exactly where we ran, but it was an eight-mile point, all over grass. I only saw one bit of arable, it was certainly not four acres. But I remember it because the fox crossed it (we had no need to do so), and I noticed that the hounds “said more about it” up that furrow than they had been doing over the grass. This was on the Radbourne side, and I believe the cream of the country, as well it may be. The fences, though wanting a hunter, were “nout to boggle a mon,” to quote Mr. James Pigg, and though we had a bit of a brook, it was also of an inviting nature. Lord Harrington went gallantly on a three- or possibly a two-year-old thoroughbred one. He saw the run, at the expense of two or three rolls! I much admired the hounds, having seen the dogs on one day, and the ladies on the Radbourne side. I thought the bitches had more muscle on them than the dogs, but that may have been fancy. One has to see hounds on the flags before one can pass a judgment of this kind. We did not catch our fox, which was a pity, as the hunt, with a kill, would have been perfect.

As droll an arrangement as I ever saw was that by which, with the late Sir Humphrey de Trafford’s Harriers, every one was mounted excepting the huntsman. In a wired country one could understand this, but in those happy days wire had not made its detestable appearance. However, this man legged it to such good purpose, that perhaps a horse would have been thrown away upon him! A certain M.F.H. once gave as his reason for not allowing his huntsman a second horse, that this official took quite enough out of one!

Mr. G. S. Lowe, in the January number, seems under the impression that Osbaldeston’s “Furrier” was a mean-looking black and white hound. I possess a portrait of him, in oils, and must repeat what I wrote about him elsewhere: “Light of bone, and not straight, but no better topped dog is now in the Belvoir pack, and he is the right colour too” (black, white and tan). I do not like the custom of not rounding the ears of foxhounds, if only that the ears are a distinction between a full-grown puppy at walk, and a stray hound, which may be a matter of moment to a whip going back to look for the latter. And I do not think that hounds, in good kennels, have improved at all in the last fifty years. They certainly cannot go faster than Bluecap and Wanton did when, in 1762, they ran four miles in, as nearly as possible, eight minutes. I have always thought that the Quorn couple got “cut off” on that occasion.

Besides we all know that hounds, running a drag, will often leave it if they are pressed upon by horses. Certainly they go fast enough for most of us now. I once, some thirty years ago, saw two Belvoir puppies, outside Old Hills, fairly course down and catch a hare in view. Hares are not at their strongest in October; but I said nothing, and let them enjoy their prey, as I admired their performance, illegitimate though it was!

I fear that we have, as I hinted before, seen the best of foxhunting. New difficulties seem to crop up daily, but the worst of them are the pheasant and the wire fence. Too many foxes are practically bagmen, having been turned down a day or two before the coverts are drawn, and if a hunt is to rent even half the shootings in its limits, hunting will indeed be the sport of the rich, and most likely the nouveau riche at that. Let us hope for the best, but ere now Hope “has told a flattering tale!” I have omitted to mention Mr. George(?) Grey, of Dilston(?), who not only when some 70 years old cut down many of the young Meltonians, but when totally blind, rode over Northumberland, after a pilot, who described the fences as he came to them. Space prevents my saying much about the Cottesmore. At an interval of over forty years, they ran from Launde Wood to Kirby Park, killing each fox, one under the park wall, the other a bit farther on, by the River Wreake. But as space is wanting, good-bye, Brave Boys.

F. J. KING KING.

Rugby Football.

The recent invasion of England by the all-conquering New Zealanders—who established the wonderful record of thirty-one victories out of thirty-two matches played—has arrested the attention of a great many people who hitherto have taken little or no interest in Rugby football. The game as played by these men from over the sea was Rugby football in its most attractive form, and those who were privileged to see their victories over Middlesex or Blackheath, could not fail to be delighted with their skill, nor could they possibly deny the fascinating charm of the game when properly played. But with their departure interest in Rugby is likely to flag, and we are faced with the question, “Why is Rugby football not more popular; how is it that a very large section of the community take no interest in football at all, whilst another large section prefer the charms of Association?”

From the point of view of the player, it is easy to see that the game is not quite suited to every one. Though Rugby is often wrongly considered a rougher game than Association football, it certainly lays a premium on strength and size, whilst there are few things—except perhaps rowing—which make a greater claim on a man’s stamina and endurance. It is, therefore, a game which requires certain natural qualifications and a certain amount of training; hence a large number are excluded from active participation. In Wellington, one single town in New Zealand, over twelve thousand men play Rugby football every Saturday afternoon during the season; it is the national game “down under,” and spectators flock in their thousands to see the matches, but in England a man has so many interests, the open-air life is not so general and the weather conditions not so good.

Perhaps the greatest disadvantage under which Rugby football labours is the fact that it is a winter pastime, and therefore often played in miserable weather. A greasy ball and slippery turf are sufficiently trying to the players; from a spectator’s point of view the game is entirely spoilt, whilst the accommodation provided for the onlookers is frequently most inadequate. At the best of times a covered stand is a cold and draughty place, but it is better than the open field; yet with Rugby clubs the covered stand is often conspicuous by its absence. Moreover, the approaches to so many football grounds are so bad that many people are deterred from patronising the matches; crowded trains followed by a long drive or walk is very damping to the enthusiasm.

Then again, a football match can never be a social function like a cricket match; it therefore loses a great deal of feminine patronage. Except for the small minority, who really understand the game, football is regarded by ladies as a brutal trial of strength, and they fail to see the attraction of grovelling in the mud; but if there was a little tea-party at half-time it would put quite a different complexion on the game. It must also be borne in mind that three of our greatest public schools play a game peculiar to themselves, whilst Charterhouse, Repton, Malvern, Westminster, Radley, Bradfield, Shrewsbury and other big schools play only Association. This means that a very large section of the English youth take absolutely no interest in Rugby at all, though they may—if they go to the Varsity—occasionally watch a Rugby match in the same way that the cricketer patronises the river during Eight’s week.

But the unpopularity of Rugby football as a spectacle is largely due to the apparent complexity of the rules, which makes it very difficult for the uninitiated to follow the game. It is largely due to this that Association has a greater hold on the affections of the people, whilst the game is not stopped by the continual blowing of the referee’s whistle. An elderly gentleman who, needless to say, does not often attend a football match, was heard, the other day, at the Crystal Palace, to exclaim, “There’s that referee interfering again; how exasperating!” This was probably the feeling of a great many who were watching Rugby football for the first time, and they must have carried away the opinion that the whole game consisted in a succession of scrummages and a vast expenditure of useless energy. It is, however, difficult to see what could take the place of the scrummage, which is formed whenever the ball is thrown forward or knocked on, or when the ball is not thrown in straight out of touch, or for any other unintentional breach of the rules. It must be remembered that the scrummage was the essential feature of the game some twenty years ago, when the formation was ten forwards, two half-backs, two quarters and a full-back. In those days little passing was seen, and the ball was seldom heeled out of the scrummage. It is interesting to note how the game has been changed. Fifteen years ago, nine forwards, two half-backs, three three-quarters and a full-back was the rule, till the Welshmen—who are generally the pioneers of any progressive movement in Rugby football—evolved the system of eight forwards and four three-quarters. This year we see the scrummage still further diminished, the New Zealanders playing only seven forwards with a winger—who was nothing else than a half-back—one half-back, two five-eights, three three-quarters and a full-back, whilst the Welsh team has adopted practically the same disposition, playing only seven forwards, three half-backs, four three-quarters and a full-back.

Thus in the course of about twenty years the proportion of forwards to outsides has been reduced from ten forwards and five outsides to seven forwards and eight outsides. It is, therefore, not difficult to see which way the wind is blowing, and there is food for speculation as to what will eventually become of the scrum. The abolition of the “dead-ball” rule and the necessity of playing the ball immediately you are tackled has done much to make the game faster, but it is a matter of doubt whether the game will be improved, from the players’ point of view—which is, after all, the primary consideration—by the reduction of the forwards to a mere heeling machine. Undoubtedly Rugby football, as it has been played in the past, is frequently most uninteresting to watch; the delight of getting the ball in the scrummage and of heeling it out cleanly, or a well-executed wheel when the forwards break away with the ball at their feet has little fascination for the spectators, whilst the satisfaction of grappling an opponent or stopping a rush by falling on the ball must appear very crude and barbarous compared to the admirable finesse of Association football. The tendency at present is to bring more skill into the game; the heavy, lumbering forward has given way to a quicker and more active type, whilst every effort is made to execute that brilliant hand-to-hand passing which is so attractive and generally so effective. Yet there is a danger that the increased number of outsides may lead to overcrowding and to “too many cooks spoiling the broth,” and we frequently see a centre three-quarter boring his wing into touch, or the ball being passed along in a stereotyped fashion, when an individual dash for the line would spell ruin to the opposition. The brilliant individual run through a crowd of opponents excites the admiration of the spectators just as much as a perfect round of passing, and, provided it is not attempted too often, is very deadly in its effectiveness.

In conclusion, it may be said that the unpopularity of Rugby football as a spectacle chiefly results from the difficulty of getting to the matches, the lack of accommodation for the spectators, the apparent complexity of the rules, the somewhat peculiar manner of scoring, by which a try counts three points, a goal from a try five points (in which case the try does not count), a dropped goal four points, and a penalty goal three points, and, lastly, the “exasperating interference” of the referee, with the continual scrummages which result therefrom. A suggestion, which has the support of several great players, is that the numbers should be reduced to thirteen a side instead of fifteen, with the formation of six forwards, two half-backs, four three-quarters and a full-back, or even twelve a side with only three three-quarters. At present the game is killed by the number of the players, whilst the packing of seven or eight forwards in the scrum is very difficult. With six forwards the packing is simple, even for a scratch team, whilst the fewer players and greater space would lead to more open play and brilliant running. We might then see one team winning by thirty points to twenty-seven, and no one could deny that this would be highly interesting and exciting from the spectators’ point of view. Finally, more attention should be paid to handling the ball. The majority of present-day forwards seldom handle a football during the week except in matches, and not always then; hence it is not surprising that many passes go astray, but it should be considered just as heinous a crime to pass forward, or to fail to take a pass, as to miss a catch at cricket, or to knock the tail-feathers out of a pheasant. It should be regarded as equally heinous to pass when you have a good chance of going through yourself, or to hold on to the ball when you ought to pass.

But Rugby football makes it its boast—a boast of which it is justly proud—that the player is the first consideration. The Rugby Union has always set its face against the evils of professionalism and the commendable and unflinching attitude which it has taken up has been reflected in the players, who somewhat foolishly have taken up an attitude of “noli me tangere” towards the spectators, and have resented anything in the form of interference. Anything like playing to the gallery has been righteously condemned, and the player who takes more than ordinary care of himself is often scoffed at. But what is worth doing is worth doing well, and players are now waking up to the fact that Rugby football can no longer be played properly in the happy-go-lucky way, but requires great physical fitness and very skilful use of both hands and feet. Moreover, it is patent to everybody that for a game to last, however good it may be, it must be popular. One often hears the remark, “We don’t want the spectators, and they have no right to dictate to us; if we choose to keep the ball in the scrummage, why shouldn’t we do so,” but if we do not want the spectators, we should like their sons to be brought up to play one of the finest games in the world. The enthusiasm in Wales for Rugby football is unbounded, as a recent incident at Cardiff serves to show. When the Barbarians were playing Cardiff before some ten thousand spectators (the day before there had been something like forty thousand spectators, when the home club were playing the New Zealanders), there was an interval of about five minutes at half-time, which was turned to account by some tiny little boys, none of whom could have been more than ten years old. They seized the football, and were instantly in the throes of an exciting game, which culminated in one little fellow dodging through several opponents and dropping a goal, amidst the applause of the crowd. If, however, you fail to interest the parent, you may fail to interest the offspring. There is no reason why the game should not be made more interesting to both the players and the spectators. It is unfortunate that so many people only go to watch the big games, International and Trial matches, which are seldom productive of good or interesting football, being for the most part struggles between scratch teams.

Wales, alone of the four countries, places anything like a combination of players in the field, and hence the apparent superiority of the Welshmen. Rugby football should not be judged by the form shown in International matches. The New Zealanders showed us what Rugby football could be like, even with a wet ball and a sodden ground, when played by a strong combination of brilliant individuals filled with a burning enthusiasm. The whole question resolves itself into this: Make the game interesting, and it will be popular; if it is popular, that enthusiasm will be aroused, without which nothing can succeed.

C. E. L. H.

The Thoroughbred.

DO WE MAKE THE BEST OF HIM.

The racing season of 1905 is a thing of the past, and I think that even the most optimistic will scarcely look upon it with feelings of unqualified satisfaction. There has been a feeling of dulness at many of the meetings which on occasion almost became depression. Many races which looked so well upon paper have fizzled out and been won by horses which, if not moderate, were at any rate not in the first class; and there has undoubtedly been a lot of very moderate horses indeed running, and, what is worse, winning races.

In these days it seems dangerous to write or talk about the thoroughbred horse. There are some to whom the very name is anathema, associated in their minds only with short distance racing and the routine of Turf life. To them a thoroughbred horse is full of every equine imperfection—light in bone, faulty in conformation, weak in constitution. Others, again, see in the thoroughbred nothing but good. We have, say they, as good horses as ever we had, and better, and they are as extravagant in their optimism as their opponents are in their pessimism.

It is not my intention to take sides with either of these parties. They are quite able to fight their own battles, with more or less acrimony, without any interference of mine. I purpose, however, to mention a few things which have come under my own notice, and to make a few suggestions about the horse, which at his best is undoubtedly the best type of the equine race the world has seen, the English thoroughbred.

It has been customary of late to speak of the sixties, seventies, and eighties as the palmy days of the English thoroughbred, and it will, I think, be generally admitted that we had a smaller proportion of moderate horses and more really good horses in the three decades mentioned than we have had since. That we have had quite as good horses as the best of them in the last fifteen years I readily admit, and the names of Common, Galtee More, Flying Fox, Ard Patrick, Persimmon, Sceptre, and Pretty Polly come trippingly off the tongue. But it is too true that we have a lot of very inferior horses running, and it is no argument to say that a race takes more winning than it used to do, as is sometimes said when an attempt is made to bolster up the reputations of the moderate ones. Before the argument will hold water it is necessary to ask what sort of a race it is.

That a certain amount of deterioration has been seen during the last few years is, I believe, generally admitted. But there have been lean years before now, and the deterioration has only been temporary. For instance, that was not a very grand Derby field in which Palmbearer ran second. It is our concern to see that the falling off to which I allude is only temporary; there is the material to work upon, of that I am quite certain.

It is frequently stated that it is early two-year-old racing and short distance races which have brought our thoroughbreds to the present position. This I take leave to doubt. Early two-year-old racing did not affect the horses of the sixties and seventies, and they got plenty of it. Neither did short distance racing hurt them, for there were half-mile handicaps in those days; and we have to look farther than this for the cause of the decadence. Let us, for the sake of argument, say that they are more delicate, and that stayers are not so frequently to be found amongst them. Let us say this for the sake of argument only, for it is the opinion of the writer, based on experience, that many a horse that is looked upon as a non-stayer would stay well enough if given the chance. At any rate, if the proposition is not true, there is a fear of it becoming so. It is not to the short distance racing that we should look for a cause, but rather to the absurd fashion for persistent inbreeding in one line, viz., to the Darley Arabian, to the neglect of the Byerley Turk strain (of which Herod stood out as one of the best sires of all time). Inbreeding, when carried to the extent that it has been carried with us, is sure to have its effect upon the average members of any breed. Occasionally, it is true, there will be exceptionally good individuals, but they will be few and far between. But the case is by no means hopeless; there is no need to try to evolve any other breed by means of elaborate crossing. All we have got to do is to use a few vigorous out-crosses. These might not answer for racing purposes in the first cross, but then, again, they might; but they would be sure to come out in the second cross. The Shorthorns are an analogous case. The breed had sunk low indeed through indiscriminate inbreeding, but a few generations have raised it to greater heights than ever as a general utility breed.

The temper and soundness of our thoroughbred horses are sources of considerable anxiety to those who look upon them as something more than mere instruments of gambling or adjuncts to a sport, and here there is cause for concern. Never, probably, were there so many rogues running as there are now, and in the experience of the writer never were there so many horses with forelegs which, to say the least of it, are continually on the verge of unsoundness.

Nor is it difficult to see why this is. The racehorse is not used in accordance with Nature. In his early days his growth is forced by stimulating food, in order that he may come into the sale ring “a well-grown yearling.” Long before he is two years old he is broken and mounted and galloped, and taught to face the starting-gate. He is “jumped off” from a stand with the whole of the weight he is carrying in the wrong place—in the place which ensures the strain coming with undue force on his forelegs. Be it understood that I am not discussing the starting-gate and its utility on a racecourse; with that I have nothing to do here. I am merely stating that starting horses at top speed, or as nearly top speed as is attainable, from a stand, with all the weight on the top of the shoulders, so that the strain comes fully on to their sinews, is quite sufficient to account for the “dicky” forelegs and feet which are so frequent on our modern racecourses.[2]

The artificiality of our modern racing, the multiplication of meetings at one place, and the gradual decay of the old country meetings, combined with the immense increase in the value of stakes—an increase, by the way, which owners principally provide themselves—have all had an effect on sport which is not altogether advantageous. But where, it may be asked, can these things have any effect upon the breed of horses as a breed? They have more effect than at first sight would appear. They tend to bring racing into fewer hands—into the hands of rich men. They tend to increase the service fees of stallions. They tend also to shut out the small man and the small breeder, because they make racing more expensive.

The old country meetings encouraged the small breeder. His expenses for entry, &c., were small, and if the stakes to be won were small, his travelling expenses, jockeys’ fees, &c., were on a similar scale. He could, if fairly well-to-do, afford to race for sport. For him fashion had no charm. A practical horse-breeder, he had his own fancies as to how to mate his mares; he ran his horses at local meetings, was delighted when he won a fifty pound plate, and his horses travelled in his neighbourhood and filled it with a good half-bred stock.

It may be said that we cannot go back, that gate-money meetings have come to stay, and that the country meetings can never be revived. Perhaps this is so, but if it is, it is all the worse for the Turf, and for the thoroughbred, the interest in which is undoubtedly dying out in some parts of the country.

So far I have endeavoured to show how we fail to make the best use of our thoroughbreds as racehorses; how we breed them injudiciously, feed them injudiciously, and put too great a strain upon them before their bone is set. For there can be little doubt but that the strain upon the young thoroughbred in training is much greater now than when the starting gate and the modern seat were unknown.

Now I will proceed to the other side of the question—to the thoroughbred as a general purpose horse. It is obvious that the value of the breed depends in a great measure upon his qualities of speed, pluck, and endurance with a man of ordinary weight on his back and doing ordinary or extraordinary work. On the qualifications of the thoroughbred as a general purpose horse there are wide differences of opinion and some very bitter things are said of his lack of stamina and his unsoundness and many other of his shortcomings which readers can fill in for themselves. Notwithstanding all these things that are said about him my own practical experience teaches me that for any purpose, what the late Whyte Melville described as “a thoroughbred with brains” is the best horse. The best hunters I have ridden and seen ridden have been thoroughbred; the best harness horse for work I ever sat behind was bought out of a selling race for £15, and the late Major Dalbiac, than whom no better horseman was to be found, told me that the best charger he ever rode in action was a thoroughbred that had had little preliminary training. This, of course, is a very different thing to saying that all thoroughbred horses, or that even a very large percentage of them, are good hunters, harness horses, or chargers. But it shows that, if they are fairly used and the most made of them, there would not need to be such an outcry as there is now as to the scarcity of good saddle horses.

An out-cross has been alluded to, and unfortunately the famous Herod line is nearly extinct. But it is not quite extinct, and as the line is not fashionable, what stallions there are with the Herod blood in their veins will not be out of the reach of breeders who do not breed for the sale ring. An Arab out-cross might be very valuable. It is true that the Arabs have inbred for generations to as great an extent as we have, but they have not inbred on the same line, and therefore an Arab cross might be very valuable. It does not necessarily follow that because the Arab is undersized and light in bone that the offspring of a thoroughbred mare and an Arab sire would be undersized and light in bone. That it would be valuable as a racehorse is perhaps open to question, but the value of the out-cross would be seen in three or four generations, even for racing purposes. It will probably be urged that it would be an expensive experiment to try, for it is palpable that such an experiment should not be tried with a mare of inferior quality. That may be admitted at once, and the reason of its being expensive is that, owing to the greatly increased value of stakes in these days, racehorses have come to have a fictitious market price, and especially stallions which have a good winning record. But surely there are to be found men who would run the risk of a problematical loss—in the North there is a proverb to the effect that a man cannot lose what he has never had—for the sake of the good which would result to the thoroughbred as a breed. For once establish the practical value of an out-cross in the thoroughbred and the result would be the same as it was with the Shorthorn—every one would hasten to adopt it.

There is also another plan which might be adopted, and it is surprising that it has not been adopted; and that is the establishment of a small stud of thoroughbreds, with the avowed object of breeding them for general purposes, and not for racing. This did not succeed so very badly in the past, and there is no reason why it should not succeed again. It is true that a possible Derby winner might be found carrying a man to hounds[3] or about the country roads, but he would not have cost much to produce and breed, and would doubtless have been sold at a remunerative price.

The writer is convinced that a stud of this kind, well managed, would pay its way, from the way he has seen several purchases at the yearling sales turn out. It is with some gentlemen a regular custom to attend the yearling sales, with the view of purchasing youngsters that will develop into hunters. They never give more than an average of twenty-five guineas for them, and very rarely is that sum exceeded for an individual. Care is, of course, taken to pick a big bony, growing colt or filly, and he or she leads a perfectly natural life from the moment of arriving at the new home, running out the whole of the winters, but getting shelter at night and a little corn twice a day. At three years old they are mouthed, and at four they are broken, and a large percentage of those that have come under my notice have turned out good hunters up to from thirteen to fourteen stone.

By doing away with inbreeding on such an extensive scale as it is now practised, and by treating our horses more fairly in every way—putting no undue strain on immature young horses—we may find those “careful steps” which Professor Ridgeway urges should be taken “to preserve our good breeds and not permit them to be contaminated and destroyed by rash experiments in breeding.”

W. S. D.

Mr. Vyell Edward Walker.

On the early morning of January 3rd one of the greatest cricketers this world has produced passed peacefully away, after a brief illness, in his sixty-ninth year.

Of all families associated with the national game, the Walkers of Southgate are pre-eminently the most famous; all the seven brothers were devoted to cricket, and six of them took very high honours at the game, whilst of “V. E.” the universal opinion of those best qualified to judge is, and long has been, that whilst W. G. Grace is the greatest cricketer that ever lived, V. E. Walker was the greatest cricketer who preceded him.

Mr. Walker was born on April 20th, 1837, at Southgate. His earliest studies in the science of cricket were pursued on the common at Stanmore, where he and his four elder brothers were at school before proceeding to Harrow. 1850 found him building a big cricket reputation at Harrow, and by the time he left school in 1854 he was recognised as one of the most promising and prominent amateurs in the country, so that it was only in the natural order of events that he should represent the Gentlemen against the Players a year or two later. From his Harrow days up to the year 1877, when he retired from the captaincy of the Middlesex County eleven, his was one of the most conspicuously active figures in the world of cricket during an epoch of over a quarter of a century.

Lillywhite’s for the year 1859 pronounces Mr. V. E. Walker to be “undoubtedly the best all-round cricketer in the world,” and in 1860 we find the same writer affirming: “To Mr. V. E. Walker we gave last season the credit of being the best all-round cricketer in the world. We have no reason now to alter our opinion, as the figures in the batting and bowling departments will justify the statement.”

In “The Cricketers’ Guide for 1860” we find the following: “Bell’s Life in London considered this gentleman to be A1 last season altogether. It said of him: ‘In coming to the most useful man in an eleven we should not be far wrong in selecting Mr. V. E. Walker.’ As a slow bowler no one (with his fielding) can touch him. A very dangerous bat, and anywhere in the field he is sure to save a vast number of runs. Certainly England cannot be well represented without him, and we doubt whether such an omission will for some years be ever attempted.” It is interesting to remember that at the time all this high praise was justly showered upon V. E. Walker he was only twenty-one years of age. It was in 1859 that he performed his great feat at the Oval, when he scored 20 and 108, and secured the whole of the ten wickets in the first innings. When Mr. Walker had taken nine wickets, and the last two men were together, Julius Cæsar was missed off his bowling, but after this he got rid of Martingell, and so accounted for the dismissal of the entire side, whilst the not-out man had actually been missed off his bowling. There must have been an exciting finish to this match, for we read that “Surrey were all disposed of in the last innings for 39 runs! which lasted over an hour and a half. 20 to 1 was repeatedly laid when England was got out—half-past four on the Saturday—that the match was a drawn one. The day was very dull, and therefore the light was bad, which, coupled with Jackson’s extra-pace bowling, will account for the small innings. Mr. V. E. Walker’s performances in this match are unprecedented. Upon two other occasions Mr. Walker took all ten wickets in one innings—for Gentlemen of Middlesex against Gentlemen of Kent in 1864, and for Middlesex against Lancashire in 1865.”

Mr. Edward Rutter, who played regularly with him, says: “He was a most formidable customer as a bowler, and he was the most athletic fellow that I ever saw in the cricket field. I have seen him catch a man behind the batsman’s wicket near short leg, which shows as well as anything that I can think of what a lot of ground he covered. It did not matter to him how hard the ball was driven back to him; if it was within reach, he made a catch of it with either hand. His action was peculiar; it was a sort of ‘half-cock’ action, for his hand, which was higher than the hip when the ball was leaving it, was at some distance from the body. He always bowled round the wicket, so that the ball came at a considerable angle. But, in my opinion, the greatest reason for his success in bowling was the way in which he fielded it; he was all over the place. How he managed to get his spin I do not know, but he had enough of it.”

Another interesting reference to Mr. Walker’s method of bowling comes from Canon McCormick, of St. James’s, Piccadilly: “I think that ‘V. E.’ was the best slow bowler I ever played, after old Clarke, who bowled as a rule faster than ‘V. E.’ ‘V. E.’ and W. B. Money were perhaps nearer each other in style than any other two bowlers of the time. I never think that Money had full justice done to him. ‘V. E.’ was better than he in both judgment and the way in which he fielded his own bowling; they neither of them tossed the ball in the air as much as other bowlers. ‘V. E.’s’ difficulty chiefly lay in his deceptive variation of pace. He was a splendid judge of a batsman’s abilities, and very quickly found out his weak spots. He did not concern himself with averages, his one leading idea was to get a man out.”

V. E. Walker earned every distinction and honour which the world of cricket could offer. Admittedly the greatest cricketer of the age, he was asked to captain any team representative of England, the South of England, or the Gentlemen, and indeed his marked ability as captain of a side was one of his most valuable qualities.

Mr. C. E. Green says: “Teddy was a splendid captain at every point of the game, and was always cheery under the most disheartening circumstances. Even when you had tried for a catch and missed it, feeling that you were a worm, you did not feel miserable for long, for he would come up to you and say, ‘Well tried, old chap. No one else would have got near the ball.’ The result was that you began to think you had done something rather clever, and it would be a bad look-out for any batsman who selected you for a catch after that.”

He was one of the founders of the Middlesex County Club in the early sixties, and captained the team until he gave up first-class cricket in 1877. The history of Middlesex cricket is intimately associated with the Walker family; they started the Club, and supported it not only by their brilliant cricket gifts, but financially. In the early days of Middlesex cricket their matches were played on the old Cattle Market ground at Islington. When this site was handed over to the builders Middlesex migrated to Lillie Bridge, but quickly moved on to the luxurious ground of Prince’s Club, where Hans Place now stands. When this ground was built over Middlesex accepted the invitation of the Marylebone Club to make Lord’s their headquarters, and during the last few years it must have been interesting to Mr. Walker, as President of the Middlesex Club, to see a handsome income rolling in each year to the credit of the Club, which he and his brothers had for so many years supported and financed. In 1866 Middlesex were what would nowadays be styled Champion County, winning six out of their eight matches and only losing one, when they were beaten by Cambridgeshire.

It looks now as if the time is remote when Cambridgeshire will again beat Middlesex. When a couple of years ago Middlesex were again Champion County, Mr. Walker and his brother, the celebrated Mr. Russell D. Walker, entertained the County team to signalise the event. In the fifties and sixties the cricket played at Southgate was second to none in the world. The Walker brothers were in every sense of the word hosts in themselves, and by the addition of a few of their personal friends they were able to get a Southgate team fit to beat all comers.

Here is a very interesting extract from the “Cricketers’ Guide” with reference to the match of the United All England Eleven against John Walker, Esq.’s, Sixteen at Southgate in 1859. “Grand preparations were made in Mr. John’s usual liberal manner. The betting was spirited, especially when it was known that the valuable services of Mr. C. D. Marsham (which proved so effective in 1858) could not be obtained. The ground was in first-rate condition, the usual labour and attention having been paid to it. The splendid band of the 2nd Life Guards was in attendance, and a very large assemblage made their appearance each day. Vehicles from all parts lined the ground, and the Great Northern Railway ran trains to the Colney Hatch station about a mile and a half from Southgate. The eleven were most hospitably entertained by this well-known supporter, who, it will be noticed, manages to get hold of sufficient strength to always win. For the United, Carpenter scored 9 and 27, J. Caffyn 124 and 30, J. Grundy 56 and 1, Lockyer 20 and 37. For Southgate, Mr. J. Chalkley 18, Mr. E. Dowson 21, Mr. V. E. Walker 88, Mr. F. P. Miller 26, Mr. H. Perkins 60 and 4. Notwithstanding the tremendous scores of the United men, they could not pull it off—Southgate winning in the most plucky manner.”

What with Southgate and Middlesex, with several matches under the auspices of the Surrey Club at the Oval, and occasional matches for the Free Foresters and other clubs, Mr. Walker was able to fill up his cricket season to the best possible advantage; but we shall always regret that his cricket career had just terminated before the visit to this country of the first Australian team in 1878, so that he never had an opportunity of playing in an International match, although to his wise judgment and that of his brother, I. D., was entrusted the selection of the first team to represent England at the Oval in 1878.

V. E. Walker was always in office at Lord’s; in 1891 he filled the post of President, and afterwards was one of the three trustees of the Marylebone Club. He was Chairman of the Wood Green Bench of Magistrates, and only a month or two ago he was the recipient of a presentation walking-stick from members of the police force to commemorate the services he had rendered to a constable in dealing with a violent ruffian. V. E. Walker was a great philanthropist; he gave a public recreation ground to Southgate, he spent thousands of pounds for public improvements in his neighbourhood, and no one will ever know the extent of his private charities.

In every circle in which he moved his death has created void which cannot be filled.

“Our Van.”

RACING.

The retro- and introspection with which some indulge themselves during the dead winter season for flat-racing must leave in the minds of such feelings of uneasiness. One had but to read the sporting papers very deeply to realise that racing was not being indulged in in the typical spirit of give and take; and when we found staring us in the face the advertisement of the Racehorse Owners’ Association, instituted for the protection of owners’ interests, one realised clearly enough that grievances were felt to exist. Possibly in due course the particular grievances which the covenanting owners desire to see redressed will be set forth, for of course the trouble was not taken to found the Association without some ostensible reason. In the meantime, the Jockey Club has declined to take official cognisance of the Association. So far as we have gone, the state of affairs seems to be that certain owners have formed themselves into an association, and have applied to the Jockey Club for official recognition. In effect the Jockey Club asks the Association, “Who are you?” Having so long ruled supreme and unchallenged, the Jockey Club no doubt feels it a little abrupt when a body formed outside itself suddenly appears, and practically suggests that it shall have a word or two to say in the government of the Turf. If it is not to have some sort of say, then there seems to be no reason for its advances towards the Jockey Club, or for its existence even. Enough has been said in print during the past twelve months to make the Jockey Club aware that the advance is not being made in a too friendly spirit towards them; therefore they practically reply, “Thank you, we can get on very well alone, and without your assistance, as heretofore.” It does not follow that an association of racehorse owners cannot exist and do good work without any reference whatever to the Jockey Club. Leaving outside the government of racing as conducted by the Jockey Club, there is plenty of room for the operations of such an association. Combination between owners has been sadly wanting. Now that there is some sign of it, one would like to see the body establish a right to its existence by the carrying out of measures of benefit to the owners and, by consequence, to racing as a whole. To the outsider it seems a little premature for a body, before it has won its spurs, so to speak, to aspire to deal on equal terms with the ruling powers. There are several matters connected with the practice of racing with which progressive or reforming owners might profitably interest themselves in conclave. Before a body can hope to be regarded as a negotiable quantity it must show some capacity for self-government and for dealing with questions of a kind that come naturally within its scope. Owners, as a whole, complain that their interests are not sufficiently considered. The complaint is not here refuted, but so far there has been lacking that combination of action which alone can effect changes. It is not too much to say that an association of owners can bring about that which it is beyond the powers of the Jockey Club to effect, because outside their scope. The Jockey Club can only be administrative; and already it has been accused of going too deeply into minutiæ. Those details which concern the owners should be settled by the owners themselves. It does not seem necessary for them to approach the Jockey Club at all in order to make their presence and power felt. They have but to agree amongst themselves how to act and how not to act under certain conditions, and the rest will come. One can speak in this way so long as one is in the dark concerning the aspirations and intentions of the new body, which has yet to issue its propaganda. When details appear it will be possible to discuss them. For the present, therefore, we must wait in patience.

Amongst the most important matters which a body of owners coming together for the protection of its interests can take in hand is the jockey question. Despite all that has been done the jockey is still the master of the situation; and this is bad for racing. A position in which the jockey dictates the terms is an intolerable one, but that is the position in which the Turf finds itself. It is not a new state of things by any means. The “It’s no use asking me what will win; go and ask that long-legged devil,” of Matt. Dawson could be paraphrased to-day, though the question of dishonesty is not being trenched upon here. What owners have to consider is, whether the relative positions existing between owner and jockey are those of master and man, and whether the reward given the jockey is not altogether out of disproportion to the service rendered. The enormous issues that are at times at stake, and the fatal power for good or evil that is given into the hands of the jockey, as forming the last link in a chain every other link of which has been forged with scrupulous care and disregard of cost, are what give the jockey his advantage. And this advantage he will always hold so long as he is allowed to feel his power, and not made to understand that there is a master mind over him. If the hard truth has to be told, the master mind is what is lacking. By slow stages at first and then rapid ones, we have passed from the times when the jockey stood humbly upon the mat awaiting the pleasure of his lordship, to a day when it is the owner who metaphorically stands upon the mat. To put the matter in a few words, the jockey is enabled to make an income that is not only far too large to be good for him, especially when we consider the lowly station from which he usually springs, but, in addition, is immeasurably in excess of his deserts. Clearing ourselves of the glamour of custom, it must appear plain that it is a ridiculous thing to give a jockey, say, £500 for winning a race, even be it the Derby. How can a jockey ride worth £500? Only on the supposition that if he is not able to anticipate some such guerdon of victory he will not put in his best work and so possibly lose the race; in which case he will be a dishonest jockey and should be dealt with in a totally different manner. The writer does not hesitate to put it on paper that there is no reason why a jockey should be paid more for winning the Derby than for winning any other race, for the simple reason that it is just as easy to win; and we do not have to go back many years to find a jockey who rode an indifferent race, but won through the merit of his horse, rewarded in a manner that would have been extravagant had he performed some prodigy of horsemanship and snatched the race out of the fire by its means. The thing is so glaringly disproportionate, that one is driven to assume that the giving of large presents to jockeys for winning certain races is done out of deference to a custom, the courage to disregard which is lacking. So much is the thing overdone, that one almost comes to applaud instances in which an entirely diametrical course has been pursued, in which the suggestion of parsimony in the case of meritorious riding has been braved.

Even when we take the purely commercial side of racing, in which the sole object is to bring off a betting coup, we see no reason why the jockey should be made a party to the pecuniary gains. It is, of course, the common custom to make him a party by putting him on so much to win. But why? Surely, looked at dispassionately, five guineas is a very nice reward for riding a race. The question of trying or not trying is, of course, quite outside the question. The jockey who does not try when he is being paid to do so is a thief, pure and simple. Consequently, when a jockey is being bribed by promise of extra reward to try, he is merely being educated to be a thief. Why should one be compelled to say, as one practically is, “If you win I will give you so and so?” The assumption should always be that when a jockey mounts a horse he will do his utmost to win: whatever the practice may be, this is the only tenable theory. But we may set aside the proposition of trying and not trying, and come to the position of a jockey not riding at all except at a certain fee. This position is one which the owners themselves only can deal with, and here, I fancy, the Racehorse Owners’ Association, if ever they come to consider the question, will meet a serious stumbling block. The strength of those owners, racing chiefly for sport, whom, purely for the sake of convenience, I will call the Jockey Club circle, is that they do not meet in fevered competition for the services of jockeys. Here we find the distance between master and man kept as wide as it should be, and as it was in the past. The two parties concerned do not meet on the same plane as is the case when mere money is at issue and the end is considered justified by any kind of means. For the state of things at which we have arrived owners must be considered solely to blame, for they have the remedy in their own hands. No fault can reasonably be found with the jockeys for making what hay they can whilst the sun shines. Owners are not unjustifiably complaining of the heavy expenses of racing. Is not the heavy expense of jockeys an item worthy of consideration?

In this matter of over-paying jockeys it seems as though the trainer is not being treated with justice. If, for the sake of argument, it be right and proper for the rider of a Derby winner to receive a present of £500, how much, in the name of equity, should the trainer not receive? He spends anxious months, even years, with animals of enormous value under his charge, which must be kept well and brought to the post trained to the hour. Upon the successful exploitation of the horses entrusted to his charge he has to bring several qualities to bear; and if outsiders are apt to think £2 10s. per week a considerable sum to pay for the charge of a selling “plater,” it becomes insignificant enough in the case of a possible Derby winner, even if the charge be as high as three guineas. The owner has yet to be met with who says to his trainer: “You have a Derby horse of mine. If he wins I shall pay you £10 per week for his training instead of £2 10s.” But this would not be out of keeping with the presentation of several hundreds of pounds to a jockey for riding a single race. The trainer, of course, takes his chance, but so should the jockey, and it is not at all creditable that he should be made the spoiled child of the Turf that he is. The statement that jockeys make more money than anyone else is scarcely to be contradicted, and such a state of things is entirely wrong. So far from the jockey of to-day doing more work for his money, the contrary is the case, as those in the habit of watching morning gallops can testify. It is a difficult thing now to get a jockey who has reached the stage of “fancying himself” to trouble himself about morning gallops. So much, at least, English jockeys have condescended to learn from the Americans.

The National Hunt is still active in its endeavours to devise a satisfactory hurdle, but its latest effort has by no means met with general approval. The Clerk of the Course at Hurst Park received instructions from the Committee to supply a hurdle, the foot of which was to measure 16 in from the bottom rail and be wholly inserted in the ground. It was to be put in at an angle so as to slope the hurdle, the common method adopted by the farm labourers who usually undertake such work being to ram the hurdle in straight and then force it over to the required slope. This is an abundant cause of the swinging-back hurdle that is so dangerous. So far so good; but the Committee provided further that the hurdles were to be bushed in the middle part only, the bottom and top rails standing out clear. It was of course the top rail that mattered, for horses accustomed to bushed tops might easily fail to see it. The innovation came in for severe criticism at the hands of trainers, some horses being sent home without competing. The very reasonable objection was made that it is scarcely fair to horses to spring a surprise of this sort upon them. It is one thing to school a horse carefully at a new kind of obstacle, and quite another to ask him to race over it. A further item of complaint, with which, however the National Hunt had nothing to do, was against the too solid nature of the end uprights of the hurdles, two coming together, making quite a formidable obstruction that suggested risk to life and limb.

THE LATE MR. W. G. CRAVEN.

By the death of Mr. William George Craven, which occurred at his residence, 63, Curzon Street, Mayfair, last month, the Jockey Club has lost its oldest member, with the exception of the Earl of Coventry, who was elected forty-six years ago, twelve months prior to the election of the late Mr. Craven. The deceased gentleman was instrumental in obtaining several reforms in the Jockey Club which were much needed at the time. Born in 1835, the late Mr. Craven was the eldest son of the late Hon. George Augustus Craven. He was educated at Eton, and served a few years in the 1st Life Guards. He was elected a member of the Jockey Club at the early age of twenty-six, and three years afterwards was appointed a Steward. He was again appointed Steward in 1879, during which period of office he was called upon to deal with the memorable objection to Bend Or after the Derby of 1880. Mr. Craven owned many good horses in his time, and among his winnings were the Gold Vase at Ascot in 1864, and the Great Metropolitan Stakes at Epsom the following year. Most of his horses were, however, sold in 1866, since which date his colours have been seldom seen on the racecourse.

HUNTING.

The past month will be remembered by hunting people for the number of long, well-sustained hunts that have taken place. Almost any one of them would be entitled to take a place among the historic runs recorded from time to time in BAILY. The most remarkable was the run of the Albrighton on Saturday, December 30th. It will be remembered that this well-known Staffordshire hunt started the season with a new master, Lieut.-Colonel Goulburn, and a new huntsman, Morris, who had been first whipper-in, under Tom Bishopp, with the Grafton, and had succeeded the latter as huntsman. The fixture was at Dudmaston, in the Bridgnorth district. This is a meet which attracts few, for one of the last lessons we learn in hunting is that it is better to go to meets, good or bad by reputation, if you have a horse fit to go. We never know where or when the great run will come off. The first fox went down to the Severn and swam across. The next fox, after a much longer hunt, also ran down to the Severn, near Apley Park, which river here divides the Albrighton from the Wheatland country. Without hesitation he entered the river and, followed by the pack, swam across. This of course threw out the huntsmen and field, but they found a bridge, and Morris got to his hounds in time, by a judicious cast, to hit off the line. Not without checks and difficulty, but with hounds and huntsman working well, the line was kept until at last darkness set in, and after two hours and a half hounds had to be stopped.

The coming change in the Blankney Hunt is a matter of rejoicing, because once more a Bentinck will be connected with a hunt which Lord Henry Bentinck did so much for. Readers of BAILY who will turn back to their old volumes will learn easily how much. Then Lord Charles Bentinck, who is to become huntsman and joint master, is a well-known soldier and polo player. He was one of the team of the 9th Lancers, in their best days a most brilliant regimental team. Lord Charles will no doubt make a good huntsman, and keep up the Blankney record of sport over what is probably the best scenting and perhaps the stiffest country in Lincolnshire. On the other hand, I am sorry that it should displace an excellent hunt servant and old friend in George Shepherd, who, under three masters, has done so well. It is not likely, however, that so good a huntsman will be long in want of a situation. He is one of those instances where a first-rate whipper-in has made an excellent huntsman.

Among the packs that have had noteworthy runs must be included the Heythrop. Theirs took place on Friday, December 22nd. They met at New Barn, and found at once. In the Bourton Vale hounds ran well. The scent, though not burning, was holding, and hounds worked out the line without much help. The finish was a kill in Bruern Wood after a fine hunt of two hours and a quarter. The distance from point to point is ten miles, but hounds must have covered fifteen miles or more. Captain Daly, Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Lord, and Major Scott were among those who saw it all.

As I write the news reaches me that the North Cotswold have found a master. This country, of course, is neighbour to the Heythrop. Mr. McNeill’s successor is Sir John Hume Campbell, at present Master of the Ormond, where he has not found that foxes are preserved as they ought to be. In the North Cotswold there is nothing to be desired. Sir John intends to hunt the hounds himself. It is not stated whether Mr. McNeill’s wonderful pack of Belvoir-bred bitches will be kept in the country, but no doubt this will be the case. Masters are not scarce, for there were no less than twenty-two candidates.

Melton condition seldom fails to carry the sportsman to the end of the day, but on Monday, January 8th, the Quorn, having met at Nether Broughton, hounds led them such a dance in the Belvoir Vale that many horses could not reach the end. No doubt the going was heavy, for there has been a fall of rain which has made up for the drought. In Welby Osier Beds they found their fox, and this covert is a key to the best of the Belvoir. At Bescaby Oaks, the traditional first draw of the Belvoir on the opening day, the fox saved his brush.

Even more remarkable was the run the Woodland Pytchley had on January 8th. The big woods of this country are divided by grass fields and big fences, and it always seems to me that to be practicable at all there are no more formidable fences than some of the boundary fences of this country. During the early months of the year, in a well-preserved country with strong coverts, foxes are on the move, and a stout travelling woodland fox takes a great deal of killing, even with that sharp pack of bitches which Tom Carr handles so well. Hounds ran two wide rings from Carlton Wood, and then perhaps with a fresh fox hunted on to Desbrough. Had there been a kill, this run would have been perfect in its way. In any case, it adds one more to the many old-fashioned runs we have to tell of this month.

To this must be added the run of the Blankney also on January 8th, which was one of the days that have provided a good scent in many countries. Mr. Edgar Lubbock took his hounds, by Sir Gilbert Greenall’s invitation, to Aswarby. Sir George Whichcote is such a careful fox preserver that the Belvoir, with their wide extent of country, cannot come often enough. It was a gallant old customer that they found in one of the plantations. The line was very straight, and that they travelled a nine-mile point in fifty minutes shows that the pace was more than ordinarily good.

No country has, without adding to our list of historic runs, had a better average season than the Atherstone under Mr. Munro and Whitemore. But for a long and sustained chase ending with a kill the palm must be awarded to the Fitzwilliam at Tillbrook. The bitch pack dropped on to an out-lier. Starting close to his brush, the pack settled to hunt at a fair pace, and, best of all, never left the line till they reached Barnwell Wood, through which good scenting covert hounds ran furiously for blood, and were not long in catching their fox. This was one of those runs not too fast for the horses, with no checks, and hounds doing their own with lots of drive and merry music, that keep up one’s love for foxhunting.

Still another long and good run is to hand. There are people who tell me, and I can well believe it, that Dursley is an admirable centre. Indeed, many West country people migrate thither after Christmas in search of sport, and are seldom disappointed.

The Fitzhardinge, meeting on January 9th, at Empney, on the Gloucestershire side of their country, drew Monkshill, and found a fox which within a radius of five or six miles knew a lot of country. He stood up for two hours. Several times hounds went very fast, and the fox was kept moving the whole time. Nevertheless, he beat them after all, fairly running hounds out of scent. Then came a bright scurry; but perhaps it is on a working day the Fitzhardinge pack are seen to the best advantage. No “sleeping partners of the chase” are allowed in the Berkeley Castle kennels.

Foxes and stags choose strange refuges, and this month has seen a fox found on a lime-kiln and in a coal-hole; a stag was hunted through the streets of Lancaster town. This season I saw a fox run up a lane on the road, spring on to the bank, and double back along the top of the bank, and lie down in the hedgerow. Naturally the hounds hit it off in the lane, and running up some distance, were then cast on either side of the road, but of course without effect. It was late in the day, and the Master had actually started for home, when some one saw the fox, which, however, deserved to escape.

No pack has had a better season on the average than the Duke of Beaufort’s. Their country always seems to me to hold a scent well, and the Duke and his huntsman are such masters of the science of hunting that it is a pleasure to see them handle hounds. Though the day in question, January 6th, at Hullavington, afforded nothing extraordinary, yet if every day we could hunt over a line as pleasant and varied as this side of the Duke’s country we should have nothing to complain of. Foxes, too, are always plentiful, and the more I hunt and the more experience of different countries I have, the more fully do I appreciate Beckford’s wisdom in liking plenty of foxes.

I suppose that the present season will be looked back on by the followers of the three staghound packs in the West as one of the best hind-hunting seasons on record. In the first place, the inclement weather which often makes hunting on Exmoor in the winter months a doubtful pleasure has this year not been endured. A few days of frost, a few of fog, and some wet days, but on the whole the weather and the scent have been in favour of the hounds, and hounds have run very straight. That is, they have made good points, but a red deer hind generally runs a ring or two, and then just when you think she is beaten away she goes straight and hard as if she never meant to stop. Mr. Stanley’s hounds, meeting by invitation of the Devon and Somerset at Slowley Wood, on Saturday, December 30th, had a run which was remarkable for straightness and pace. It lasted about three hours. There is always some preliminary work with a hind. Much depends on whether hounds can be kept at her. This one had little peace. She was found in the open, and about half an hour later the Master sent for the pack. He was enabled to steal a march by lifting hounds into the Avill valley, where they took up the line by the well-known farmhouse, and at once climbed the hill at its steepest part. Going up with them one lost ground, as they ran well and straight into a linhay behind Alcombe Village. This seemed to be the end, but some excited lads frightened the hind out. She dashed right through the pack and then went straight away for Dunkery Beacon. Those who had ridden the run had been galloping hard for two hours, and horses climbed the steep sides slowly: far more quickly did hounds reach the top. Three-quarters of an hour later this hind soiled in the stream at Nutscale and, unable to leave it, was killed. The first point to Alcombe was five miles, the second about seven, and the hind travelled quite twice as far to make her points. Allowing for the turns, though the pace was very good, hounds hunted beautifully, and every one was up at the finish. Perhaps even more remarkable was the run of January.

The Devon and Somerset met on Thursday, January 11th, at Heathpoult—a geographical expression—near the famous coverts of Throatcombe and Chargot. Three hinds were roused, and one was quickly singled out. From that moment till the hind was killed hounds hunted continuously. It was an exceedingly fine performance on the part of the hounds and huntsman. About eight couple of tufters were out, and on these fell most of the work. One incident showing the control of the huntsman over his hounds and what can be done to make foxhounds handy. These hounds, be it remembered, are big doghounds with a few large bitches. Now doghounds, as we all know, are apt to be self-willed and headstrong. I may also note that the heel-line of a red deer is often very tempting. Well, the huntsman was on one side of a valley, and the hounds were working on the other, when two or three couple hit the heel-line and threw their tongues eagerly. “Ware heel,” said the huntsman, naming the hounds. They stopped, looked across, and as if seeing it was their huntsman, left the heel-line and drove forward, and picked up the line of their quarry which had gone on. Once again the huntsman delighted me when hounds divided, by going to fetch those running on the fresh line. He saved the situation in a most difficult place. After a long, interesting and intricate hunt, we at last emerged on the heather, and for some miles stretched over the heather as far as Exford Common. Twice the hind took refuge among other deer, and each time she was driven out.

Then at the nick of time the Master (Mr. Greig) brought up the pack, and we had a glorious gallop right back to Annicombe. Then away to Cloutsham, and then the whole length of Horner to the mill; then up over the hill and across the valley to West Luccombe, where hounds took their deer. We ran from about 10.30 to 2. Besides the Master and hunt servants, only three of those who had started from Heathpoult were present. Several joined us by the way, and some good and true followers were left on Dunkery. The pace was good at times, but formed an intricate piece of hound-work, and an example of how handy foxhounds can be made, and how they can hold to the line of their quarry; for we saw at least thirty other deer on the way. With this run may be compared the very fine bit of hound-work displayed by the Cottesmore when they met at Luffenham. Thatcher is another huntsman who has made his big doghounds as handy as beagles.

I believe with these the whole secret is personal attachment to the man who hunts. Self-willed and sulky if knocked about or rated, a dog-hound will do anything for the man he loves.

The Cottesmore ran from Luffenham, though in the first place a hunt for the lover hounds, was not without interest for the riding man, since the line lay over that wild and delightful tract of the Cottesmore country which lies round Wing and Manton. From field to field hounds hunted, always working forward, always on the line, ever drawing nearer to their fox. If the fox regulates his pace, as I believe he does, by the strength of the chorus behind him, this fox could have had but little rest, as the sustained roar of the pack told him that they were relentlessly pursuing. The end came at Glaston Gorse, when a thoroughly wearied fox succumbed at last to the pack. During the past week—Thursday, January 11th—the Cottesmore and Mr. Fernie’s hounds met at East Norton, which is on the border of the two countries. Charles Isaac, Mr. Fernie’s huntsman, handled the combined packs, with his late whipper-in, Thatcher, of Cottesmore, to help him.

In consequence of the prolonged ill-health of Mr. C. E. Green, the Committee of the Essex Hunt have decided to seek a new Master, and the following advertisement has appeared in the papers: “As a Master will be required for the Essex Hunt at the end of the season, any gentleman wishing to offer himself as Master is invited to apply to the Hon. Secretary, Mr. A. Waters, Coopersale Lodge, Epping, Essex.”

HUNTING IN YORKSHIRE.

Fine open weather continues, and at the time of writing—the day on which the mean temperature is, on an average, the lowest in the year—it is so mild that one would almost think the season would get through without any lengthy stoppage. Whether sport does not benefit by a little frost is a question which is open to discussion, and at any rate it cannot be said that the most open seasons have been distinguished by the most historical runs.

Nor has there been a great average of sport since I last wrote, though there have been a few runs the records of which are worth preserving; the disposition to fog, however, is decidedly against sport, and we have had a lot of fog this season, hounds having been stopped by it several times.

It should be noticed that the good example set by Lord Helmsley in the early part of last month has been followed in many parts of Yorkshire and the neighbouring counties, and it is satisfactory to see that the Hunt Servants’ Benefit Society is likely to benefit to a considerable extent by the plan which had such a happy inception when the Sinnington met at Habton Village early in December. It may perhaps interest some of my readers to know that over £80 was collected on the day the Bramham Moor met at Tockwith. That same day when they met at Tockwith (December 15th) they had a good day’s sport. White Syke Whin, which has been a certain find this season, and has now got to be a very fine covert, provided a brace of foxes to begin with, and with one of these they had a brilliant forty-five minutes by Marston Whin, which they skirted, Bilton Grange, Bickerton Village, and Ingmanthorpe Willow Garth to Lingcroft, where they rolled him over. A second fox from the Rash took them by the banks of the Nidd, and over it to an osier-bed near Kirk Hammerton Hall, where they marked him to ground; and a short but merry burst from Hutton Thorns to Collier Haggs, ending in a kill, brought a good day’s sport to a close.

On Monday, December 25th, they had a very good hunting run of a couple of hours. The fixture was Woodhall Bridge, and as they were moving off to draw, a travelling fox was viewed near Addlethorpe. Smith soon had hounds on his line, and they ran fast by Lund Head to Ingham’s Whin, and through it by Parkin Wood to Cocked Hat Whin. They checked for a moment, but ran on again cheerily over Barrowby Hill to the Punchbowl. Then came some slower hunting to Leconfield Whin, and nearly to Rudding Park; and then over the railway, when the pace improved, and they fairly raced over the grass of Spofforth Haggs to Ingham’s Plantation. Here they checked, but they hit off the line again over the Spacey Houses road, and hunted nearly to Swindon Wood, where the fox beat them.

They had a useful day’s sport on Friday, January 5th, when they met at Walton. Walton Wood, as usual, held foxes, and one went away without much pressing in the direction of Thorp Arch.

Whether he was headed, or whether it was a travelling fox making for the wood, it is difficult to say, but as Smith was taking hounds to the holloa they met a fox, and soon ran into him. Then came a long draw before they found again in New Spring, whence they hunted at a holding pace by Heslock Field Rash up to Cowthorpe Village. A right-hand turn took them thence through Lingcroft, where the pace improved, and past Bickerton Village, and they finally marked the fox to ground not far from the York Road. Champagne Whin held a fox, which after half an hour’s ringing round about the Igmanthorpe coverts was killed in Hatfield’s Plantation. They found again in Thorp Arch Whin, and hunted with no great scent over the park, and by Walton to Walton Wood, where the fox beat them.

The Bedale have been having some good old-fashioned hunting runs during the month. On Friday, December 29th, they met at Scorton, and found in a small covert named Greenberry. The fox had apparently been gone some time, for they hunted slowly at first by Hewson Hill to Streetland. Here the pace improved, and hounds ran smartly, pointing for Pepper Arden, and then by Rushwood to the Hobden Hill Plantation at Kiplin. They hovered for a moment when they got through this covert—it was scarcely a check—and Freeman held them over a sticky fallow on to the grass, and away they raced again nearly to Ellerton. Then they turned along the Swale-side to Loughton Village and Loughton Hall. Then crossing the Swale a little further on they pointed for Kirby Fleetham. Then skirting Scruton Wood they ran by Morton Flats up to Morton Bridge. The fox crossed the Swale again at the bridge, and hounds ran on by Morton Grange and Langlands, and over the Howe-beck, and past Greenhills and Low Sober, to the Low Plain Plantation at Solberge, within a couple of fields of which they ran into their fox after a good run of two hours. The point would be from seven and a half to eight miles, but hounds would run over twice the distance.

On Monday, January 8th, they met at Rudd Hall, and had another good sporting run. They found in Goskins, and ran first by Tunstall Village, pointing for Brough. Scotton Village was next reached, and then they made a wide circuit past Hawxwell Hall and Garriston. A long check took place at Garriston, and then hounds hunted through the Constable Burton coverts, and then turned to the right over Barden Moor. They hunted steadily on by Laverock Gill, and ran parallel to the Richmond Road down to Hipswell coverts, where they worked up to their fox, and they rolled him over in the open midway between the railway and the River Swale, opposite Easby Abbey, after a good hunting run of two hours and three quarters.

The Cleveland had a capital run on Monday, January 8th, when they met at Marske Station. They had a long draw, all the low coverts being blank, but they found a good fox on the historic Briar Flat in Wilton Wood, and ran him at a great pace by Dunsdale and Court Green to Guisbrough Park. Thence they ran along the brow of the hill to Osborne Rush, and skirting Jackson’s Plantation, passed Upsall, and ran by Hamilton Hills and Marton Gill, where they bore slightly to the left and hunted with a much worse scent by Grey Towers and Sunny Cross to Seamer Whin, where the fox beat them after a good run of an hour and twenty-five minutes. It was a seven-mile point, and hounds crossed a lot of country of varied kind.

Lord Galway’s had a capital day’s sport from Gringley-on-the-Hill on Monday, January 8th. Finding in Gringley Gorse, they raced over the grass to Pear Tree Farm, where the fox was headed, and crossing the Beckingham Road, ran by Clayworth Wood and Beckingham Village, and over the Great Northern Railway to Morton Point, where they turned left-handed over the railway again and ran by Walkeringham on to Mr. Naylor’s farm, where they ran him to ground in view after forty minutes at top pace. Another fox that had evidently done some work was found in Gringley Gorse, and killed after a sharp short burst on Red Hills. They found again in a patch of gorse on the banks of the River Idle, and ran by Drakeholes, nearly to Everton, and then crossed the Chesterfield Canal, took a line by Prospect Hill to Winton New Covert. Then recrossing the canal they ran by Mr. Otter’s thorns, and marked their fox to ground between Hayton and Clayworth after a good fifty minutes.

This is the time of year when changes in hunting establishments begin to be talked about, and an important change will take place in Lord Galway’s country, for Sam Morgan, who has been at Serlby for twenty-nine years, has resigned his appointment. Morgan will have been forty-one seasons with hounds at the end of this season. His first place was as extra whipper-in under his father, Jack Morgan, when the latter was huntsman for the sixth Lord Galway. He held this place for a year, and then went to the late Lord Portsmouth, with whom he stopped nine years, two as second whipper-in and seven as first whipper-in. From there he went to the Percy, then under the mastership of Major Brown, as first whipper-in, and from Northumberland he went to Serlby again. Forty-one years as a hunt servant, and only in three places during that time, is indeed an honourable record, and all hunting men will be sorry to learn that Morgan is leaving the country with which his name and the name of his family is so closely associated. I also hear that Freeman is leaving the Bedale, and rumour has it that he is going to hunt one of the Midland packs.

AMERICAN v. ENGLISH FOXHOUND MATCH.

The “Van Driver” is indebted to an American correspondent for particulars of the work done by the competing packs in this unique “match,” which took place in the Piedmont Valley, Virginia, during the first fortnight of November last. The American pack consisted of 6½ couple belonging to the Middlesex Hunt and the English of 18 couple belonging to the Grafton Hunt. The stakes were $1,000 a side, and the test was to be the killing of the fox. The English hounds were hunted on five days by Robert Cotesworth, and the Americans worked on six days hunted by the Master, Mr. H. Smith. The only kill was scored by the English pack, and as their victim proved to be a tame fox, accidentally released when the hounds were near, this did not count, and the judges had to decide the question of merit on the work they witnessed. It does not appear to have been a very satisfactory method of determining relative merit, as when scent served well either pack ran clean away from the field, “held up” by wire or by the occurrence of land on which the farmers did not desire the presence of horsemen. The number of refuges open to a hunted fox explains the lack of blood obtained; stopping earths seems to have been neglected. The judges gave their award in favour of the American hounds as having “done the best work with the object of killing the fox in view,” but English sportsmen will learn with astonishment that on two occasions when the American pack were at fault a judge lifted them and got them again on the line! Unfortunately the account sent does not give any information concerning the breeding of either pack; beyond the fact that the English were imported hounds and the American bred in the States we are left in the dark. A picture from a photograph in the Rider and Driver, showing the American pack on the kennel bench, suggests that these are pure-bred foxhounds.

THE NEW ARMY POLO COMMITTEE.

It will be remembered that at a meeting of senior Army officers held last summer at Hurlingham, it was unanimously agreed to form a new polo committee, consisting of the Inspector of Calvary (President), cavalry brigadiers, officers commanding regiments, and representatives of corps, interested in polo, and the three members of the Inter-Regimental Tournament Committee (with the Secretary to act in a similar position to the new committee). The meeting agreed that the objects of the new committee should be: (1) To deal with questions affecting principle in the management of regimental polo, especially with a view to keeping down expenses, &c. (2) To act as a consultative and authoritative body on all questions affecting Army polo. (3) To receive from regiments any suggestions, &c., regarding principle or expenditure connected with polo, &c.; and (4) to strengthen the Executive Inter-Regimental Tournament Committee, but without interfering with its management of the details of the tournament. As a result the following Committee has been formed for 1906:—

Major-General R. S. S. Baden-Powell, C.B., Inspector of Cavalry, President; Major-General H. J. Scobell, C.B., 1st Cavalry Brigade; Brigadier-General Hon. J. Byng, M.V.O., 2nd Cavalry Brigade; Brigadier-General M. F. Rimington, C.B., 3rd Cavalry Brigade; Brigadier-General E. H. Allenby, C.B., 4th Cavalry Brigade; Major-General F. J. W. Eustace, C.B., and Colonel E. J. Phipps-Hornby, V.C., representing Royal Artillery; Colonel G. F. Gorringe, C.M.G., D.S.O., representing Royal Engineers; Major-General Sir W. G. Knox, K.C.B., Major-General A. H. Paget, C.V.O., C.B., Brigadier-General E. A. Alderson, C.B., A.D.C., and Colonel A. J. Godley, Irish Guards, representing Infantry; Colonel T. C. P. Calley, C.B., M.V.O., 1st Life Guards; Colonel C. F. Anstruther-Thomson, M.V.O., D.S.O., 2nd Life Guards; Colonel H. T. Fenwick, M.V.O., D.S.O., Royal Horse Guards; Colonel S. B. Bogle-Smith, C.B., 1st Dragoon Guards; Lieutenant-Colonel H. Mercer, 3rd Dragoon Guards; Lieutenant-Colonel C. W. Thompson, D.S.O., 7th Dragoon Guards; Lieutenant-Colonel C. Williams, Royal Scots Greys; Lieutenant-Colonel H. W. G. Graham, D.S.O., 5th Lancers; Lieutenant-Colonel E. A. Herbert, M.V.O., 6th Dragoons; Lieutenant-Colonel R. L. Walter, 7th Hussars; Lieutenant-Colonel H. N. M. Thoyts, 8th Hussars; Lieutenant-Colonel W. H. Rycroft, 11th Hussars; Colonel E. D. J. O’Brien, 14th Hussars; Colonel G. P. Wyndham, 16th Lancers; Colonel P. S. Marling, V.C., C.B., 18th Hussars; Lieutenant-Colonel H. G. de Pledge, 19th Hussars; Lieutenant-Colonel W. D. Whatman, 20th Hussars; and Colonel J. Fowle, 21st Lancers. Major Lord C. Bentinck, (9th Lancers), Major G. F. Milner, D.S.O. (1st Life Guards), Major G. K. Ansell (6th Dragoons), and Major S. L. Barry, D.S.O. (10th Hussars) (Hon. Sec.), Inter-Regimental Tournament Committee.

The Committee will assemble at Hurlingham the day of, and previous to, the final of the annual Inter-Regimental Tournament.

THE M.C.C. CRICKET TEAM IN SOUTH AFRICA.

Two defeats out of the first three eleven-aside matches was a pretty bad start for Mr. Warner’s team, a batting collapse against the Transvaal being followed by a defeat by one wicket in the first so-called Test Match. One may well ask, “Why Test Match, and of what is the match supposed to be a test?” If a test of anything it is probably a test of the judgment, or rather lack of judgment, of those who selected the M.C.C. team. If the South Africans, who are paying the piper, had called this tune and asked for a nice easy team to beat, we could better apprehend the position, but we understand that the South African cricket authorities took an early opportunity of remonstrating against the unrepresentative quality of this team sent out under the ægis of the Marylebone Club. There may be many points of resemblance between the management of the War Office and the Marylebone Club—at any-rate, they seem to have been of one mind in consistently and resolutely under-rating the strength of our opponents in South Africa.

In 1904, when a strong South African team visited this country, they modestly enough asked that they might be allowed to play just one match at the headquarters of cricket against a team representative of the strength of England.

Instead of this, the Marylebone Club put “An England XI.” into the field, and the South Africans won with great ease a victory to which they attached but little importance. This slight has been followed by this unfortunate selection of a team to represent, not the Marylebone Club, for some of the players have nothing to do with that institution, but probably the authority and wisdom of the M.C.C.; and for English cricket and for Mr. P. F. Warner—the Commander-in-chief of this at present somewhat unfortunate team—we much regret that cricketers more representative of English cricket should not have been chosen. But still more do we regret this error of judgment from the point of view of South African cricket. Here is a colony which has beaten the Australians, which has beaten most of our counties, and triumphed over “An England XI.,” at Lord’s, asking for a good England team to come out and teach her cricketers something more; and then comes this melancholy but extremely probable downfall of a moderate enough team in no way representative of English cricket.

No doubt the difficulties in the way of our best amateurs getting away for a winter’s cricket tour are very great; but if it is impossible to get a really good side to accept the hospitality of the South Africans, it would be almost better for the M.C.C. executive to confess their inability to organise a team than to send out anything second-rate.

GOLF.

The Royal Liverpool Club has come to arrangements with Lord Stanley of Alderley, for a lease of the ground at Hoylake, with the loss of which it was threatened some time ago. Considerable addition of expense is entailed upon the club, and to meet it the club subscription and other charges will have to be raised, but the result of the transaction is to preserve the round at Hoylake in its entirety, a consummation for which all golfers will feel devoutly thankful.

It is announced that the Irish Open Championship meeting will be held this year in the first week of September. Last year the experiment was tried of holding it a month earlier, but it did not succeed, and it is hoped that reverting to the old date may draw to the meeting many of the best golfers on this side of the Channel. Portrush is the place of play on this occasion.

The Cricketers’ Golfing Society has set on foot an inter-county tournament on the lines of the County Cricket Championship. The membership of the society is confined to members of first and second class county cricket teams and to University Blues, and it will furnish the teams for the golf tournament.

Teams representing the Stock Exchange and the Dramatic Profession in London engaged in a competition on the links of the Burnham Beeches Club, the former winning by 8¾ against 5½ points.

The Earl of Dudley has decided to give a Challenge Cup for competition each year among members of the two clubs which play on the links at Dollymount and Portmarnock. This cup is intended as a souvenir of the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland of Lord Dudley.

THE WINTER EXHIBITION AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.

The thirty-seventh Winter Exhibition of the Royal Academy opened on New Year’s Day, consisting this year of a very excellent and representative collection of works by the old masters and deceased masters of the British School. The exhibition is particularly strong in paintings by Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, and Turner; and among more recent painters represented are admirable examples of Millais and Burne-Jones. Sporting and animal subjects are not very numerous on the walls. Attention may be drawn to J. F. Herring’s “Return from Deer-stalking” (No. 40); to Sir Edwin Landseer’s “The Catspaw” (No. 50), which, it will be remembered, furnished the late Sir John Tenniel with a text for one of his cleverest Punch cartoons; and to Ralph Caldecott’s animated “Hunting Scenes” (Nos. 240 and 243); “Rabbiting near Cromer” (No. 51), by James Stark, deserves notice, and so does James Ward’s spirited picture of “The Hetman Platoff on the charger which he afterwards gave to Hugh, Earl Percy” (No. 67). The charger, a grey Arab, is a singularly fine piece of work, though it may be objected that no horse, even an Arab, possesses eyes so large as those in the head of this otherwise perfectly drawn animal. The Arabs or Barbs in J. F. Lewis’s “Study of Horses” (No. 246) are well worth close examination as masterpieces of equine anatomy.

PELOTA AT THE WINTER CLUB.

Those who have organised the new club at Olympia have left no stone unturned to provide for the increasing demand for all kinds of games during the winter months. There is something very novel in seeing football played under cover upon the huge grass carpet, provided, we understand, at a cost of some five thousand pounds, and covering the entire floor of the building. There are four or five squash racquet courts, twice as many billiard tables, a rifle range, and sufficient space for several games at croquet. But the attraction which will probably draw many visitors to Olympia is the game of Pelota, the national game of Spain, now played for the first time in England by six pelotari, drawn from the professional champions from the Basque country. The game is played on a cement court eighty yards long, by fifty broad, with a front wall, but no side or back walls, though in Spain we believe that some of the best courts have back walls. It is of the same nature as racquets, only the ball—a rubber-cored ball of the size between a base-ball and a fives-ball—is slung by the players against the front wall after being caught in a sickle-shaped basket-work scoop, resembling more than anything else the semi-circular mud-guards held over the wheels of carriages to prevent the soiling of ladies’ dresses. This scoop or chirista is about two feet long, and the dexterity with which the players catch the ball in it, whether it comes straight to them or they have to take it back-handed or on the half volley, is little short of marvellous; the pace of the ball from the back-handed swing is simply terrific, and when it is remembered that the line above which the ball must strike the front wall is of much the same height as that in an ordinary racquet court, it can easily be realised that the server and the front players, who are constantly under fire from the slingers at the back, require a skill which can only be acquired by life-long habit not merely to take their part in the game, but to avoid being seriously injured.

FANCY DRESS BALLS AT COVENT GARDEN.

The fortnightly masquerades at the Royal Opera House are more popular than ever with light-hearted Londoners. Now that the autumn season of opera is over, the whole of the large house is available for the accommodation of the merry throng of dancers who flock to Covent Garden on alternate Fridays, and the additional space afforded by the stage and its surrounding area is beautified by scenery from the near East. The competition for the prizes for the best and most original dresses is apparently more keen than ever, and the march past of competitors is certainly one of the sights of London.

“CINDERELLA” AT THE EMPIRE.

The name of Cinderella certainly is just about now one to conjure with. The phenomenally successful “Catch of the Season” is none other than our old friend in modern dress; at Drury Lane the most attractive pantomime is “Cinderella,” and now the management of the Empire have produced a beautiful ballet in five scenes, which present for more than an hour twice a day a series of some of the most beautiful and striking effects that have been seen for many a long day.

The one and only Mademoiselle Adeline Gênée is the most delightful and dainty Cinderella, and of all her artistic triumphs she has enjoyed none greater than the present, and she is well supported by Mademoiselle Zanfretta as the fairy godmother, Mr. W. Vokes as the décavé Baron, and Mr. Fred Farren as the Baroness. “Cinderella,” produced as a matinée on January 6th, speedily found herself in the evening bill as well as in daily matinées.

The revue “Rogues and Vagabonds” has proved a great attraction, thanks to the extremely clever mimicry of Mr. Arthur Playfair and Miss Marie Dainton, and the performance of Miss Sibyl Arundale as Harlequin. Miss Arundale has a genius which seems to be incapable of being misplaced, and whether she play “Lady Molly,” “Nanoya, the Cingalee,” “The Gipsy Girl,” or Harlequin, she is invariably a great artist.

With the revue written up to date, there seems no reason why it should not remain a prominent feature of the Empire programme for a long time to come.

The Barber-Ritchie cycling trio is one of the cleverest turns at the Empire, and certainly it seems unlikely that proficiency in cycling can well reach a much higher development than this. Unless our memory fails us, we were thrilled some months ago by seeing Mr. Barber loop the loop on the Empire stage, and Mr. Ritchie is, we hope, none other than our old friend the Tramp Cyclist, whose grotesque disasters and stock of superfluous collars caused us so much merriment a little time ago. We hope that the Barber-Ritchie combination will be visible in London for some long time to come.

BALLET AT THE ALHAMBRA.

The grand ballet “Parisiana” now holds the stage at the Alhambra, and a very magnificent show it is, with its variety of kaleidoscopic scenes ranging from 1760 down to 1906. The chief scenes are by Menessier, representing “Grand Magasins du Printemps,” with a ballet of peignoirs, parfumerie, corsages, and so on, and the final scene, “La Fête de Neuilly,” which is a fine spectacle.

Mademoiselle Jane May, the pantomimic success of “L’Enfant Prodigue,” is to be found playing a silently voluble Pierrot and gamin, and perhaps there is almost too much of her performance, as the pantomime appears rather to check the action of the ballet. La Sylphe executes some of her characteristic dances, and the entire setting of the production is very beautiful. “My Lady Nicotine” still holds its place in the programme of the Alhambra, in which also La Sylphe and Miss Edith Slacke are to be seen. The other items of the programme are good, but almost too fleeting for us to mention in a monthly notice, although “Urbanora,” or “We put the world before you,” is always with us, and very amusing indeed are the pictures of “Dolly Land” and “Noah’s Ark.”

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We have received from Messrs. Lawrence and Jellicoe, Limited, 16, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C., a set of four coloured drawings by Mr. Leonard Ravenhill, entitled “Bridge Problems.” The drawings, which are published by special arrangement with the proprietors of Punch, depict the humorous side of the game, the expressions of the players’ faces being particularly well portrayed. The set of four signed proofs can be had from the publishers at four guineas, the price of a set of prints being one and a half guineas.

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Such elementary ideas as to the correct management of foxhound puppies as those possessed by many by whom the youngsters are walked must have frequently given cause for anxiety to the Master and his kennel huntsman, who have entrusted their charges to the tender mercies of the walkers. Often a few hints are all that are needed to enable the well-meaning but inexperienced walker to provide against the mishaps to which puppies are peculiarly liable. These hints are supplied in a leaflet by an M.F.H., which gives instructions on walking hound puppies, and which is being sold for the benefit of the fowl fund of an Irish hunt by Lady Coghill, Glen Barrahane, Castletownshend, co. Cork, at 2d. each, or 1s. 6d. per dozen. Directions as to food, lodging, manners, and illness are briefly given, which, if intelligently followed, will prevent avoidable illness, which so often ends the career of a promising puppy, and will make the huntsman’s task of training them far easier than is often the case when the puppies have contracted riotous habits while at walk.

Sporting Intelligence. [During December, 1905—January, 1906.]

On December 16th, Sir C. Courtenay Knollys, K.C.M.G., Governor of the Leeward Islands, died at Southsea. The deceased was in his college days a very fine sculler, and in 1872 won the Diamond Sculls. In the following year he rowed in the Oxford crew at Putney.

There was an interesting function in connection with the meet of the Sinnington Hounds at Douthwaite Dale, Kirby Moorside, on December 16th. This was the presentation to the late Master, Mr. Sherbrooke, and Mrs. Sherbrooke, of a large oil painting, representing Mr. and Mrs. Sherbrooke, mounted, with hounds, in charge of Mr. Robin Hill, breaking cover at Riseborough Haggs. The presentation was made by Lord Helmsley, who followed Mr. Sherbrooke in the mastership of the pack, and who paid a warm compliment to the manner in which hounds had been hunted during the ten years Mr. Sherbrooke had held the mastership. In his reply, Mr. Sherbrooke spoke with deep satisfaction of the host of valuable friends he and his wife had made during the time hounds were under his care.

We have to record the death of Captain Hugh Browning, of Clapham Park, Bedford, which occurred on December 18th, in his sixty-seventh year. Captain Browning was Master of the Oakley Foxhounds from 1888 to 1897, and showed consistently good sport with the pack.

We regret to record a nasty accident to Lord Chesham, which occurred while out with the Pytchley Hounds on December 20th, and resulted in three fractured ribs, through his horse falling in jumping a fence.

At the meet of the Earl of Eglinton’s Hounds on December 23rd there was a pleasing incident, when Mr. and Mrs. William Baird, of High Balsarroch, were the recipients of a presentation from the members and subscribers of the Hunt on the occasion of the sixtieth anniversary of their marriage. The presentation was made on behalf of the subscribers by Lord Eglinton, and consisted of a piece of plate and a purse of sovereigns. His lordship alluded to the assistance Mr. and Mrs. Baird and their family had rendered to the Hunt during their long residence in the country. They have been at High Balsarroch for twenty-six years, and occupied the neighbouring farm of Mount Fergusson for thirty years previously.

Mr. William Hanway, of Laragh, near Maynooth, died from heart failure on December 24th, in his seventy-first year. Mr. Hanway, who was a well-known rider across country and at the Kildare and Punchestown meetings, rode at the latter in April last, and was out with the Kildare Hunt the day before his decease.

A banquet was given at the Blue Bell Hotel, Belford, on December 28th, to Mr. Richard Burdon-Sanderson, who relinquished his pack of foxhounds last season after a long period of office, when a testimonial was given. The presentation took the form of a dessert service of old silver, and there was also given to Mr. James A. H. Burdon-Sanderson a silver tea-tray in recognition of his valuable services as deputy master of his brother’s foxhounds. The presentations were made in the presence of a large company by the Duke of Northumberland.

At the early age of fifty-one years, Mr. Clervaux Morley Saunders, of Bovicott, Devon, died at his residence on December 28th. Mr. Saunders was well known in the West country as a keen sportsman, and only a few years ago formed and hunted the Bovicott Otterhounds. He was also a breeder of horses, a member of the Council of the Polo Society, and a good supporter of agriculture.

While hunting with the Whaddon Chase Hounds on December 30th, the Countess of Orkney was thrown from her horse and sustained concussion of the brain.

On January 4th there died at Tissington Park, Derbyshire, the Rev. Sir Richard Fitzherbert, Bart., who was in his day a fine athlete and horseman. In the sixties the deceased gentleman represented Cambridge against Oxford at the hurdle race, and he was always a very good man across a country.

While out with the Duke of Buccleuch’s Hounds on January 6th, Mr. John Clay, of Chicago, who is hunting from Sunlaws, Kelso, had the bad luck to break his collar-bone.

Will Thompson, huntsman to Lord Fitzhardinge’s Hounds, sustained a bad fall on January 6th, through his horse swerving and coming down at a gate.

On January 6th, the Hon. Ivor Guest sold Pat 350 gs., Cotton 200 gs., Rarity 350 gs.; Captain the Hon. F. Guest’s Ireland made 200 gs., Spade Ace 280 gs., Scotchman 150 gs., Limerick 200 gs.; the Earl of Lonsdale’s Wallaby 300 gs., Fairy Saint 120 gs.; the Hon. Gilbert Johnstone’s St. Patrick 140 gs., Clansman 100 gs., and Call Boy 110 gs.

The Bedale Hunt has lost a prominent member in Mr. R. Hutton-Squire, who died suddenly at his residence, Holtby Hall, Bedale, on January 10th.

The skeleton of Ormonde has been received in England, to be added to the relics of the many other famous British racehorses now reposing at the Natural History Museum. Mr. Macdonough, his owner, having generously acceded to a request of the British Museum that his remains should be sent to this country to be preserved in the national repository of his native land. The skeleton will, it is understood, soon be exhibited to the public in the Gallery of Domesticated Animals.

A really comfortable general purpose glove, adapted equally well for use when hunting, driving, riding, or walking is a very desirable article to possess. The “Pytchley Hunt” glove would almost appear to fill the requirement. Manufactured of tan cape, specially cut, hand sewn, with Bolton thumb, it is claimed for it to be the best all-round glove upon the market. One feature is the fastening, a single button, which is on the reverse side to the ordinary use and undue pressure upon the wrist is prevented by this arrangement. The glove is one of the specialities of the Barnard Glove Depot, 52 and 53, Cheapside, London, E.C.

We regret to record the death of Mr. W. N. Heysham, the Honorary Auditor of the Hunt Servants’ Benefit Society. Mr. Heysham was one of the originators of this Society, and from its conception was one of the most energetic workers on its behalf. Mr. Heysham was an old contributor to BAILY.

Last year the only stallions to be represented by two-year-old winners alone, according to Horse and Hound, were Balsamo, £475; Benvenuto, £100; Bertie, £547; Catch the Wind, £141; Damocles, £826; Diamond Jubilee, £3,999; Diplomat, £973; Elopement, £100; Grebe, £424; King’s Messenger, £1,246; Mackintosh, £395; Galashiels, £2,723; General Peace, £292; Glencally, £200; Ninus, £196; Spook, £276; Tom Cringle, £195.

The bay horse, Pietermaritzburg, foaled 1898 by St. Simon—Sea Air, by Isonomy, has been sold by Mr. George Faber to go to the Argentine for £16,000. As a four-year-old he won the Jockey Club Stakes.

The sales of hunters during the past few weeks include Colonel Grenfell’s Rogers 200 gs., Gimlet 175 gs.; Mr. Austin Carr’s Electric and Duchess 135 gs. each; The Slave 120 gs., Favourite 100 gs.; Mrs. Barclay’s bay gelding 160 gs.; Colonel Malcolm Little’s, C.B., Kuroki, 300 gs.; Mr. Charles Jenkinson’s Mars 160 gs., Ladybird 180 gs., Ginger 130 gs., and Rattle 135 gs.

A celebrated oarsman lately passed away in Mr. H. W. Schreiber, of Trinity Hall, President of the C.U.B.C. in 1855. In that year the long “Crimean” frost, which did not break up till February 24th, and which left Father Thames full of ice-floes for much later, effectually preventing any Putney matches being brought off. But by consent the two U.B.C.’s met in the Grand Challenge Cup at the ensuing Henley Regatta, and Cambridge won somewhat easily. Mr. Schreiber on that occasion, says the Field of December 23rd, rowed No. 3 at 11st. 5lb. In the following year he was expected to take an oar in the Cambridge Putney crew, but was prevented from doing so by reason of examinations.

TURF.

WINDSOR DECEMBER.

December 19th.—Clewer Handicap Steeplechase of 150 sovs.; three miles. Mr. J. Carlin’s b. g. MacSweeny, 6 yrs., 10st. 8lb. W. Morgan 1 Mr. C. E. Byrne’s ch. m. Strategy, 6 yrs., 11st. Mr. Cullen 2 Mr. F. R. Hunt’s b. g. Sweetmore, aged, 10st. W. Taylor 3 5 to 1 agst. MacSweeny.

December 20th.—The December Handicap Hurdle Race of 150 sovs.; two miles. Mr. T. Clyde’s br. c. Sachem, 4 yrs., 11st. 12lb. J. O’Brien 1 Mr. A. Gorham’s br. g. San Terenzo, 5 yrs., 10st. 11lb. T. Fitton 2 Mr. J. Bancroft’s b. h. Exhilaration, 5 yrs., 10st. 13lb. T. Dunn 3 2 to 1 agst. Sachem.

KEMPTON PARK.

December 26th.—The Christmas Hurdle Handicap of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. H. Heasman’s br. h. Stephanas, by St. Serf—Lucky Lady, 5 yrs., 12st. 7lb. T. Fitton 1 Sir S. Scott’s b. g. Series, 5 yrs., 10st. 12lb. H. Aylin 2 Col. R. L. Birkin’s b. c. Baron Crofton, 4 yrs., 11st. 11lb. Mr. Payne 3 4 to 1 agst. Stephanas.

December 27th.—The Sunbury Steeplechase Handicap of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. B. W. Parr’s b. g. Orange Field, by Winkfield—Orange, 6 yrs., 10st. 9lb. M. Lowe 1 Mr. R. Courage’s b. g. World’s Desire, 4 yrs., 12st. T. Dunn 2 Mr. S. Jousiffe’s ch. f. Red Mantle, 4 yrs., 10st. F. 8lb. Freemantle 3 5 to 2 agst. Orange Field.

MANCHESTER.

January 1st.—The New Year Handicap Hurdle Race of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. G. Menzies’ b. h. Donatello, 6 yrs., 11st. 3lb. S. Menzies 1 Mr. S. J. Bell’s ch. m. Cheriton Belle, 6yrs., 11st. G. 10lb. Williamson 2 Sir Peter Walker’s b. g. Aultbea, 6 yrs., 10st. 11lb. E. Sullivan 3 13 to 8 agst. Donatello.

January 2nd.—The Manchester Handicap Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; three miles. Mr. John Widger’s ch. g. Royal Bow II., 5 yrs., 11st. Mr. T. 7lb. Widger 1 Mr. J. E. Rogerson’s b. g. Wee Busbie, aged, 10st. 11lb. D. Phelan 2 Mr. C. T. Garland’s br. g. Questionable, 6 yrs., 10st. 11lb. F. Mason 3 11 to 8 on Royal Bow II.

WINDSOR.

January 5th.—The Eton Handicap Hurdle Race of 150 sovs.; two miles. Mr. J. S. Morrison’s b. g. John M.P., aged, 12st. 7lb. W. Terrell 1 Sir S. Scott’s b. g. Series, 6 yrs., 10st. 12lb. H. Aylin 2 Sir H. Randall’s b. or br. c. Frisky Bill J. Dillon 3 100 to 1 agst. John M.P.

January 6th.—The Castle Handicap of 150 sovs.; three miles. Mr. G. Johnson’s b. h. Gladiator, 6 yrs., 11st. 3lb. E. Driscoll 1 Mr. C. T. Garland’s br. g. Questionable, 6 yrs., 11st. 4lb. F. Mason 2 Mr. T. Tyler’s br. g. Trueman, aged, 11st. 2lb. W. Morgan 3 15 to 8 agst. Gladiator.

BIRMINGHAM.

January 9th.—The Grand Annual Handicap Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; two miles. Mr. J. G. Houghton’s b. g. Desert Chief, aged, 12st. Mr. 12lb. Fergusson 1 Lord Coventry’s b. g. Kepler, 6 yrs., 10st. Mr. W. Bulteel 2 Mr. P. Gleeson’s b. h. Lord of the Level, 6 yrs., 11st. 4lb. F. Mason 3 5 to 4 on Desert Chief.

HAYDOCK PARK.

January 11th.—The Haydock Park Handicap Steeplechase of 200 sovs.; two miles. Sir Peter Walker’s ch. g. Flutterer, aged, 12st. 7lb. E. Sullivan 1 Mr. C. W. C. Henderson’s b. m. Ashton, aged, 10st. 11lb. J. Seymour 2 Mr. J. E. Rogerson’s b. g. Wee Busbie, aged, 11st. 8lb. D. Phelan 3 10 to 1 agst. Flutterer.

FOOTBALL.

December 16th.—At Birkenhead, North v. South, latter won by 16 points to 10.*

December 16th.—At Inverleith, Edinburgh Wanderers v. Cambridge University, latter won by 21 points to 6.*

December 21st.—At Swansea, Glamorgan v. New Zealand, latter won by 3 tries to 0.*

December 26th.—At Cardiff, Cardiff v. New Zealand, latter won by 2 goals to 1 goal 1 try.*

December 28th.—At Everton, Northern Nomads v. Corinthians, latter won by 4 goals to 3.†

December 30th.—At Swansea, Swansea v. New Zealand, latter won by 4 points to 3.*

December 30th.—At Blackheath, Blackheath v. Marlborough Nomads, former won by 2 goals 2 tries to 1 goal 1 try.*

January 1st.—At Glasgow, Queen’s Park v. Corinthians, latter won by 2 goals to 1.†

January 1st.—At Paris, France v. New Zealand, latter won by 38 points to 8.*

January 6th.—At Upton, Casuals v. Clapton, latter won by 2 goals to 1.†

January 6th.—At Richmond, London Scottish v. United Services, former won by 27 points to 5.*

January 6th.—At Leyton, Casuals v. Belgian Association, former won by 12 goals to 0.†

January 6th.—At Richmond, Richmond v. Marlborough Nomads, former won by 1 goal to 0.*

January 8th.—At Fulham, Amateurs v. Professionals, latter won by 1 goal to 0.†

January 13th.—At Richmond, England v. Wales, latter won by 15 points to 3.*

* Under Rugby Rules.

† Under Association Rules.

-----

Footnote 2:

Race-riding, except incidentally, has nothing to do with the subject of this article; but it may be pointed out that if the Stewards at other meetings a few years ago had acted as promptly in disqualifying horses that interfered with others in a race as did the Stewards at Warwick in the case of Gun Boat, we should never have seen the “American” seat get the hold that it did. Wheatley, who rode Gun Boat, is a well-behaved jockey, whom no one would suggest would ride foul of malice prepense, or take any undue advantage of his fellows. But with the modern racing seat a horse can practically go where he likes. If any reader doubts it, let him stand in the straight when there is a field of a score or more running for a five-furlong selling handicap.

Footnote 3:

Thormanby was nearly sold to the late Mr. Walter Melrose, of York, for a hunter. There was only £10 between the breeder and him, and neither would give way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

BAILY’S MAGAZINE

OF

SPORTS AND PASTIMES.

┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ DIARY FOR MARCH, 1906. │ ├──────┬─────┬────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │Day of│ Day │ OCCURRENCES. │ │Month.│ of │ │ │ │Week.│ │ ├──────┼─────┼────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ 1│ TH │Sandown Park Races and Steeplechases. Essex and Sussex │ │ │ │ County Clubs Coursing Meetings. │ │ 2│ F │Sandown Park Grand Military Meeting. │ │ 3│ S │Sandown Park Grand Military Meeting. │ │ │ │ │ │ 4│ =S= │=First Sunday in Lent.= │ │ 5│ M │Wolverhampton and Wye Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 6│ TU │Leicester Races and Steeplechases. Hackney Horse Show at│ │ │ │ Royal Agricultural Hall (4 days). │ │ 7│ W │Leicester Races and Steeplechases. Gravesend and Cliffe │ │ │ │ and Hornby Castle Coursing Meetings. │ │ 8│ TH │Warwick National Hunt Meeting. │ │ 9│ F │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 10│ S │Hurst Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 11│ =S= │=Second Sunday in Lent.= │ │ 12│ M │Derby Hunt Meetings. │ │ 13│ TU │Derby Hunt Meeting. Plumpton and North Union Coursing │ │ │ │ Meetings. Royal Commission on Horse Breeding and │ │ │ │ Hunter Show at Royal Agricultural Hall (3 days). │ │ 14│ W │Gatwick, Shincliffe and Chepstow Races and │ │ │ │ Steeplechases. │ │ 15│ TH │Gatwick and Shincliffe Races and Steeplechases. Sussex │ │ │ │ County Coursing Meeting. │ │ 16│ F │Kempton Park and Hooton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ Polo and Riding Pony Show at Royal Agricultural Hall │ │ │ │ (2 days). │ │ 17│ S │Kempton Park and Hooton Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ │ │ │ │ 18│ =S= │=Third Sunday in Lent.= │ │ 19│ M │Birmingham and Folkestone Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 20│ TU │Birmingham Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 21│ W │Portsmouth Park Races and Steeplechases. │ │ 22│ TH │Portsmouth Park, Rugby and Dunbar Races and │ │ │ │ Steeplechases. │ │ 23│ F │Haydock Park and Lingfield Park Steeplechases. │ │ 24│ S │Haydock Park and Lingfield Park Races and Steeplechases.│ │ │ │ │ │ 25│ =S= │=Fourth Sunday in Lent.= │ │ 26│ M │Lincoln Spring and Hawthorn Hill Races. │ │ 27│ TU │Lincolnshire Handicap, Hawthorn Hill Races. │ │ 28│ W │Lincoln, Cheltenham and Atherstone Hunt Races. │ │ 29│ TH │Liverpool Spring and Cheltenham Races. │ │ 30│ F │Grand National Steeplechases. │ │ 31│ S │Liverpool Spring Races. │ └──────┴─────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

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BAILY’S MAGAZINE OF SPORTS AND PASTIMES NO. 553. MARCH, 1906. VOL. LXXXV.

CONTENTS.

PAGE Sporting Diary for the Month v. Mr. Edward Mashiter, M.F.H. 175 Distemper in Hounds 176 Recollections of Seventy-five Years’ Sport—I. 183 The Education of the Puppy (Illustrated) 187 A few Cocks and some Rabbits 192 Breeds of British Salmon 195 The Foxhounds of Great Britain—A Review—(Illustrated) 199 Hind-hunting 204 Famous Grand National Riders (Illustrated) 211 A Hundred Years Ago 217 The Sportsman’s Library (Illustrated) 218 Two Noted Hunting Sires, Van Galen and Victor 223 The University Boat Race 228 Goose Shooting in Manitoba 230 “Hunting Ladies” 234 Some Theories on Acquiring a Seat 237 “Our Van”:— Racing 241 Hunting 242 Hunting in Yorkshire 246 Death of Mr. E. A. Nepean 248 The Grand Prix at Monte Carlo 249 Golf 251 “His House in Order” at the St. James’s Theatre 252 Sporting Intelligence 254

WITH ENGRAVED PORTRAIT OF MR. EDWARD MASHITER, M.F.H.

Mr. Edward Mashiter, M.F.H.

MR. EDWARD MASHITER, better known in Essex under his old name of Helme, was born in 1842, and was entered to hounds at the age of eight in Thoby Wood in the Essex country, during the mastership of Mr. Henley Greaves. His love of hunting, which is as keen now as in his youth, is inherited from his father, Mr. Thomas Helme, who hunted for many years in Essex, residing at Thoby Priory. Mr. Mashiter was educated at Winchester, settled down in Essex in 1861, and from that time to the present has hunted with the Essex and the Essex Union Hounds. He became Secretary to the Essex Union Hunt in 1878, and held that office during Mr. White’s, Captain Carnegy’s, and part of Captain Kemble’s masterships. On resigning the secretaryship in 1891, he was presented with a testimonial, consisting of silver candelabra, by the members of the Hunt. Mr. Mashiter resided at Hornchurch Lodge, his father’s place, from 1867 until 1890, subsequently living a few years at Hou Hatch, Brentwood, and in 1898 became Master of the Essex Union Hounds, in succession to Colonel Hornby, and has continued Master to the present time.

In the ’seventies Mr. Mashiter twice narrowly escaped losing his life in the hunting field. Whilst hunting with the York and Ainsty Hounds, during the mastership of Colonel Fairfax, his horse was carried off his legs when crossing a ford of the River Nid, near Kirk-Hammerton, with the result that Mr. Mashiter had to swim across the river, but got safely out with a ducking. Some years afterwards, when hunting with the South and West Wilts, of which his cousin, the late Captain Burchall Helme, was then Master, a collision with a runaway horse in the village of Tisbury gave him a fall which knocked him out of time. The runaway broke its shoulder in two places and had to be destroyed.

Mr. Mashiter assumed the name of Mashiter instead of Helme in 1899 in accordance with the will of his great-uncle, Mr. Thomas Mashiter, of Hornchurch Lodge.

On undertaking the mastership of the Essex Union Hounds Mr. Mashiter put on Arthur Thatcher, who had been the first whipper-in to Mr. Fernie for several seasons, as huntsman, and very good sport Thatcher showed. He left the Essex Union after two seasons to go as huntsman to the Cottesmore, where he has made his mark as one of the best huntsmen of the day. George Tongue, from the Blankney, succeeded Thatcher and has given very great satisfaction in every way.

Mr. Mashiter is a magistrate for Essex. He has also been a director of the well-known Romford Brewery for many years, but has ceased to take an active part in business since he became Master of the Hounds. He married, in 1867, Augusta, who died in 1895, eldest daughter of the Rev. Henry Annesley Hawkins, of Topcliffe, Yorks, and a niece of the late Captain Cooper, known as “Billy Cooper,” well known in the coaching world as one of the best amateur whips in England.

Mr. Mashiter now resides at Gatwick, near Billericay, in order to be near the kennels.

Distemper in Hounds.

OPINIONS OF MASTERS OF HOUNDS.

With the view of collecting information on the subject of distemper, we addressed enquiries to the masters of a number of those hunts in whose kennels last season the disease took an unusually serious form, and also to masters whose kennels had escaped lightly. The replies received are exceedingly full and informing; and as the views of the writers cannot fail to be of interest, we propose in the following pages to set out a selection of opinions collected.

It will be convenient to give the letters in the alphabetical sequence of the writers’ names.

Mr. E. E. BARCLAY, master of the Puckeridge, whose kennels sustained very serious losses in 1904–5, writes:—

“Distemper is like ‘scent,’ the more one sees of it the less one knows about it. All I do know is that it is a terribly fatal disease amongst hounds of all sorts, and in my experience almost invariably seems to pick out and kill the strongest and best of one’s entry. I have kept hounds (harriers and foxhounds) now for twenty-eight years, and have always bred a good many young hounds, so necessarily have seen a good deal, in fact, far too much, of distemper, and have now come to the conclusion that physic of any sort has very little to do with getting a hound through an attack. The only thing one can do is to keep them warm; don’t let the temperature of the hospital fall below 60° during the twenty-four hours, with plenty of fresh air but no draughts, and nurse them very carefully, feeding them a little at the time and often. Keep them clean, often sponging their eyes, nose, and lips with disinfectant to keep the offensive discharge, which usually accompanies bad cases, from getting caked.

“In the form that attacks their heads with twitching and blindness, setons in the back of the neck often help. In the more fatal lung cases with pneumonia, applications of mustard to the chest and sides is the only thing that may do good, but this form often turns to double pneumonia and the patients die in a few hours. In some cases distemper seems to turn to blood poisoning, attacking especially the feet, so that the feet almost rot away.

“I have found that those hounds that have frequent fits seldom recover, and if by chance they do pull round they are generally left with ‘snatches’ or chorea. Strychnine will often help ‘snatches’ at first, but if a hound has got them badly he seldom gets much better of them, though he may recover from the distemper itself.

“I only remember two summers when we did not have distemper badly in kennel, but in both these years the young hounds went down with it badly in the middle of December and we lost several, just when they were in hard work; and of course those that recovered were of little use for that hunting season.

“A medical friend was telling me one day of the way they now treat bad cases of pneumonia by putting the patient into an iced bath. This is done, of course, to get the temperature down, for what so often kills in cases of pneumonia is the collapse of the heart owing to high fever. Just at this time I had a very nice young dog-hound, who had been ill with distemper for a long time; it turned to pneumonia and he was ‘blowing’ like a grampus. He had a temperature of 105°,[4] and was apparently as good as dead and would have been so in an hour. We carried him into the feeding room and turned the cold water hose on him—down his neck, back and all over him. He very soon began to revive and in a short time stood up with his stern erect, evidently enjoying the treatment; he stopped ‘blowing’ after a short time, and in about fifteen minutes his temperature was 101½°. We carefully dried him without rubbing him more than we could help, and put him back into hospital. He seemed quite comfortable, the ‘blowing’ had entirely ceased and did not return.

“That hound did well for the next ten days, and we quite thought we had saved him when he suddenly died of heart failure. I own this experiment was not a success entirely, but here we had a case of very bad pneumonia in which the patient after a long illness was at the point of death, who through our success in getting his temperature down and completely stopping the ‘blowing,’ lived on and did well for ten days. I firmly believe if his strength had not been undermined by a long spell of illness before we tried the experiment that he would have recovered.

“I have tried all the so-called ‘cures’ for distemper, both old receipts and new, in the form of balls, powders, and liquid, and have come to the conclusion that they have little to do with a hound’s recovery.

“You use someone’s ‘Distemper Balls’ one year when you happen to have a mild run of the disease, and having very few fatal cases that year, you at once think it is this wonderful ball that has cured them!

“Next year you use the same ‘cure’ and your young hounds die like flies. I notice that puppies at walk often get what seems to be distemper and get over it, but when they come in down they go with the kennel distemper and they die.

“We always keep going in the hospital one or more Cresoline lamps, such as are sold at chemists, for burning in rooms of children suffering from whooping cough; this, I am sure, helps the lung and throat cases, and at any rate is a good disinfectant and can do no harm. I am now erecting, detached from the rest of the kennel buildings, a large brick hospital with a range of hot water pipes round three sides of the room, with Tobin ventilators to admit fresh air without creating a draught, and a good-sized lantern skylight in the roof to let out the foul air; and hope this may help us to nurse a larger proportion of distempered hounds through their trouble.

“It is a curious fact, but I have constantly observed that when, as there often are, among the lot ‘down’ with the disease, a young hound or two which, by reason of size or some other cause, are useless, and for that reason get no extra attention and no physic; these pull through without difficulty, whilst the pick of the entry, with every care bestowed upon them, die off wholesale. I am quite sure the distemper one gets in hound-kennels is quite different from that which the ordinary cur dog gets.

“I have tried carefully for two seasons Dr. Physallix’s inoculation serum, under two different veterinary surgeons, both clever men; but all to no purpose, the mortality being quite as high in the inoculated cases as in the whelps that had not been inoculated.”

Mr. Barclay holds that the subject of distemper is one that should receive the special attention of the M.F.H. Association, that it should be taken up in earnest and researches pursued systematically.

Mr. ASSHETON BIDDULPH (King’s County) holds that the strictest care and cleanliness in the kennel do much to minimise the consequences of an attack of distemper. In his kennels a very thorough system of cleaning and ventilation, combined with very free use of disinfectants, is enforced. The kennels are washed carefully and often with disinfectants, and are subjected to a weekly purification with chloride of lime, which is spread about under the benches; moreover, they are washed out at intervals daily with some carbolic fluid. “For several years,” says Mr. Biddulph, “I had no distemper in my kennels, from the time I began to follow the system above mentioned; and I feel convinced that it was neglect and the omission to carry out my orders that caused a sore visitation of it some five years ago. Since then I have had years without suffering an attack at all, and when the disease has appeared it has been in the mildest form.”

Mr. Biddulph attributes the immunity from illness enjoyed by his horses to similar precautions.

Mr. A. SCOTT BROWNE, who reported last summer that distemper appeared in the worst form known in twenty-five years’ experience, states that the disease took the form of septic pneumonia; hounds attacked often died before they lost condition, sometimes within thirty-six hours of the first symptoms of illness appearing. Most of those that succumbed had been inoculated with the serum tried by Mr. Barclay, “but,” adds Mr. Scott Browne, drily, “I have no reason to suppose, from a previous experiment, that this caused them to contract the disease in a more virulent form.”

Mr. T. BUTT MILLER (V.W.H., Cricklade) is unable to express any opinion; his experience is representative of the mysterious and fitful character of the disease. In 1904–5 he was very fortunate in escaping lightly. This year he has had it very badly, not only among the puppies at walk, but also among the young hounds that were entered this season.

Captain H. A. CARTWRIGHT (Wilton), writes as follows in explanation of the comparative immunity his hounds enjoyed in 1905:—

“I believe my walks on these Wiltshire Downs are very healthy, and being few, we only breed from the very best bitches likely to produce vigorous offspring, and do not breed from inferior bitches on the chance of getting something good or having a draft to sell. We are, however, handicapped by the necessity for confining the bitches in whelp, and with whelps, to the paddock, as it is near a big game preserve; and although I have a couple of bitches at a time on my own farm here, it is dangerous, owing to the prevalence of poison.

“As regards treatment, Sweetman, my huntsman, relies more on nourishment than physic, and allows the sick puppies no water. We lose more by yellows than distemper.”

Mr. A. W. HALL DARE (Wexford), believes that all hounds must have the disease some time in their lives; he has found that a really bad attack always leaves some weakness. Most cures are useful in some cases, according to his experience, but none are infallible.

Mr. HENRY HAWKINS, whose harriers suffered severely last spring, attributes the numerous deaths among his puppies chiefly to the fact that there was a continuous and cold east wind blowing at the time of the mortality.

Mr. M. L. W. LLOYD-PRICE, who has kept hounds for sixteen years, and a great many other dogs for over thirty years, having usually reared from twenty to thirty couples of whelps annually, writes as follows:—

“I have taken great pains to try to discover everything I could re distemper. I can give you no fresh idea for prevention of the malady. I have been, I may say, very lucky with regard to it, only getting it on an average bi-annually, and losing on an average only 10 per cent. Of this fact I feel confident, that the disease is not so bad among hounds in Wales as in England; possibly English hounds are higher bred, and that may be to some extent a reason. Also, I believe, hounds in Wales are more roughly brought up at their walks than in England, and allowed more liberty. This may be a reason also, although, as the farmer’s sheep-dogs get it very severely and many succumb, this is doubtful. I have been much troubled by kennel lameness, and a prevention for this would be more valuable to me even than one for distemper.”

Mr. R. W. MCKERGOW (Southdown) writes: “In answer to your letter of yesterday, I cannot give any definite reason as to why we lost so many young hounds at walk in 1904–5. I think we had too many in some of the villages, and when the distemper broke out the whelps infected each other. We found that puppies at walk in more isolated districts stood a much better chance of recovery. I may add that this year we have chosen our ‘walks’ rather more carefully, and I believe we shall have a much better return. We sent out about fifty couple last year, and have, I believe, about thirty-two or thirty-three couple standing up and doing well. I may add that motor-cars were responsible for the death of some three couples last year, and during the last few months we have lost a further couple and a half from the same cause.”

Colonel A. C. NEWLAND (Tivyside) says that although he lost only one hound last season the whole of the young entry suffered from distemper, and badly, too, in several cases. He continues: “I can only attribute our being fortunate enough to lose but one to the fact that every care was taken from the moment distemper showed in a hound to feed it up as much as possible, port wine, eggs, and beef tea being administered if necessary.”

Mr. A. L. ORMROD (Aspull Harriers), in course of an interesting letter, says: “Two or three of the puppies that came in from walk in the spring of 1905, so far as I can tell, have not suffered at all from distemper. The change of food and general conditions of living on first coming into kennel is always a trying period for puppies, and any inherent weakness in their constitution is likely to make itself manifest then. I should be interested to know how the proportion of hounds received back into kennels from puppy walkers compares with the experiences of breeders of other classes of hounds or dogs, such as greyhounds, sporting dogs, or even terriers.”

Mrs. PRYSE RICE, who last summer was happy in her ability to report “no losses, nor have there been any for a number of years,” writes: “I regret to say I know of no prevention for distemper. All our hounds have it either at walk or when they come in to kennel. In the last ten years we have sent out to walk 115 couples, and the total losses, as returned in our puppy register, by distemper, have been two hounds in kennel (when we had it in a very bad form), and one of the whelps now out at walk. This year I think we have had distemper in its very worst form, not only having the puppies at walk down with it, but also the whole of the entry taken ill within three days of one another in the middle of the hunting season. Of the former we have lost the one previously mentioned; of the latter the greater part are now hunting again, and the others will be out in a few days. I think the small losses we have are, in the case of the whelps at walk, due to the very great interest taken in the puppies by the walkers, who, immediately a puppy seems out of sorts, report to the kennels, and on learning what to do take every possible means to save it. The reason we lose so few in kennel is, I think, due to the fact that neither we nor our men neglect the slightest symptoms of distemper in a hound that has not had it, and even though it appears to be but a slight cold, give at once a distemper powder. The cure for distemper I would sum up in a few words—good nursing, plenty of fresh milk, and use of Heald’s distemper powders immediately the slightest symptoms declare themselves.”

Mr. E. P. RAWNSLEY (Southwold) writes: “My losses of last season were not serious, because, instead of losing the best hounds, the worst died, though all had it. In the Southwold kennel we never fail to have the disease badly, though I have tried every sort of prevention and cure. My own idea is that it is almost an inevitable complaint, but if hounds could be separated, only a couple being put together, and one experienced man was told off to each four couple to nurse them night and day, with special cooking for them and the use of every modern antiseptic treatment, very few would die; the amount of room required and the expense entailed would be enormous, as thirty couple or more may be all down with it.”

Mr. THOMAS ROBSON (North Tyne) attributes the virulence of the disease to the kennels. “Although,” he says, “we had no loss when the puppies were at walk, I lost some after they came in—in fact, this place seems fatal. I have lost as many as nine puppies in a fortnight, the only survivor being a collie which lay outside in a straw stack and got no attention whatever, while the other patients were coddled and got every attention; these, however, were younger than the collie. I lost seven greyhounds out of nine in October, and it is only an odd terrier I am able to rear here. I have known a tame fox die at the same time as terrier and foxhound puppies.”

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