approach the furze-brake, or the gorse, as it
is called iu that region. < Hark in, hark !'
with a slight cheer, and perhaps one wave of
his cap, says Mr. Osbaldeston, who has long
hunted his own pack, and in an instant he has
not a hound at his horse's heels. Iu a very
short time the gorse appears shaken in various
parts of the cover apparently from an un-
known cause, not a single hound being for
some minutes visible. Presently one or two
appear, leaping over gome old furze which
they cannot push through, and exhibit to the
field their glossy skins and spotted sides.
* Oh you beauties ! ' exclaims some old
Meltonian, rapturously fond of the sport.
Two minutes more elapse ; another hound
slips out of cover, and takes a short turn out-
side, with his nose 'to the ground and his stern
lashiug his side thinking no doubt he might
touch on a drag, should Reynard have been
abroad in the night. Hounds have no business
to think, thinks the second whipper-in, who
observes him ; but one crack of his whip,
with ' Rasselas, Rasselas, where are you
going, Rasselas ? Get to cover, Rasselas ;' and
Rasselas immediately disappears.
Five minutes more pass away, ' No fox
here,' says one ; ' Don't be in a hurry/ cries
Mr. Cradock,* ' they are drawing it beauti-
fully, and there is rare lying in it.' These
words are scarcely uttered, when the cover
shakes more than ever. Every stem appears
alive, and it reminds us of a corn-field waving
in the wind. In two minutes the sterns of
some more hounds are seen ' flourishing' f
above the gorse. ' Have at him there,' holloas
the Squire | the gorse still more alive, and
hounds leaping over each other's backs.
* This gentleman resides >yithin the limits of the
Quorn hunt, and kindly superintends the management
of the covers.
t Technical , for the motion of a hound's stern or
tail, when he first feels a scent, but is not able to ouin
or acknowledge it.
j When Mr. Osbaldestou had the Quorn hounds,
three of the four packs which hunted in the same
county with his own were the property of noblemen ;
so, for the sake of distinction, his triends conferred 01.
him the familiar title of 'the Squire.'
PIERCE EGAN'S BOOK OF SPORTS.
219
* Have at him there again, my good hounds
a fox for a hundred !' reiterates the Squire
putting his finger in his ear, and uttering a
scream which, not being set to music, we can-
not give here. Jack Stevens (the first
whipper-in) looks at his watch. At this mo-
ment 'John White,' ' \a\ Maher,' 'Frank
Holyoake,' (who will pardon us for giving
them their noms-dechasst:*) and two or three
more of the fast ones, are seen creeping gently
on towards a point at which they think it pro-
bable he may break. l Hold hard there/ says
a sportsman ; but he might as well speak to
the winds. ' Stand still, gentlemen ; pray
stand still,' exclaims the huntsman ; he might
as well say so to the sun. During the time
we have been speaking of, all the field have
been awake gloves put on cigars thrown
away the bridle-reins gathered well up into
the hand, and hats pushed down upon the brow.
At this interesting period, a Snob,t just ar-
rived from a very rural country, and unknown
to any one, but determined to witness the start,
gets into a conspicuous situation : ' Come
away, Sir !' holloas the master (little sus-
pecting that the Snob may be nothing less
than one of the Quarterly Reviewers,) ' \VImt
mischief are you doing there? Do you think
you can catch the fox ?' A breathless silence
ensues. At length a whimper is heard in the
cover like the voice of a dog in a dream : it
is Flourisher,t and the Squire cheers him to
the echo. In an instant a hound challenges
and another and another. 'Tis enough.
* Tallyho !' cries a countryman in a tree.
'He's gone !' exclaims Lord Alvanley ; and,
clapping spurs to his horse, in an instant is in
the front rank.
As all good sportsmen would pay, 'Ware,
bounds !' cries Sir Harry Goodricke Give
them time/ exclaims Mr. John Moore.
' That's right,' says Mr. Osbaideston, ' spoil
your own sport as usual.' ' Go along,' roars
out Mr. Holyoake, ' there are three couple of
hounds on the scent.' 'That's your sort,'
says ' Billy Coke,' coming up at the rate of
thirty miles an hour on Advance, with a label
pinned on his back, ' she kicks ;' ' the rest are
all coming, and there's a rare scent to-day,
I'm sure.' Buonaparte's Old Guard, in its
best days, would not have stopped such men
as these, so long as life remained in them.
It is true, they possess the speed of a race-
horse, but nothing short of their high mettle
could induce them to thread their way through
* John White, Esq., of Park Hall, Derbyshire ;
Valentine Maher, Esq., a member of the Old Club;
and Francis Lyttleton Holyoake, Esq., of Studley
Castle, Warwickshire.
t We know nothing of the derivation of the word
' Snob ;' it is certainly not a classical one, but either
that or Tiger is too often applied to a total stranger
who ventures to show himseit in the ' swell countries,'
as they are called.
J A noted finder, now i-n Mr. Osbaldeston's pack.
$, Nephew to Mr. Coke of Holkham ; his famous
mare Advance is dangerous in a crowd, and thus the
necessity of a label.
a body of horsemen going the best pace, with
the prospect of being ridden over and maimed
at every stride they take. But, as Becktbrd
observes, * 'Tis the dash of the foxhound
which distinguishes him.' A turn, however,
in their favor, or a momentary loss of scent
in the few hounds that have shot a-head an
occurrence to be looked for on such occasions,
joins head and tail together, and the scent
being good, every hound settles to his fox ;
the pace gradually improves ; vires acquirit
eundo ; a terrible burst is the result !
At the end of nineteen minutes the hounds
come to a fault, and for a moment the fox has
a chance, in fact, they have been pressed
upon by the horses, and have rather overrun
the scent. ' What a pity !' says one : ' What
a shame !' cries another alluding, perhaps,
to a young one, who would and could have
gone still faster. ' You may thank yourselves
for this/ exclaims Osbaideston, well up at
the time, Clasher looking fresh ; but only
fourteen men of the two hundred are to be
counted, all the rest coming. At one blast
of the horn, the hounds are back to the point
at which the scent has failed, Jack Stevens
being in his place to turn them. Yo doit !
Pastime,' says the Squire, as she feathers her
stern down the hedge-row, looking more
beautiful than ever. She speaks ! ' Worth
a thousand, by Jupiter!' cries John White,
looking over his left shoulder as he sends
both spurs into Euxton, delighted to see only
four more of the field are up. Our Snob,
however, is amongst them. He has ' gone a
good one,' and his countenance is expressive
of delight, as he urges his horse to his speerl
to get again into a front place.
The pencil of the painter is now wanting ;
and unless loo paintrit should be a sportsman,
even his penoil would bo r/orth little. What
a country is before him ! what a panorama
does it represent ! Not a field of less than
forty some a hundred acres and no more
signs of the plough than in the wilds of
Siberia. See the hounds in a body that
might be covered by a damask table-cloth
every stern down, and every head up, for
there is no need of stooping, the scent lying
breast high. But the crash ! the music !
how to describe these ? Reader, there is no
crash now, and not much music. It is the
tinker that makes great noise over a little
work, but at the pace these hounds are going
there is no time for babbling. Perchance
one hound in ten may throw his tongue as he
goes to inform his comrades, as it were, that
the villain is on before them, and most musi-
cally do the light notes of vocal and far-
famed Venus fall on the ear of those who
may be within reach to catch them. But who
is so fortunate in this second burst, nearly as
terrible as the first ? Our fancy supplies us
again, and we think we could name them all.
If we look to the left, nearly abreast of the
pack, we see six men going gallantly, and
quite as straight as the hounds themselves
220
PIERCE EGAN'S BOOK OE'SPORTS.
are going ; and on the right are four more,
riding equally well, though the former have
rather the best of it, owing to having had the
inside of the hounds at the last two turns,
which must be placed to the chapter of acci-
dents. A short way in the rear, by no means
too much so to enjoy this brilliant run, are the
rest of the elite of the field, who had come up
at the first check ; and a few who, thanks to
the goodness of their steeds, and their deter.
initiation to be with the hounds, appear as if
dropped from the clouds. Some, however,
begin to show symptoms of distress. Two
horses are seen loose in the distance a re-
port is flying about that one of the field is
badly hurt, and something is heard of a collar-
bone being broken, others say it is a leg ; but
the pace is too good to inquire. A cracking
of rails is now heard, and one gentleman's
horse is to be seen resting, nearly balanced,
across one of them, his rider being on his
back in the ditch, which is on the landing
side. ' Who is he ?' says Lord Brudenell to
Jack Stevens. Can't tell, my Lord ; but I
thought it was a queerish place when I came
o'er it before him.' It is evidently a case of
peril, but the pace is too good to afford help.
Up to this time, ' Snob' has gone quite in
the first flight ; the ' Dons' begin to eye him,
and when an opportunity offers, the question
is asked 4 Who is that fellow on the little
bay horse ?' * Don't know him,' says Mr.
Little Gilmour, (a fourteen-stone Scotchman,
by-the-bye.) ganging gallantly to his hounds.
' He can ride,' exclaims Lord Rancliffe. * A
tip-top provincial, depend upon it,' adds Lord
Plymouth, going quite at his ease on a tho-
rough bred nag, three stone above his weight,
and in perfect racing trim. Animal nature,
however, will cry ' enough,' how good soever
she may be, if unreasonable man press her
beyond the point. The line of scent lies right
athwart a large grass ground, (as a field is
termed in Leicestershire,) somewhat on the
ascent ; abounding in ant-hills, or hillocks,
peculiar to old grazing land, and thrown up
by the plough, some hundred years since, into
rather high ridges, with deep, holding fur-
rows between each. The fence at the top is
impracticable Meltonice, 'a stopper;' no-
thing for it but a gate, leading into a broad
green lane, high and strong, with deep slip-
pery ground on each side of it. ' Now for the
timber-jumper,' cries Osbaldeston, pleased to
find himself upon Clasher. ' For heaven's
sake, take care of my hounds, in case they
may throw up in the lane.' Snob is here in
the best of company, and that moment per-
haps the happiest of his life; but, not satis-
fied with this situation, wishing to out-Herod-
Herod, and to have a fine story to tell when
he gets home, he pushes to his speed on
ground, on which all regular Leicestershire
men are careful, and the death-warrant of the
little bay-horse is signed. It is true he gets
first to the gate, and has no idea of opening
it ; sees it contains five new and strong bare,
that it will neither bend nor break ; has a
great idea of a fall, but no idea of refusing ;
presses his hat firmly on his head, and gets
his whip-hand at liberty to give the good little
nag a refresher ; but all at once he perceives it
will not do. When attempting to collect him
for the effort he finds his mouth dead and his
neck stiff; fancies he hears something like a
wheezing in his throat ; and discovering,
quite unexpectedly, that the gate would open,
wisely avoids a fall, which was booked had he
attempted to leap it. He pulls up then at the
gate ; and as he places the hook of his whip
under the latch, John White goes over it close
to the hinge-post, and Captain Ross, upon
Clinker, follows him. The Reviewer then
walks through.
The scene now shifts. On the other side
of the lane is a fence of this description : it is
a newly-plashed hedge, abounding in strong
growers, as they are called, and a yawning
ditch on the further side ; but, as is peculiar
to Leicestershire and Northamptonshire, a
considerable portion of the blackthorn, left
uncut, leans outwards from the hedge, some-
what about breast-high. This large fence is
taken by all now with the hounds some to
the right and some to the left of the direct
line but the little bay horse would have no
more of it. Snob puts him twice at it, and
manfully too, but the wind is out of him, and
he has no power to rise. Several scrambles,
but only one fall, occurs at this * rasper,' all
having nearly enough of the killing pace ; and
a mile and a half farther, the second horses
are fallen in with, just in the nick of time. A
short check from the stain of sheep makes
every thing comfortable ; and, the Squire hav-
ing hit off his fox like a workman, thirteen
men, out of two hundred, are fresh mounted,
and with the hounds, which settle to the scent
again at a truly killing pace.
1 Hold hard y Holyoake !' exclaims Mr.
Osbaldeston (now mounted on Blucher),
knowing what double-quick time he would
be marching to, with fresh pipes to play upon,
and the crowd well shaken off ; 'pray don't
press 'em too hard, and we shall be sure to
kill our fox. Have at him there, Abigail and
Fickle, good bitches see what a head they
are carrying ! I'll bet a thousand they kill
him.' The country appears better and better.
' He's taking a capital line/ exclaims Sir
Harry Goodricke, as he points out to Sir
James Musgrave two young Furrier hounds,
whoare particularly distinguishing themselves
at the moment. ' Worth a dozen Reform
Bills,' shouts Sir Francis Burdett, sitting
erect upon Sampson,* and putting his head
straight at a yawner. ' We shall have the
Whissendine brook,' cries Mr. Maher, who
knows every field in the country, * for he is
making straight for Teigh/ * And a bumper
too, after last night's rain,' holloas Captain
* A favorite hunter of the baronet's, which he
once honored by coming all the way from London
to Melton to ride one day with hounds.
PIERCE EGAN'S BOOK OF SPORTS.
221
Berkeley, determined to get first to four stiff
rails in a cornel. * So much the better,' says
Lord Alvanley, ' I like a bumper at all times.'
4 A fig for the Whissendine,' cries Lord Gard-
ner ; I am on the best water jumper in my
stable.'
The prophecy turns up. Having skirted
Ranksborough gorse, the villain has nowhere
to stop short of Woodwell-head cover, which
he is pointing for ; and in ten minutes, or
less, the brook appears in view. It is even
with its banks, and
* Smooth glides the water where the brook is deep.'
* Yooi, over he goes !' holloas the Squire, as
he perceives Joker and Jewell plunging into
the stream, and Red-rose shaking herself on
the opposite bank. Seven men, out of thir-
teen, take it in their stride ; three stop short,
their horses refusing the first time, but come
well over the second ; and three find them-
selves in the middle of it. The gallant * Frank
Forester' is among the latter ; and having
been requested that morning; to weara friend's
new red coat, to take off the gloss and glare
of the shop, he accomplishes the task to per-
fection in the bluish-black mud of the Whis-
sendine, only then subsiding after a three
days' flood.* ' Who is that under his horse
in the brook ?' inquires that good sportsman
and fine rider, Mr. Green, of Rolleston, whose
noted old mare had just skimmed over the
water like a swallow on a summer's evening.
* Only Dick Christian, 't answers Lord Fores-
ter, ' and it is nothing new (o him.' * But
he'll be drowned !' exclaims Lord Kinnaird.
4 I shouldn't wonder,' observes Mr. William
Coke. But the pace is too good to inquire.
The fox does his best to escape : he threads
hedge-rows, tries the out-buildings of a farm-
house, and once turns so short as nearly to
run his foil ; but the perfection of the thing,
the hounds turn shorter than he does, as much
as to say die you shall. The pace has been
awful for the last twenty minutes. Three
horses are blown to a stand-still, and few are
going at their ease. ' Out upon this great
carcass of mine ; no horse that was ever
foaled can live under it at this pace,' says
one of the best of the welter-weights, as he
stands over his four-hundred-guinea chesnut,
then rising from the ground, after giving him
a heavy fall his tail nearly erect in the air,
his nostrils violently distended, and his eyes
almost fixed. * Not hurt, I hope,' exclaims
Mr. Maxse, to somebody whom he gets a
glimpse of through the openings of a tall
quickset hedge which is between them, com-
ing neck and croup into the adjoining field,
from the top bar of a high, hog-backed stile.
His eye might have been spared the unpleas-
ing sight, had not his ear been attracted to a
A true story.
t A celebrated rough-rider at Melton Mowbray, who
ipreatly distinguished himself in the late grand
Bteeple-chase from Rolleston. He is paid 15*. per day
for riding gentlemen's young horses to hound*.
sort of procumbit-humibos sound of a horse
falling to the ground on his back, the bone of
his left hip indenting the green-sward within
two inches of his rider's thigh. It is young
Peyton,* who, having missed his second horse
at the check, had been going nearly half the way
in distress ; but from nerve and pluck, perhaps
peculiar to Englishmen, but very peculiar to
himself, got within three fields of the end of
this brilliant run. The fall was all but a cer-
tainty ; for it was the third stiff timber-fence
that had unfortunately opposed him, after his
horse's wind had been pumped out by the
pace ; but he was too good to refuse them,
and his horse knew better than to do so.
The jEneid of Virgil ends with a death, and
a chase is not complete without it. The fox
dies within half amileof Woohvell-head, evi-
dently his point from the first; the pack
pulling him down in the middle of a large
grass field, every hound but one at his brush.
Jack Stevens with him in his hands would be
a subject worthy of Edwin Landseer himself:
a black-thorn, which has laid hold of his
cheek, has besmeared his upper garments
with blood, and one side of his head and cap
are cased in mud, by a fall he has had in a
lane, his horse having alighted in the ruts
from a high flight of rails ; but he has ridden
the same horse throughout the run, and has
handled him so well, he could have gone two
miles further, if the chase had been continued
Go long. Osbaldeston's whuO~hw,> mi:bt havy
been heard to Cottesmore, had the wind set
in that direction, and every man present is
ecstatic with delight. ' Quite the cream of
the thing, I suppose/ says Lord Gardner, a
very promising young one, at this time fresh
in Leicestershire. 'The cream of everything
in the shape of fox-hunting,' observes that
excellent sportsman Sir James Musgrave,
looking at that moment at his watch. ' Just
ten miles, as the crow flies, in one hour and
ten minutes, with but two trifling checks, ove*
the finest country in the world. What superb
hounds are these !' added the baronet, as he
turned his horse's head to the wind.
A large party dine this evening at the old
club, where, of course, this fine run is dis-
cussed, and the following accurate description
of it is given by one of the oldest members, a
true friend to fox-hunting, and to aJl mankind
as well : ; We found him,' said, he, ' at Ashby
Pasture, and got away with him, up wind, at
a slapping pace over Burrow Hill, leavirng
Thorpe Trassells to the right, when a trifling
check occurred. He then pointed for Ranks,
borough gorse, which some feared, and others
hoped, he might hang in a little, but he was
too gcod to go near it. Leaving that on his
right also, he crossed the brook to Whissen-
dine, going within half a mile of the village,
and then he had nothing for it but to fly.
That magnificent country, in the direction of
The only son of Sir Henry Peyton, Bart., one of
the best and hardest riders of the present day.
222
PIERCE EGAN'S BOOK OF SPORTS.
Teigh, was open to him, and he showed that
lie had the courage to face it. Leaving Teigh
on the right, Wool well-head was his point,
and in two more fields he would have reached
it. Thus we found him in the Quorn country;
ran him over the finest part of Lord Lonsdale's
and killed him on the borders of the Belvoir.
But we have left Snob in the lane, who,
after casting a longing eye towards his more
fortunate companions, who were still keeping
well in with the hounds, throws the rein
over the neck of the good little bay horse,
and, walking by his side, that he may re-
cover his wind, enquires his way to Melton.
Having no one to converse with, he thus
soliloquizes as he goes : * What a dolt have
I 'been, to spend five hundred a year on my
stable, in any country but this! But stop a
little : how is it that /, weighing but eleven
stone four pounds with my saddle, and upon
my best horse, an acknowledged good one in
my own country, could neither go so fast nor
so long as that heavy fellow Maxse ; that
still heavier, Lord Alvanley; and that mon-
ster Tom Edge, who, they tell me, weighs
eighteen stone, at least, in the scales.' At
this moment, a bridle-gate opens into the
lane, and a gentleman in scarlet appears, with
his countenance pale and wan, and expressive
of severe pain. It is he who had been dug
out of the ditch in which Jack Stevens had
left him, his horse having fallen upon him,
after being suspended on the rail, and broken
three of his ribs. Feeling extremely unwell,
he is glad to meet with Snob, who is going
his road, to Melton, and who offers him all
the assistance in his power. Snob also repeats
to him his soliloquy, at least the sum and sub-
stance of it, on which the gentleman, re-
covering a little from his faintness by the help
of a glass of brandy and water at the village,
thus makes his comment : ' I think, Sir,
you are a stranger in this part of the world,'
* Certainly/ replied Snob, * it is my first ap-
pearance in Leicestershire/ * I observed you
in the run/ continued the wounded sports-
man, l and very well you went up to the time
I fell, but particularly so to the first check.
You then rode to a leader, and made an ex-
cellent choice ; but after that period, I saw
you taking a line of your own, and anticipated
the fate you have met with. If you remain
with us long, you will be sure to find out that
riding to hounds in Leicestershire is different
from what it is in most other countries in
England, and requires a little apprenticeship.
ThfM-e is much choice of ground : and if this
choice be not judiciously made, and coupled
with a cautious observance of pace, a horse is
beaten in a very short time. If you doubt my
creed look to the events of this memorable
day/ Snob thanks him for his hints, and
notes them in his book of memory.
The fame of Snob and his little bay horse
Beaches Melton before he walks in himself.
That provincial fellow did not go amiss to
.*}/ says one. * Who was that rural-looking
man on a neatish bay horse all but his tail
who was so well with us at the first check ?'
asks another, who himself could not get to the
end, although he went l a good one* three-
parts of the way. There is no one present
to answer these questions ; but the next day,
and the next, Snob is in the field again, and
again in a good place. Further inquiries are
made, and satisfactory information obtained.
On the fourth day, a nod from one a ' how
do you ?' from another ' a fine morning/ from
a third are tokens good-humouredly be-
stowed upon him by some of the leading men,
and on the fifth day, after a capital half-hour,
in which he had again distinguished himself,
a noble bon-vivant thus addresses him,
* Perhaps, sir, you would like to dine with
me to-day ; I shall be happy to see you at
seven.'
* Covers/ he writes next day to some friend
in his remote western province, ' were laid
for eight, the favourite number of our late
Ring ; and perhaps his Majesty never sat
down to a better-dressed dinner in his life.
To my surprise, the subject of fox-hunting
was named but once during the evening, and
that was when an order was given that a ser
vant might be sent to inquire after a gentle-
man who had had a bad fall that morning over
some timber ; and to ask, by the way, if Dick
Christian came alive out of a ditch, in which
he had been left with a clever young
thorough-bred on the top of him/ The writer
proceeds to describe an evening, in which wit