among hunting men there is nothing so unpopular as what is called by the rest of the world a most beautiful, clear, bright day. the gaudy thing is disagreeable to eyes because it is dangerous to the bodies to which they respectively belong; for when every twig glitters in the sunshine, and every drop of dew that hangs upon them looks like a diamond, the fences so dazzle the eyes of riders, and especially of horses, that a number of extra falls are very commonly the result. soft ground, dull weather, an easterly wind, and a cloudy sky, form the compound that is most approved of. on such a day, and under such circumstances, we beg leave to invite our readers to sit with us patiently for a very few minutes in a balloon, as, like a hawk hovering above a partridge, it hangs over the quiet little village of arthingworth, in northamptonshire. those hounds, headed by that whipper-in riding so lightly and neatly on his horse, and surrounding their huntsman charles payne, jogging along, seated in his saddle as if he had grown there, are on that portion of the queen's highway which connects northampton with market harborough. they are the pytchley hounds, the hereditary property, not of the present 144master, but of the hunt. they are on their way from their kennel at brixworth to a park at arthingworth to draw "waterloo gorse," which means that every man who intends to come (and their name is legion) will send there, not his best-looking, but, what is infinitely better, that which he knows to be "his best horse," simply because the covert of waterloo not only usually holds a good fox, but because it is encircled by very large grass-fields, enlivened in every direction by the severest fences in northamptonshire. see how quietly along every high-road, bye-road, and footpath, horses and riders, of various sizes and sorts, walking, jogging, or gently trotting, are converging towards a central point! schoolboys are coming to see the start on ponies; farmers on clever nags; others on young horses of great price; neatly-dressed grooms, some heavy and some light, are riding, or riding and leading, horses magnificent in shape and breeding, in the most beautiful condition, all as clean and well-appointed as if they had been prepared to do miserable penance in rotten row. and are all these noble and ignoble animals beneath us going to the hunt? yes, and many more that we cannot see. look at those straight streams of white steam that through green fields are concentrating from north, south, east, and west upon market harborough, from leicester, from northampton, from stamford, and from rugby—denoting trains that,145 at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour, are hurrying boxes all containing hunters for the meet.
on the huntsman and hounds slowly entering and taking up their positions in the small park at arthingworth, excepting two or three farmers, no one is there to receive or notice them. however, in a few minutes, through large gates and through smaller ones, grooms on and with their horses walk steadily in; while charles payne, occasionally chucking from his coat-pocket a few crumbs of bread to his hounds, most of whom are looking upwards at him, leaning over his horse, is holding confidential conversation with a keeper. "it's too bad!" whispers an old farmer, who had just been entrusted with the secret that another fox had last night been shot by poachers; "and, what's more, it's been a-going on in many ways a long time." "yes!" replies charles payne, looking as calmly and philosophically as hamlet when he was moralising over yorick's skull; "you may rely upon it that, what with greyhounds,—and poachers,—and traps,—and poison,—there are very few foxes now-a-days that die a natural death"—meaning that they were not eaten up alive by the pytchley hounds.
but during all this precious time where are all the scarlet coats? oh! here they come, trotting, riding, and galloping to the meet from every point of the compass, and apparently from every region of the habitable globe,146 some of the young ones—diverging as usual from their path of rectitude—to lark over a fence or two. along the turnpike and country roads, drags with four horses, light dog-carts with two, post-chaises and gigs, each laden with men muffled up in heavy clothing, showing no pink, save a little bit peeping out at the collar, are all hurrying onwards to the same goal; and as these living bundles, with cigars in their mouths, are rapidly landing in the park, it will be advisable that we also should descend there to observe them.
by about a quarter before eleven the grass in front of the hospitable hunting-box of one of the late masters of the pytchley—who, take him all in all, is one of the very best riders in the hunt—becomes as crowded as a fair with sportsmen of all classes, from the highest rank in the peerage down to—not exactly those who rent a 6l. house,—but who can afford money and time enough to "hoont," as they call it. while two or three well-appointed servants in livery are very quietly, from a large barrel, handing glasses of bright-looking ale to any farmer or groom who, after his long ride, may happen to feel a little thirsty, and while others from white wicker-baskets are distributing bits of bread and lumps of cheese to any man who may feel that beneath his waistcoat there is house-room to receive them, the honourable and gallant proprietor of the brown barrel and white baskets, lounging147 in his red coat, &c., on his exalted lawn, with sundry small scratches (from bull-finches) on his face, with something now and then smoking a little from his mouth, and with that placid and easy manner which in every situation of life distinguishes him, says to any friend in pink that happens to pass him, "won't ye go in for a moment?" but, without invitation, most of the aristocrats, leaving their horses with their grooms, to ascend a flight of ladder steps which raises them to the lawn, walk slowly and majestically across it, adjusting their hair, "just to make their bow." when that compliment has been paid, they pause for a second or two in the hall, and then recross the lawn, indolently munching, and with perfumed handkerchiefs carefully wiping lips or mustachios (as the case may be), which, if they were very closely approached, might possibly smell partly of cherries, to proceed to their respective grooms, and mount their horses.
"moveon,sir?" says charles payne, in his sharp, quick tone, touching his cap to the master, who slightly nods to him. "now-then,-gentlemen!" he adds, "ware hounds, if you please!" and accordingly, surrounded by them, onwards he, his two whips, and about two hundred horsemen, proceed at a walk to cross for nearly half a mile magnificent fields of grass of from eighty to a hundred acres. as the pytchley and quorn men are, for the148 reasons we have explained, each mounted on the very best of their stud, it need hardly be stated that the lot of horses before us are an accumulation of the finest specimens in the world; and yet with the highest breeding, courage, and condition, with magnificent figures, and with bone and substance sufficient to carry, through deep ground, from twelve to eighteen stone, there is a calm, unassuming demeanour in their walk, which it seems almost impossible sufficiently to admire. in like manner, among the riders, nobody appears to have the smallest disposition to talk about what he is going to do, or apparently even to think of where he is proceeding. a man from warwickshire will perhaps describe the run he had there on thursday; while another will fashionably say to a leicestershire friend—"did you do anything on friday?"—but most of the field are conversing as they ride along, not at all about foxes, but about lords palmerston, derby, italy, the pope, &c.
on arriving close to waterloo gorse, charles payne pulls up to remain stationary for a couple of minutes, surrounded by his hounds, who, instead of gazing at his face, are all looking most eagerly at the covert, until the two whips, getting round it, have each taken up a position on the other side. "now-then-little-bitches!" says charles, as, with a twitch corresponding with his voice, he waves forwards his right hand, in which is149 grasped the silver horn presented to him by the farmers. without taking the smallest offence at the appellation (which after all is a just one, for, as they are the fastest of his two packs, charles does not object to bringing them to "waterloo"), in they dash; and in a second charles and his horse are over the low flight of rails, to gallop along a briary path which conducts them to a small open space in the centre of the covert. the greater portion of the field, in coats of many colours, congregate on its right.
but "quanto sono insensibili questi inglesi!" instead of evincing the smallest degree of anxiety, the conversations we have described are renewed; and though certainly nobody seems to care the hundred-thousandth part of a farthing about what his lips are saying, and though the countenance of every man appears to acknowledge that, on the whole, he is well enough satisfied with this world, yet men and horses remain perfectly cool, and occasionally cold, until it might be fancied by any old soldier standing a mile off that a shell had suddenly burst in the middle of them. "pray, don't holla!" exclaims an old sportsman in a loud whisper. "by jove, he's away!" screams a very young one in pink, pointing to a shepherd who, grasping a struggling dog with one hand, is holding up his hat with the other. half a dozen loud, slow, decisive, monotonous blasts from150 charles payne's horn are instantly heard, while his hounds, tumbling over each other, jump almost together over a small hedge and ditch out of the covert, with their beautiful heads all pointing towards leicestershire. as they and reynard take the opposite side of the large grass field in which the riders had assembled, the start of the latter is very nearly as sudden as that of the former. packed together almost as closely as the wild young creatures that on epsom course run for the derby, the best men and the best horses belonging to the pytchley, quorn, cottesmore, and warwickshire hounds start together over turf down a gentle declivity, at the bottom of which runs an insignificant stream. steady horsemanship in every rider is necessary to prevent treading on those immediately before, or jostling those on each side. many a horse, by shaking his head, clearly enough shows how unwelcome to him is the restraint. from this conglomeration nearly a dozen men extricate themselves by the superior speed and management of their horses. before them[g] is a well-known broad and strong fence, which, without competing against each other, they most gallantly charge, "magnâ comitante catervâ," followed by the great ruck. one,—two,—three,—four,—five,—six men and horses take it almost together in their stride, and, to the astonishment of the remainder, all disappear! every horse had well cleared the broad ditch 151on the other side, but all nearly simultaneously had landed in an artificial bog beyond it, made for draining purposes only a few days before, and in which the six men and the six horses, each perfectly unhurt, are now as prostrate and as "comfortable" as if they had, to use the old nurse's expression, "just been put to bed." the hon. fred. villiers and harry everard are the first over and down. as they lie together in the mud, looking upwards, they see coming over the stakes of the hedge the fitzwilliam girths of the horses of henry forrester and thomas atkinson (vive l'empereur!), followed almost instantly by two strangers. however, nearly as quickly as they all fell, they severally arise, mount their horses, and gallantly regain the hounds. the field of riders, unable to comprehend what has happened, and moreover unable as well as unwilling to stop their horses, as it were by word of command, all gracefully swerve together in a curve to the right to take two stiff fences instead of one. about half a dozen, on perfect timber-jumpers, cross a ditch overhung by a stout ash rail, firmly fixed between two trees; the remainder break their way through a bull-finch, and then, throwing their right shoulders forward, at a very honest pace, all make every proper effort to catch charles payne and the few others who with him had followed the line of the hounds.
we should certainly tire and jolt our readers very grievously were we to presume to hustle them through152 the well-known and splendid run that ensued. not only, however, do our limits forbid us to do so, but as we shall shortly have to quote hunting-anecdotes from a very superior pen, we willingly pull up to make, in cool blood instead of in hot, a very few remarks.
[g]this scene we happened to witness.
