but I depend upon you, and I will trust in your exertions to save us from the awful consequences of our fatal error." "Be it so," muttered Lonz. At this moment the brothers came in sight of Wilson's, where they were to breakfast, and, Lonz remarking that he would seize an opportunity during the hunt to leave and visit Burton, they galloped rapidly up to the house, and were soon receiving the loud welcome of their expectant host. CHAPTER V. "Sound! sound the horn! To the hunter good Oh, the sounds of all sounds, is the hunter's horn!" BARRY CORNWALL. You who are accustomed to connect a fox-hunt with a brilliant company of splendidly mounted gentlemen, elegantly dressed in fancy colours, with sleek hounds under the control of well-trained huntsmen, beating the bush some bright morning in the densely populated land of merry England, following the chase with horn and cheer, through level fields and meadows, now leaping ditches and low fences, then sweeping along turnpike roads-merely a pleasant gallop before breakfast-sufficient to give a man a good appetite, or some Di Vernon a colour, see the most sunny side of the sport, and have a very faint idea of fox-hunting in the wild lands of Kentucky. You who draw all your information and knowledge of this i exhilarating and much-praised sport from novels, and whose only experience lies in racy sketches read while lolling in the shade on a comfortable lounge, we venture to say, notwithstanding the spicy verses of Barry Cornwall at the head of this chapter, and the knowledge that we will be cursed for so saying, by the "horn and hound gentlemen," enjoy the most agreeable part of the pastime, to wit: the wind work, or story of narrow escapes and mishaps after the chase is over. We tried it once, and if you will take our advice, you will never desire a more intimate acquaintance with the realities of this sport than what you can glean from books. I recollect it well, the morning I was green enough to get out of a pleasant, warm bed, to take a part in a genuine fox-hunt; and if Diana-or who ever presides over hunting-in her old age, for she must be getting old now and tired of the sport, will forgive me that one offence, I promise faithfully never to offend again, and never to allow my nasal protuberance to be nipped or reddened by the early frosts of spring or fall. The only amusement I had on that famous morning, was in listening to a stiff quarrel between an old fellow (who, by the by, was blessed with none of the goods or comforts of this life, save a few mangy hounds and a scolding wife) and his better half, whose lovely old head, graced with a dirty night-cap, was stuck boldly out at the door, engaged in the laudible business of giving her fox-hunting husband a most terrible tongue-lashing for leaving her all alone at that hour in the morning (for it was not yet day), and not forgetting in her wrath ourselves, whom she dubbed "imps of Satan" and "scamps of creation, for coming there to decoy off her old man." Wishing to change the conversation, which was getting rather personal, to be agreeable, and as it was but a short time after the great falling of the stars or meteors, I asked the old man his views respecting that wonderful phenomenon. "O, nothing, nothing," was the reply; "my sweet old lady here, and the other neighbours, I guess, were rather considerably alarmed; but I knew all about it, and told them it was caused by a mixture of the heat and cold about the zenith pole; but they wouldn't believe me. I guess," chuckled the old man, forgetting his recent quarrel in memory of the joke, "my old horn on that morning made a smart sprinkle of people think the angel Gabriel was close at hand; for no horn at the siege of Jericho made louder notes than mine at the falling of the stars." We left that little cabin in the woods under a perfect storm of abuse from the lady of the night-cap, and I left that hunt late in the morning, devilish tired, and sleepy and cold, with about two inches of a black-jack limb in one of my eyes; and from that day to this, I have never had any desire to gain the character of a "sporting gentleman" by taking a part in a fox-hunt. It may all be well enough to talk about, and sing about fox-hunting and the merry sounding horn, for I acknowledge that the mellow notes of the horn at midnight or very early in the morning are vastly agreeable and cheering, but as for there being any pleasure in the real bona fide chase, I tell you again, it is no go, and won't do. If you wish to enjoy all the pleasures without any of the troubles or pains of the hunt, just do as I do; get a pack of hounds and set a negro to blowing a horn every morning before daylight, then you may have all the merry notes of dog and bugle while you luxuriate in your warm bed, and as you lay there, in a half dreamy state, you may fancy fox, and hound, and gallop, to your heart's content, and get up to your breakfast without any disagreeable sensation, or without any broken limbs. Just try it, my dear friend, and I have no doubt you will cry out in the fulness of your heart, "Blessed be he who first invented fox-hunting without the trouble of getting up," and send me a gold pitcher, or at least a silver cup, for my invention. I will only add to my recipe for "still hunting," that you must always remember to reward the bugleman, with, if not a silver, at least a "stiff horn" of mellow, spirituous twang, and then return from this digression to the "foxhunt in the bottom." In the lower or southern portion of Kentucky, the old forest remains as when it was the hunting-ground of the Indian, almost unbroken or untouched by the ringing axe of the Anglo-Saxon. Even now you may often ride a day's journey through deep and dark woods without meeting a soul, (unless those busy little barkers, the squirrels, are troubled with that interesting commodity,) or seeing more than a few "deadnings," or clearings, with here and there a log cabin, occupied by a sturdy squatter. Such was the condition of the country in the immediate neighbourhood, that is, for four or five miles around, the scene of our present fox-hunt. By break of day some dozen particular friends of old Reynard had gathered in the bottom, (a name given to the low, level plains, common, and always found on one side of every creek or river of this country,) bordering upon the little stream called Pond River. Each huntsman was followed by a troop of dogs,-for in this land of plenty every person, both boy, negro, and master, has from one to a dozen, and of every living species known; but in this instance, all of the canine company assembled were of the species hound, and a motley, yelping set they were, fighting, barking, and fawning upon their masters, on that particular morning. The bottom extended far away up and down the river, and was some four or five miles in width, and was a famous, choice place for fox-hunting at particular seasons of the year, when it was clear of water and dry; for it was a broad, level plain, covered only with the largest of trees, and free from briars and undergrowth, so that the rider could follow the hounds at full speed, taking care alone of projecting limbs, swinging grape-vines, fallen timber, and deep gullies. A sufficient number of evils, say I, to deter any man, especially one who has had a black-jack run in his eye, from ever going a fox-hunting. The company now assembled were all stout, athletic men, splendidly mounted, (for no Kentuckian, if he can beg, borrow, or buy, will ride a mean horse,) and all dressed in plain, strong, country jeans, or tanned buckskin. When we say all, we mean all, with the exception of one, who sported a seedy suit of black, and seemed to be a stranger to the most of the huntsmen, and who Major Thompson, (in Kentucky all men have military titles,) a stout, jolly, red-faced farmer, the leader of the party, was introducing as his friend, Squire Shallow; at the same time with a wink and a nod to his companions, remarking "that the Squire was from town, but that he was a good judge of a horse, a first-rate rider, an old fox-hunter, and cared not a cent for dead timber or broad gullies." During this high, and we need not say, groundless eulogy of Thompson's, Judge Shallow (for thus he delighted to be called, as he had once been, and was probably at that very time, police judge of the flourishing little town of H-) was straining away at his bridle, spurring the sides of a fat, heavy Flanders mare, sitting very straight and upright in his saddle, and, in truth, putting on to the best of his abilities all the airs of a knowing one. In reply to the Major's praise he remarked in a solemn, judicial tone, as if sentencing some poor devil to the stocks, "I did once, gentlemen, pretend to know something about horseflesh and riding, but of course, I am not so skilled as yourselves, for you know, Thompson, for many years I have quit sport and have been compelled by the important situation to which I have been called by the voice of the country, to devote all of my leisure hours to the study and acquirement of a knowledge of the law, considering this my first duty, as it is my prerogative to sit upon the lives and fortunes of my fellow-citizens." After this very patriotic and philanthropic and pompous address, Squire Shallow looked gravely around upon his audience as if awaiting for, or expecting their applause, made known by the stamping of feet, as is usual on such occasions. But, alas for the poor justice; his hearers were all on horseback and had no way of expressing their approbation and wonder at his arduous and glorious duties, which they would have no doubt done had there been a suitable opportunity, such as a floor to stamp, or a bench to rap. One young wag, however, who was well acquainted with our justice's peculiarities, thinking it to be his bounden duty to express his great satisfaction in some audible manner, and as he had no other way, gave a deep, long groan, which made poor Shallow, for he knew its author, to start in his saddle, and caused some of the others to smile. But this disciple, or rather expounder of Blackstone and Bacon, cuts a conspicuous figure in more than one chapter of our story, and now, while the hounds are busily engaged under the encouraging shouts of their masters in nosing out the .fox, we will take occasion to introduce this same squire, justice, or judge, for he answered to all of these titles (but with much greater alacrity to the latter), in due form to the reader. He was, if we are allowed to judge without loooking at his teeth, about thirty |