rather strong brown-paper shot-cartridges, filled with No. 4 shot, which I find will kill from ten to fifteen yards further than the loose charge, and better, in my opinion, than the bonedust wire cartridges. I take a stool to sit upon while waiting the arrival of the pigeons, and a seal-skin travelling cap, which keeps the ears warm, and enables me to turn about within the horse more easily than a hat would do, and is less liable to be seen by the keen prying eyes of the pigeon, peering in as they do through the apertures in the horse, as well as allowing me the better to kneel down and shoot in a perpendicular direction, which is constantly necessary, for when only a single bird, or perhaps two together, arrive, they are almost certain to alight on the very extreme twig of the topmost branch overhead, swinging in the breeze, and keeping a sharp look-out for the rest of the flock, or any enemy they may fear at a distance. I next proceed to place four or five, or more if I have them, dead birds; or if I have not got any killed by the keeper over night at the roosting places, then I resort to such birds as arrive and I am able to kill from time to time; and these, as I continue to obtain them, I place as decoy birds at some thirty or forty yards off, just within shot, so that I can reach any live pigeon that alights near the dead ones, to see what they are about, and why they remain so perfectly stationary. And it is curious to observe how attentively the former scrutinize the latter, and in a low cooing voice make enquiries as to their motionless conduct, and if they are all right. In order that the decoy birds. may be more easily seen at a distance, and to give them a more natural and life-like appearance, I raise their heads upon a peg or bit. of bough, and spread their wings a little, the better to shew the white feathers. All arrangements being completed, I then take up my position within the stalking-horse in such a manner that I can see round in any direction by only turning my head; and having first taken a long and steady survey of the distant trees, and carefully examined the ones over-head, and whether any pigeons are on the wing at a distance, I have only to sit down and wait the first arrival. I always let the new comers quietly settle themselves for a few moments, for it constantly happens that no sooner has one bird alighted than others follow, and present fairer shots than the first would do; this, however, should not be delayed long, for so timid is the woodpigeon that the report of a distant gun, the sudden appearance of a man, or cattle, or other pigeons passing by in the air, or twenty other circumstances, cause them to fly off just as the trigger is being pulled, and this is a source of vexation constantly happening. Another thing to be observed is, the direction in which the wind blows, if at all fresh and stormy. Wood-pigeons do not like to have their feathers ruffled and blown up by the wind, though they appear most particularly to enjoy swinging high in the breeze; and they generally so contrive that their breasts shall face the gale; and if the shooter has not placed himself accordingly, and taken that into consideration, but is obliged to take aim at the breast of the bird, it is two to one, even at a very moderate distance, but that it will escape, or fly away only slightly wounded and maimed, and frequently untouched. It is quite surprising the difference of the effect of a shot up the feathers of a pigeon or at its breast only; in the latter case they act as a feather bed,

and with the bone protect every vital part; but if aim is taken at any other part of the body, not half the force is required to bring the bird to bag. I have made many experiments in this matter, and as to the best size of shot to be used; also as to shooting with a cartridge, or loose shot, and whether if wire or brown-paper cartridges, and I found the difference to be very great. I would by far rather shoot with one of the common brown-paper cartridges with No. 4 shot, at the side, back, or underneath-part of a pigeon, and up its feathers, at a distance of fifteen yards further off, than I would at that number of yards nearer with larger shot in a loose charge in the common way, and having to aim at the breast and head only. As regards the wire cartridge, the chief objection is that it is apt to stick in the barrel, and cannot be got down in a hurry, and without making such a noise in ramming it home as would scare every pigeon away, just perhaps as the flock is again alighting after the first fire. If, too, the bird is very close, the wire cartridge goes like a ball, and spoils it; or even if at a distance, the cartridge often does not spread enough to hit a bird swinging in the wind. I, therefore, much prefer the common home-made brown-paper cartridge, which is far less dangerous than the wire ones, and more likely to be rammed home when shooting in great haste, and with little space to turn the ramrod in, which has often to be passed through one of the loop-holes to enable one to load at all, and every bird above upon the watch for the slightest sound or motion. In addition to the aid derived from the decoy pigeons, I send round the keeper, or his boy, or some one, on horseback to drive up the flocks of pigeons that are feeding upon the different turnip fields in the neighbourhood, or may have alighted at a distance upon other trees, where, were they not thus disturbed, they would continue to remain, though perhaps quite in sight until one's patience is exhausted, and no doubt from the same reason that vultures and all other over-fed birds do so they will often sit for hours together digesting their food and waiting till a return of appetite induces them to renew their meal.

Of any great quantity of wood-pigeons killed from my stalkinghorse, I have no account to give. They are not birds which in this country, from their excessive shyness, limited numbers, and strength of wing, allow of any great havoc taking place. I therefore thought myself fortunate in killing 93 during a few of the mornings of the serene weather of last year. One morning I killed 28, and considering that two pigeons are about equal in weight to a wild duck, and better in flavour, I think 463 couple of such delicious birds killed by means of my stalking-horse, when the falling snow and nature of the weather would frequently allow of no other out of doors amusement, was not bad sport.

It was my intention to have added some few remarks upon the instinct, or whatever else it may be called, which birds possess, enabling them to discover, when out of sight, each other's track through the air, and by what means it is that they know the right course to follow, to enable them to overtake those that have long preceded them in their flight; but these observations had better be deferred till another occasion.

March 6, 1848.

237

A PEEP AT THE PROVINCES;

OR,

THE CRACK PACKS OF ENGLAND UNDER REVIEW.

BY ACTEON.

(Continued.)

66 as

Twenty years have almost imperceptibly glided away since I was first initiated as a foxhunter in the rough and woodland county of Berks; and when I make use of the term initiated I merely refer to that peculiar district alone, for I had even then, young as I was, seen several good seasons through with the various packs that hunted in the county of Warwick and the adjoining shires. And although I have upon several different occasions revisited the county, the charms attached to the society of old friends were the chief cause of my pilgrimage, and not any earthly desire to otherwise waste the few days that could be so ill spared from the fleeting moments of this too short life in playing at hunting in decidedly the worst country I ever attempted to follow a pack of foxhounds in during the whole of my hunting career. Can you ever expect to see sport in a country which has been described by one fox-hunting poet one eternal wood," over a district of bad and heavy plough, which scarcely ever holds a scent high enough to press a fox to distress? Besides, there are game preserves in every direction, and consequently lying, sneaking, rascally keepers continually peering out over the wood-gates by which you pass in your way through the interminable chain of covers, by which the sportsman is bewildered in his day's march. Still, however, this country has been hunted from time immemorial, and during the last forty years the six or seven different masters which have occupied it have all had their admirers, cach sticking up most pertinaciously for the system pursued by his beau ideal of a huntsman and director of the sports. One old sportsman tells you that there never were such runs and such hunting as with the late Mr. Warde; but his hounds, I am convinced, never could go fast enough to tire either themselves or the horses, and the slow harrier-like style of amusing the field for about three or four hours in working out the stale scent of some old reynard that had been trotting before them as much for his own amusement as that of his pursuers, comes very short indeed of what is considered by modern sportsmen as hunting, even in the very worst countries that can be imagined. Another, who is an admirer of pace, declares that only one man ever knew how to hunt the Craven country, and that he was a heaven-born huntsman." But now, impartial reader, is this hunting-when a man gallops from morning 'till night from cover to cover with two or three couples of hounds at his horse's heels and the rest coming somewhere, getting a bit of a touch here and showing a line of scent there, and settling to their fox in earnest no where, nicking the line of his fox continually by "giving him the meeting" as he passed by the well-known route from cover to cover, and described the usual three-mile circle which all the foxes bred from the same cover had done from time immemorial?

66

All those who know anything of hunting and the work of hounds are well aware that no system can be under any circumstances admissible, unless the hounds shall not only go before the huntsman, but go to cry and carry such a head as shall enable them to work clear of the horses, drive the line of their fox, and in fact kill him, as a general rule, by hunting and chasing, and not by being telegraphed from cover to cover. No man has a right to call himself a huntsman who has not dash and science enough in him, too, to catch hold of his hounds at any time, lift them right and left, and drop on his fox, as occasion may require, when he may perceive that by either a weak and fleeting scent he is sure to be beaten, or by the artful short running of a crooked fox; but then the thing must be done artistically and with the whole pack of hounds, and even then only occasionally, and not as a general system; or farewell to all steady work, and, in fact, to the very spirit of foxhuntingthe chasing to death of the animal by the combined efforts of the pack, lirected only in extreme difficulties by the judicious and quick assistance of their huntsman.

The first time I saw hounds in the Craven country was, as I before observed, about twenty years ago; at that time I was only a lad at Oxford, but the stern authorities of my college having come to a decision, which, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, could not in any way be altered, that a short sojourn in the country-no doubt on account of the salubrious effects of its pure air-would be not only beneficial to my health, but also to my morals, I was dismissed with anything but a "bene decessit" to explore the, as yet by me, untravelled paths of the wide world. Which way shall I set my head? was the first question that struck upon the tympanum of my deliberation. And, like a fox whose main earths were effectually stopped for the present, I resolved upon seeing a little life in some of the remote hunting districts, where there was the least chance of being recognized by any tale-bearing donkey who might magnify the excusable ebullition of a young sportsman into the more determined extravagance of a reckless roue. I quickly resolved upon taking two horses into Berkshire. In the first place I thought that I should get more hunting on so short a stud in that slow and open country, there not being so great a chance of laming a horse by galloping up and down wood-rides and open-ploughed fields as there would be in cramming him to distress over the rasping bullfinchers of the deep country around Bicester or Brackley. Besides I had long heard of the great John Warde, and was at length on the eve, if I chose to avail myself of the opportunity, of being gratified by a sight of that renowned "father of foxhunters" at the head of his celebrated pack in the field. I accordingly, big with hope, and the consequence attached to a sportsman with his groom and hunters travelling the country, started on my journey, and Sunday afternoon found me sitting at dinner as comfortably as possible at that excellent hostelrie the Bear Inn, at Hungerford. To describe the sport of each succeeding day would not only be too tedious to my readers, from the similarity of each returning woodland run which afforded pastime to the keen natives who were regularly attendant on the gallant master and his pack, but quite foreign to my present purpose, although I have kept a journal of the operations, my present intention being to give some account of the packs of modern days, and not to bore my readers with those runs—

of but little interest even at the time they occurred-which took place twenty-years ago. Old Will Neverd hunted the pack, and Will Hedden, known really as the whipper-in without a voice, from his having so completely lost the powers of utterance as not to be able to speak loud enough for hound or man to hear him above an hundred yards at the furthest, tuned the hounds to one of the slowest huntsmen I ever met with in any country. And what did this slowness arise from? Why, partly from age, partly laziness, and partly a bad system, acquired by continually trying to catch a fox in a country without scent, and with woods enough to take the steel out of the most determined pack of hounds that ever were bred. No wonder then was it to see about the softest that ever plodded on a stale scent bow-wowing along for hours together about five mile an hour, making the hazel twigs bend to their enormous bulk like so many young elephants reconnoitring the recesses of a Ceylon jungle. Well, indeed, might they be designated by the appropriate appellation of "John Warde's jackasses.' Few foxes were killed above ground, but occasionally a little underground hunting was resorted to, and fine fun it was, and affording a group worthy of Hogarth's most brilliant conception. Independent of all ideas connected with the veritable and legitimate part of the diversion as a field sport, the court of Momus, which surrounded this prince of good fellows, John Warde, revelled in the jokes and stories, many of them told and retold till nearly threadbare, which were continually flowing from the inexhaustible fountain of facetic, which ever was wont to refresh the drooping spirits of his attentive hearers. There sat this great sportsman, in the midst of the group, upon a sack-for countrymen invariably bring a bag from the next farmhouse at the digging out of a fox, although it is never used, at least in a civilized country; there he sat upon a sack, and there grouped around him were hounds, horses, servants, labourers, squires, parsons, farmers, and, in fact, every grade of the human race divine who are in the habit of attending at that most interesting divertisement-the unearthing of a fox. Many of Mr. Warde's facetious anecdote were clothed in poetry that would not have disgraced Erato herself, some of them from the sublime pen of Mr. N--; but prose or poetry, jokes new or old, sport good or bad, it was all the same thing-everybody who might be in the presence of one of the most extraordinary men of his age acknowledged his absorbing influence, and where John Warde presided all were cheerful and happy. I never shall forget the first time I dined with him; it was in fact the first day I ever went out with his hounds, and which circumstance has fully convinced me that for any young man of decent appearance and good manners, especially if he has the accomplishment of good horsemanship on his side, there is no introduction to the world, in fact into good society, equal to that of the hunting field; time will soon teach the tyro to sift the corn from the chaff-to know the gentleman from the snob, the man from the pretender, the sportsman from the mere horsechaunter, let his connections be what they will. My name was of course learnt from my servant, as most strangers' names generally are; and, although a mere lad, I was invited out to dinner, during the fortnight I remained in the country, no less than eight times. In fact, I soon discovered that the country well deserved the character which it had so long borne, viz., the best knife-and-fork country in