Belvoir, and the Essex hunts, which are all three recently published, as well as the history of the Pytchley, which appeared some few years ago. Of these histories of hunts Mr. Blew's account of the Quorn and its masters is the best. It is very readable and well illustrated by Alken's old-fashioned drawings. The account of hunting in Essex by Mr. Ball and Mr. Gilbey has also been very satisfactorily compiled, though naturally it is of less interest than the history of the Quorn. The histories of the Belvoir and the Pytchley suffer from the lack of literary skill of their writers. The History of the Belvoir Hunt' in particular is ill-arranged and swollen to unnecessary size by repetitions and irrelevant matter. It is to be regretted that a more competent writer than the late Mr. Nethercote has not undertaken the Pytchley hunt, which might probably be made very interesting. It is not impossible to find a sportsman who can write a good book, without being (as Lockhart said to Murray when he discovered Mr. Apperley, the now classic Nimrod ') a man who can hunt like Hugo Meynell and write like Sir 'Walter Scott.' But perhaps the readers of sporting literature are less difficult to satisfy than others. If such a book as Kings of the Hunting Field,' by Thormanby,' can find many appreciative readers, the appetite of the public for hunting literature must indeed be enormous and uncritical. Though these modern writers cannot equal the manner of Nimrod,' we do not agree with Beckford's dictum that fox-hunting, however lively and animating it may be in the field, is but a dull, dry subject to write upon.' In Beckford himself we find that rare and charming combination of a scholar and a sportsman. There is little in his book which has not since been repeated and quoted with approval, and the series of familiar letters to a friend' have been read with pleasure by many who have never followed a pack of hounds.

The sport which the early fox-hunters enjoyed varied in some respects from that which modern packs afford; and the method of hunting which our ancestors pursued was different from that now prevailing. The great landowners, the Dukes of Rutland at Belvoir, the Dukes of Beaufort at Badminton, and the Earls of Berkeley at Berkeley Castle, kept the family packs in kennels. But many of the earliest packs of fox hounds were trencher-fed,' and each small squire kept a few couple of hounds, which lived about the house and slept in their master's bed-chamber. The poet Gray describes an establishment which belonged to his uncle

at Burnham. Each chair in the house was taken up by a dog. Of their master he writes in a letter, Though gout 'forbids him galloping after them in the field, yet he con'tinues to regale his ears and nose with their comfortable 'noise and stink.' On a hunting day a whipper-in was sent round, blowing a horn, to collect the pack, which quickly learnt to recognise the call and fly to the summons. Or sometimes it was the custom for each man to bring his hounds to the meet, and so form a pack. This system has prevailed in remoter districts down to the present day. In no way, however, has custom altered more than in the hour of meeting. Eleven o'clock is the recognised time, and a later hour is not unknown. The old rule used to be to throw off as soon as it was light enough to distinguish a gate from a stile. The early meet involved an earlier start; but the discomforts of a long ride, before the dawn of a winter morning, may, perhaps, have been compensated for as well by the pleasure of the sunrise as by the excitement of hunting up to the fox by the drag. The drag (we may hasten to explain to those of our readers who are not foxhunters) is the line of scent which the fox leaves across country as he returns to his kennel from his nightly expedition in search of food. The older writers have dwelt, with much satisfaction, upon the enjoyment afforded by this method of finding the fox. The excitement when the first hound spoke, the pleasure which the owner of a tendernosed hound derived from his favourite's performance, the sweet chorus of music, which increased as each one began to throw his tongue, the satisfaction as the whole pack slowly hunted up to the fox and unkennelled him-all these may well be imagined. Moreover when this was done the pleasures of the run began. It may well be that the early start for the meet would not now find general approval. One well-known old sportsman used always to begin his account of a famous day he remembered with the phrase, "We breakfasted at twelve o'clock at night.' In the days of Squire Forester at Willey Hall, in Shropshire, when there was a meet the guests would arrive the day before and sit down, booted and spurred, to dinner at four o'clock in the afternoon. They did not rise from table until it was time to mount their horses and ride to the covert-side. Squire Forester himself on ordinary hunting mornings had his breakfast at four, and this meal consisted of underdone beef washed down with eggs beaten up in brandy.

There were, however, reasons for these early hours. The

drag of course soon disappears, especially after sunrise. Foxes a hundred and fifty years ago were much scarcer than they are now; woodlands were more extensive, and unless this method of finding the fox was adopted hounds might have drawn the whole day without success. Moreover in the early morning the fox, when found, was still gorged and distended with his last meal and went away at a comparatively slow pace. This in our ancestors' eyes was a good thing; and, probably, with the slow hounds and horses of those days many a fox was pulled down who would have made good his escape had he digested his food. It seems to be generally agreed, among the historians of the chase, that in old times. runs were certainly slower and probably longer. They were slower, partly, no doubt, for the reason stated above, and, partly because the old breed of bound lacked the forward dash and drive which is the characteristic of the best modern fox hounds. A pack which dwells upon the scent can never run down a stout fox; and it is a generally accepted maxim that to succeed in overtaking a fox, the pack must usually press and distress him at the beginning of the run. A hunted fox, until he is almost beaten (unlike the hare), keeps moving on at a steady pace, even when he has left the pack far behind.

An ingenious, and no doubt true, explanation has been offered which accounts for the longer runs which foxes gave in former times. It is essential, if a fox is to give a long, straight run, that he should be well acquainted with the country for a great distance round. In the days when game was scarcer a fox had to travel, each night, many miles to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and so became acquainted not only with the best ways across country, but with all the coverts and earths in the country-side. When the hunting day came, and such a fox had to fly for his life, he set his mind on some place of safety, perhaps several parishes away, and made for that point as straight as he could. Nowadays, since pheasants are reared by thousands under hens, and turned out, as tame and fat as farm-yard fowls, into the coverts, a degenerate race of foxes has grown up, which, not having to hunt for a living, are unable to run for their lives. Moreover, if we are to believe Mr. Paget, keepers, when they find a litter of cubs in a wood sacred to pheasants, often kill the old foxes, who would be most destructive to the birds. The cubs they surround with a small enclosure of wire netting, and feed them, at the mouth of the earth, with dead rabbits or

offal till they are full-grown. The wire of course is removed before the cub-hunting season, and, when hounds visit the wood there is a fine show of foxes, but not much sport or hunting in proportion to the blood shed. For our own part we believe that nine gamekeepers out of ten cordially hate a fox, and willingly destroy one when they get a chance of doing so without being detected. It is, perhaps, only natural; they do the same with respect to hawks, whatever stringent orders their master may give.

About the middle of the eighteenth century a change came over fox-hunting, and the old system became transformed into the modern. This change is commonly associated with Mr. Hugo Meynell, who has left a name more famous than any in the annals of fox-hunting. He succeeded Mr. Boothby when that gentleman died, and, having bought Quorndon Hall from Lord Ferrers, became in 1753 the first master of the Quorn Hunt. His fame gradually spread all over England. The King of Sportsmen,' the Hunting 'Jupiter,' the Primate of the Science' are but a few of the titles given to this celebrated gentleman by his admirers. A book has been written upon The Meynellian Science.' From 1753 to 1800 he reigned supreme and hunted over a large part of Leicestershire. He showed better sport than any other master, and it was said that Mr. Meynell's hounds had more good runs than any other pack in England. Leicestershire became the paradise of fox-hunters, and many sportsmen flocked thither to follow this celebrated pack. The Duchess of Devonshire and other ladies of quality hunted with Mr. Meynell, who seems, at one time, to have turned his home into a lodging-house for the accommodation of these numerous strangers to the county. Mr. Meynell, writes a contemporary,

'permits his servant to accommodate as many of his friends as his house will hold with apartments, where they are furnished with dinner and all provisions as at any public place. Many of those who attend the hunt and cannot get apartments in the house, and are strangers, come to the inns, and a great many hunters are kept there. The company on a field day is very numerous, and they go out with as much ceremony as to Court, their hair being always dressed.' *

The changes which Mr. Meynell brought in, by improving the breed of fox hound, led to a much more dashing style of hunting; and the new method was summed up in the saying

* Sketch of a Tourist into Derbyshire and Yorkshire,' by William Bray. Published 1783.

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that whereas many had walked down foxes, Meynell was the first who galloped them to death. In the matter of breeding Mr. Meynell's notions did not much vary from the present ideas of perfection, and he devoted great pains to the improvement of his pack. But successful fox-hunting depends no less on the merits of the pack than on the nature of the country. He found in Leicestershire a vast extent of old pasture, and small coverts with numerous foxes, and a soil which retains the scent. One of the characteristics of the county in the early days was the absence of fences. But much land which has now been drained was in those days inclined to be boggy.

The increased speed of the hounds, and the increasing stiffness of the fences, led at the end of the century to a mode of hard riding which before was unknown. Lord Jersey, the Hon. Cecil Forester, and Mr. Childe were the first, it is said, who set the example, much to Mr. Meynell's disgust, of stopping at nothing, even with the certainty of a fall on the other side. Two celebrated runs are recorded in these days. The first lasted an hour and twenty minutes without a moment's check; the second two hours and fifty minutes, during which hounds were never once cast. In both cases the fox was killed, and, more remarkable still, in both cases every single hound in the pack was present at the finish. Mr. Meynell was still master of the Quorn Hunt on Monday, February 24, 1800, when the famous Billesden Coplow run took place, certainly the most celebrated in the history of fox-hunting.

With the wind at north-east, forbiddingly keen, The Coplow of Billesden ne'er witnessed, I ween, Two hundred such horses and men at a burst, All determined to ride, each resolved to be first.' Writers of verse and of prose have described the incidents of that memorable day. After covering about twenty-eight miles at astonishing speed the hounds eventually lost their fox. On the centenary of that day, last year, the Quorn hounds were taken to the Coplow, in the hope that history would repeat itself. The notion was attractive, the result disappointing. During the last ten years of his mastership Mr. Meynell, who hunted but three days a week, killed from twenty-seven to forty-six brace of foxes in the season, which was considered a very remarkable performance.

The fashion of hard riding produced a demand for a very different class of horse from the old hunter on which our ancestors galloped after their buck hounds. The price of