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ECHO,

A CELEBRATED HOUND IN THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT'S HUNT.

THE

HE Portrait of this hound, by WILLIS, is a most perfect likeness of the animal, and does infinite credit to the talents of that very clever and rising artist. The engraving, by Cook, is in his usual style of faithfulness to the original.

ECHO, bred by and the property of His Grace the Duke of Beaufort, is by Boxer out of Emily.

Boxer, by Dorimant out of Bravery.

Bravery, by the Delamere Forest Bustler out of Lady.

Emily, by Ragland out of Paragon, by Sir F. Mostyn's Lashwood out of

Princess.

A LETTER FROM RINGWOOD.

Hint for relieving the Ennui of a long Coach Journey.-Method of remunerating Keepers for preserving Foxes in Suffolk reprobated—the good old Times exemplified. Plan for preserving Foxes.-Fight at Doncaster between Brown and Sampson. Nautical Anecdote.

SIR,

THE gun having had full play

during the last two months, no doubt there are numberless tales afloat respecting the dexterity with which some of these deadly weapons have been used. For instance: bagging a hare and a brace of birds at the same time, shooting at a pheasant and killing your friend, are things so common that the recital would bring neither interest nor novelty; one of which characteristics all anecdotes related in the Sporting World should in some measure lay claim to. The following that I am about to relate is certainly one of the best methods I ever saw adopted for relieving the ennui of a long coach journey, and I present it to your readers, to be by them adopted or not as they may feel inclined when placed in similar circumstances, first having obtained what on some coaches may be deemed necessary-viz. licence and per

mission.

On a fine day in the latter end of September 1830, I perched myself on the top of one of the fast coaches that travel the road from Wolverhampton to Manchester. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of Stafford a young Gentleman and a gamekeeper joined company, and mounted on the hind part of the coach, where, if I remember rightly, there was but one other passenger. The keeper had his double-barrelled gun and ammunition, and his pointer was closely chained under the seat his master occupied. They had not been added to our party many minutes before bang went the artillery, and we saw a lot of dove-house pigeons whirling by the coach, one of which dropped in the adjoining field. The nags were going steadily, doing about nine miles an hour, and the bars and other coach music was in pretty unison, so that a person seated on the front of the coach, unless he had turn

ed round and seen the smoke, could scarcely believe that a gun had been discharged so near him, as was actually the case; the horses taking no more notice of it than they would of the slamming-to of the door of the hind boot, the noise of which it closely resembled. For more than thirty miles (indeed till darkness put an end to the sport) did this young Gentleman keep blazing away on the King's highway, shooting at everything that could fly, right or left, as he espied it. Many a stately rook received his death instanter, or was left ignobly to hobble for the short remaining period of his existence, no more to soar through fields of air.

I cannot recount exactly the number or condition of all the killed and wounded; but there were two shots that told remarkably well: the first was at a woodpigeon (a devil to stop) going slapping pace across the country, distant at least forty-five yards; no sooner was the trigger pulled than over he rolled, and fell as dead as a brickbat: the other was a blue rock in a great hurry, and exactly the same sauce was served out to him. As I never fired a gun from the top of a coach or any other vehicle whilst in motion, I cannot speak positively as to the difficulty of hitting a moving object so situated; but having, since witnessing this performance, often pointed a walkingstick at flying birds, it appears to me to be no easy task to shoot with any precision, from the tremulous motion of the machinery under you. But the young one did it in capital style, and it was much more amusing to me than witnessing a match at twenty-five yards from the trap, between two

crack pigeon-shots, which I confess I was once simple enough to do on a burning dusty day in June, although the scene of action was nine miles distant from my place of abode.

Just as I had marked down

this anecdote for your pages, and was about to tie another or two to its tail, the Bury and Norwich Post, 21st September last, was brought in for my perusal, and the first thing that caught my eye was a paragraph headed "FoxHunting." This paragraph, after recounting two capital days' sport in succession (for the time of year) that Mr. Muir's (the Suffolk hounds) had met with, concluded thus:- "The country is highly indebted to the spirited owner of the pack, and it has been suggested by several Gentlemen that a subscription should be raised to remunerate the keepers where foxes are preserved.” And the Editor adds, "We shall be happy to promote this suggestion by any means in our power." Now it appears to me that such a proceeding is fraught with incalculable mischief, besides being a bad precedent; and I beg to put to the projectors of the plan this question:-Is this remuneration for men who obey, or for those who disobey their masters' commands? Is the sporting world to understand that in Suffolk the preservation or destruction of foxes is entirely delegated to the wills of gamekeepers? If so, Suffolk may part with its wellorganized pack, and the sooner the better; and Gentlemen may rest assured, that, all-powerful as gold is, their subscription alone will not be enough to make safe one half of these velvet-jacket gentry. How is it that the Duke

of Grafton's, Mr. Thornhill's, Mr. Bennett's, and a few other coverts are never many days without foxes? Only because the keepers of these Gentlemen know that when an order is issued to them from head-quarters, it must be obeyed; and that if they wish to preserve their places, foxes' lives must not be trifled with. If any one must be bought over to the cause, it must be some of those proprietors of coverts whose keepers make up for scanty wages by a little contribution of game every week from their own or the adjoining manor; and, as two of a trade cannot agree, Mr. Reynard, whenever met with, is certain of destruction.

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I can fancy I hear a pair of these worthies discussing the merits of this aforesaid paragraph on a Sunday morning at the village ale-house, and summing up in somewhat about this styleAye, Tom, and I'm blest if 'tis any more than our rights! How do Gentlemen think we are to live if we are to swarm with foxes? but, howsomever, I've made up my mind to this, that unless they do tip up pretty stiff, I'm d-d if they shall find a fox in our coverts, they may take their oaths of that I knows how to gammon our old Governor; he don't wish much to see them, that's about the truth on't."

Now the old-fashioned way of occasionally encouraging a gamekeeper was this. If an extraordinary good fox was found in a preserve that afforded a brilliant day's sport, the next time the hounds met at the same place, a guinea or two was presented to the keeper, not so much as a premium for the preservation of

foxes, (it being understood in those days that this part of the business was entirely vested in the master of the domain,) as an acknowledgment of general civility to the Field, and to drink success to Fox-hunting. This was a compliment, and acknowledged with thankfulness, and left its mark: but the new system to be adopted in Suffolk will be productive of anything but satisfaction. The bonus will be received in many instances with a growl; and the fancied parsimony of the payment will fill an evil-disposed vagabond full of spite, that he will be sure to vent upon the next fox that chances to come in his way.

Foxes are very easily destroyed, and there is but one plan that can preserve them where gamekeepers inhabit; and it is this: for proprietors of coverts not only to give orders for the preservation of foxes, but to be determined that those orders are obeyed. Now if I could by any chance become the owner of such coverts as Norton-wood, East-wood, Pakenham-wood, &c., the old story from the keeper, of “Oh yes, Sir, sure to find to-day: I padded him in yesterday morning, and 'twas only last Sunday there were a brace playing in the stubble at the back of my garden". would not do: my answer would be, produce the animal, or be off. Will any sportsman believe that such coverts as these would be without foxes unless there was foul play somewhere? But whenever I see one of those infernal long poles covered with every bird of prey from the wonderful sun-eagle to the tom-tit, and with every beast from the wandering mastiff to the

merry stoat, staring a huntsman in the face as he is throwing his hounds into covert, I generally turn my horse's head towards that part of the wood whence they are likely to come out on their road to the next place of drawing.

I cannot yet dismiss this subject, and shall just take the liberty to paraphrase the preamble of the bill " a subscription to remunerate keepers that will have forbearance enough not to spoil the sport of a whole county!!!"-Indeed! and are ye fallen so low as this, Suffolk Fox-hunters? Why don't you insert in this Bury and Norwich Post "The humble petition of the Nobility, Gentry, and (if you do not think it would mar the concern) the fox-hunting Clergy of the county of Suffolk, to Messrs. the Gamekeepers of the same county, craving their forbearance towards you?" This would only be in consonance with the new doctrine of conciliation; and no doubt Mr. Trapvermin would be considerably softened by it. But bah! it used not to be so a few years since, when Suffolk could boast of more packs of fox-hounds than one. Then, when thanks were returned for a good day's sport, they were given where they were due, as the following narration can testify.

It was about the last time the Duke of Grafton's hounds met in the Suffolk country, and they trotted on from Wattesfield-gate, their place of meeting, to Hinderclay-wood. No sooner were the hounds in, than out went as gallant a fox as ever wore a brush, and Ould Tom Rose with the darlings and his beautiful halloo close at his heels. The fox seemed

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to say, Well, old boy, no other pack than yours shall ever hunt me: many a rattling day we've had together, and, as 'tis to be your last day here, it shall be mine also: but Tommy, old boy, you shall remember me!" And Tommy did remember him; for 'tis but just a year ago, that, sitting in his elbow-chair in his neat little cottage at Stoney Stratford, and quaffing a comfortable glass to the memory of auld lang syne," he related to me the particulars of this capital run, and reckoned it one of the brightest spots in his long career of foxhunting. Well, the fox was killed at Toffts Belt, on the Norwich side of Thetford, about fifteen miles point blank from the place he was found. The run was computed at about twenty-one miles, the pace throughout very good, scarcely a check, and the last twelve or thirteen miles over a perfectly open country. Those who never saw this part of Norfolk twenty years ago, would scarcely believe that this county, so famed for high cultivation, contained anything half so wild as the country this animal ran over the greatest part of it sheep walks, rabbit-warrens, and barren heaths; and where they met with arable land, it was of that sort that a horse would scarcely leave his foot print. Something I have seen like it in certain parts of the Duke of Beaufort's hunt, if you take away the stone walls. Very few in a race like this were in any place at all, and many a gallant steed died on the field of honour, and many more received their death-warrants on that memorable day. One of the three or four that witnessed the finish was Lord Charles Fitzroy, at that

time a fine rider to hounds, and the blood from the Euston paddocks on this occasion bore him along in triumph.

After the fox was disposed of the hounds got to water, and the horses partially recovered their wind. About twenty minutes had elapsed, and Admiral Wilson, the proprietor of the covert in which the fox had been found, was seen coming on the line of the run; Lord Charles immediately rode to meet him, and coming along-side, pulled off his hat, and bowing, said, Admiral, allow me to thank you for your gallant fox, and for one of the best day's sport I ever witnessed:" and, a few days after, on meeting one of the Admiral's tenants, who resided near the spot, he presented him with 51. to be distributed on the following Sunday amongst the aged poor of the parish.

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In all probability I shall visit the Suffolk country this season, having received a pressing invitation to do so; and all particulars of sport, as far as regards foxhunting, shall certainly be forwarded to your Magazine. The fox-killing gentry, if worthy of a place, shall certainly figure away in your pages.

was

hoped, given the coup de grace, and completed its annihilation. What can its warmest advocates say for it now? Let us hear no more of its being a school for old English courage to be displayed and kept alive by, when the result of this battle sufficiently proves that Brown's life nearly forfeited from his being possessed of this very quality, and which these fighting blackguards affect so much to admire. Brown won by true game-by that which his antagonist was never known to possess; and at the moment he ought to have been proclaimed the conqueror, the office was given, and the partisans of Sampson rushed in, and with bludgeons and kicks showered down on the luckless Brown attempted to effect that which their whitefeathered champion had failed in doing. Mr. Beardsworth! you stood there as stakeholder; and what must you have felt on witnessing this proceeding, if you for one moment thought that by any possibility your name might be mixed up with such a premeditated act of cowardice and villany?-Yet one way remained open for you to have placed yourself in a position that would for ever have silenced the tongue of calumny. Had you manfully rushed into the ring, and rescued Brown from the hands of the assassins that surrounded him, and borne him in safety to your carriage, your crest-fallen, vanquished townsman would have been certain of receiving every attention that he was deserving of from the hands of those thieves and vagabonds who had come to his rescue.

And now, taking leave of this subject, allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Editor, on the strength of the prophecies contained in the different sporting papers, that the fight between Brown and Sampson is indeed to be the last of the Ring, and that your pages will be no more polluted with the recital of such bare-faced villanies. For many a year Pugilism has been dying a natural death; but the climax of infamy that was reserved for the Doncaster exhibition has, it is to be VOL. IV.--SECOND SERIES-No. 19

And now, as is said in many places, to conclude. With a

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