o 
 
A SPORTSMAN OF LIMITED INCOME 
 
m 
 
 .jvn 
 
 
 See paf^e 176- 
 
A SPORTSMAN OF 
 LIMITED INCOME 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FIFTY YEARS 
 
 BY 
 
 J. A. BRIDGES 
 
 author of 
 "reminiscences of a country politician' 
 
 . » 
 
 LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE 
 3 YORK STREET, Covent Garden 
 
 1910 
 
The Author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy 
 of the Editor of The Cor?ihill Magazine in allowing 
 him to reprint part of an article that appeared in 
 that periodical. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. Sport for Limited Incomes 
 II. My First Hare 
 
 III. Sport at Eton 
 
 IV. At "the House" in the Fifties 
 V. America. — I 
 
 VI. America.— II 
 VII. America. — III . 
 VIII. Bridgnorth . 
 IX. Cattle-Dealers in the Sixties 
 X. Farmers as Specialists 
 XI. The Wheatland Hunt 
 XII. John Eyke and Sacharometer 
 
 XIII. King's Norton . 
 
 XIV. Hunt Meetings in the Sixties 
 XV. Gentlemen Riders 
 
 XVI. Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 XVII. Scenes on Racecourses 
 XVIII. The Decay of Horse-Breeding 
 XIX. Trainers and Publishers . 
 XX. Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 XXI. London Fifty Years Ago . 
 XXII. Changes in Sports 
 XXIII. The Return of the Native 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 17 
 
 34 
 52 
 68 
 
 87 
 106 
 121 
 
 131 
 137 
 
 155 
 161 
 
 185 
 
 195 
 206 
 221 
 
 241 
 
 247 
 265 
 277 
 297 
 
A SPORTSMAN OF LIMITED 
 
 INCOME 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 SPORT FOR LIMITED INCOMES. 
 
 A GREAT deal of objectionable matter has lately- 
 been printed on *' sport for limited incomes," and 
 the doubtless well-meaning writers may have overlooked 
 the fact that every time they put pen to paper, with the 
 intention of showing that there are still a few gleanings 
 to be appropriated by the active and enthusiastic sports- 
 man who is without a superabundance of coin, they are 
 depriving their unfortunate clients of the very goods with 
 which they are professedly endowing them. There is 
 already close competition between millionaires and semi- 
 millionaires on the look out for the best available sport, 
 and with a preference, if possible, to get it for little money. 
 Some of these have to put up with the leavings of their 
 shrewder or more fortunate rivals, while the remainder 
 hasten, by motor-car, to annex the little remnant which, 
 in default of advertising, might still have been vailable 
 for sportsmen with limited incomes. Moreover, in these 
 days of rapidly acquired fortunes, it appears to me rude 
 and impertinent to suggest that there is any one who 
 could not if he chose rent a deer forest in Scotland or 
 A 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 a river in Norway. The very paupers are competing for 
 luxuries until recently reserved for the wealthy, and it is 
 hard to say where the competition will stop. In a few 
 years we may find the Guardians of West Ham or 
 Hammersmith renting *' shootings" for themselves and 
 their charges, which would surely be preferable to spend- 
 ing the ratepayer's money on the palatial workhouses of 
 which we have recently been reading. 
 
 Even if the few remaining chances had not been adver- 
 tised to death by the well-intentioned writers — when, 
 I wonder, will the proverbial pavement be completed ? — 
 sport for the man of limited income would soon have 
 been a thing of the past. The man who could once live 
 fairly comfortably in the country on his few hundreds a 
 year is now between the devil and the deep sea, and 
 being squeezed out of existence between the paupers 
 to whose luxurious idleness he contributes, and the 
 millionaires from South Africa and elsewhere for whose 
 motor-cars he has to provide roads, of the use of which 
 he is day by day being more completely deprived. It 
 is his income that is ear-marked as the first spoil of the 
 Socialist, of whose speedy advent Lord Rosebery has 
 declared himself to be assured. There will soon be 
 nothing left for him but to find a substitute for sport in 
 the more or less monotonous duties in which he may 
 happen to be engaged. And this attempt for some 
 happily constituted natures may not be so utterly hopeless 
 as at first sight it may appear. No doubt there are many 
 men true sportsmen at heart, who never pulled trigger 
 or crossed a horse, and who are yet not discontented with 
 their lot ; lawyers whose joy, when they have succeeded 
 in fleecing the client with whom they were quite recently 
 on friendly terms, may be supposed to equal that of a 
 
 2 
 
Sport for Limited Incomes 
 
 bookie on "skinning the lamb," though the latter may 
 show his satisfaction more uproariously ; money-lenders 
 whose delight on landing a big fish may exceed that of 
 the successful angler, inasmuch as the latter is under the 
 disadvantage of paying for his amusement. Though I 
 am neither a lawyer nor a "bookie" I have had occasion- 
 ally to content myself with sport picked up in places 
 where there seemed very little possibility of finding any, 
 and I have even found a County Council meeting prefer- 
 able to nothing at all. This frame of mind should be 
 the easier since a man may own a favourite for the Derby, 
 or the winner of the Eclipse Stakes, and yet be a miserable 
 hound. 
 
 A true sportsman, directly he gets to a place, will set 
 to work at something, if only at clearing out the rats. 
 Wherever he goes he will make the best of things, and by 
 following Horace's advice to this effect he will not only 
 find some measure of happiness himself, but will also help 
 those who, but for his example, might have found their 
 lives unbearable burdens. He will be a staunch friend, 
 but should friends fail him, his enemies should be made 
 to contribute to his enjoyment, and the more the meaner 
 they are. 
 
 With regard to shooting, it must be acknowledged that 
 a good deal of what in my youthful days was considered 
 sport would now be despised by those who, never having 
 experienced the joy of the old-fashioned sportsman when 
 making his moderate bag over pointers or setters, con- 
 sider a big bag and the consequent humiliation of the 
 neighbouring magnate the only desideratum. Talking 
 to a largish landowner the other day, I chanced to inquire 
 how his young pheasants were doing. " Fairly well," he 
 replied ; *' but I haven't enough ; no one will come and 
 
 3 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 shoot with me." He looked quite unhappy. I suppose 
 he meant that the crack shots who go about from battue 
 to battue would not give him the benefit of their skill. 
 
 Of old the sportsman of limited income used to 
 distribute his spare game amongst his friends and 
 neighbours even less amply endowed. Some of these 
 may have been already provided for, when they would 
 pass on the gift to another, and it was wonderful of how 
 much pleasure a few brace of birds would be the cause, 
 sometimes visiting several houses before being finally 
 domesticated. Now, after his enormous expenses, the 
 successful pheasant-breeder naturally sends his game to 
 the dealers. But little of it, however cheap it may be, 
 reaches the class by whom it was formerly so appreciated, 
 and, except perhaps at some surburban workhouse, the 
 poorer classes do not benefit at all, and doubtless a few 
 flocks of sheep would be better for the country at large 
 than all the pheasants. 
 
 Our family had for about 200 years inhabited the 
 village of St. Nicholas at Wade in the Isle of Thanet, 
 where my grandfather prospered during the Peninsular 
 War. A miniature recalls my grandmother, a thread 
 between her finger and thumb, seated at a little table to 
 which is attached a mahogany spinning-wheel. Neither 
 she nor my grandfather were of the order of beings since 
 become celebrated who toiled not neither did they spin. 
 My father married after leaving Oxford, and, having no taste 
 for farming, settled at Walmer, then a small amphibious 
 village, which, though anything but a sporting locality 
 in the usual acceptation of the term, was yet not without 
 its claims to distinction. Its fleet of luggers, manned 
 by the bravest sailors in the world, earned for it and its 
 neighbour Deal undying fame. In the days before steam, 
 
 4 
 
Sport for Limited Incomes 
 
 wrecks were far more frequent on that coast than is the 
 case now. I have watched from our house, when I was 
 a boy, a line of twenty or more luggers towing a wreck 
 off the Goodwins. One or two of these famous boats 
 may still be seen drawn up high and dry, for what 
 purpose it is hard to say, since they never go to sea 
 — to recall, may be, the ancient glories, or continue 
 a futile protest against steam. The descendants of the 
 old sailors for whom no sea was too rough, or wind too 
 wild, still utilise the ocean in the only way left to them, 
 by providing pleasure boats for the visitors whom they 
 entertain with tales of other and more glorious days. 
 
 Our house was near Walmer Castle, then the official 
 residence of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, in 
 those days no less a person than the Great Duke of 
 Wellington. My parents were occasional visitors at the 
 castle. Once my father was present at an entertainment 
 in honour of some foreign notables. We had a favourite 
 black and tan terrier who had arrived at a great age, not 
 without being afflicted with the mange. After luncheon 
 the party adjourned to the ramparts, where my father was 
 not greatly pleased to be joined by the old dog, who had 
 somehow gained, admission, and who showed his apprecia- 
 tion of the foreigners by utilising them, somewhat to 
 their annoyance, as rubbing posts. 
 
 In the summer-time the Cockney visitors used to 
 attend church to stare at the duke.. They would sit in 
 rows on the steps leading up from the old chancel, which 
 was on a lower level than the rest of the building ; the 
 local gentry, as a rule, declining to admit them into their 
 pews. The duke was then very deaf, and used politely 
 to fix a patent arrangement in his ear when the parson 
 took up his position beneath the sounding board ; this 
 
 5 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 done he would go quietly off to sleep. He used to wear 
 white trousers and a spencer. A spencer was a sort of 
 grown-up Eton jacket worn over a long coat. Spencers 
 have been long out of fashion, which is perhaps as well, 
 since there are no men like the duke left to wear them. 
 If there had been, the recent attack on dukes would have had 
 fewer supporters. He was then considered, rightly, I think, 
 the greatest man in the world. Had he not beaten Boney ? 
 There must, however, have been a few who were surprised 
 at his rising to such eminence. I remember a friend of 
 my father relating how he saw him, when a young man, 
 standing on the steps of one of the few then existent 
 clubs with a vacant look on his face, playing with a bande- 
 lore, the winding up and unwinding of which seemed to 
 engage all his attention ; and there are no doubt quite a 
 number of young men to-day to whom the resuscitation of 
 this once fashionable toy would be a boon and blessing. 
 
 Salutes continued to be fired from the ancient guns 
 on the battlements of Walmer Castle till late in the fifties. 
 I remember riding out of Deal on my pony one morning 
 when I overtook Captain Watts (seneschal, or something, 
 of the three castles, Walmer, Deal, and Sandown — like 
 the more celebrated King of Bohemia) hurrying on foot 
 to the castle to fire a salute in honour of some foreign 
 potentate whose vessel was disappearing in the distance. 
 I jumped off my pony, rather a sorry animal, when he 
 mounted it, and was soon blazing away. The pony came 
 down with me a few days afterwards, taking all the 
 buttons off my waistcoat. Later the saluting was stopped, 
 as it was the cause of breaking the castle windows. 
 
 Our nearest neighbour for some time was the then 
 famous novelist, G. P. R. James, who, after a brief popu- 
 larity, was remembered chiefly to be laughed at for the two 
 
 6 
 
Sport for Limited Incomes 
 
 " lonely mounted horsemen " with whom he was said always 
 to commence business. Over the shoulders of the younger 
 of the two " the rich chestnut hair curled in thick pro- 
 fusion." When people had done laughing at the two 
 horsemen — who were less ubiquitous than was imagined — 
 they forgot G. P. R. James. Yet I am not sure that some 
 of his work is not worthy of being remembered. A 
 novelist at that date had but few competitors, and no 
 doubt a little more competition would have been good 
 for James. Some of his novels (which used to arrive at 
 our house immediately after publication) were poor 
 enough stuff, while others had the germs of something 
 better. Whatever his novels may have been, G. P. R. 
 James was in private life a most entertaining man. 
 Evidently Charles Lever, a capable judge of literary 
 merit, thought highly of him ; witness the correspond- 
 ence inserted between the two parts of Harry Lorrequer, 
 James's elder son was a playmate of mine, and an original, 
 whatever his father may have been. He was up to all 
 sorts of mischief, one of his pranks being the erection of a 
 flagstaff in a big holly tree in the grounds, on which he 
 used to run up signals which were clearly visible to the 
 ships waiting for orders in the Downs. Old Green, the 
 head of a great shipping firm, had also a flagstaff opposite 
 his house on the beach, and our supplementary signals 
 were the cause of some friction, till one day they were put 
 an end to " by order." ;. 
 
 Our church had originally been a tiny building, whose 
 chief claim to notice was the quaint Saxon porch, under 
 which strange-looking beings, supposed to be antiquarians, 
 might occasionally be seen uncouthly gesticulating. In 
 anticipation of an enlargement of the little watering-place, 
 the churchwardens had run out a square brick building, 
 
 7 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 crowned with a slate roof, at the back of the old church. 
 From our pew in the new building, which was on a higher 
 level than the old one, and was reached by a flight of 
 steps, we children used to peep over the boundary fence — 
 save at Christmas-time, when the sprigs of holly, with 
 which it was temporarily adorned, converted it into a 
 prickly hedge — and watch the little squire and his big 
 family at their devotions far below us, as if at the bottom 
 of a well. The old chancel ran on by itself, and formed 
 a sort of cave, whence the minister's voice used to issue 
 with a strangely muffled sound. We had to wait for its 
 tardy arrival round the corner before we could " respond." 
 The remainder of the old church was given up to an 
 enormous " churching " pew, and the foundation of a 
 " three-decker," whose exceptional height enabled it to 
 make quite a respectable show, though it had got up to 
 the knees — so to speak — before arriving at the level of the 
 new building. 
 
 The congregation, like the church, was rather mixed. 
 We began, of course, with "the duke" then dropped to 
 half a score or so of admirals, and about an equal number 
 of post-captains — so called, I imagine, from having no 
 posts — then a military official with red nose and collar 
 to match, and after him the smaller fry. The sailors used 
 to crowd the gallery in the new building ; when they stood 
 up, their heads almost touched the ceiling, or upper deck, 
 which I suppose suited them to a " T." They seemed to 
 bring with them the murmur of the sea, as sea-shells do. 
 The bees in summer came through the open windows, 
 and, altogether, the effect was decidedly drowsy. It was 
 on one of those afternoons that I, home from school for 
 the holidays, instead of yielding to the influence of the 
 place and hour, sat up straight on my seat, having 
 
 8 
 
Sport for Limited Incomes 
 
 suddenly discovered that I was in love. Amelia, the 
 object of my youthful affections, was the daughter of a 
 neighbouring squire who attended service at our church, 
 where she assisted in the choir. She used frequently to 
 dine at our house between the services. I have outlived 
 my illusions, but I still believe her to have been the most 
 charming girl in the world. She was about nineteen, tall 
 and fair, with the bluest of blue eyes. She wore her 
 brown hair arranged in broad, side plaits, as was the 
 fashion then — in the country. I used to sit next her on 
 Sunday at dinner, and sometimes was permitted to escort 
 her home in the evening. No doubt she made merry at 
 my expense, but if I had known it I should not have 
 cared. I was unmindful of the gap between a girl of 
 nineteen and a boy of fourteen, and saw nothing the 
 least absurd in my devotion. 
 
 Our parson was neither rector, vicar, nor curate. Like 
 his parish, he was a sort of nondescript : neither fish nor 
 fowl. Men called him a Perpetual Curate. It is long 
 since I have met with any one holding that particular 
 rank in the establishment, and I presume that, like other 
 and possibly better things, the P.C. has been for some 
 reason — good, bad, or indifferent — abolished. I am, how- 
 ever, unable to recall any other custom or institution over 
 whose grave some laudator temporis acti has not been 
 ready to shed a tear. Why he was called " Perpetual " 
 I have never been able to guess, since the fact that the 
 race is extinct is proof that the title was a misnomer. 
 Our P.C. was a short, stout, common-looking man, with 
 a freckled face, a snub nose, and an inordinate craving 
 for snuff and small beer. He lived, as had also been the 
 custom with the movable Perpetuals who had preceded 
 him, over the baker's shop at the fishing end of the village 
 
 9 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 no rectory, vicarage, or parsonage having been provided 
 for his accommodation, nor is it Hkely that any of these 
 words would appropriately have designated his domicile, 
 supposing him to have had one. The baker's shop was 
 probably stuffy ; whatever the reason, he shortly became 
 a constant guest at our early Sunday dinner. On his 
 second or third appearance he coolly wedged himself in 
 between me and my charmer and engaged her in elephant- 
 ine small talk. I laughed uneasily at his elderly gambols ; 
 but I shall never forget the shock I received when, a few 
 weeks later, my mother announced — as if it were a matter 
 in which I could have but little interest — that Amelia and 
 the Perpetual were engaged. I went back to school in due 
 course, and, if I did not speedily recover from the blow, 
 I had at least sense enough to bow to the inevitable. 
 
 Years, long years passed, during which " there had 
 been many other lodgers" in the "secret cell" once 
 occupied by the divine Amelia. Shortly after his 
 marriage, the Perpetual had been presented — no doubt 
 partly owing to his wife's charming manners and 
 personality — to a good living in a distant part of the 
 country. One day I unexpectedly found myself in his 
 neighbourhood, and lost no time in calling. I was talking 
 to Amelia — who looked almost as young and beautiful as 
 ever — and her husband, when three fine youngsters came 
 into the room. I might have left with the impression that 
 I had seen the whole family, but on a sudden there was 
 an awful noise overhead as if the house was falling, followed 
 by sounds of infant weeping. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the ex-Perpetual with a sigh, as his 
 wife rushed hurriedly from the room, " there are five 
 more upstairs." 
 
 I never forgave him that sigh. 
 
 ic 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 MY FIRST HARE. 
 
 THE day I shot my first hare was a memorable one 
 to me. I must have been twelve or thirteen years 
 old. I don't think my father had ever been much given 
 to shooting, but he had an ancient single-barrelled gun, 
 inscribed with the name of a small local gunsmith, and 
 with this I had shot several blackbirds, and very nearly the 
 gardener. One first of September I was sent, in charge 
 of the bailiff, to try my hand on a big farm in the Isle 
 of Thanet, on which it was hoped I might find a few 
 partridges. We commenced operations in an enormous 
 field of seed clover; I don't think the farmer greatly 
 enjoyed the sight of our trampling it, but he was too good- 
 natured to object. After beating about half the field our 
 setter found a covey. Whether I fired into the brown 
 or not I can't say, but one bird fell and my companion 
 marked down the survivors, about a dozen in number, 
 half a mile away, in " the marshes." These were some 
 middling-sized grass fields divided by dykes. The birds 
 lay like stones in the little tufts of grass left by the sheep, 
 till at last I nearly trod on one. There was no brown 
 this time, at any rate, but a straight, easy shot, and I 
 brought him down. Three more got up, one by one, 
 from similar tufts, and then we couldn't find any more. 
 However, I was delighted, having killed five birds without 
 
 II 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 a miss. We were going back, I suppose, to tramp the 
 seed clover for another covey, probably non-existent, 
 when I heard something — it might have been a 
 hippopotamus — move in the rushes by the dyke, and a big 
 hare ran out almost between my legs. I was a bit scared* 
 but managed to knock her over ; it seemed like aiming at 
 a barn door. The man took up the hare, and we were 
 moving off when a loud voice hailed us from behind the 
 rushes on the opposite bank ; it seems the ditch was our 
 boundary. The voice belonged to a farmer who was 
 either Master or a close friend of the local harriers, and 
 I found he was abusing me in the strongest language 
 known to the natives. I was a mere boy, and I think he 
 might have been a little less objurgatory, but no doubt 
 he felt strongly, and was not one of those who " couldn't 
 trust himself to speak." I had never heard of these 
 harriers, but I was soon made aware that to shoot a hare 
 was locally considered tJie unpardonable sin. My body- 
 guard stood up boldly to the farmer (though, of course, he 
 knew all about the harriers, and ought to have warned 
 me), but what with the man's roaring like a mad bull, 
 and my fear that on my first day's shooting I had 
 done an unsportsmanlike thing, my day was quite spoilt. 
 I could have cried, and indeed I am not quite sure I 
 didn't. 
 
 I went back to our tenant's house ; he had provided a 
 first-rate dinner, namely, a leg of four-year-old mutton — 
 farmers in those days used to keep a score or so of four- 
 year-old wethers for their own table — and afterwards he 
 took me down to his cellar. This was reached by a flight 
 of steps cut in the chalk, and was in the form of a cross, 
 with arched roof and a receptacle for holy water, in which 
 reposed several bottles of port wine, one of which accom- 
 
 12 
 
My First Hare 
 
 panied us on our return. In some far-away days of 
 religious persecution the " cellar " had doubtless been used 
 by Roman Catholics for the celebration of their interdicted 
 rites. After I had had a glass of wine (the farmer very 
 properly restricted me to one glass), and had presented 
 my host with a brace of birds, I felt better and, returning 
 home in the evening, was emboldened to lay a train of 
 powder from my flask along the station platform, which I 
 struck with my heel when the train drew up, to the 
 surprise and indignation of the few passengers who were 
 preparing to alight. Poor old station on the S.E.R. ! I 
 saw it a few years ago, and should be surprised to learn 
 that it had had a coat of paint since the day so long ago 
 when I shot my first hare. 
 
 I am not sure that the loud-voiced farmer had any- 
 thing to do with it, but I have never been very keen on 
 shooting hares. To hear the poor things cry out like 
 children, in their terror and agony, has always been a bit 
 too much for me. Yet I have had some good days with 
 harriers. One season I hunted a good deal with the 
 North Walsham in Norfolk, and saw some really good 
 runs. Many years later I had several days with the 
 Ashbourne Harriers in a stone wall country. This I 
 enjoyed immensely, not having jumped a wall since riding 
 with the Heythrop in my Oxford days. Towards the end 
 of the day, no doubt, one got a little weary of riding 
 round the same course and over exactly the same places 
 in the same walls. A man named Cotton was Master of 
 these hounds, and I always wondered that he did not get 
 a good pack of Fox Hounds. He was a thoroughly good 
 sportsman, and would have made a most capable M.F.H. 
 Perhaps he was a little too much of a rough-rider, and he 
 enjoyed tumbling about on half-made horses, and still 
 
 13 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 more on horses not made at all. I have lost sight of him 
 for many years. 
 
 In addition to hunting with harriers I have seen a hare 
 torn to pieces and eaten alive at Aintree, and I have also 
 witnessed the cruel farce of "coursing" on a gate-money 
 racecourse. Hare-hunting with beagles I dislike, but 
 perhaps I am not a competent judge of such matters. I 
 chanced, however, to be present when some young 
 Birmingham men in green uniforms were running with 
 beagles on a farm near me in Worcestershire. They went 
 round and round the farm, scouting my suggestion that 
 puss had shown enough sport for one day. At last the 
 poor animal lay down exhausted, and was picked up a 
 few minutes afterwards quite stiff, as if she had been 
 carved in wood. Some one may ask what is to be done 
 with all the currant jelly if hares are not to be killed. Of 
 course they must be killed, but they should not be 
 tortured unnecessarily, and no one but a really good shot 
 should be allowed to lift his gun at a hare. 
 
 For my real apprenticeship to sport I was indebted to 
 
 a neighbour of ours at Walmer, K , an eccentric man, 
 
 but a thoroughly good sportsman, who had acquired the 
 right of shooting snipe and wild-fowl on the four or five 
 miles of waste land between Deal and Sandwich, which, 
 together with an inland farm or two, now form part of the 
 Sandwich golf links, and have done so much to resuscitate 
 the ancient and once famous borough. Golfing was an 
 unknown art in England when I was a lad. I don't 
 greatly care for the game, yet I have played on the 
 Sandwich links several times, and never without recalling 
 my early shooting excursions. The sandhills were then the 
 property of the Earl of Guildford, whose tenant must have 
 done very well out of the swarms of rabbits — with which 
 
 14 
 
My First Hare 
 
 K was not allowed to interefere — now superseded by 
 
 crowds of enthusiastic golfers. In my second year at 
 
 Eton, K persuaded my father to give me a new gun, 
 
 in lieu of the old-fashioned single barrel. K then 
 
 took me to London and chose a gun at Samuel and 
 Charles Smith's, Prince's Street, Leicester Square. In the 
 shop of this famous firm of gun-makers I saw, in the 
 forties, and long after the advent of the percussion-cap, a 
 number of guns belonging to Sir Richard Sutton, one of 
 the finest shots of that or any other day. These were all 
 fitted with flint locks. Sir Richard being of opinion that 
 they were quicker than percussion-caps. He could not 
 have been very far wrong, as with a second gun he could 
 get his two brace out of a covey. 
 
 During that winter, K and I used to start early 
 
 from Upper Walmer and, passing through Deal, would 
 commence business by trying for a jack-snipe round a 
 rushy pool in close proximity to Sandown Castle. The 
 pool is still there, but the castle, of similar architecture to 
 its neighbours of Deal and Walmer, was blown up some 
 years ago by order of the Government, which might 
 surely have preserved one of the three forts built by 
 Henry Vlll. to withstand a French invasion, if only to 
 show the contrast to our present more expensive mode ot 
 securing immunity. 
 
 K was the best snipe-shot I have ever seen ; but 
 
 one day when there were three jack-snipe at the pool, we 
 left them unharmed after blazing away for some time. 
 Returning just before dark with a fair number of full 
 snipe, we had another try for the little plagues, which may 
 have been congratulating themselves, Agag-like, that the 
 
 danger was passed, when K quickly added them to 
 
 our bag. I suppose there are jack-snipe still, though it 
 
 15 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 IS many years since I saw one. They were indeed expen- 
 sive little birds, costing as much powder and shot as 
 would have sufficed to bag a young elephant, and having 
 so little on them after all. 
 
 One pouring wet day K , who was short-sighted, 
 
 found increasing difficulty in keeping his spectacles dry. 
 At last the tail of his shirt got thoroughly soaked, and 
 he had to give up shooting, when his language, if ex- 
 cusable, was quite unfit for publication. That was the 
 only occasion on which I ever saw a pack of golden 
 plover. We used to be attended by a strong lad, who 
 carried a pole shod with a square piece of wood to assist 
 us over the dykes, some of which were both wide and deep. 
 The boy had crossed the dyke, and we were still on the 
 other side, and out of sight below the level of the field, 
 when we heard a whirr of wings, and some hundreds of 
 golden plover — a sheet would have covered them — flew 
 
 over, almost touching our heads. K had put down 
 
 his gun to seize the pole which the boy was sending 
 back. He picked it up quickly, though, to my surprise, he 
 did not fire. It seems a lump of clay from the dyke-side 
 had stuck on the butt of his gun and prevented him from 
 putting it up to his shoulder. 
 
 I had not acquired the art of jumping with a pole 
 without a disaster or two. One day I did not send 
 myself far enough, and when I should have been nearing 
 the farther shore I began to go back again. There was 
 an inch or two of ice on the dyke, but I went through it 
 easily, and down to the mud at the bottom. It was 
 freezing sharp, and my clothes were frozen as hard as 
 boards. I was glad to get home and thaw them out. 
 But it was all in the day's work and a useful lesson, for I 
 certainly don't remember being caught napping again. 
 
 i6 
 

 > 
 
 1-1 
 
 < 
 
 Q 
 < 
 
 X 
 
 O 
 
 oi, 
 
 o 
 > 
 
 O 
 
 z 
 
 w 
 
 < 
 
 
 zr 
 
 o 
 
 Q. 
 
 < 
 C/2 
 
 2 
 
 D 
 
B 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 SPORT AT ETON. 
 
 EFORE going to Eton I was for some time at 
 the Cholmondely Grammar School, opposite the 
 Old Gate House at Highgate. The headmaster, John 
 Bradley Dyne, was a fairly good imitation of Squeers — 
 of course with the necessary amount of veneer. He 
 lived to a great age, and must have flogged some millions 
 of boys, counting each flogging a boy. About forty 
 years after I left, I made the acquaintance of a young 
 man who had lived at Highgate, and whose father had 
 taken him away from the Grammar School on account of 
 the special attention paid to him by the headmaster. 
 This did not astonish me, as the young man was very 
 plump, and it was one of Dyne's weaknesses to be unable 
 to resist a chubby boy. If, as is to be hoped, flogging, 
 regarded as an exercise, was good for the executioner, I 
 think that with few exceptions it did little harm to the 
 victims. It may even have benefited them ; it had, at 
 any rate, the effect of hardening me. - I had been pre- 
 viously at several other schools, but never at any place 
 where boys were more ready to fight on small or no pro- 
 vocation. The big boys used to match two little fellows 
 against one another, and the latter, I feel sure, were 
 pleased with the compliment. I had endless fights at 
 this school ; one with the son of Sir Richard Bethel, 
 
 B 17 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 afterwards Lord Westbury, who had then a house on 
 Highgate Hill. Dick Bethel used to bully me, but as he 
 was in the sixth form I was afraid to fight him till a big 
 boy, who was by way of being my patron, said he would 
 lick me if I didn't. I decided on fighting, and after a 
 long struggle in the gravelled playground, adjoining the 
 bun-shop into which we used to be hurried by our backers 
 to have our wounds attended to by the kindly baker, I 
 came off victorious. Oddly enough, though I was quite 
 ready to fight, and perhaps for that very reason, I never 
 had a fight at Eton, though mills in " Sixpenny " were then 
 very common, and invariably fought out to the bitter 
 end. 
 
 The only boy I remember at Dyne's who became of 
 any note at all was Edmund Yates, afterwards owner of 
 The World. He was a curious fellow, always ranting 
 plays and songs, and after Christmas spouting pages and 
 pages of some new pantomime that had taken his fancy. 
 It seemed clear he would go on the stage, or to Astley's, 
 where he would have made an excellent clown. He 
 wrote two or three fairly good novels before making his 
 mark with The Worlds but they are forgotten, as is the 
 case no doubt with many others better fitted to survive. 
 Yates' mother had been a rather celebrated actress, and 
 boys who objected to him would keep in their desks a 
 penny coloured portrait of Mrs. Yates, in one of her 
 chief roles, to be produced when Edmund became too 
 uproarious. 
 
 I had hitherto gone up to London in a four-horse 
 coach from Dover. When my father and mother went 
 any distance they had, of course, to post. There were 
 even in those days beginning to be too many people for 
 the posthorses, and there was sometimes immense diffi- 
 
 i8 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 culty in completing a journey. If it had not been for 
 railroads, people would have had to stay at home ; perhaps 
 there would have been no great harm in that. Once 1 
 remember my father trying an experiment, and stopping 
 to change horses at some second-rate changing houses, 
 which on the London road were put in between the 
 better known ones. But the experiment was a failure. 
 These small changing houses are always recalled to me 
 by Dibdin's High-Mettled Racer, where the postilions 
 " loiter their time at some hedge alehouse door," and 
 indeed they were little better. The Fountain, at Canter- 
 bury, our last change coming from London, was in those 
 days a famous house. I well remember old Wright, one 
 of the last of the old-fashioned innkeepers, who always 
 brought in the first dish and took off the cover with his 
 own hands. Once when travelling down with my father 
 we brought the gardener's son behind on the dicky. He 
 had been a page in London, and had misbehaved himself. 
 It was a bright, sunshiny day, and I had to keep my eyes 
 on the shadow of the dicky, as my father expected him 
 to jump down and make off. 
 
 There was an end to the coaches when I went to Eton, 
 or rather an end to their glories. Coaches were to die a 
 lingering death in many out of the way places; and 
 indeed they linger yet, creeping about like bluebottle 
 flies before the approach of winter. I now travelled by 
 the new South-Eastern Railway. At Some distance from 
 London a traveller on the S.E.R. saw, three or four miles 
 apart, a number of little red brick buildings with spires, 
 which he at first mistook for churches. These were the 
 stations of the Atmospheric Railway. All that I can 
 remember of this railway is that it had a big tube in the 
 centre of the rails, and that on the top of the tube ran a 
 
 19 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 slit which, after the passing of one of the trains, had to be 
 stopped with grease by hand. This, added to the fact 
 that stations (for grease, I suppose) had to be erected in 
 such close proximity, may have been fatal to what was 
 no doubt an ingenious invention. Very soon the tubes 
 were taken up to be sold for old iron, and the pretty little 
 church-like stations taken down. 
 
 During my first two years at Eton I boarded at Vava- 
 sour's — a dame's — of which I will only say that no one has 
 written a book to prove that it was in any way a notable 
 house, though amongst us was a member of the eight, 
 ''Hookey" Reed, an Irishman; Guy Phillips, even then a 
 great book collector, and later thought worthy of a place 
 in the gallery of Vanity Fair, and a bowler, Fellows, who 
 was in the eleven, and whose nickname of " Deeper " was 
 derived from his having rashly tried to pass before he 
 could swim more than a stroke or two. When, soon after 
 leaving the punt, he was seen to be in difficulties, a friend 
 shouted from the bank, " Halloa, Fellows, where are 
 you going to ? " *' Deeper," gurgled Fellows, as he dis- 
 appeared beneath the waves of " Cuckoo Weir." 
 
 My tutor was W. A. Carter, to whose house, then at 
 the corner of Keats' Lane, I was removed in my second 
 year. Next door was Evans', and I can't honestly say 
 that I remember anything very remarkable about it. I 
 remember Evans the drawing-master very well, and one 
 of the first boys I made acquaintance with was his son. 
 My tutor had sent for me a day or two after my arrival 
 •to find out what I could do in the way of Latin versifi- 
 cation. After I left Highgate my father had sent me to 
 a coach at Brighton for a fortnight, but as this gentleman 
 used to read his own verses to me all day, and in the 
 evening send me to get mussels off the rocks for supper, 
 
 20 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 I had not gained much knowledge of the art which was 
 then more thought of than anything else at Eton, except 
 wet-bobbing. In fact, I could better have made a pair 
 of breeches than even an inferior pair of longs and shorts. 
 I was sitting alone and very disconsolate in the pupil- 
 room when young Evans came in, and asked me what 
 was the matter. Finding I could not make head or tail 
 of them, he finished off the copy of verses for me, a 
 questionable kindness, as I was unable to live up to it. 
 I don't remember seeing much of him afterwards. I 
 chiefly remember Evans' from the fact that after I got 
 into the boats I had a poet, or part of one, to save me 
 from labouring too hard at my verses, and so perhaps 
 injuring my rowing. The poet came over the roof from 
 Evans' at night. In Annals of an Eton House, W. H. 
 Freemantle (Dean of Ripon) writes : " My brother's 
 room had a window by which we could gain access to 
 the roof, and in the hot summer nights some of us used 
 to sit upon the tiles and sing choruses." It sounds 
 rather like cats, but no doubt my poet came to me 
 through that window. 
 
 Of course in my first summer half I lost no time in 
 learning to swim. I suppose there is still a "passing 
 master " before whom the candidates stand stark naked — 
 or perhaps that would no longer be convenable — to jump 
 off at a given signal into ten feet or so of water. A 
 waterman was, of course, in attendance to rescue the 
 failures who had to try again another day. After passing 
 I at once betook myself to boating, my one thought 
 being how to get more and more time for the river. 
 There were sportsmen, no doubt, as keen on dry-bobbing 
 as I was on wet-bobbing, but to them the real glories of 
 Eton were never revealed. 
 
 21 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 During the winter half when the river was interdicted, 
 there was some little difficulty, no doubt, in finding sub- 
 stitutes for rowing. It was when I was either in middle 
 or upper fourth that I was primarily responsible for 
 taking the whole form to Slough Steeplechases on a 
 whole schoolday. About twenty-five minutes after four, 
 a perspiring crowd, without a dozen books among them, 
 trooped into school. This was one of the things a master 
 had occasionally to bear. The accompanying grin was 
 not suggestive of much enjoyment. 
 
 When I was a trumpery " lower boy " I had to scheme, 
 with far more . trouble than it would have cost me to 
 become an accomplished versifier, how to avoid making 
 verses. When I got into the boats, and it was hoped I 
 might become a light of the Eton rowing world, I was 
 allowed to take my studies fairly easily. But when later 
 I arrived at the dignity of " the eight," the masters with 
 one accord seconded to the best of their ability my efforts 
 to evade their educational offerings, insomuch that I could, 
 so to speak, rest on my classical oars. On my real ones 
 I never rested, but rowed as far, as often, and as hard as 
 I could. Anything that interfered with the wet-bob's 
 allegiance to the river was looked on as a cruel wrong. 
 I remember once arranging to row up to Monkey Island 
 one " long after four " with the fellow — Dorrington, now 
 Sir John, and a man of some note in the political world 
 — with whom I had a boat. To my utter astonishment — 
 I had never heard of such a thing before and thought 
 it a great piece of impertinence — my tutor sent to tell 
 me to come to him to have my verses looked over. I 
 paid no attention to his request, not thinking it right to 
 encourage him in such practices. I don't think I ever saw 
 a man in such a rage in my life as was " my tutor " when 
 
 22 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 I told him afterwards that an engagement up the river 
 had prevented me from accepting his invitation. No 
 doubt he considered " putting me in the bill " — which was 
 fortunately the worst he could do — a very inadequate 
 punishment. 
 
 It is hard to conceive how any Etonian towards the 
 end of the forties could escape being some sort of a 
 sportsman. There were no doubt a few who resisted 
 the influence, yet to any boy with a turn that way, 
 the example of the headmaster must have been of the 
 greatest advantage. For instance what could possibly 
 have been more sporting than the cautious way in which 
 Dr. Hawtrey made his appearance at a fight. "Six- 
 penny," where the fistic encounters came off, was close to 
 his house, and just as matters appeared to be going too 
 far, the Doctor, in full fig, would appear, apologetically, 
 round the corner. This was generally sufficient to stop 
 the affray, though once I remember the combatants being 
 whisked off by their friends, and finishing up at the 
 other end of the playing fields. It was seldom very 
 long before a new boy made the acquaintance of the 
 Doctor, who was generally supposed to take more pride 
 in his wielding of the birch than in any other of the 
 varied accomplishments which exalted him into the last 
 of the Admirable Crichtons ; and in elevating a dis- 
 agreeable duty that he was obliged to perform, and 
 which may at first have inspired disgust in his well- 
 stored mind, into a high art, he showed himself as a 
 sportsman no whit inferior to numbers of those who, 
 partly, no doubt, from the effects of his skilful casti- 
 gations, became afterwards celebrated on the racecourse 
 or in the hunting-field. 
 
 Some of us, I feel sure, had a laudable anxiety to 
 
 23 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 prevent the Doctor from feeling that there was anything 
 derogatory to a man of his varied accompHshments in 
 birching little, or sometimes big, boys. Occasionally one 
 of us would vary what might otherwise have become a 
 wearisome duty. I remember a boy named Northcote 
 being once bidden " to stay " ; but as he rather evidently 
 disliked the idea, Goodlake, afterwards a Crimean 
 hero, and a sportsman above the common, offered to 
 take his place for a shilling. The Doctor, thinking 
 the sight likely to be deterrent — wherein I think he 
 was mistaken — rather liked the boys to be present ; it 
 was before the days of private executions. On this 
 occasion he was astonished at the crowded state of his 
 sanctum, and the giggling and laughing that was going 
 on. When Northcote's name was called, Goodlake came 
 forward. 
 
 "Very heieenous offence" — that was the way the 
 Doctor pronounced it. " Go down." 
 
 " Please sir," said Goodlake, apparently in deadly fear, 
 " do give me first fault." 
 
 It was a rule of the Doctor's never to flog a boy the 
 first time he was complained of for an ordinary offence, 
 but he no doubt had his suspicions, and indeed his usual 
 formula, " I've seen your face before " was only too true. 
 The tittering grew louder and louder, while the Doctor 
 repeated mechanically, " Go down, sir, go down." At last 
 Goodlake " went down." 
 
 If the Doctor ever "gave it" to a boy it was that day 
 to Goodlake, who kept up a fire of satirical lamentations, 
 and was generally thought to have earned his shilling 
 when the executioner's wearied arm dropped at last to 
 his side. 
 
 I feel sure the Doctor would have appreciated 
 
 24 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 Goodlake's sportsmanlike attempt to introduce a little 
 variety into his monotonous role. 
 
 In my opinion the annual charge for birch-rods — with 
 which the parents of the just and the unjust were equally 
 credited — -might with advantage have been reduced. The 
 authorities, no doubt, prided themselves on the fact that 
 they were equal to any possible emergency. The birch- 
 rods were delivered in enormous loads on farm wagons, 
 and the effect on evil-doers might have been deterrent but 
 for the obvious reflection that unless a certain number of 
 boys, good or bad, were flogged, the skill both of the birch- 
 maker and the wielder thereof would be wasted. 
 
 Lower-boy Etonians in my day were greatly given to 
 hero-worship, but it would have required more imagination 
 than we had at command to make heroes out of the 
 assistant masters who were, generally speaking, without 
 any sportsman-like attributes. Some of them had a nasty 
 way of standing about up town when we were hurrying up 
 to the river on long after fours, and so, by the foolish rule 
 then in operation — which has since, I am told, undergone 
 some modification — forcing us to shirk into a shop, and 
 lose some of the precious minutes that could never be 
 regained. An exception to these pedagogues was 
 Johnson, who was no doubt at heart a true sportsman. 
 His house was just opposite " my dame's," and once 
 when there was an epidemic of pea-shooting — none 
 of your little penny tin affairs, but glass tubes a yard 
 or so long — there was a battle royal between the tw^o 
 houses. The longer range of our weapons gave us the 
 victory, and Johnson's windows were incontinently 
 smashed. He sent over a note, asking us to desist, as his 
 sister was ill, and he certainly never had to complain of 
 us again. The underlying suggestion that, under other 
 
 25 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 circumstances, he would have taken no notice, struck us 
 as admirable. Johnson was very blind, and on my first 
 whole schoolday, the form being supposed to have 
 prepared a certain number of lines of Horace for repetition, 
 I was surprised to see a boy go up to his desk — literally 
 under his nose, not a very long one — and pin to its front 
 a page torn from a new boy's book. It looked a risky 
 proceeding, but one boy after another came forward, read 
 his portion, and triumphantly retired. While "up to" 
 this worthy man, I never again troubled myself to learn 
 anything by heart. Naturally I was annoyed when my 
 next master saw everything that went on, even without 
 spectacles. 
 
 So determined were we to find heroes among the big 
 fellows that we elected some who had very poor credentials 
 for the position. There was a fellow, " swell " Jervis, who 
 was quite looked up to from wearing, in addition to the 
 forbidden "cutaway" coat, a huge bunch of "charms," 
 which he was always adding to. He was frequently to be 
 seen in Meyrick's little shop, opposite Barnes' Pool, 
 inspecting the new arrivals, of which, no doubt, he had 
 first choice. I don't think he had any higher claims to 
 our notice. Since leaving Eton, I have never met or 
 heard of " swell " Jervis ; but I have come across a few of 
 my boyhood's heroes, and, to my regret, have found the 
 majority quite commonplace. They must have stopped 
 growing, physically and mentally, directly they left Eton, 
 while some of the despised ones trained on. 
 
 One who did more credit to our intuition was H. H. 
 Blundell, who, as a boy, seemed able to do anything and 
 everything, and whose future was not to be so disappoint- 
 ing as that of so many others. A survival from the 
 Crimea, where, if I remember rightly, he filled the some- 
 
 26 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 what anomalous position of M.F.H., he went into 
 Parh'ament, and was for a long time one of the most 
 useful of the Army Members, till he was beaten by, I 
 think, a Labour Member. I saw a notice of his death 
 some years ago. Shortly before, I had been at the 
 House of Commons when an elderly man with a white 
 moustache drove up and entered the House. I asked a 
 policeman who it was. " Colonel Blundell," he replied, 
 and I felt a thrill. 
 
 Another who fully justified our choice was Chitty, 
 afterwards the well-known judge, who was cricketer, oars- 
 man, sculler, and facile princeps at everything. I was in 
 " the eight " when he brought down a crew from Oxford to 
 row us from " the rushes " to Windsor Bridge. They went 
 away very fast, but, to my astonishment, we came up with 
 them at Lower Hope, where I was almost sorry to hear 
 the great oarsman give utterance to a gasp or a groan. 
 He was, no doubt, out of training. We turned inside 
 them, and they saw us no more. 
 
 The late Earl Beauchamp was about two years my 
 senior, and I well remember seeing him walk up the 
 chapel just before service and present the chief chorister 
 with a sheet of music paper, on which was inscribed a 
 chant of which he was, presumably, the composer. I 
 don't remember that Lygon, as he was then called, 
 identified himself with either wet- or dry-bobs. But any- 
 thing is sport to the man who enjoys it. Etonians have 
 always had a fine talent for nicknames, and Lygon's was 
 '' Pius ^neas." I next came across him at the first meeting 
 of the new Worcestershire Council, when he was Lord- 
 Lieutenant of Worcestershire. He was a staunch Tory — 
 differing therein from the present holder of the title — very 
 arrogant; and impatient of opposition. He used very 
 
 27 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 harsh language to me one day from his seat on the dais, 
 and for a long time I did not speak to him. One day he 
 came across the street to me in Worcester, put his hand 
 on my shoulder, and said, " Let bygones be bygones." 
 This gave me a new and more favourable opinion of him, 
 and showed him capable of generosity and good feeling. 
 Shortly after, having consulted some of my allies on the 
 County Council, I wrote to him to say that the county 
 was sick of the then chairman, and would be grateful if 
 he would take up the position at the next election. He 
 replied, saying that he appreciated the compliment, 
 " especially as coming from you," but that he would not 
 like to supersede the present chairman, who had done so 
 much for the county. He was in error, as events speedily 
 proved, but he was not to witness the fiasco, as he died 
 very suddenly a few weeks later, when I was glad to have 
 had his kind and friendly letter. 
 
 There has been so much written about Eton during 
 the last few years — I have myself written a good deal — 
 that I am loth to dwell on reminiscences which there are 
 few left to recall. There was the match at "the Wall" 
 when, in company with O.Meade-King, afterwards president 
 of the O.U.B.C, I was kept back for stoning the "tugs" — 
 between whom and the Oppidans was in those days 
 constant warfare. Whether I really stoned any one I can't 
 say, but Weston's yard had been recently gravelled, as 
 I afterwards knew a Highway Board thoughtfully to 
 provide large heaps of stones ready for use on nomination 
 day. For two or three days we had to stay up, and attend 
 chapel under the concentrated gaze of I forget how many 
 collegers. The punishment may have been clever, but we 
 had only to show ourselves once or twice a day, and 
 managed to amuse ourselves fairly well. 
 
 28 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 Then there were the delightful Sundays in the summer 
 half, when the weary oarsmen were glad to be at rest, and 
 indeed would willingly have stayed in bed till chapel time, 
 but at eight o'clock there was " private." It was a nuisance 
 to turn out, and find that " my tutor " had been unable to 
 do so. When we thought a " run " was overdue we used 
 to arrange on Saturday to absent ourselves en masse. It 
 generally happened that " my tutor " was wide awake on 
 those occasions, and, no doubt, when he found himself the 
 sole occupant of the pupil-room he felt dire wrath, such as 
 might have moved Achilles ; but he had to grin and bear 
 it, as he couldn't put all his pupils " in the bill " at once. 
 There never was a less satisfactory arrangement than the 
 *' run " by which nobody profited. The most popular 
 preacher in my day was old Bethel, who had " the loudest 
 voice " — as Byron says of another person — " I e'er was 
 deafened with." Though his matter was of the poorest, 
 the way in which he bellowed it out redeemed it from the 
 commonplace. Modern politicians have since utilised the 
 discovery that if they only roar loudly enough no one 
 inquires very strictly as to the meaning of their eloquence. 
 The Eton choir was very good in my time, or we thought 
 so. We took a personal interest in the more notable 
 members. If the anthem chanced to be a favourite, we 
 would run up to St. George's after afternoon chapel for a 
 second edition. My special favourites were, " In Jewry is 
 God known," and the anthem from the twenty-eighth 
 chapter of Job. I could not control my indignation the 
 other day when a musical friend expressed an unfavourable 
 opinion of the former. The big, fat chorister's rendering 
 of the words, " The deep saith it is not in me," was 
 wonderful, and I should like to have heard him in 
 *' Drinking, drinking, drinking." No doubt he and old 
 
 29 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Bethel, working together, could have brought down the 
 chapel had they been so minded. When we were in funds, 
 a favourite stroll for a summer afternoon was Bothams', 
 at Salt Hill. No bottled cider has since seemed worth 
 drinking. There was a market garden — Frost's, near Salt 
 Hill — where, on payment of a shilling, we might stuff 
 ourselves with strawberries — I doubt if Frost made a 
 fortune at it — then home to tea. How dry and stale the 
 bread used to be on Sundays, while the butter would be 
 melted, and the tallow candles on the top of the " bureau " 
 would lean over into the room, demoralised by the heat. 
 
 A memorable incident in the career of a wet-bob was 
 his introduction to " Cellars," an institution whose meetings 
 were held at " Tap," a more or less privileged beer-house, 
 situated in the High Street, a little out of bounds. This 
 function was held in the interval between dinner and 
 chapel on half and whole holidays, and was attended by 
 those in the boats, and a few dry-bobs. The attractions 
 were beer of a superior quality to that at " my tutor's," 
 bread and cheese, and celery in season. There was also 
 a celebrated biscuit to be had there, bearing some 
 resemblance to a Shrewsbury cake, the recipe for which 
 was reported to be procurable for a payment of twenty 
 shillings ; but I never knew an Etonian who had gone to 
 the expense of acquiring it. A pound in those days was, 
 to say the least, a pound. On one's first appearance at 
 " Cellars " the ceremony of drinking " the long glass " 
 had to be faced. This was a long tube with a bulb at 
 the end, out of which when you tipped it up the beer 
 came rushing with a blob, blob, blob, on to your shirt 
 front. In its yard of length it held about a pint. Any 
 one acquitting himself well was cheered, which may have 
 been the reason why those who were anticipating the 
 
 30 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 ordeal sometimes went through a regular course of 
 instruction at the hands of the potman, exalted into a 
 professor pro tein. I think the boys who practised most 
 failed most egregiously, but, indeed, any one who appeared 
 in chapel after drinking "the long glass" without carry- 
 ing the tell-tale marks of his failure on his shirt front, was 
 the exception that proved the rule. 
 
 " Check nights " — so called from the shirts donned by 
 the crews — included a supper washed down with unlimited 
 champagne, held in a room attached to Surly Hall, an 
 inn on the Windsor side of the river. These not infre- 
 quent dissipations were quite tiny orgies compared to 
 that held on the fourth of June, which, naturally, came 
 only once a year. Yet I have seen a " check night " 
 concluded by the chairs and tables being thrown through 
 the windows into the river, where they were passed, a mile 
 or so on their way to Boveney, in rowing home. The pro- 
 ceedings on the fourth of June have been often described, 
 and, together with " check nights," have long since been 
 done away with. Eheu fugaces . . . 
 
 I got into the eight in '51, when the only thing to 
 interfere with my happiness — the fly, so to speak, in my 
 ointment — was the new style of rowing, introduced by a 
 faddist who came down to coach us, which he called the 
 "elastic curve." The author of this torture, which I am 
 glad to remember was exceedingly shortlived, posed as 
 a great sportsman, but has always been connected in my 
 mind with Surtees' great hunting authority, Pomponius 
 Ego, because all his talking and writing about style was 
 in reality only his method — which he may have thought 
 very subtle — of advertising himself You were supposed 
 to work the " elastic curve " in a circle, and after the 
 manner of a paddle-wheel. But paddle-wheels are, 
 
 31 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 fortunately for them, inanimate. No way of rowing could 
 possibly have been invented better calculated to induce 
 speedy fatigue, and tire every muscle of your body with- 
 out at all increasing the speed of the boat. With the 
 exception of the Captain of the Boats, who could not have 
 been more enthusiastic had the invention been his own, 
 we all hated it, and, I fear, would have been pleased to 
 locate Pomponius in a place where his " elastic curve " 
 would have had no water to act in. 
 
 It was the custom for boys who were leaving to write 
 a copy of English verses in the last week of the half, on 
 the joys of schooldays, and their griefs at leaving them. 
 Of course these verses were generally awful balderdash. 
 Though I had been unaccustomed to writing my own 
 verses, I decided, when the time came for my " Vale.," to 
 dispense with the services of my poet. Possibly I was 
 tired of this official's productions, and indeed they were 
 generally such poor stuff that it was a wonder that I had 
 not long ago given him his conge. Very naturally he 
 kept his good things — if he had any, which I doubt — for 
 himself, and his clients had to put up with beginnings, 
 middles, and endings of Virgilian, Ovidian, and Horatian 
 lines, which he fitted together as children used to do with 
 the old wooden puzzles. As Byron remarked of another 
 poet, " his muse made increment of anything," though it 
 was generally considered that he was best on " Spring " ; 
 perhaps for the reason that this subject made its appear- 
 ance about once every half 
 
 I worked very energetically at my " Vale.," and remem- 
 ber thinking when it was finished that it was not half bad. 
 
 I was therefore not very pleased when P , the master 
 
 close to whom I was standing, on commencing its perusal, 
 looked up at me with a quiet twinkle in his eye. Then I 
 
 32 
 
I 
 
 00 
 
 
 Tf 
 
 
 CO 
 
 
 »-H 
 
 
 f-H 
 
 
 D 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 
 ^ — ' 
 
 '—^ 
 
 c^ 
 
 >v 
 
 X 
 
 O 
 
 ^ 
 
 p— 1 
 
 Z 
 
 c 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 y: 
 
 -^ 
 
 < 
 
 
 
Sport at Eton 
 
 saw his face grow redder and redder, and it became 
 evident that he was in danger of exploding from 
 suppressed laughter. I peeped over his shoulder to 
 ascertain, if possible, which passages had so mightily- 
 impressed him. As I did so he regained his gravity with 
 a struggle, and carefully folding up my " Vale." put it in 
 his pocket, and called up the next boy. When I regained 
 my seat I saw that he was regarding me with a puzzled 
 air of amusement. But by this time I imagine my face 
 was as red from anger as his from suppressed merriment. 
 I have forgiven almost everybody everything — as one gets 
 older one sees that in the majority of cases no injury was 
 intended, or, better still, that none was effected — but I 
 have never been able to forgive or forget P . 
 
 33 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 AT "THE HOUSE" IN THE FIFTIES. 
 
 1LEFT Eton in 185 1, rowing down to London in the 
 " ten-oar," and the coveted h'ght blue shirt, and having 
 a fine time at the Star and Garter and Hampton Court on 
 the way down. After the Long Vacation I became a 
 member of " the House." My four years at Eton had 
 fitted me to take honours as a waterman, and I am not 
 sure that I had then any higher ambition than a con- 
 tinuance of rowing, sculHng, and punting. Having lived 
 on the sea-coast, I had seen no hunting beyond a few days 
 with the local harriers, and as I was soon asked to row in 
 the Ch.Ch. boat I remained for some time constant to the 
 river. In my first year I rowed behind E. C. Burton, a 
 connection of mine, who came up from Westminster, and 
 was in "the House" boat for five years. He died quite 
 recently at the age of seventy-nine. He was a great oars- 
 man, and a proficient in all sports demanding strength, 
 courage, and endurance. He was described by Sir John 
 Astley in his Recollectioiis as the best all-round athlete and 
 sportsman in England. 
 
 One's ideas change wdth one's surroundings ; somehow 
 there did not seem to be as much fun in rowing at Oxford 
 as at Eton. Certainly there was the day we bumped 
 Exeter, who were fourth on the river, and who rowed on 
 without acknowledging the bump, which they, no doubt, 
 
 34 
 
At "the House" in the Fifties 
 
 imagined they had escaped by the skin of their teeth. 
 Next day we were determined there should be no mistake, 
 so rowed on till our boat was level with their number 
 four, when we turned on them, and sent them up high 
 and dry on the bank. I met an Exeter man a few years 
 ago who was rowing on that occasion, and he still seemed 
 to feel rather sore. 
 
 It was not long before I found the Isis both winding and 
 unsavoury ; there were far too many dogs in it, and it was 
 hard to say, since there was then no dog tax, where they 
 all came from. Their name was legion — whatever pet 
 names they may once have answered to — and if you were 
 upset you found yourself swimming amongst a whole 
 pack of them. 
 
 Wet-bobbing at that date was unfashionable at "the 
 House." Almost every one rode, or attempted to do so. 
 Even the " scrivs " hunted on presumably cheap steeds, 
 whose visible anatomy might have been hired from the 
 British Museum instead of from a little dealer in Bear 
 Lane. There were three men " up " with me who after- 
 wards became masters of hounds, all of them Etonians, 
 and two of them from " my tutor's." These were Morris, 
 who had the Shropshire, Boughey (afterwards Sir Thomas), 
 who hunted the Albrighton for many years, and Askew, 
 who had a pack somewhere in the north. Oddly enough 
 not one of the three would have ridden over a hurdle to 
 save his life, but they were nevertheless good sportsmen. 
 My tastes might have led me to join the crowd at 
 Canterbury gate had not hunting been so expensive. 
 After all, shooting was good enough for me, and it was 
 not long before I discovered that it was possible to get 
 some — not perhaps the first quality — at a moderate cost. 
 The relations between farmers and undergraduates were, 
 
 35 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 no doubt, a little strained, and indeed the two classes 
 seldom met save when the farmer, aided by sturdy- 
 labourers with pitchforks, succeeded in nabbing some 
 unfortunate "larker." But some of the farmers were 
 good fellows enough, and did not object to your walking 
 over their land — which was in great part water — in search 
 of snipe. I don't know how things are now, but in those 
 days snipe simply swarmed in the neighbourhood of 
 Oxford. One would scarcely have been surprised to 
 flush one in Peckwater, or even to hear one " scape " 
 out of your bath in the morning. As they had not 
 arrived at the tameness of the modern pheasant, their 
 acquirement was a laudable ambition. I was so un- 
 fortunate as to be absent when two friends of mine 
 succeeded in bagging forty-two couple somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood of I slip. Partly, no doubt, owing to their 
 success they got a little elevated on the way home. The 
 snipe had been tied up by the heads in bunches, and 
 these were to be seen strewn about Peckwater for days 
 after. There were plenty of places near Oxford where 
 any one who knew his way about could get a few snipe 
 without trespassing, or at any rate without giving offence. 
 Par exemple there was always a snipe or two in the 
 season in the little rushy gutter that ran round the old 
 racecourse at Abingdon. On Sir George Bowyer's place 
 (now Radley College) a couple or so might be had without 
 going many yards from the high road. The more reckless 
 or ambitious sportsman could easily in the course of an 
 afternoon trespass on the adjoining estates of three or 
 four of the local nobility and gentry, when the number 
 of one's enemies worked rather for safety than danger. 
 
 I had a friend at "the House" w^ho would neither row 
 nor ride, though on one occasion he made an exception in 
 
 36 
 
At "the House" in the Fifties 
 
 favour of the latter, and we used frequently to go shooting 
 together. We confined our attentions almost entirely to 
 snipe. There was a tow-headed old fellow who went by 
 the name of Warmingpan, who had a punt in which he 
 used to convey us from one likely spot on the river to 
 another, and occasionally when our presence on the other 
 side was a matter of urgency. I had always fancied him 
 a bit of a poacher, and any doubts I may have had were 
 resolved when I visited Godstow a few years ago. Meet- 
 ing the elderly proprietress of the inn, whom I remembered 
 quite a young girl, I asked her what had become of " old 
 Warmingpan." She looked puzzled for a moment, and 
 
 then shocked. " ! " she said, giving his correct name. 
 
 " He got transported for . . . " — well, for doing what he 
 ought not to have done. Poor old Warmingpan ! I can't 
 remember how my friend and I first got introduced — for, 
 at Oxford, of course no acquaintance would have been 
 possible without a formal introduction — to a farmer, Mr. 
 Gaylad, as he preferred to be called, who lived about five 
 
 miles out of Oxford. L and I had several times shot 
 
 over his farm, which abounded in game, before we invited 
 him, one day after market, to finish up the evening in 
 college. I don't know what Oxford port may be now, 
 but in those days it was a dark, thick compound, a foe 
 to sobriety, and little indebted, I should imagine, to the 
 grape for any portion of its not too evident merits. Mr. 
 Gaylad, however, found it so much to his liking that it 
 was quite late before he announced his intention of 
 starting to walk home. A suggestion that he should be 
 invested before leaving in a cap and gown was received 
 with acclamation ; and on his appearance in these vest- 
 ments, and half-seas over, in "the High," he was 
 immediately proctorised, when his answer to, " Your 
 
 37 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 name and college, sir?" was more objurgatory than 
 polite. The joke was repeated till we had either had 
 enough of Mr. Gaylad or had used up all the available 
 caps and gowns, of which, since he never thought of 
 returning them, he must have had a large if not very 
 valuable collection. It was strange that the proctors 
 never showed the slightest diminution of ardour. 
 
 L , though a great ally of mine, was not every one's 
 
 money. He had a nasty way of coming up behind you, 
 placing his gun close to the back of your head, and shoot- 
 ing your cap off — a trick, the safe performance of which gave 
 evidence of a certain amount of skill. In default of other 
 game — he had the greatest possible objection to returning 
 with an empty bag — he would sometimes take a pot shot 
 at you when he thought you were at a safe distance — 
 which you were not. Nor was it only the companion for 
 the day of his shooting excursions who was endangered 
 by his recklessness. One day, pistol-shooting in his rooms, 
 the mark a candle balanced on the handle of the door 
 
 leading into the " scout's hole," E , the scout, rushed 
 
 out of his sanctum, pale as a ghost. " Mr. L , you'll 
 
 be the death of me ; I know you will. If I hadn't just 
 moved a step on one side, I should be a dead man now." 
 On inspection it was found that a bullet had penetrated 
 the thick oak door, passed out through the window at 
 which the scout was accustomed to stand, and so into 
 
 Bear Lane. Indeed, L 's scout had an adventurous 
 
 time of it, partly, no doubt, made up to him in perquisites. 
 
 Once, when L was returning with empty pockets 
 
 by way of Port Meadow, he calmly shot a goose, pre- 
 sumably the property of some Oxford "freeman," and 
 stuffed it into his capacious pocket, with the remark, no 
 doubt true, that it was better than nothing. On another 
 
 38 
 
At "the House" in the Fifties 
 
 occasion, having had sin:iilar bad luck, he arranged with 
 a farmer, through whose yard he passed on the way home, 
 for the purchase of a couple of queerly marked ducks that 
 took his fancy. These the farmer threw into the air, and 
 
 L shot and pocketed them. Arrived at his rooms he 
 
 sent post haste for D , an undergraduate who fancied 
 
 himself a bit of an ornithologist. A little knowledge is a 
 
 dangerous thing, and D at once declared the ducks 
 
 to be of an exceedingly rare species, seldom seen in 
 England, and evidently but just arrived from the coast, 
 as was proved by the shellfish still in their crops. These 
 were beans, as the ornithologist may have discovered on 
 skinning them. To the best of my recollection he recouped 
 himself by keeping and eating the ducks. 
 
 On another occasion, coming upon a stray deer near 
 
 Wychwood Forest, L incontinently shot it, then, 
 
 arranging with a butcher who chanced to come by, he 
 had it cut up and sent to " the House " ; when he 
 presented the senior censor with a haunch. This 
 dignitary was, of course, horrified, when, as was natural 
 a serious row arose over the affair. 
 
 Only once did L desert his favourite sport for a 
 
 meet of the Heythrop in full hunting costume, spurs 
 only excepted, which he could not be persuaded to don. 
 The affair was mooted, as most foolish ones were, at a 
 "wine," one friend (?) being responsible for the mount 
 — a seasoned and temperate hunter — while the costume 
 
 was contributed piecemeal. L had never been seen 
 
 outside a horse before, and, indeed, said that he had 
 never mounted one before in his life. Be this as it may, 
 it was, no doubt, his first appearance with hounds, and 
 there was much curiosity as to how he would comport 
 himself. In the event he rather disappointed expectations. 
 
 39 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 He jogged along without quite losing his balance, and 
 when a fox was found, he followed modestly in the rear, 
 to the confusion of those who thought him capable of 
 trying to catch sly Renard. The run was over a stone 
 wall country, and, waiting till the wall had, as always 
 happens, been gradually levelled, he rode solemnly 
 through the gap with the ruck. He arrived home in 
 safety, if rather the worse for wear, and was never known 
 to mount a horse again. 
 
 One thing leads to another, which may be the purpose 
 some of them were intended to serve. Even the snipe 
 were not always so handy that it was possible to reach 
 our shooting ground on foot. Hiring was expensive, so, 
 by the advice of one of our farming friends, I went to 
 look at a pony standing at old Perrin's stables in St. 
 Aldates. Old Perrin has, of course, long since departed, 
 but his stables still remain and serve their original 
 purpose, which is the case with very few. The last time 
 I was at Oxford I saw that Joe Tollit's stables, in what 
 was then Bear Lane, had become the appanage of the 
 Mitre, while Figg's in St. Aldates, where dwelt the 
 indomitable badger, to whom Sunday — as if he were a 
 parson — was anything but a day of rest, is (or was when 
 I saw it) some sort of a place for hiring and, I suppose, 
 making, steam launches, which seems a droll, or, perhaps, 
 rather a sad finish for a hunting stable. 
 
 Old Perrin was a curious character, of the sort 
 depicted in Soapy Sponge^ and other similar tales, and 
 as he was reported, quite truthfully I believe, to starve his 
 horses, these might be expected to improve in the hands 
 of a new owner. The pony for which he asked £\^ 
 was a ragged, loose-limbed mare, very blood-like, but in 
 sorry condition. She turned out quite a useful animal. 
 
 40 
 
At ^Hhe House" in the Fifties 
 
 When she had improved in condition I used to ride her 
 up to BuUingdon, and she won many times on the course 
 encircling the cricket ground. On one occasion I was 
 challenged by an undergraduate, Jex-Blake, the owner of 
 an Arab pony, who may have presumed on his jockeyship. 
 I won cleverly by a neck, when he immediately offered to 
 run me again, and was greatly annoyed when I left him 
 forty lengths in the rear. Being at a political meeting a 
 few years ago I met him, high up in the Church, and after 
 a few remarks he turned the conversation to my pony. 
 " And have you," he blandly inquired, "got her yet?" I 
 replied that if she had been alive it would have been a 
 record, as she would have been about fifty years old. 
 
 The pony carried me so well at BuUingdon that 
 I thought I would try her with hounds, when she proved 
 exceedingly clever, though hardly up to my weight. As 
 I had deserted the river for shooting, I now began to give 
 up the latter for hunting, being careful to get as much 
 sport as I could for my money. I bought a big, strong, 
 fine-looking mare from Joe Tollit ; unfortunately, she did 
 not prove very sound, and at the end of the season she 
 had to be blistered. Even after summering, her forelegs 
 appeared unlikely to stand hard work. Being at T. T. 
 Drake's sale of cubhunters at the Station Hotel, a farmer 
 I knew, a very cautious rider, who hunted regularly with 
 the Old Berkshire, bought for twenty guineas a five-year- 
 old bay thoroughbred mare, that looked sound and like 
 galloping. Meeting him a few days later mounted on his 
 new purchase, he complained that she was no use to him, 
 as she went too fast at her fences. " How would it be," 
 he asked, " if you were to let me have that mare of yours 
 and take this one in exchange? Your mare will never 
 do another season's hunting, and she would suit me to 
 
 41 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 breed from, while this one " — bringing his hand down on 
 the flank of his mount — " might win a steeplechase at 
 Aylesbury." I liked the idea immensely ; the ex-cub- 
 hunter was in capital condition, only wanting a few 
 gallops, and the exchange was speedily arranged, my 
 friend handing over in addition a certain amount of cash. 
 Bracelet, as she was called, went into training at once, 
 taking her gallops on Port Meadow. I had a very useful 
 groom, who had been in a racing stable, and had profited 
 considerably by the experience. The undergrad. races 
 at Aylesbury were rather poor affairs, and the pick of 
 the competing . horses generally hailed from Charley 
 Symonds', or Joe Tollit's stables. Between these two 
 was a certain amount of rivalry, Symonds being, for some 
 occult reason, considered the more fashionable, while 
 Tollit was the more workmanlike. It was the usual 
 thing for a sporting undergraduate who fancied he could 
 ride a bit to hire one or other of the rather moderate 
 " cracks " owned by Symonds or Tollit, and himself 
 appear in the saddle at Aylesbury, sometimes with less 
 disastrous results than might have been expected. Joe 
 Tollit was indeed a notable character ; he was a fine rider, 
 which could not truthfully be asserted of his rival. The 
 way in which he would " lark " over big places when going 
 from one covert to another caused intending purchasers 
 to imagine that his mount was a particularly docile 
 animal, requiring only the proverbial rein of worsted, 
 whereas the contrary was often the case. ]6q was an 
 excellent fellow in his way. I was so unlucky while at 
 Oxford as to break a collar-bone in two successive years, 
 each time within a week or two of Christmas. On the 
 second occasion I was staying up for the vacation, and 
 had three horses at Tollit's ; two of them well-bred screws, 
 
 42 
 
At "the House'' in the Fifties 
 
 the other sounder and less useful. Finding I should not 
 be able to ride for six weeks or so, during which time the 
 horses would be eating their heads off, I sent for Joe and 
 asked him to take them off my hands. He demurred to 
 this, saying he had quite enough horses, and the season 
 was half over. However, he very kindly sent for his 
 brother, a London dealer, who took two out of the three 
 for a fair price, one of the selected being the sound one, 
 a very poor jumper, and indeed the cause of my accident. 
 While I was laid up, my mother came all the way from 
 Lancashire to visit me at my lodgings in St. Aldates, 
 where some officers of the Oxford Militia, one of whom 
 was an old Eton friend, were doing their best to console 
 me. They retired on her arrival, leaving dense clouds of 
 smoke behind them, and my mother returned next day 
 quite reassured as to my health. I met Joe Tollit at 
 Warwick races shortly before his death, when he com- 
 plained bitterly of the decay of sport at Oxford, by which 
 he meant, no doubt, the scarcity of undergraduates who 
 wished to hire hunters. 
 
 After a week or two on Port Meadow, my man gave it 
 as his opinion that Bracelet was very fast, and that he 
 was right was proved when she easily won her race on the 
 first day at Aylesbury. I had been so fortunate as to 
 secure the services of L , about the best of the under- 
 graduate jockeys — a one-eyed man, no doubt, among the 
 blind. I was, of course, delighted' at my success, and 
 made sure of repeating the victory on the second day, 
 when I should have the same horses to encounter. How- 
 ever, my jockey was dissuaded by the blandishments of 
 Symonds or Tollit, I forget which, from riding for me 
 again, and I was forced to put up my groom at the last 
 moment. He was better on the flat than over a country, 
 
 43 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 and let Bracelet down at the last fence, when she looked 
 like scoring a second time. I blamed my ex-jockey for 
 deserting me, saying I had the fastest animal in Oxford, 
 when he replied he could find plenty to beat me. A 
 match was made, and he went off to scour public and 
 private stables in search of the flier that I felt sure he 
 would have some difficulty in discovering. He eventually 
 pitched on a horse named Eurus, owned by Holland, the 
 sporting proprietor of the Cross Hotel. I was relieved to 
 find he could do no better. Eurus was an undoubtedly 
 useful half-bred, well-known with the Heythrop, and other 
 neighbouring packs, but deficient in speed, and, moreover, 
 credited with a temper. There was a great concourse on 
 Port Meadow when Bracelet won the match of two miles 
 in a canter — she could have won with another stone or 
 two — and my ex-jockey, who was on the back of the 
 loser, learnt the useful lesson that scarcely any amount 
 of weight will bring two horses together, one of which can 
 gallop, while the other cannot. No doubt the livery stable- 
 keepers would have welcomed a weekly event of this 
 description which, however, never recurred in my day. 
 
 Bracelet's "career" was unfortunately exceedingly 
 brief; I suppose I was in haste to be rich, and, knowing 
 nothing of the twin sciences of racing and placing, 
 thought she could win anywhere and everywhere. I 
 foolishly entered her in a hurdle race at Harpenden, to be 
 run in heats, which were just beginning to get out of 
 fashion. I shall never forget that day at Harpenden. 
 Every one appeared to be a Welsher, a profession in those 
 days as popular as the Army or the Bar, and far more 
 remunerative. Welshers owned, rode, and pulled horses, 
 accosted you on the course, in the ring, in the paddock, 
 and everywhere. In the second heat two jockeys, who 
 
 44 
 
At ^^the House" in the Fifties 
 
 would nowadays have but a short shrift, arranged to 
 shut out Bracelet, and, having to pull up suddenly, she 
 broke a bone in her fetlock joint. Her " racing career " 
 being evidently over, I sold her to the owner of a barn on 
 the common, who put her in slings, and, I believe, kept 
 her for breeding. 
 
 The numerous fine riders to hounds, residing in the 
 neighbourhood of Oxford, must often have wished that 
 the sporting undergraduate was conspicuous by his absence 
 only. Chief among them was Mr. T. T. Drake, whom I 
 remember seeing jump the park wall at Heythrop on his 
 grey mare. (Heythrop House was then a blackened ruin, 
 having been burned down some years before.) This wall 
 must have been close on six feet high, and the rest of the 
 field dismounted and led their horses through a postern. 
 I think the heaviest man I ever saw attempt riding to 
 hounds was Morrel the brewer and master of the Old 
 Berkshire. He was a living embodiment of the Jorrocks 
 of fiction, but his mounts were of a considerably better 
 class than Xerxes, and Arter-xerxes, and he would gallop 
 at a great pace till stopped by a fence. At one time a 
 regular attendant at the meets of the South Oxfordshire 
 was Elwes, then engaged in dissipating the savings of the 
 famous miser of that name. Mr. Elwes was one of the 
 first to set the example of giving fancy prices for race- 
 horses, and he purchased Oulston — I believe for £6000, 
 an enormous price in those days — wjth the hope, in which 
 he was disappointed, of winning the Derby. 
 
 In Wild Dayrell's year I went up from Oxford for the 
 
 Epsom week, and in London came across P , an old 
 
 Etonian, and a neighbour of mine in Kent, whom I had 
 not seen since he left Eton to join the Army. He now 
 told me that he had already sold his commission, and got 
 
 45 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 through all his money. He was going down to Epsom 
 with the determination to better his affairs, but appeared 
 to have no idea how this operation was to be effected. 
 On Tuesday, as the train was leaving for Epsom, a tout, 
 
 who, it appeared, was known to P , sprang into the 
 
 carriage. The fellow had but one piece of information, 
 
 and this was to back Marchioness for the Oaks. P , 
 
 ready to catch at any straw, and having some reason for 
 trusting his informant, was so far impressed by the tip 
 that on our arrival on the course he at once commenced 
 to act upon it. On Wednesday Wild Dayrell won the 
 Derby, and as I had backed him at longish odds a 
 month or so before, I invested part of my winnings on 
 
 Marchioness. On Friday, P , who had done little 
 
 during the week but back Marchioness, stood to win an 
 enormous amount, or, as seemed far more likely, to lose a 
 sum that he would never be able to pay. Looking over 
 his book on our way down I was perfectly horrified, and, 
 though he brazened it out, I could see that he was begin- 
 ning to repent of his rashness. The favourite for the 
 Oaks, as every one is aware, was Nettle, the property of the 
 afterwards famous, or, rather, infamous Palmer, and she 
 appeared to be winning easily when she fell over the rails, 
 and Marchioness won in a canter. I fancy quite a number 
 of people imagined something was going to happen to 
 Nettle, but whether the astute owner had made arrange- 
 ments for her to lose the race, it is impossible to say. It 
 
 is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and P , at 
 
 any rate, was triumphant. I went down to the Corner on 
 Monday to receive my winnings from Bignel, the proprietor 
 of the Argylle Rooms, a betting man much affected by 
 sporting undergraduates and young Army officers. I 
 found him paying out at his usual post, when he promptly 
 
 46 
 
At *^the House" in the Fifties 
 
 handed me some notes. I retired to a distance of a few 
 yards to count them over when I found the amount was 
 £^ short. Bignel, however, though he knew me perfectly 
 well, and scarcely two minutes had elapsed before I 
 informed him of the deficiency, declined to make it good, 
 and I had not sufficient confidence to venture on making 
 a disturbance with such a well-known man. P 's win- 
 nings, on paper, were enormous, but I am afraid he was 
 even less successful than I was in securing them ; for, 
 being at Liverpool in the autumn, I saw him chasing a 
 very dirty and apparently impecunious Jew, with whom he 
 had been betting at Epsom, and who, he said, owed him 
 /"400. However, he must have secured enough, from the 
 biggest fluke I ever saw on a racecourse, to set him up 
 for a time. 
 
 Joe Tollit notwithstanding, there may be plenty of 
 sport at Oxford yet, though of a different kind than was 
 the vogue in my day. The new suburbs which have 
 grown up in what I used to consider the " slums," and which 
 are inhabited by the new race of " professors " and their 
 wives — formerly interdicted luxuries — cannot surely be 
 completely given over to dulness. The new professors* 
 daughters, too, must have their ideas of sport, though, as 
 is the case with fish, their victims might call it by another 
 name. True, a goodly number are in spectacles, but these, 
 I feel sure, are donned either in thoughtful appreciation of 
 the genus loci, or from a kindly wish to veil the brightness 
 of their orbs of vision from hosts of would-be admirers. 
 
 Perhaps the special variety of sport affected by the 
 proctors has suffered less during the last fifty years than 
 others once accounted more reputable. The proctors are 
 still in the enviable position of Masters of Hounds, who 
 are quite certain of a find, with the addition — which should 
 
 47 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 be pleasing to generous minds — of occasionally affording 
 (as in the case of Mr. Gaylad) some measure of enjoyment 
 to the quarry. 
 
 Even in my day I don't suppose every one at Oxford 
 was miserable who was not riding, rowing, or shooting. 
 As I write, I seem to see old Dean Gaisford, with his 
 round shoulders and not too frequently smiling face, 
 emerge from the Deanery door. We had a feeling for 
 him almost amounting to reverence, which he appeared a 
 most unlikely man to inspire, but which has, oddly enough, 
 increased rather than lessened in the course of years. 
 But boys — we were little more — seem sometimes to 
 diagnose men more correctly than their seniors. We 
 came to the conclusion that under his rough demeanour 
 he concealed a kind heart, as of a bear who should hug 
 you in sport. 1 have always felt that though he may 
 never have ridden to hounds, or won his " blue," the old 
 man was at heart a true sportsman. What could indeed 
 be more sportsmanlike than his determination to uphold 
 the dignity of " the House," and no wonder that this was 
 appreciated, since it acted occasionally as a most useful 
 shield. Some may yet remember the advent into Hall 
 during "Collections" of the junior university proctor, 
 
 Mr. X of College, eager to detect some 
 
 delinquent who had escaped him on the previous night. 
 The Dean, who was standing with his back to the big 
 fireplace, and his gown tucked up under his arm, moved 
 slowly across towards the intruder, who had not uncovered. 
 His gruff, " Take off your cap, young man," was very 
 effective. The youthful proctor turned and fled, his ears 
 waxing redder and redder until we lost sight of him. 
 
 In his epistolatory efforts the Dean was occasionally 
 more curt than even P.M. the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 48 
 
fv&. 
 
 T'\ "*» 
 
 I .:., 
 
 i^'"j 
 
 
 j: 
 
 •T 
 
 w 
 
 ! i! 
 
 ""■^'frfe r . ■■ i | i ^M » Ar Ai^ - 
 
 ^^ 
 
 FiNMORE, THE DOCTOR's FaCTOTUM. 
 
 (From Ei07t Sketches, about 1850.) 
 
 [See page 25. 
 
At "the House *' in the Fifties 
 
 Lord , who had written to the Dean to inquire how 
 
 his son was getting on, received the following answer : — 
 
 '* My Lord, — Such letters give much trouble to your 
 humble servant, The Dean of Christ Church." 
 
 On another occasion he was even briefer ; the sole 
 reference to Christ Church in the voluminous report of the 
 Oxford and Cambridge Commission being : — 
 
 " From the Dean of Christ Church we have received 
 no communication." 
 
 Mention of the great Duke of Wellington reminds me 
 that his death occurred while I was at " the House," when 
 there was a general desire to attend his funeral. The 
 Dean good-naturedly signified his willingness to grant 
 leave to any one who could show a letter from a friend 
 inviting him to stay in London. A man named Bodding- 
 ton, a stationer in Oriel Street, was the means of obtaining 
 leave for some who had no relations living in the 
 Metropolis. His invitations, at two and sixpence each, 
 ran something in this way : — 
 
 " Dear M. (or N.), — I hope you will come up and stay 
 with us for the funeral. Your aunt (or cousin) is a little 
 better. — I am your affectionate, " 
 
 These invitations were all accepted, which was passing 
 strange, as I do not remember that Boddington ever took 
 the slightest trouble to vary his " round text " hand. 
 
 The Deanery dinners, to which we were invited in 
 batches, were not very jovial affairs, though occasionally 
 enlivened by the intrusion of a little comedy. The shy 
 undergraduates used to crowd together by the door, and 
 the Dean made little rushes at them from time to time, 
 D 49 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 like a butting ram. His attempts at conversation, from 
 not being adapted to the tastes of his guests, were 
 frequently nipped in the bud. Occasionally he hit the 
 
 mark. V , who was wholly given up to shooting, was 
 
 present at one of these entertainments, and the Dean, 
 probably from knowing his friends, had heard of his skill 
 with the gun. 
 
 "A good country for snipe, Mr. V ," he began gruffly. 
 
 " It is that," returned Mr. V , and the conversation 
 
 ended. 
 
 The following is a fair instance of the Dean's liking 
 
 for a sort of clumsy joke. Lord A 's son, when at " the 
 
 House," was invited to a wedding in the middle of term, 
 and his tutor called at the Deanery to request leave for 
 him. 
 
 " You think, Mr. B ," the Dean inquired blandly, 
 
 "that it would do no harm to his studies in the middle of 
 the term ? " 
 
 " I think not, Mr. Dean," replied the tutor confidently. 
 
 "Ah well, it might freshen him up. And his father 
 wishes him to go? " 
 
 *'Yes, Mr. Dean." 
 
 " And the bride ? I understand you to say that she 
 desires him to be present ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Dean." 
 
 " And you wish him to go ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Dean." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. B , then he can't go." 
 
 As I have said, I am not prepared to deny a man 
 the credit of being a sportsman because he has had no 
 opportunity of hunting or shooting ; I should therefore be 
 inclined to give a testimonial to the little usurer — I mean 
 a usurer on a small scale, or rather, perhaps, a usurer who 
 
 50 
 
At ''the House" in the Fifties 
 
 did not lend much — dealer also in cigars, who resided in 
 what was then Bear Lane. He had a sounding name, 
 suggestive, not inappropriately, of buccaneering days. 
 Some of us were periodically hard up, and our finances 
 
 must indeed have been in a bad way when V and I 
 
 visited his emporium with the fond hope of extracting a 
 tenner at some reasonable rate of interest. We had no 
 thought of being too particular. The buccaneer's terms 
 were, however, so extortionate that, after exchanging a 
 glance of wonder, not without an admixture of admiration, 
 we turned away without a word and left him. 
 
 I did not care much for the assistant masters at Eton, 
 but as sportsmen I don't think they showed to disadvan- 
 tage with the Oxford dons, and the latter may have got 
 worse since my day. A few years ago I was waiting for 
 a train at Oxford station when I saw a middle-aged don 
 — at least I suppose he was a don of some sort — in college 
 cap and 710 gown, smoking a cigarette. Curiosity impelled 
 me to follow him to the refreshment-room, when I per- 
 ceived that his preference was for " Scotch cold." I can't 
 fancy a don of my day smoking a cigarette or drinking 
 whisky at a railway station with or without a gown. What- 
 ever were the deficiencies — and I am inclined to think 
 them many and great — of the dons of my time, there was 
 room, it appears, for deterioration. 
 
 51 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 AMERICA.— I. 
 
 WHEN I left Oxford, the Crimean War was raging. 
 I joined the depot of the East Kent Militia at 
 Canterbury, and shortly after proceeded to Malta, where I 
 remained till the regiment returned to England, on the 
 conclusion of peace. Malta, during the war, was a very 
 interesting place, but there was but little sport to be had 
 there. The Smouches naturally objected to our shooting 
 their pigeons ; there were a few quails, but their pursuit 
 was exceedingly arduous, as it involved climbing the 
 rough stone walls that buttressed the narrow terraces on 
 which the native farmers grew their wheat, and which 
 resembled a staircase of gigantic steps about seven or 
 eight feet high. I had made bold to bring a dog with 
 me, contrary to the regulations. By the aid of my servant, 
 I had kept him out of sight till we were nearing the Bay 
 of Biscay, when the Dutch skipper caught sight of him, 
 and threatened to put him on shore at Gib. Just before 
 arriving there, the dog disappeared again, though he was 
 to the fore during our journey up the Mediterranean. At 
 Malta one of my comrades-to-be came on board, and the 
 dog sneaked into the boat when we went ashore. Next 
 day he accompanied me to say farewell to some friends 
 who were going to the Crimea. The Dutch skipper lost 
 his temper on seeing him. " Zo it vas your dog ! If I had 
 
 52 
 
America. — I 
 
 known it vas your dog " etc. etc. Tippoo was not a 
 
 good setter, but a great deal better than nothing, and, 
 as a conipanion, most loving and intelligent. I don't 
 remember any other officer at Malta having a dog, or 
 even a fowling-piece, but, no doubt, the majority had 
 plenty of occupation in quite another line. Tippoo had 
 been black and tan on leaving England, but picked up a 
 good deal of tar on board ship, and this had an attrac- 
 tion for the soft stone of which the Florian barracks are 
 built, so that he was always developing white patches. 
 
 After our return to England the regiment was dis- 
 banded, and I was shortly on my way to America, 
 furnished with about a bushel of letters of introduction 
 from English Churchmen to Canadian bishops and deans, 
 and therefore with every facility — even if I was not to 
 eventuate into an eminent Colonial Divine — for becoming 
 acquainted with the methods of our co-religionists in 
 Canada West. That I had no introductions to the 
 important Roman Catholic section in Lower Canada, 
 which I might have found a still more interesting study, 
 may have been an oversight ; but the importance was mini- 
 mised by the fact that, recognising their futility, I threw 
 my introductions all overboard before reaching Quebec. 
 
 Twelve or even thirteen days was in those times 
 reckoned a fairly good passage, but I was heartily sick of 
 the ocean before I was half-way across the Atlantic. The 
 only sport available, namely, betting, on the run of the 
 ship, did not appeal to me at all. Some little amusement 
 was to be gained by a study of the passengers, of whom 
 a similar mixture is no doubt still to be encountered. 
 There was, of course, the American bridal pair, whose 
 billing and cooing were less easily evaded than tax- 
 gatherers on shore. There was the familiar bagman, 
 
 53 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 whose mind, any more than his manners, certainly does 
 not change with his sky; the invalids ordered abroad by 
 their doctors — too late, as every one but their loving wives 
 saw plainly enough ; intending settlers, some of them 
 already broken down and disappointed. These gaze 
 forward from their favourite position in the bows, eager to 
 catch a glimpse of the new country which they have 
 decided cannot be more cruel than the old one. 
 
 One little group I noticed, which held aloof from the 
 
 others, and appeared to be neither quite hopeless nor 
 
 very sanguine. The head of the family was a strongly 
 
 built, rather rough-looking man, clad in the ordinary 
 
 corduroy of the small English farmer, his cord gaiters 
 
 coming down to a pair of heavy boots with enormous 
 
 nails, which left their mark, to the dire wrath of the 
 
 skipper, whenever he swung round on his heel to continue 
 
 his anteprandial stroll. His wife was a rather pretty but 
 
 faded young woman, around whose skirts, in fair weather, 
 
 would gather a number of youngsters, whom it was hard 
 
 to believe could be members of the same family, since 
 
 they were all about the same size, and, apparently, the 
 
 same age. I made the acquaintance of Mr. Spuds, as 
 
 I will call him — he crushed my foot one day with his 
 
 heavy boot as we were together trying to evade the 
 
 " bridal pair " — and we became quite friendly. Mr. Spuds 
 
 informed me one morning, when we were partaking of 
 
 a " bitters " in company, that his folk had resided on the 
 
 same farm in Warwickshire for generations ; that he greatly 
 
 regretted leaving, but that he could stand it no longer ; 
 
 he had indeed had worse luck than ordinary. Wondering 
 
 what particular bad luck could have befallen this young 
 
 man, who had apparently not been disappointed in his 
 
 love affairs, I asked him what he had to complain of. 
 
 54 
 
America. — I 
 
 He looked very sheepish, and for a while made no 
 answer. When I pressed him, however, he told me the 
 story of his misfortunes. 
 
 " May be," said he, " you'll not be much wiser when I 
 have told you. I'd been getting on all right till a year 
 or two ago, when prices dropped down to nothing, and 
 even then I might have got on as well as my neighbours. 
 But last year I found it was no use trying. It was that 
 Bunt, you see, as did it." 
 
 "Bunt!" I said; "and who, pray, is Bunt? Ah, the 
 landlord, I suppose." 
 
 " A deal worse nor any landlord," replied Mr. Spuds. 
 " My landlord, poor fellow, was a good enough sort, and 
 he was right down hurt when he heerd of it. ' Spuds,' 
 says he, ' think it over ; perhaps he'll go again.' But 
 there was no use talking like that. This is how it was, 
 you see. He'd been about the neighbourhood a goodish 
 bit a generation or two ago, but nobody hadn't seen 
 him for years, and all thought as he'd gone for good." 
 — " So should I have fancied," I interjected ; " he must be 
 quite old." — " When one day, just before harvest-time, 
 my little girl there, she'd been out by one of the wheat 
 fields that we were just going to begin cutting, and she 
 came back into the house laughing, and holding out to 
 me what looked like an ear of wheat. ' Ain't this funny, 
 dad ? ' says she, and she rubbed it out, and showed me 
 that instead of grains of wheat (though the ear looked 
 all right outside), it was full of little black things not 
 quite as large as a vetch. ' There's plenty more,' said 
 the little goose, not dreaming what I felt about it. * Ain't 
 it funny ? ' says she. Well, it was a precious sight too 
 funny. The dickens a word says I to her, but I went 
 to the bottom of the stairs. ' Wife,' I calls out, ' we must 
 
 55 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 be packing.' ' Packing ! ' screams she down the stairs — 
 didn't you, Polly? — 'What in goodness name are you 
 talking about ? ' ' He's come,' says I. ' The devil's come ! ' 
 * Who's come ? ' says she. ' Are you mad ? ' ' Bunt,' says I. 
 ' Bunt ! ' says she, and she comed straight downstairs, and 
 I was frightened to see her, she was that white. Sure 
 enough I gave notice, and sold things off, and here I be." 
 
 Almost everything comes in useful one day, and some 
 years after my return from America, I met a middle- 
 aged man, a great reader, who informed me that he 
 knew everything, and had nothing more to learn. I was 
 greatly astonished, but recovered myself sufficiently to 
 offer to bet him a sovereign that I could mention some- 
 thing of which he was entirely ignorant. On his agreeing, 
 I asked him to tell me what " Bunt " was. This he was 
 quite unable to do, nor did it help him much when I 
 showed him some of the seeds which had been many 
 years in my possession. 
 
 If it had not been for meeting a man on board ship 
 who said he was an old Etonian, and won my heart by 
 his mention of "broziering my dame" and other Eton 
 passwords, I should very likely have stayed in Canada. 
 But he insisted so strongly on the fact that the States were 
 far preferable, that, after spending a few weeks between 
 Quebec and Canada West, I found myself in Chicago, 
 where the old Etonian had arranged to meet me. Instead, 
 I had a letter from him saying that he could not be 
 there for some time, and I never heard a word of him 
 afterwards. 
 
 I had not been many hours in Chicago before I 
 started off to find "the old fort." I had heard that 
 a fort still existed, which, in days before there was any 
 idea of a "Lake City," had resisted the attacks of the 
 
 56 
 
America. — I 
 
 Indians. I wandered about, making inquiries of all and 
 sundry, but no one seemed to have heard of it. At last 
 I chanced on an antiquarian — the only one I ever met 
 in America — who gave me the desired information. It 
 was an old log hut, standing isolated in the centre of 
 a square, and in course of being surrounded by blocks 
 of high iron buildings, which made a fairly striking con- 
 trast. On my next visit to Chicago, " the old fort " had 
 disappeared, and I never remember hearing it mentioned 
 again by any of the inhabitants of the rising city, who 
 had doubtless more interesting things to talk about. 
 
 I had soon had enough of Chicago, and hearing of 
 a place where there was some good duck-shooting to 
 be had, I went off to see what it was like. It was on 
 the Calumet, a river that drains itself calmly into Lake 
 Michigan, much as the Stour at Sandwich "runs" into 
 the sea. Here I lodged with a Dutchman (" farmer " he 
 perhaps called himself), and his English wife, and had 
 some weeks' excellent sport. I made friends with a 
 young German who was staying there shooting ducks, 
 and trapping muskrats, mink, and anything else that 
 came handy. The duck-shooting was splendid, and 
 we had it almost entirely to ourselves. I wish I had 
 kept specimens of all the varieties of the duck tribe, 
 whose name was legion, which we shot and sent in sacks 
 to Chicago. I might have stopped longer on the 
 Calumet, but one day one of us unfortunately shot 
 a loon, which the Dutchman's wife, with an eye to 
 profit, cooked for our dinner. Of course it was impos- 
 sible to get a knife into it, and it would have been 
 amusing, if I had not been hungry, to watch the 
 Dutchman trying to make believe he was carving a 
 spring chicken. It came up again next day, when it 
 
 57 ■*.: 
 
 # 
 
 ^.. 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 was, if possible, tougher and harder. It would doubtless 
 have appeared again many times had I not captured and 
 buried it, still almost intact. We agreed to shoot no 
 more loons, but I think it was hunger as much as 
 anything that decided Kcenig and myself to pay a 
 visit to Chicago. We walked in — about twenty miles 
 — and about six miles on our way came to a house at 
 which "hunters" put up. As we were passing, a flock 
 of Canadian geese flew over, and a young fellow who 
 was standing by the door put up his gun and brought 
 one down. This was almost the only flying shot I ever 
 saw made by an American ; but things have altered since 
 then. On speaking to him I noticed that his gun was 
 English-made. With the exception of my own I never 
 saw another English-made gun in America. Almost 
 every " Dutchman " possessed some sort of a gun, " made 
 in Germany," and frequently with a shot barrel on top, 
 and a rifle barrel below. The cost of these weapons 
 was very small, and, as I never remember seeing a 
 " Dutchman " shoot anything, they were probably not 
 very deadly. 
 
 It was some time since either Koenig or I had been on 
 the spree, and we determined to have a good time. The 
 first thing was to get a square meal, of which we were 
 both greatly in need. We decided on paying a visit to 
 " Bishop's." Bishop was an Englishman who kept a 
 small restaurant or tavern which he had christened " The 
 Mitre." He catered specially for Englishmen, and I am 
 afraid he did not make much of a living, since the class 
 to which he appealed, who cherished home feelings — or a 
 liking for old-world cookery — were a rather impecunious 
 lot. The best way to get on in a new country — it might 
 not prove you the best kind of fellow — is to abjure all 
 
 58 
 
America. — I 
 
 thoughts of or regrets for the old one. Incredible as it 
 sounds (for Chicago, even then, was a big place) there 
 was not a bottle of English porter to be got elsewhere. 
 Bishop was a hearty, genial fellow, and for years it was 
 my delight, after a month or two of salt pork, to visit his 
 hostelry. When you left, his farewell, accompanied with 
 a genial smile, was, " Come and see the Bishop at the 
 Mitre, sir." 
 
 We wound up the evening by attending the theatre, 
 
 where a young woman in velvet tights was playing Hamlet. 
 
 " To be or not to be," in a squeaky female voice, started me 
 
 off laughing — I suppose it had something to do with the 
 
 Bishop and the Mitre — and Koenig joined in. Soon the 
 
 audience, or a great portion of it, followed suit. We were 
 
 looked upon as the originators of the turmoil that ensued, 
 
 and were requested to leave, which we did, and I never 
 
 again entered an American theatre. It is strange how 
 
 history repeats itself During my time at Oxford I went 
 
 down to Hull to visit my brother R.N., whose ship was 
 
 being repaired in the dockyard. We went with a number 
 
 of officers to the theatre, then leased by a man of some 
 
 comic talent, Sydney by name, whom some may still 
 
 remember. On this occasion he had deserted comedy 
 
 for tragedy, and a young actress, who was playing the 
 
 leading character, sighed so often and so loudly that I was 
 
 at last moved to echo her respirations, and this was 
 
 gradually taken up, till every time the young woman 
 
 sighed, such a sigh went up from the audience as I should 
 
 imagine has never been heard since. We were requested 
 
 to cease sighing or vacate our box, and we chose the 
 
 latter, to the relief, no doubt, of the actress, whom I regret 
 
 to say we left in tears. 
 
 I now decided on quitting the Calumet, and, leaving 
 
 59 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Koenig to look after the ducks and muskrats, I started off 
 on the track of the still incomplete Illinois Central Rail- 
 road, a region practically unsettled, save for a few 
 pioneers recently attracted to the neighbourhood of the 
 depots newly erected eight or ten miles apart. From 
 these little stations I, my dog — I had been fortunate in 
 acquiring a really good pointer from an Englishman who 
 was leaving the country — and my gun made excursions 
 into the vast sameness of the prairie. Where all places 
 were so much alike, to choose was exceedingly difficult. 
 Once you had decided on the locality, you need have no 
 more trouble, since every one was anxious to sell. A few 
 locations, with wood and water handy, had been taken up 
 long ago. The scarcity of taverns mattered little, as 
 every one — so seldom was a dollar or a stranger met with 
 — was anxious to be hotel-keeper for the nonce. I would 
 reach the log hut of an old settler at dusk, and in five 
 minutes be quite a friend of the family. These old 
 settlers were a fine manly lot, troubled only by fever and 
 ague, though of these they had what they no doubt con- 
 sidered a sufficiency. Looking round, as I sat on a log 
 after supper in front of the door, my tired dog at my feet, 
 on the park-like " grove " at the back, and the wide 
 expanse of prairie in front, its brown autumn dress 
 relieved here and there by patches of bright green, where 
 a few acres of winter wheat had been sown perhaps for 
 twenty consecutive years without any manure, I would 
 say to myself, " "Why not stop here ? " But there was no 
 more reason for stopping here than at my host's of the 
 previous evening, or the place which would receive me to- 
 morrow. The young women were tall, slender, graceful, 
 with olive, not dusky, complexions, and with long, straight, 
 dark brown hair, about which they appeared to trouble 
 
 60 
 
America. — I 
 
 themselves very little, and large, liquid, brown eyes, which 
 their unavoidable lack of experience did not prevent from 
 flashing occasional lightning glances. In some cases 
 there may have been an admixture of Indian blood, but 
 where this was impossible or unlikely it appeared these 
 old settlers were approaching the Indian type, as might 
 be noticed, when, as sometimes happened, three genera- 
 tions were seen living together. Though, for that matter, 
 the old grandfathers were frequently more like Indians 
 than Americans, and had fallen into their predecessors' 
 habit of breaking an almost perpetual silence with ex- 
 clamations of, apparently, involuntary surprise. At 
 parting from my host, I always felt that I was exiling 
 myself from a possible future, and my adieux were 
 cordial in proportion to the feasibility of my overnight 
 schemes. The old settler (and his daughter, perhaps, if 
 he had one), would accompany me for a short distance, to 
 wonder at my skill in " shooting flying," and to carry 
 home — a welcome change from the everlasting salt pork — 
 the first brace or two of prairie chickens that fell to my 
 gun. Probably neither gave me another thought when I 
 was lost to sight beyond the rollers of the prairie, though 
 my advent may have been an event in their dull lives. 
 
 As the months passed, and the Indian summer crept 
 nearer, my wandering life, notwithstanding its sameness, 
 became more and more delightful. The tiny eminences 
 became outlook stations for prairie ,wolves, fierce-looking, 
 but harmless, and the merry little goafer (ground squirrel) 
 had his habitation everywhere. I had soon made a 
 sufficient approach to " land speculator " to know that 
 where the rosin weed, with its blossom like a small sun- 
 flower, flourished most luxuriantly, the richest land was to 
 be found. To its stems, festooned with gossamer, the 
 
 6i 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 bob-a-link clung and sent forth its reiterated note. From 
 the prairie pools, circled with belts of brightly coloured 
 flowers, clouds of red-winged " blackbirds " rose on my 
 approach. Ducks, blue-winged teal, and many varieties 
 of plover abounded. Troops of awkward cranes bustled 
 themselves laboriously out of the sedge into the air, where 
 they stayed, far out of shot, till I had gone by. Towards 
 evening large flocks of Canadian geese would fly over, 
 making for the pools, or, if there was any in the neighbour- 
 hood, for the winter wheat. My dog was always pointing 
 rattlesnakes, to his serious discomfort ; but the bite of a 
 rattlesnake, at any rate on the prairie, is seldom fatal to 
 man, and never to animals. Once, about dinner-time, I 
 arrived at an out-of-the-way prairie farm. The good 
 woman of the house cooked my dinner, for which I paid 
 in prairie chickens, and, as I was leaving, told me her son 
 had been bitten by a rattlesnake. His thigh was swollen 
 to the size of his body, and was as hard as a board. The 
 good woman had put some soda — " saleratus " she called 
 it — on the spot. There was nothing else to be done, as 
 there was no doctor within twenty miles; but I heard 
 afterwards that he recovered. 
 
 When people are all original it is little improvement 
 on the universal dulness of English agricultural districts, 
 and it was refreshing one day to come across an old 
 gentleman who differed from the usual American type. 
 One evening I arrived about dusk at a little prairie 
 settlement at which I decided to pass the night. At the 
 evening meal, as the Dutch landlord, his family, and 
 the servant were sitting down, as a matter of course, with 
 the guest, a little English-looking gentleman with thin grey 
 hair and moustache, who was evidently an habitue, joined 
 the party. I made friends with him, and he afterwards 
 
 62 
 
America. — I 
 
 invited me to accompany him into his private room. 
 I knew sufficient by this time of prairie hotels to be aware 
 that the tenant of a private room must be some one out 
 of the common. While the land boom lasted, travelling 
 speculators slept three or four in a bed — a small one at 
 that. I found the little attic under the shingles lined with 
 bookshelves, on which reposed the best English and a few 
 American authors. The old gentleman had been here, he 
 told me, two years. He was a land agent by profession, 
 and was looking forward to doing some business shortly, 
 as the place was filling up rapidly. Indeed, no less than 
 four wooden houses had already been erected on the six 
 or seven miles of prairie discernible from the hotel. 
 During the next few days I went shooting with my new 
 friend, who ingeniously directed our expeditions to points 
 where he had a lot to survey, or, possibly, to sell. His 
 implements he carried in a light buggy, and when I had 
 completed the slaughter of a covey of prairie chickens — 
 the old gentleman had a gun in the buggy, for what 
 purpose I am unaware, as he did not shoot flying — I 
 would assist him in running out his lines. He was 
 reported to have been a judge in one of the Eastern 
 States, but as nobody had visited him since his arrival, 
 and he had certainly not stated the fact himself, it was 
 not easy to guess how it had been ascertained. Doubtless 
 he could have told a story if he had chosen — as could 
 everyone you met, and indeed they generally did, but the 
 story was not necessarily true. America is the easiest 
 country in the world in which to live down one's past, 
 concerning which, indeed, nobody cares a straw. But 
 even in America it is well to begin the operation betimes. 
 A slight inducement is often all that is needed to 
 make up one's mind. I got to be quite fond of the 
 
 63 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 little gentleman, who reminded me, more than any one 
 I had met since leaving home, of an Englishman. 
 Before many days I had bought a tract of prairie 
 " on time." This, my friend assured me, was dirt cheap, 
 and certain shortly to double its value, and this might 
 have been correct had not the land boom come suddenly 
 to an end. When I had made my purchase, the old land 
 agent — as politicians at home cease to take interest in a 
 man who has voted — had no further use for me. 
 
 Winter was now coming on again, and the question 
 was how to get over it cheaply. While duck-shooting in 
 the autumn, I had got acquainted with an old settler who 
 lived in the timber near the borders of Lake Michigan, 
 surrounded by swamps inhabited by the fattest blue- 
 winged teal, and the biggest and noisiest mosquitoes 
 I have ever seen. The family consisted of the old 
 man, his maiden sister, and a black girl who had been 
 a slave. The old man never addressed his sister, all 
 communications being made through the medium of the 
 black girl. He was tall, with fine features, and a 
 profusion of long, shining black hair, beginning to be 
 touched with grey, which he pretended not to arrange 
 after a portrait in his possession of a famous American 
 statesman, Henry Clay — a name familiar to Englishmen 
 from its connection with a celebrated brand of cigars. 
 The old man did little work of any sort. In the spring 
 he planted a few potatoes in the sand ; in the summer 
 he collected a certain, or uncertain, quantity of hay 
 from the neighbouring slews. This last duty he preferred 
 to perform by proxy, and he was so popular that he not 
 infrequently had his desire. In the winter he chopped 
 as little firewood as possible. The evenings he passed 
 seated in his shirt-sleeves on a stool in the kitchen — 
 
 64 
 
Entrance to School Buildings (showing the 
 "Old Apple Woman"), 1840. 
 
 [.'iCC page 28. 
 
America. — I 
 
 a leaky lean-to at the back of the log house — his legs 
 crossed, his arms folded on his breast, his eyes fixed, 
 in apparent contemplation, on the stove. Seated there 
 he would quaff a silent glass, every now and again, of 
 neat whisky — not a particularly strong concoction — 
 until at last he would retire to bed muttering maudlin 
 rhapsodies, in which frequently recurred the revered name 
 of Henry Clay. 
 
 Here I decided to pass the winter, and after buying 
 a wagon and horses in Chicago, I employed my time, 
 assisted by old David, in getting out cedar posts to 
 fence my new homestead in the spring. 
 
 Coming into the log house one evening I saw a strange, 
 unkempt, stolid-looking young man of about two-and- 
 twenty seated, apparently quite at home, on old David's 
 special stool in the little kitchen. He was explaining 
 his advent to the latter, who was perforce standing. 
 The newcomer, we learnt afterwards, was of English 
 birth, but had been deserted by his father in one of 
 the Southern States a few months before. Since then 
 he had been wandering about the country, living how 
 and where he could. He took his seat at the supper 
 table as a matter of course, a bed was found for him, 
 and after breakfast next morning he was sent into the 
 bush with an axe to chop wood. A number of tramps 
 used to pass the house, and they were not so rude as 
 to do so without calling. The custom was to give them 
 a meal and a shake-down, and in the morning send 
 them into the bush with an axe, presumably to work 
 out their board and lodging: in reality the implement 
 was an old one, with which they were expected to clear 
 off. The newcomer, however, worked hard all day and 
 effected a surprise by reappearing at dusk with the axe. 
 E 65 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 It was embarrassing when he walked in, seated himself 
 calmly by the stove after performing his ablutions, and 
 awaited the evening meal. No one dreamt of telling 
 him he was de tropy and indeed he would scarcely have 
 understood any but the very broadest hint. Weeks slipped 
 into months, yet he was still there, like a stray dog 
 that had determined never to be an outcast again. The 
 brother and sister compounded for their coolness to one 
 another by acting the good Samaritan to him. 
 
 There was little for poor William to do; had there 
 been more, he could not have done it. It was soon 
 discovered that he was half-witted, or even less. His 
 sphere of duty soon narrowed into driving the cows 
 to the bush in the morning and bringing them home 
 at night ; but to this slight call on it his intellect was 
 unequal. The country was thickly timbered and inter- 
 sected with swamps, which were impassable except in 
 winter and in the droughts of summer. William, how- 
 ever, developed an unexpected talent. One evening in 
 summer he came in very late, and seated himself in the 
 kitchen with a brighter air than was usual with him when 
 he had, as was now the case, returned without the cows. 
 " If I couldn't find the cows," he exclaimed triumphantly, 
 when scolded, " I've found a bee tree." After this piece 
 of luck he never deigned to think of anything but " bee 
 trees," and the cows came home at their own sweet will 
 when they came at all, like the goats of the " Eclogue." 
 William even became a nuisance, as, when he had found 
 honey, no one was allowed a moment's peace till an 
 expedition had been started to secure it. His method 
 was simplicity itself, and dispensed with the paste and 
 the little box affected by the professional bee-hunter. 
 He went mooning along with his head in the air, and 
 
 66 
 
America. — I 
 
 the bees caught his eyes as they circled about the 
 top of the tree in which their home was located. 
 Thanks to his new talent the poor fellow became quite 
 a self-supporting institution ; at everything else he was 
 a complete failure. 
 
 This was an example of sport on a limited income 
 that I never saw equalled, and, no doubt, there is some- 
 thing akin to sport in which every one is capable of 
 excelling. Even now poor William would have few 
 competitors in his own line. It will be some time yet 
 before millionaires in search of sport are compelled to 
 take up with bee-hunting. 
 
 67 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 AMERICA.— II. 
 
 IN spring I got my fence posts down by rail, hired a 
 man — a very bad and expensive one, as usual with 
 the genus out West, whose failings Bret Harte has, for 
 once, not exaggerated — and commenced boring holes 
 with a post augur — a great improvement on digging — 
 eight feet apart. This was not only hard, but very slow, 
 work, and a mile of these holes, besides representing 
 considerable time and labour, was trying to the temper — 
 especially to that of the hired man. When I had bored 
 half a dozen or so I wanted a rest ; the hired man wanted 
 one earlier. Where the ground was soft as it fell towards 
 the south, we would sharpen the ends of the posts, and 
 drive them in with a beetle, which was a refreshing change 
 of labour. When they were all fixed, the lumber arrived 
 from Chicago, and a two-board fence of sixteen-foot 
 boards was arranged so as to prevent as far as possible 
 anything in the shape of a cow creeping under or getting 
 a head between. I began fencing in the middle of May, 
 but it was August before my fence was finished. After- 
 wards I added a third board, which made things safe. 
 
 My land started along a slight hill to the north, 
 coming down to some low land at the southern end. A 
 quarter of a mile to the south was the station of the 
 Illinois Central Rail Road, beyond which not a house or 
 
 6S 
 
America.— II 
 
 shanty was to be seen for many miles. On the west the 
 prairie was fenced in by the railroad. I cannot state the 
 extent of the wild land to the east of my farm, as I never 
 thoroughly explored it, but it was a good deal more than 
 I was ever able to stock. On the south the prairie was 
 as much mine to all intents and purposes as if I had 
 bought and paid for it. On all the rolling prairie, with its 
 splendid crops of grass, I never, save on one occasion, saw 
 twenty head of cattle except my own. After the first 
 year I got together quite a considerable herd, but I 
 regretted to the last day of my stay there that my want 
 of capital and inability to stock the vast acreage made me 
 a loser of thousands of dollars per annum. 
 
 In the intervals of hole-boring, which I left as much as 
 I dared to the hired man, I had been " breaking up " the 
 new land with my team as fast as I was able ; but still, 
 not very fast. I was a poor hand at ploughing to start 
 with, so got the stationmaster (who knew even less about 
 the matter) to help me to run out a few half-mile furrows. 
 In three or four days, thanks to the perfect American 
 plough and its sharp, rolling coulter, I developed into a 
 fairly good ploughman. 
 
 As fast as the land was ploughed the hired man 
 followed leisurely, bare-footed with a small specially made 
 iron shovel, with which he cut a snick in the leathery sod. 
 Into this snick he dropped two or three grains of Indian 
 corn, pressed the sod over it with his toe, and passed on. 
 In addition to the sod corn I had also by September the 
 first — early sowing was of the greatest importance — 
 harrowed in twenty acres of wheat. By this time I had 
 discarded the native rubbish, and hired a really good 
 Irishman at monthly wages, who stayed with me till I 
 left America, and of whom I got very fond. When I had 
 
 69 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 put up a fairly good shanty for him and a board stable 
 for the horses, I considered my farming over for the year, 
 and gladly turned my attention to shooting. As there 
 were absolutely no cattle about I had done my fencing 
 in a very leisurely manner ; but when my sod corn was a 
 foor or so high, I heard one morning the sound of the 
 lowing of oxen, and looking out saw through the mist an 
 immense herd of some hundreds surrounding the shanty, 
 and spreading over the farm on the side where the fence 
 was still unfinished. We ran out, and with the aid of the 
 mounted cow-punchers, who seemed greatly amused at 
 our indignation, succeeded in moving the herd on without 
 their having inflicted much damage. This drove was 
 coming up from Texas to Chicago, grazing on its way. 
 During all the time I was on the prairie I was never 
 troubled by any more of them. 
 
 At that date people were too much taken up with the 
 pursuit of the almighty dollar to have time for the pursuit 
 of fercB natures. An Englishman with a love of sport 
 could get any amount, and, instead of its costing him 
 fabulous sums, as would be the case now, might find it a 
 source of profit. I have already mentioned the American 
 I met who " shot flying," and very few shot at all, except, 
 in some of the States, with revolvers. I was not an 
 extraordinarily good shot, but quite a crowd used to 
 follow me when I went forth from one of the little towns 
 on the Illinois Central Rail Road to slay prairie chickens. 
 " He shoots flying " would be whispered in accents of 
 surprised admiration. I had a contract with a game- 
 dealer in the Chicago market, who took all the birds I 
 could send him. His price was low, except on one occasion, 
 when I went out on the last day of July and appeared in 
 the market next morning — the first of the shooting season 
 
 70 
 
America. — II 
 
 — with my spoil. The dealers thronged round me that 
 day, but the price afterwards was not more than sixpence 
 or sevenpence a brace. In hot weather — and it was 
 always hot in the shooting season — the greatest care had 
 to be taken, or the birds would be fly-blown in an hour or 
 two. I used to start out with a light buggy drawn by an 
 old mare, between whose ears I could shoot without 
 disturbing her in the least. If I was intending to avoid 
 the settlements, I would drive quietly along the dusty 
 tracks across the prairie, leading no one knew whither, 
 which the prairie chickens resorted to for dust-baths. 
 My dog — about the best pointer I ever knew — would lie 
 at my feet, his nose over the wheel. On scenting game 
 he would jump out, and come to a point twenty yards or 
 so from the track. I would drop the reins, and descend 
 leisurely. When the birds, rising one by one, not in 
 coveys, were accounted for, the dog would quickly 
 remount to his seat on the buggy. No amount of per- 
 suasion would induce him to continue the search once he 
 had made up his mind there were no more. When we were 
 not following a track he would range at a distance of half 
 a mile or more from the buggy, the white spot on his left 
 side visible in the short upland grass. When he stood I 
 would turn the mare's head in his direction. In a quarter 
 of an hour or so I would arrive, when he would give me a 
 look to say he thought I might have hurried a bit more. 
 Towards evening the mare's head would be turned 
 towards a station on the Illinois Central Rail Road, 
 stopping by a haystack to carefully "draw" the birds, 
 and insert a wad of hay. This answered fairly well, though 
 of course I had numbers of birds spoilt, which had to be 
 thrown away. From the station the birds would go to 
 Chicago by the evening train. Not till the winter was at 
 
 71 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 hand was it possible to "hang" birds, and even then they 
 never got " gamey " as they do in England. I never tried 
 to make a record bag, being content with anything from 
 fifty to seventy. There was no limit to what might have 
 been done in August by any one murderously inclined. 
 In September the birds were better sport, and they soon 
 got wild enough for anybody, in fact, too wild for most 
 people. When they began to perch in rows on rail fences 
 one hundred yards away, and otherwise misbehave 
 themselves, it would be time for the ducks and teal 
 to arrive again. 
 
 In autumn, sport of a sort was provided by the many 
 thousands of pigeons which, following the example of the 
 Chicago Bank clerks, and other employees — or, more 
 probably the pigeons had set the example — were flying 
 south across the Continent on the approach of winter. 
 The American wild pigeon is a small bird, about the 
 size of the English stock-dove. It makes, or should make, 
 excellent pies, but in those days the local cooks were too 
 incapable, or perhaps too lazy, to utilise them. The only 
 pies I remember seeing in America were pumpkin pies, 
 and these were the better the less " punkin " entered into 
 their composition. For many days there would be a 
 continuous stream of pigeons, and as their flight was low, 
 and just above the tops of the trees, one would have 
 thought the poorest marksman could hardly have failed 
 to make a bag ; but to shoot them flying would have been 
 quite beyond the skill of an American gunner. The 
 " sportsmen " would wait in the woods in the neighbour- 
 hood of their well-known roosting-places, and shoot them 
 in sackloads at dusk off the boughs. I never participated 
 in a battue of these little birds, for which there was, no 
 doubt, a ready sale in Chicago and other big towns ; but 
 
 72 
 
America. — II 
 
 one day I had been shooting with some friends in the bush 
 near Lake Michigan, when we went into a log house for 
 lunch, stacking our guns in a corner near the door. 
 Above the door was a large hornets' nest, the inhabitants 
 of which kept coming into the room after the flies. 
 Outside the log house was a big tree with a long dead 
 arm stretched out straight about ten yards from the 
 ground. While we and the hornets were lunching, one of 
 us chanced to look out and saw the dead branch crowded 
 with wild pigeons as thick as they could stand. Reaching 
 silently for our guns we stole to the door, and in a 
 moment a fusilade made a clean sweep of the pigeons. 
 
 I regret that I never had any luck with snipe in 
 America, not that I did not on a few occasions come 
 across some, but there was always something to prevent 
 my making a good bag. Once I was out in a canoe on 
 the Calumet, looking for some young geese that were 
 hiding in the wild rice, when I heard a snipe " scape " 
 close by. Leaving my canoe, I walked along the bank, 
 when I put up a snipe every yard or so. They got up 
 singly, not in wisps, and there must have been thousands. 
 I fired a few shots, but, owing very likely to the size of 
 the shot, without touching a feather. I desisted, but 
 returned next day with any amount of snipe-shot, when 
 to my immense disgust there was literally not a snipe 
 to be found. Snipe, in the Western States at any rate, 
 must have had an enjoyable time, as I never met any one 
 who would have had a thousand to one chance of killing 
 one. 
 
 I had never done much fishing in England, having 
 been twenty miles or so from a trout stream, but in 
 America I soon learned to fish " for the pot." The 
 Calumet swarmed with fish. I would get into my canoe, 
 
 73 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 my gun laid beside me ready for anything that might 
 rise out of the wild rice, and a long line with a spoon 
 hook at the end of it tied to my leg. Suddenly there 
 would be a tug, tug, at my thigh, and I would haul in 
 a pickerell (American short for pike), very likely ten or 
 twelve pounds' weight. Bass and catfish, with their 
 nasty spikes under their chins, were excellent eating. 
 I seldom used anything but a spoon hook. One winter, 
 when all the small lakes adjoining Lake Michigan were 
 frozen over, some of the dwellers on the lake shore 
 broke through the ice and hauled out the fish in buckets 
 when they crowded to the holes to breathe. I remember 
 seeing on the ice a heap of some tons of whiting which 
 remained frozen for some time before being removed to 
 Chicago, where it was no doubt sold at a good price. 
 At certain seasons the pike in these lakes used to float 
 near the surface of the water, and I several times tried 
 to shoot them from a canoe. My companion was a 
 murderer who had done time in the States prison, but 
 he was a very gentlemanly fellow, and an excellent shot. 
 He must have had a very sharp eye, for he would blaze 
 away at fish that I could not get a sight of 
 
 In my second year I had a few acres of Indian corn 
 on a patch that had been ploughed and cropped the 
 previous year, and was getting into fine order. This 
 corn grew to an enormous height, certainly ten or twelve 
 feet. Wishing to save some of it for seed, I had it put 
 up in great stooks, like tents. A number of mallards 
 were attracted to it, and every evening just before dark 
 they would come and take their toll. Inside the stook 
 Koenig and I would await their arrival. We shot, and 
 shot, but the survivors did not appear to understand 
 matters. They would perch on the very stooks inside 
 
 74 
 
America, — II 
 
 which we were hiding, and commence to feed again. 
 Their tameness was almost, not quite, shocking to me. 
 I never saw anything hke it before or after. 
 
 On the approach of winter becoming evident, ex-bank 
 clerks, broken-down bagmen, and tramps of all sorts and 
 descriptions, in tall silk hats some of them — I had once 
 had a man who mowed for me for several days in a tall 
 hat — would start from Chicago along the line of the 
 Illinois Central Rail Road, to walk south before the 
 setting in of the cold weather. We could see the tiny 
 black dots many miles away on the perfectly straight 
 line. Occasionally one of these travellers had been 
 known to us in a bank or store, but he generally 
 preferred to remain incog. If we succeeded in over- 
 coming his mauvaise honte, we would sometimes ask him 
 to remain for a night's rest, but the majority had a 
 feverish desire to press on. 
 
 Deer were seldom seen on the prairie. In the timber 
 they were plentiful, but hard to get at. I remember 
 once being in a small place on the Illinois River, when 
 a big herd of deer stood for a little while gazing down 
 the street of the new village, of whose institution they 
 had probably been quite ignorant. When they had 
 impressed it on their minds, they turned away and 
 bounded off unmolested to the wilds again. 
 
 It was on a piercingly cold day on the prairie this 
 winter that Arthur, my man, came running up to the 
 station, where I was trying to keep myself warm, to 
 say that there were a number of deer feeding at some 
 hayricks that we had put up on the prairie about two 
 miles north of my shanty. I snatched up a rifle, ran 
 down to the shanty, threw a saddle on one of the horses, 
 and made for the hayricks as fast as I could. The 
 
 75 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 deer would not leave the ricks, but dodged about from 
 one side to the other. I dismounted, and stole after 
 them on foot. It was not long before I had a chance, 
 and putting up my rifle I essayed to pull the trigger. To 
 my disgust I was unable to move my finger, and after 
 standing for some time with my rifle pointed at the 
 deer, which seemed to understand the state of affairs, 
 I rode back again, leaving them in possession. 
 
 The greater part of this winter I spent on the prairie, 
 with occasional visits to Indiana, where I had bought some 
 timber land that I thought might be useful. The sudden 
 way in which winter set in was a caution. I had driven 
 into Chicago, about forty miles, in quite warm summer- 
 like weather, and on my way back made a detour to do 
 some necessary business at the county town. When I 
 arrived there in the evening it was beginning to snow ; 
 next morning when I started to drive home, about 
 twenty-five miles across the prairie, it was bitterly cold, 
 and, having no gloves, I stopped and bought a pair of 
 woollen mitts, which were all the proprietor had in stock 
 — he had evidently not yet laid in his winter supply. 
 When I reached the bare prairie the wind, which was 
 now right in my face, got colder and colder, and I had 
 every now and then to get out of the "sulky" and run 
 behind to keep my nose and ears from freezing. I was 
 glad towards dusk to see the line of my fence on a 
 little hill a couple of miles in front of me. The bay 
 mare I was driving was perfectly white, like an iced 
 cake, and her nostrils choked up with icicles. My man 
 was looking out for me; he pushed me into the shanty, 
 while he went off to see to the mare. I found the stove 
 red-hot, and some hot milk ready for me. This was the 
 worst cold I ever experienced. It was quite a long time 
 
 J6 
 
America. — II 
 
 before I got over it, and I was afterwards able to under- 
 stand an expression Arthur was always using on a 
 specially cold day : '' The cold of the grave is in me 
 bones." 
 
 Poor Arthur had not a very lively time in the winter 
 when I was away. A good part of the first winter he 
 spent standing on a nail keg and sawing off the tops of 
 the cedar posts that protruded needlessly above the 
 boards. When I came home with the horses he would 
 lose no time in going round to collect these precious 
 odds and ends of firewood. I shall never forget his joy, 
 as of a dog, at my return. It was cold in the shanty 
 that winter, and no mistake. Hot tea accidentally spilt 
 formed in ice on the table, which was drawn close to the 
 red-hot stove. The nails protruding through the plank 
 roof had a half-inch coating of rime, the window was 
 darkened with perpetual frost. But the rapid, unexpected 
 changes were more trying than the severest cold. 
 
 The station-agent was a wild young Scotchman of 
 good family, and about my own age, who, when a lad, 
 had enlisted in the Life Guards, been bought out by his 
 friends, put into a good business in Canada, drunk 
 himself out of it, and afterwards tried several things 
 with the same result. Finally he had landed at our 
 station, where he remained on a salary barely sufficient 
 to keep him in food and garments of sufficient solidity 
 to keep out the cold. " By G — ," -he used to say when 
 drunk, " I took the shilling." I used to sleep at the 
 station, and he returned the compliment by taking 
 meals, not very luxurious ones, at my shanty. Every 
 day in summer a large block of ice was left at the 
 station, which I took down to the shanty. Sometimes 
 we were so clever or so fortunate as to induce Saturday's 
 
 77 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 supply to last into Sunday. In summer and autumn the 
 station swarmed with mosquitoes, and, as we were without 
 the luxury of mosquito-nets, it was almost impossible to 
 get any sleep. In the evening a wheat train would fre- 
 quently lie up at our station for the night, when we 
 would sleep in one of the trucks, where the aperture at 
 each end kept up a draught which the little pests found 
 
 deterrent. S would leave a note for me, if I was 
 
 late coming back from shooting : " Am sleeping in car, 
 number so and so." I would then climb through the 
 hole at the end of the car, in my nightshirt, and lie 
 
 down on the bags of wheat, on one of which S was 
 
 already snoring. It was always deliciously cool, the only 
 nuisance being the strong smell of garlic. In ploughing 
 for wheat on the prairie we would turn up the wild garlic, 
 like continuous strings of pearls, and you could smell a 
 wheat train miles away. 
 
 One occasionally hears some one mention having met 
 with mosquitoes in England, but these, to one who has 
 known the American variety, are quite a negligible 
 quantity. I remember once on the Calumet turning out 
 at sunrise to pick huckleberries, an occupation likely to be 
 rendered intensely unpleasant a little later by the " deer 
 fly." (This is a horrid little fawn-coloured beast, that 
 settles generally on the back of your neck between your 
 hair and your collar. I don't think he was poisonous, but 
 he made you jump confoundedly.) I got out of the 
 window to avoid waking any one, and going down to the 
 river stepped into a canoe and paddled across. Ap- 
 parently I disturbed a family of four or five mosquitoes 
 who had been roosting on the bank, and who followed 
 me, and almost pushed me out of the canoe. They were 
 certainly the biggest, fattest, and hungriest I ever met 
 
 78 
 
America. — II 
 
 with. When I reached the far side of the river I had 
 only succeeded in killing one of them, and his friends 
 showed such an eager desire to avenge him that I turned 
 tail, got into the boat again, and back to bed, my chief 
 difficulty being to keep my pursuers out, and I was both 
 surprised and relieved when they departed without smash- 
 ing the window. When I was in the timber I used, unless 
 otherwise engaged, to milk six or eight cows night and 
 morning. When the cows came up from the slews in the 
 evening they would be literally covered from nose to tail 
 with mosquitoes wedged together as close as they could 
 pack. When you put your head against the cow's side, 
 preparatory to milking, you would squash a few thousands, 
 but, like a famine in India, it appeared to have little effect 
 on the reduction of the population. I never suffered much 
 from them except on one occasion, when, having missed 
 the train to Chicago, I walked in about twenty miles with 
 a friend. We were very tired, and went to bed after 
 supper without noticing the dilapidated state of our 
 mosquito-curtains. In the morning my friend's face was 
 swollen almost beyond recognition, and I — well, I was 
 not quite as bad. On the walls were quite a number of 
 mosquitoes who had evidently dined, not wisely but too 
 well, as appeared shortly afterwards, when their corpses 
 varied the somewhat monotonous pattern of the wall- 
 paper. But the insect I hated most was the "gally- 
 nipper " — I am ignorant of his scientific name. This 
 insect had at first a somewhat deceptive resemblance to 
 a daddy-long-legs. He had, however, a tube which made 
 all the difference, as, soon after its insertion in his quarry, 
 his thin body developed into a red bottle of quite 
 respectable size. I had a mare I always rode when 
 hunting stray cattle on the prairie, and the devotion of 
 
 79 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 the gallynipper to this animal was quite touching. Once 
 when I was on her back from sunrise to sunset they 
 almost bled the poor beast to death. The blood ran 
 from her head and neck on to the reins. Of course I did 
 my best to keep them off, and so diverted their attention 
 to myself. I had a flannel shirt on, tight at the shoulders, 
 and it was there that they drove in their hateful 
 appliances. 
 
 Fortunately my friend S had but infrequent op- 
 portunities of over-indulgence in whisky — the only fault 
 he had — and we became great friends. On the prairie 
 one had to be even more merciful than my old friend 
 Dr. Hawtrey in respect of " first faults." Occasionally a 
 land speculator, who wanted to see how his land — some 
 of which my cattle may have been utilising — was getting 
 on, would call at the station. He generally brought 
 
 something superior in the way of liquor, and S would 
 
 cook his dinner — of prairie chicken, most likely — on con- 
 dition that he laid the table, washed up, and made himself 
 generally useful. An old judge, an immensely fat man, 
 would once and again come down from Chicago, and we 
 would shoot him a prairie chicken, which he would 
 afterwards pluck, grill, dance round, and finally devour. 
 He would have looked well in the local Punch, had there 
 been such a publication, very drunk in his shirt-sleeves, 
 shedding maudlin tears over the remnants of his meal, and 
 the next day sentencing inebriates in Chicago. These 
 treats, however, did not often come our way. 
 
 Sometimes we entertained guests of another description, 
 who helped us to while away the long evenings, which else 
 had been rather dreary. There was an uncouth Yankee 
 fiddler, who would enter our sacred precincts, welcome but 
 uninvited, and commence to search for a whisky bottle, 
 
 80 
 
TWO 
 ETON HEADMASTERS. 
 
 Dr. Hawtrey. 
 
 Dr. Goodford. 
 
 \Sce page 32. 
 
America. — II 
 
 fiddle in hand. There was Arthur, my Irishman, whose 
 soHtude we often deigned to cheer, and who rewarded our 
 condescension with amusing if somewhat coarse reminis- 
 cences of " the ould counthry," which he interlarded with 
 an eternal, " Wid faver to yees " ; a very quiet, gentlemanly 
 young farmer from Pennsylvania, who afterwards murdered 
 an Irish labourer in the heat of passion, and underwent a 
 year's confinement in a penitentiary. 
 
 But our most frequent and most welcome guest was 
 Koenig, who would come to us from his headquarters on 
 the Calumet River. He would bring with him his gun and 
 his guitar, and use them for our welfare and delectation. 
 He would come in from shooting, throw down his gun, 
 take up his guitar, and play and sing to us while we 
 plucked the birds and cooked them for supper. At a 
 short distance from the north end of my farm was a big 
 " creek " the only water for miles round, which, in addition 
 to supplying the cattle with water, was in autumn resorted 
 to by flocks of Canadian geese, mallards, and all sorts of 
 plover. To the first of these my patch of wheat, which 
 neighboured the creek, was an additional attraction. 
 Koenig was always bringing home something from the 
 creek after dusk. One night he came home quite late, 
 
 wet to the waist. " By G — ," he said, " S , I shot 
 
 seven geese." We laughed, seeing he was empty-handed, 
 when he told us he had seen seven geese fall to his double- 
 barrel out of a big flock just about to settle on the creek, 
 but had been unable to find them. He got very angry 
 when we pretended not to believe him, and shortly went 
 out again, rousing us in the middle of the night by 
 returning with two geese. When he departed again we 
 shut the doors and went to sleep. Early in the morning 
 I heard Koenig trying to get in, but was too sleepy to 
 F 8l 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 bother. Suddenly, first one goose then another came 
 through the window into the sleeping-room, with a 
 crash. I got up to remonstrate, but Koenig was off to 
 the creek again. In the morning he appeared with two 
 more geese. The seventh had probably crawled out of 
 the creek, and escaped on to the prairie. It was all we 
 could do to prevent Koenig's immediate departure, but at 
 last we managed to smooth him down. He was much 
 too useful to part with. 
 
 In the spring I had a reminder that prairie farming 
 is not all beer and skittles. My winter wheat, which I 
 had at one time thought was killed off by the frost, began 
 to look quite flourishing again, and I promised myself a 
 crop after all. Imagine my disgust when I found that 
 nine-tenths of it was " chess," or " cheat," a weed which 
 some consider degenerated wheat, and which resembles 
 wheat till it should come into ear, when it bursts into 
 something between wild oats and dodder grass. I 
 thought of my friend Mr. Spuds, and wondered whether 
 he would consider this preferable to the " Bunt " which 
 had driven him from his Warwickshire farm. The only 
 thing to do was to cut it, cart it away, and burn it, to 
 prevent seeding. 
 
 I had not troubled the doctors since leaving England 
 — nor indeed much before — but this autumn I made my 
 first acquaintance with the profession in America. I had 
 been having a long day after prairie chickens, it had been 
 frightfully hot, and towards evening, when I was nearing 
 a little settlement about seven miles from my farm, I 
 suddenly felt very sick and ill. I managed to reach a 
 little tavern, the keeper of which put me to bed, and sent 
 for the doctor. It seems he was a new importation, for 
 which reason I had never heard of his existence. I 
 
 82 
 
America. — II 
 
 suppose I had fainted, but when I recovered, the sun was 
 shining into the room — there were no window blinds — 
 the walls were covered with thousands of bugs, and a big, 
 heavily bearded man was standing by my bedside, holding 
 in his two hands an enormous bowl. This contained senna 
 tea, which I was ordered to drink, and the doctor and I 
 afterwards became great friends, though he never again 
 prescribed for me. The doctor had a family of pretty 
 little round Dutch children. He had also a younger 
 brother, a " professor," whose speciality it was to convert 
 the commonest corn whisky into port wine. I used to go 
 in and watch him making his brew in an enormous boiler. 
 Once I went his rounds with him, when he visited the 
 principal Chicago liquor merchants. They would bring 
 out some whisky in a glass, and he would manipulate it 
 into the simulation of port wine. I think the charge for 
 which " I fix him " was a dollar a gallon, which sounds 
 fairly cheap. To-day in England the obliging German 
 chemist seems to be doing the same thing, only that now 
 they are making whisky out of their abominations instead 
 of port ; and there is no doubt that the stuff advertised 
 as first class and sold everywhere is little better than 
 poison. When I returned to America some years later 
 I found the " professor " married to one of the little round 
 children of his brother the doctor ; I confess I hardly knew 
 what to say to him. 
 
 By next year I had nolens volejis- got quite a lot of 
 cattle together. Trade was very bad, and money ex- 
 ceedingly scarce everywhere. Small farmers used to 
 come from ten or twenty miles across the prairie with 
 a cow or two they wished to sell. I would say, truly 
 enough, that I had no money, when they would reply 
 that I should have some by and by and walk away, 
 
 83 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 leaving the cows behind them. I don't remember an 
 American ever doubting my word, but I am sure a great 
 number would have been greatly surprised, and perhaps 
 a trifle hurt if I had taken theirs. Hay was plentiful ; 
 I contracted with a Dutchman to put me up a hundred 
 tons for one hundred dollars. This I built up outside 
 the fence of the cattle yard for the cattle to help them- 
 selves to. But the prairie winter was too cold for the 
 cattle to do more than just live, and even this was more 
 than all could accomplish. The survivors would be turned 
 out towards the end of May so many bags of bones, and 
 in a month or six weeks would be quite fresh. I decided 
 to rent a big stretch of rather swampy land on the border 
 of Lake Michigan from Senator Douglas, the "little 
 giant" whose defeat for the Presidency by Lincoln was 
 shortly to cause the Civil War. Meeting his secretary 
 to arrange terms, he told me very condescendingly that 
 Senator Douglas was a man without any pride, and would 
 not mind speaking to me at all. I am afraid I did not 
 appreciate the compliment, and thought the secretary 
 a bit of an ass. After taking this land, I never put up 
 any more hay on the prairie, but on the approach of 
 winter drove my cattle down to the lake shore, where 
 there was plenty of shelter. Quite a number stayed there 
 and multiplied. I soon found that an arable farm on 
 the prairie was no use except as a homestead. In fact, 
 I never knew any one without private means who was 
 able to make any payments on the bills he had given 
 when he bought his land. The Illinois Central Rail 
 Road Company had received from the Government a 
 concession of alternate sections of land for, I think, three 
 miles on each side of the track. None of the men in my 
 neighbourhood who bought on time from the Company 
 
 84 
 
America. — II 
 
 ever paid anything at all, and after staying some years, 
 and letting their land get into a much worse state than 
 when it was bare prairie, they were turned out. There 
 was always something happening to disappoint expecta- 
 tions. One year we had a frost every month, so that 
 the Indian corn came to nothing. Then blight would 
 attack the spring wheat — I have before spoken of " chess." 
 I have gone hopefully into a square mile of spring wheat, 
 expecting to find it swarming with prairie chickens, and 
 found it blighted and literally not a grain of wheat in the 
 six hundred and forty acres ; of course prairie chickens 
 were conspicuous by their absence. People bought wild 
 land to improve it and sell at a profit. My land was 
 improving in value if, as a farm, it was paying nothing. 
 Yet a man could, with ordinary luck, raise enough for 
 his family to live on, by working hard, and employing 
 no labour, and perhaps there is hardly any corner of the 
 earth where, by labouring equally hard, a living might not 
 be secured. 
 
 The Illinois Central Rail Road was then a rough and 
 rude affair. Coming out of Chicago one evening, in 
 company with my Scotch stationmaster, on the last 
 train — there were only two trains per diem each way — 
 after a tiring day in town, I dropped asleep, and only 
 woke to see that we were passing a little hill on the 
 prairie, topped by some rude buildings, which I knew to 
 be about two miles south of my pla^:e. Not feeling at 
 all inclined to walk back along the line nine miles from 
 the next station, I jumped up and commenced ringing 
 the bell communicating with the engine-driver, to the 
 horror of my stationmaster, who thought he would get 
 into trouble. The train pulled up short, and as the 
 frightened passengers quickly unloaded on to the em- 
 
 85 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 bankment, the conductor came along wanting to know 
 who had rung the bell. I knew him well, a big, one-eyed 
 man, who had been a navvy in England, and a very rough 
 customer. 1 had often seen him chuck stowaways off 
 the train, while in motion, in most truculent style. I told 
 him I had rung the bell, as he passed my station without 
 stopping, and I should be obliged by his backing the 
 train, as I did not wish to walk. He looked me over, and 
 I think, but for my being an Englishman, he would have 
 tried to chuck me ; instead, he called out, " All aboard " 
 — possibly he was not without a sense of humour — and 
 ordered the driver to back the two miles. I have more 
 than once seen a train stopped while a passenger de- 
 scended and walked some distance after his hat, which 
 had blown away on to the prairie. But I do not suppose 
 that would be likely to happen now. 
 
 2>6 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 AMERICA.— III. 
 
 IT must have been in the late autumn of my third year 
 in America that, being down at old David's place 
 near Lake Michigan, I noticed that several of the 
 " Hollanders," who were trying to scrape a living out of 
 the sand-ridges, had collected from goodness knows where 
 quite a quantity of cordwood, which they had stacked on 
 the borders of what they were pleased to call their farms. 
 This I wondered at, as it seemed lost labour, and I could 
 not imagine what they intended to do with it. Mention- 
 ing the matter to my friendly station-agent on the prairie, 
 he suggested that I should apply for a wood contract 
 from the Illinois Central Rail Road. There was no 
 available coal, and as the greater portion of the line ran 
 through the timberless prairie, the Company had to get 
 the greater part of its fuel from the Michigan beech 
 forests. The wood-contractor in chief was a man I knew 
 very well, one of two brothers who farmed a couple of 
 square miles at no great distance frop my depot. I took 
 the station-agent's advice, and made arrangements with 
 the " Hollanders " to take their wood at a certain price, 
 provided I could get a sub-contract. Then I drove over 
 to interview my neighbour the contractor. He was about 
 six feet six inches in height, and very stout, the biggest 
 man, I think, I ever saw in the States, quite young, but 
 
 87 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 already getting grey. He gave me a sub-contract in the 
 most good-natured way, and at a price that would leave 
 me a good profit. I think an American is ahvays glad 
 to do a kindly action, if it will not interfere with his own 
 plans ; and this is more than can be said of all others. 
 I at once went down to stir up the "Hollanders" and 
 set them to haul their wood to the edge of the Calumet 
 River, so that it could be carried over on the arrival of 
 winter. When the frost set in I was at work from day- 
 light to dusk with two teams, loading the wood on one 
 side of the river, and dumping it on the other bank, to 
 be removed from thence to the side of the Michigan 
 Central Rail Road track when the ice broke up. For 
 this labour I was well paid by the " Hollanders," who 
 were afraid of losing their market. Summer came, and 
 we had a fire or two, which by great good luck did little 
 damage ; but one day on my return from the prairie I was 
 glad to see a wood train loading up. Up to this time the 
 " Hollanders " had not asked for any money, but now 
 they began to be clamorous. Before I could pay them, 
 I had to see the contractor, and this, though I had fancied 
 from his size it would have been easily managed, was 
 exceedingly hard. Indeed, he seemed to have the receipt 
 of fern seed. One day I succeeded in finding him in 
 Chicago, and determined on having a settlement. When 
 I mentioned my business he treated me de Jiaut en has. 
 He did all he could to get rid of me, and declared he had 
 no money, but I vowed I would not leave him till he had 
 found some. He would stop on the side walk, pretending 
 to talk business to people he met, when I had to wait 
 with what patience I could muster till he had finished 
 Generally his friend got bored and excused himself 
 When dinner-time came he asked me to dine with him 
 
America. — III 
 
 as he could not shake me off — I suppose he was hungry 
 — at one of the best hotels, and after a good meal I felt 
 emboldened to press him a little harder. At last I 
 accompanied him into the Marine Bank — I was afraid to 
 leave him for a moment — where he had an interview with 
 the manager that seemed unproductive. Bank hours 
 would soon be over, and he may have seen that I was 
 getting desperate, for, when I suggested that he should go 
 to the pay-car and get an advance, he very sulkily agreed. 
 Luckily the paymaster's, Komstock's, car (which he used 
 as an office when in Chicago) was at the d^pot, and he 
 at once handed over a bundle of bills to the contractor, 
 of which the latter turned the larger portion over to me. 
 But he was very indignant, and behaved as an im- 
 pecunious " swell " in the old country might do on being 
 asked to pay a five or ten years' old tailor's bill. I went 
 back joyfully and paid my " Hollanders," having some- 
 thing over for myself, which was lucky, as the contractor 
 became bankrupt immediately afterwards. I never got 
 the balance, as the Company, though they burnt the wood, 
 declined to settle my account, and no doubt they were 
 within their rights. The big man's prosperity was by no 
 means checked by this little incident. When the war 
 broke out his place was covered with nigger teamsters 
 and horses, and although he had always professed to be a 
 hot Southerner, he went in largely for Government con- 
 tracts. I have no doubt he would have made a fortune, 
 for he was what in America is called " smart," but on my 
 return, some years after the war, I heard he had been 
 dead some time. 
 
 I saw at intervals a good deal of Chicago in those 
 days ; I have already mentioned " the old fort " ; much too 
 old-fashioned a building to have a chance of surviving. 
 
 89 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Chicago was then a rising city in more senses than one, 
 as it was undergoing the process of being raised above 
 the level of the lake, below which the pioneers had com- 
 menced operations. It was a curious sight in those 
 days to see wagons and powerful teams of horses 
 " stalled " in the mud of the principal streets. I was a 
 witness of the raising of the Briggs House, then one of 
 the largest hotels in the city, where the first storey of 
 the hotel had, from the raising of the roadway, developed 
 into a basement. I several times stayed at this house, 
 where a notice might be read warning you not to put 
 your boots outside your door at night ; if you neglected 
 it, they would be collected by a speculative gentleman 
 with a sack. It was a common thing on a main street to 
 meet a wooden house being moved out of town by a 
 windlass, as they move a bathing machine at home. 
 When the locality became too fashionable the owner 
 would sell his lot and move with his wooden house into 
 the country. In those days he had not far to go. Very 
 likely the family might be seen breakfasting in the 
 kitchen, and the owner's coat and hat hanging in the 
 lean-to as they went by. 
 
 I was in Chicago when the late King Edward VII., 
 then Prince of Wales, visited the place and was the guest 
 of " Long John " Wentworth, the Mayor. The Prince 
 was very well received, and I remember his being shown 
 to the people from the balcony of one of the chief hotels, 
 Mr. Wentworth, who was about as tall as my wood-con- 
 tractor, towering over the Prince, his hand on his shoulder. 
 In connection with this visit the account of the death of 
 Sir William Russell reminded me that that prince of war 
 correspondents accompanied the Royal party to Canada 
 and the States. On Sunday, when the Prince presumably 
 
 90 
 
America. — III 
 
 remained in Chicago, Mr. Russell went shooting on the 
 prairie. It was no doubt the only day he could count on 
 for getting a little sport. I don't remember at that time 
 any very strong feeling as to keeping Sunday strictly as 
 a day of rest, and, in fact, it was frequently chosen by my 
 American friends who wished me to provide them with a 
 day's shooting. Nevertheless, Mr. Russell was appre- 
 hended, brought before some court, and fined ; I believe 
 the amount was ten dollars. This exceptional treatment 
 — for, though I suppose there was some ancient law, unre- 
 pealed since the days of the " Mayflower," anent Sabbath- 
 breaking, I never during my stay in America heard of 
 another instance of its enforcement — may have had its 
 origin in some remarks of Mr. Russell's that had appeared 
 in the London press. Certainly no slight was intended to 
 the Prince of Wales. The affair caused some sensation, 
 and the weight of American opinion was strong against 
 the course taken by the Sabbatarians. 
 
 An enthusiastic reception was accorded to the Prince 
 by the Canadians ; it was indeed reported that at Mon- 
 treal and other large towns the water in which the 
 princely ablutions had been performed was carefully 
 bottled off (as an American Company is now doing with 
 the waters of the Jordan) and sold to the more ardent of 
 his admirers. 
 
 Mr. Wentworth, mentioned above, was a " character " 
 of a sort that may be now becoming rare even in America. 
 In following what he considered the best interests of the 
 city he was a law unto himself, and the citizens, instead 
 of taking offence, honoured him for his disregard of 
 restrictions, which would have tied the hands of ordinary 
 men. I remember a striking instance of his boldness. 
 
 Across the river, on the west side, in a place called 
 
 91 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 " the Sands," was a row of wooden houses, inhabited by an 
 undesirable class of tenants, who preyed on the sailors 
 who came to Chicago on the grain ships, several of whom 
 were reported to have been murdered, and their bodies 
 cast into the river. The Mayor proclaimed that if these 
 houses were not vacated by a certain day, they would be 
 burnt down. The tenants took not the slightest notice 
 of the edict, considering, no doubt, that the Mayor would 
 not dare to carry out his threat. They were mistaken, 
 however, for on " the appointed day " Mr. Wentworth, 
 accompanied by his myrmidons — as an Oxford proctor 
 by his bulldogs — went calmly forth, and himself applied 
 the torch to the obnoxious buildings. The sight of the 
 poor creatures hurrying forth in their smocks must have 
 been truly edifying. Of the frail wooden buildings 
 nothing remained in a few minutes but a line of white 
 ashes, which I myself saw a day or two afterwards on 
 " the Sands." 
 
 On another occasion Mr. Wentworth used equally 
 summary means to get rid of the nuisance occasioned by 
 the protrusion on the side walks by merchants and others 
 of signs and emblems. A whisky merchant would 
 thrust out a barrel-shaped board on one side of his door, 
 whilst a tobacco store would exhibit the usual Highlander 
 with his snuff-laden fingers thrust into the faces of the 
 passer-by. Storekeepers were warned that on a certain 
 date such of these signs as were not removed would be 
 carted away and burnt. As in the previous case, no one 
 took any notice, and they were probably surprised when 
 the Mayor appeared, up to date, with his bulldogs, and a 
 wagon into which the offending obstructions were thrown. 
 The " signs " were carted off to the court-house, which then 
 stood in a large enclosure bounded by a high iron rail- 
 
 92 
 
America. — III 
 
 Ing. Over this they were thrown in a heap, but instead 
 of being consigned to the flames, they remained there for 
 a long time, no doubt as a salutary warning. 
 
 Later I did myself the honour of placing a humble 
 contribution in close proximity to the Mayor's collection 
 of signs. It was suggested to me one Christmas that a 
 profitable trade in Christmas trees might be done with 
 the Germans (Dutchmen), who then formed half the 
 population of Chicago. Taking a wagon and horses I 
 drove about thirty miles into Indiana, where on the shore 
 of Lake Michigan was a vast extent of swamps — locally 
 " slews " — alternating with sandy ridges, whereon grew a 
 profusion of small fir trees. Selecting the best shaped of 
 these, I pulled them out of the sand, and with a couple of 
 hundred of them on my wagon started for the city. 
 Early on the twenty-third of December I was making the 
 round with my trees. The friend who had suggested the 
 new business kindly accompanied me, and pointed out 
 the most likely localities for customers. Of these at first 
 I had no lack, and indeed thought my fortune was made. 
 A few of the finest trees went at a dollar apiece, but they 
 soon dropped to fifty cents, and then to a quarter, by 
 which time the portion of the Dutch population desirous 
 of keeping up the old-country custom in a foreign land 
 showed signs of exhaustion. It was getting fearfully cold ; 
 I was almost frozen, while my horses, poor creatures, 
 were white with hoar frost. Directing their steps towards 
 the court-house, which struck me as a good place for 
 " dumping," I threw the balance of my trees over the 
 fence, where long after I saw them, looking withered and 
 disreputable, but in honourable proximity to the Mayor's 
 " signs." 
 
 I remember being in Chicago one summer when a big 
 
 93 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 propeller came into harbour, her decks piled high with 
 square boxes covered with pink netting, which made quite 
 a fine show. These boxes contained peaches, and in 
 about half an hour every one in the city who had fifty 
 cents to spare was the owner of a bushel or so of splendid 
 fruit. I took some down to the prairie and distributed 
 them among the locals, some of whom had certainly 
 never seen a peach before, and were unlikely ever to see 
 another. 
 
 Chicago was full — I suppose it still is — of saloons, but 
 the majority of these catered rather for the " Dutchman " 
 than for the American population. The former drank 
 nothing but lager beer, but of this harmless beverage 
 they consumed oceans. The education of the American- 
 born in foreign whiskies had scarcely commenced — I 
 don't know how far it has got now. When, as occasion- 
 ally happened, I spent a Sunday in the city with a friend, 
 we always stopped on our way back from church to have 
 a glass of neat Scotch whisky at the sole place at which 
 it was then retailed. The old Scotchman who kept the 
 saloon had a very long face, which he could still further 
 elongate on occasion. It was our custom to invite him 
 to join us in our potations, when he would raise his glass 
 to his mouth, give a little " click," and lo ! the whisky 
 was gone. During the brief process his chin would drop 
 into his cravat, but it soon regained its normal position, 
 if indeed the normal position was not the elongated one. 
 I feel certain we went to his saloon more for the pleasure 
 of seeing him swallow than of taking anything ourselves, 
 and though I was very poor in those days, and the 
 Scotch whisky very dear, I considered it cheap with that 
 sight thrown in. 
 
 I once drove nearly twenty miles into Chicago with a 
 
 94 
 
America. — III 
 
 load of hay. I don't remember the reason, possibly I 
 wanted a day out. I waited long in the hay market, but 
 not a soul came near me. I was going off to the stable 
 where I occasionally put up, to see if the proprietor could 
 do with it, when I saw an out-at-elbows Irishman crossing 
 the street, whom I hailed. He was, to the best of my 
 belief, the only brewer in Chicago, and sometimes he 
 brewed, and sometimes he didn't. There was a big 
 brewery in existence, but it was standing idle, and 
 tenanted only by rats and the watchman, a weird place 
 to visit at night. At that time all the beer drunk in the 
 numerous saloons by the " Dutchmen " came from 
 Milwaukee. It seemed that the only brewer kept a horse, 
 an extravagance of which I would never have dreamt of 
 accusing him. He bought, or rather begged, my hay, and 
 I took in payment a barrel of his beer, and very poor 
 stuff it was. My feelings on the return journey may 
 have borne some resemblance to those of Moses Primrose 
 after his more famous deal. 
 
 What I missed most in America was the riding. All 
 the time I was there I don't remember seeing a dozen 
 men on horseback, except a few " bosses " every now and 
 then in political processions, when they would have been 
 safer on foot. I had seen abundance of fast trotters in 
 buggies and "sulkies," and, once. Flora Temple trotting 
 her twenty miles in an hour. I had ridden occasionally 
 for a whole day in search of strayed cattle, but without 
 experiencing much pleasure from the exercise. My 
 bullock team were greatly given to straying; one of 
 them, which would have taken a jumping prize at any 
 show, used to negotiate the six-foot high fence of the 
 Illinois Central Rail Road as neatly as ever hunter with 
 the Heythrop got over a stone wall. Driving my bullocks 
 
 95 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 home when I had found them was a fatiguing process, as 
 when this plaguy animal jumped the fence (which he did 
 for no reason but to annoy me) I had to dismount, tie my 
 mare to the fence, climb over, and drive him back again. 
 Sometimes he would go quite a long way before he could 
 be induced to return, and then I had to retrace my steps 
 to where I had left the mare. By the time I had re- 
 mounted, the bullock had very likely climbed over again. 
 His "butty" too seemed inclined to follow a bad example, 
 so I sold the pair to a man who lived some twenty miles 
 away on the other side of the railroad, which they 
 seemed, for some occult reason, to prefer, and they troubled 
 me no more. 
 
 When, after my second year in America, I took a 
 holiday and went to England for three months, in the 
 winter, I looked forward eagerly to getting some hunting. 
 Nor was I disappointed. One of my first visits was paid 
 to a friend in Norfolk, who mounted me with the North 
 Walsham Harriers. My mount was a four-year-old mare, 
 which, though she gave me several falls by reason of her 
 insisting on flying the "banks," instead of "kicking off" 
 on the top, and so clearing the ditch, struck me as one of 
 the best animals I had ever known. We had one extra- 
 ordinary day when the hare, after a straight run of three 
 miles, ran down the cliffs, and swam out to sea, followed 
 by the hounds ; needless to say I did not follow them. 
 So much was I pleased with the mare that I would have 
 taken her back to America if I could have afforded it, 
 and I made up my mind to become possessed of her if I 
 returned to England before she was past mark of mouth. 
 
 My holiday did me a lot of good, and I set to work 
 with renewed zeal. In two years more I had got quite a 
 a big herd together, and in another ten years or so I could 
 
 96 
 
> '■^■M^'^- 
 
 Thk Broad Walk, Christ Church, Oxford (1840). 
 
 [See j>a£^e 35. 
 
America. — III 
 
 see a chance of utilising my run, if by that time it was not 
 sold or cut up into forty-acre lots. The sport was as 
 good as ever, even better ; the slight increase in the 
 number of settlers (none of whom, even yet, shot flying; 
 indeed, very few possessed a " shooting iron " of any sort) 
 favoured bigger bags, as the birds from miles round flocked 
 to the cultivated ground. Only one or two superior 
 people had put up notices warning off' trespassers " with 
 dog and gun." I ought to have been contented, but I felt, 
 nevertheless, that I was getting tired of it all. If man 
 cannot live by bread alone, neither can he live by shoot- 
 ing. It was the solitude, I think. Not that I did not 
 know a number of Americans in Chicago and elsewhere, 
 good fellows mostly, but they were, naturally, not quite 
 what I had been used to, and I was getting weary of 
 them. In my first and second years a friend or two from 
 England had looked me up. I had shown them what 
 sport was to be had, fed them up on mush and prairie 
 chicken, and then finished up by spending a few days in 
 Chicago with its ^^/^^j-^-civilisation. I began to think of 
 quitting. There would be no difficulty about this, as my 
 land was getting valuable. The tiny village up at the 
 station had been growing slowly, very slowly. In 
 addition to the blacksmith's shop and the one private 
 house, which were there when I came, we now possessed 
 a whisky saloon — a foul hole where " 40 rod " was sold by 
 the usual Irishman — and finally a store. It was this last 
 that was indirectly the cause of my leaving. 
 
 The store was owned by two brothers P , one of 
 
 whom was a capital fellow, said to be a retired slave-driver, 
 who resided there as manager. One day he came to me 
 — I suppose the money was coming in slowly — and said 
 he wanted to sell out. When he went on to say that he 
 G 97 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 wished to give me the refusal of his store, his " town lots," 
 and other property, 1 stared, and told him I didn't want 
 it. Nothing daunted, he began to enlarge on its advan- 
 tages, and the certainty of its speedy improvement. He 
 would take $3000. He would take $2000. If I thought 
 it only worth $1500 he would see his brother, who would 
 perhaps agree to take that sum. I hadn't any money? 
 Oh, that didn't matter, I would pay when I got some. 
 (Every one used to say this to me when I pleaded lack 
 of cash instead of jumping at a "bargain.") It was 
 Saturday evening, and I told him, as he was rushing 
 off to take the train to Chicago to see his brother, that 
 my offer, supposing I had made it, was not a standing 
 one, and I might change my mind by Monday morning, 
 when he would return by the first train. He smiled ; he 
 knew better. 
 
 When he was off I began to think. Buying a country 
 store was not a very sporting thing to do, not my idea at 
 
 all of " sport on a limited income." Doubtless S would 
 
 manage the store for me, but I should be tied to the 
 country all the same, if not to the counter. I felt like 
 Robinson Crusoe; "never hear the sweet music . . ." of 
 the hounds in full cry ; then all the half-forgotten pleasures 
 of sport in the old country came to my mind. That 
 
 settled it, I would see P and his store hanged first. On 
 
 Sunday morning I drove across the prairie to where a 
 
 Scotchman, L , a great friend of mine, managed a farm 
 
 of two square miles for a Southerner, a West Point man, 
 who had not been seen since the arising of the rumours 
 
 that were anticipating the Civil War. L I knew was 
 
 very uneasy, and desirous of taking a little place for himself. 
 I thought it likely he would take mine. So it proved, 
 when he drove back with me, and in an hour or so we had 
 
 98 
 
America. — III 
 
 valued the live and dead stock — for which he gave me 
 bills — and drawn up an agreement. 
 
 P got off the train on Monday morning, and 
 
 rushed to embrace me. '' I'm pleased to say that my 
 
 brother " he began, when I interrupted him. " I've 
 
 changed my mind ; I'm going to England this week." 
 He wouldn't believe it at first, and when he did he 
 seemed to think I had wronged him, but I reminded 
 him of what I had said when he left me. 
 
 In a week I was on my way to England. Before 
 leaving I made a hasty trip to bid farewell to old David, 
 and left some cattle in the bush in his charge. Years 
 after, when I paid a visit to America, the old man re- 
 minded me that he owed me S2CX) for a pair of black 
 bullocks which were then getting quite elderly. The 
 cows I had left with him were still the same number, 
 old David having probably eaten the increase. I thought 
 it was like wrapping another man's talent in a napkin. 
 
 On the way to New York I made friends with an 
 Englishman who was also going home. On our arrival 
 we went to an of^ce — to which a tout introduced us — 
 to get our tickets. I don't know to this day whether 
 it was a '' bogus " office or not, but of these there were 
 then plenty in New York. The man sold us tickets by 
 a steamship advertised to start the next day, but which, 
 on inquir}', we found had not come in yet. I believe she 
 did not come in for fourteen days or so, having been 
 awfully knocked about, and the captain killed on deck 
 by a falling spar. As we could not aftbrd to stay in 
 New York, we went back to the office to get our tickets 
 changed to a boat going on the morrow. The fellow 
 laughed at the idea of disgorging, and told us to go to 
 H . We went out, looking, I dare say, very foolish ; 
 
 99 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 but I was determined to get the money back somehow, 
 and meeting a policeman a few doors off accosted him. 
 He looked us over and smiled, no doubt considering us 
 greenhorns, which I don't think was quite the case. Then, 
 without a word, he walked back with us to the office. 
 
 " You go in," he said, " and ask him for your money 
 again." 
 
 We did so, and the manager was recommencing to 
 swear, when looking up he saw the policeman, standing 
 by the door, revolver in hand. Whether it was bluster 
 on the officer's part I don't know, but the manager went 
 to a drawer, brought out the money, and slapped it 
 down on the counter. I have no doubt the recording 
 angel dropped a tear — it would require "one of the 
 largest size " — on the page or two of oaths that he 
 may have thought under the circumstances not wholly 
 inexcusable. 
 
 I will here briefly conclude the story of my connection 
 with America, of which my recollections — the dull and 
 dreary parts, as usual in such cases, having been 
 almost forgotten — are very pleasant. The kind way in 
 which the Americans treated a newcomer will always 
 abide with me, together with the memories of the sport 
 which no one envied me or interfered with ; which cost 
 me nothing, and which no one, even with an income 
 other than limited, will ever see again. The American 
 shoots flying now — it was some time before he took to 
 it. He has his preserves, carefully looked after, like 
 those of an English nobleman, but the wild freedom 
 is over. The rolling prairie is parcelled out into lots 
 of all sizes, down to forty acres, tenanted by Dutchmen 
 and others who know nothing of sport, and who lead a 
 sordid life in a trying climate dominated by Trusts. Iowa, 
 
 lOO 
 
America. — III 
 
 Nebraska — in my day looked on as Ultima Thule — 
 Kansas (it was " bleeding Kansas " then) are filled to 
 overflowing ; a thousand miles galloped over in fifty years ! 
 Nothing left now, as a settler from Montana remarked to 
 me the other day, but to glide down the slope into the 
 Pacific. 
 
 On my return to England I had constant reminders 
 of my land on the prairie. Once it was a letter from 
 a lawyer to say that my fence must be moved, as I had 
 omitted to leave space for a road, which indeed I had 
 not expected would be required for some generations. 
 To move some miles of fencing and set it up again, 
 boring the new post holes, so to speak, with an augur 
 three thousand miles long, was an expensive affair. This 
 was nothing to hearing one day from a friend that my 
 land had been sold for taxes. The law was that when 
 the owner omitted to pay his taxes any other person 
 could pay them, and so acquire a "tax title" which could 
 only be redeemed by paying within one year to the 
 holder double the amount he had disbursed. Clearly 
 my tenant had not kept his agreement to pay my taxes, 
 which, during the war, had risen from a mere trifle to 
 quite a large annual sum. I made up my mind to get 
 rid of the land, and for this purpose it was necessary to 
 cross the Atlantic once more. About a fortnight before 
 Christmas I started on the s.s. Oida for New York. 
 Before leaving I had three overcoats made as nearly as 
 I could guess to fit three of my old friends. One was 
 my tenant, for whom I had the greatest regard, though 
 he was now putting me to the trouble of another journey 
 to America ; the others were two Chicago friends who 
 had shown me the greatest kindness during my stay 
 in the country. I inquired of a Huddersfield man where 
 
 101 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 the best cloth was to be had, expecting to hear from 
 him that it was procurable in his own town. Instead, 
 he told me that for the very best I must go to France. 
 I had three coats made of French cloth, which cost me 
 about five pounds apiece. I was sadly afraid of having 
 to pay duty on landing at New York, so wore them by 
 turns, and had two of them on and my old coat, together 
 with the other new one thrown over my arm, when asked 
 if I had anything to declare. Seeing the official pay 
 some attention to my attire, I explained that I had a 
 fine taste in overcoats. He looked me over for a few 
 seconds. " I reckon you don't mean to catch cold," he 
 said good-humouredly as he passed on. 
 
 When I got off the train one morning at my old 
 
 station the first man I saw was my tenant L , to 
 
 whom I had written from New York. He was at first 
 
 awfully hurt, and said that I might have trusted him, 
 
 but I soon smoothed him down. Things had been bad 
 
 with him, he told me, and his wife had been ill. He 
 
 wouldn't take his new coat, preferring to put up with 
 
 my old one, which was a nuisance, as I had to wear 
 
 the one intended for him, and as it never fitted me, and 
 
 was of much too good material to wear out, it was some 
 
 years before I felt satisfied with my appearance in winter. 
 
 The other two coats fitted the intended wearers very well, 
 
 but they were loth to accept them, saying that if I put 
 
 them into an auction I could get 150 dollars apiece for 
 
 them. I dare say they were right, but nothing was too 
 
 good for the friends who had done so much for me, and 
 
 whom I was never to see again. 
 
 So reassured did I feel with L 's explanation that 
 
 I went back to England without redeeming my taxes, or 
 making any effort to sell the land, which I could see 
 
 102 
 
America. — III 
 
 was getting very valuable. And long before the year of 
 
 grace was passed, L had bought back the " tax title," 
 
 and put things straight again. 
 
 Before leaving the country I made several excursions 
 
 with L into the surrounding country, which was 
 
 filling up fast. Not the least curious thing that I 
 
 came across was at the big farm on which L had 
 
 formerly been manager. The man, who had probably 
 got it for a song (the original owner had not appeared 
 in Illinois since the war), had taken over a herd of a 
 hundred well-bred Durham cattle, which would soon have 
 grown into a valuable property. Not content with these, 
 he went down to Texas in the fall, and bought four or 
 five hundred Texan bullocks, which he intended, no doubt, 
 to drive home by the same route that the herd had taken 
 that had formerly aroused my indignation by trespassing 
 on my unfenced "estate." On account of cattle disease 
 a detour was necessary, by which the arrival of the herd 
 was delayed, and for the last portion of the journey 
 there was little or nothing for them to eat. On the 
 arrival of the survivors there was, on the two square miles 
 in cultivation, a hundred acres of Indian corn (which 
 had to be reserved for the shorthorns) and about twenty 
 tons of hay. The speculator soon realised his difficulty, 
 for he commenced advertising for hay, but as this com- 
 modity had generally but little saleable value no one 
 put up more than was sufficient for his own needs. More- 
 over, he had forgotten, or never heard, that Texan cattle 
 have never been accustomed to hay, and don't know 
 what to do with it. 
 
 The " proprietor " was absent, or I should greatly have 
 
 liked to interview him. L and I went into the 
 
 stockyard, extending over a hundred acres. The weather 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 for the season was mild, but snow had fallen to a depth 
 of three or four inches. A number of snow-covered 
 mounds were scattered about the stockyard, as if it was 
 a cemetery. Beneath these mounds lay, unstripped of 
 their hides, the bullocks that had already died of hunger. 
 On the surface of the snow, too weak to rise, each with a 
 modicum of hay in front of him, lay the remainder that 
 had not yet succumbed. I shall never forget the look of 
 reproachful surprise in their magnificent eyes. " What 
 do you mean me to do with this ? " 
 
 My farewells in Chicago were soon made. The 
 sportsmen who used to come out and shoot with us, or 
 to see us shoot on the prairie, were now generals and 
 colonels, and mostly wooden-legged or one-armed. I had 
 seen Chicago in its childhood ; it was now grown up, 
 and it didn't appeal to me any more. But even recent 
 revelations cannot take away my pleasant memories of 
 the youthful city I used to visit in my youthful days 
 when, tired by the solitude of the prairie, I wanted a little 
 society, or a day's fun. I should not care to see Chicago 
 again, but I should like to revisit the prairie once more, 
 and see how the trees are prospering that I planted fifty 
 years ago. 
 
 Before leaving New York I had laid in a supply of 
 the best tobacco procurable, which I fondly hoped the 
 Liverpool Custom-House officers would permit me to 
 retain. I had already (as I mentioned in another book) 
 had a great slice of luck when coming home from Malta, 
 when my brother, a lieutenant R.N., came on board the 
 troopship on her arrival at Portsmouth, and escorted me 
 and my Gibraltar purchases to the Victoria and Albert^ 
 on which he was serving. My venture on the present 
 occasion was of far better quality, and my anxiety all the 
 
 104 
 
America. — III 
 
 more poignant. I had ten pounds of Virginian leaf in 
 half-pound cakes, which had cost me a dollar per lb. 
 To the inquiry, "Have you anything to declaire?" I 
 replied that I supposed I was permitted etc. etc. — the 
 usual thing on those occasions. The officer's suspicions 
 were evidently aroused, and he commenced rummaging 
 in my bag, when, of course, he came on the cakes of 
 tobacco, and, indeed, the bag contained little else. Giving 
 a quick glance round, he carried one of the cakes to his 
 nose — which I remember was a very large one — and, 
 after an appreciative sniff, put it in his pocket, closed 
 and marked my bag, and left me without a word, and 
 uncertain whether to be thankful or angry. 
 
 105 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 BRIDGNORTH. 
 
 FATE, chance, luck, or whatever any one chooses to 
 call it, took me, soon after my return from America, 
 to the neighbourhood of Bridgnorth, where I leased a clay 
 farm of from 400 to 500 acres. It was rather a rash 
 proceeding, but I wanted to be doing something, and 
 had no prophetic insight into the future of farming on 
 strong land. In the early sixties changes which were to 
 have a great effect on the future of country life and of 
 agriculture were within visible distance. The scythe, 
 which for centuries had done such excellent service not 
 only in its more legitimate line, but also, not infrequently, 
 in warfare, was being gradually superseded by mowing 
 and reaping machines. The vast majority of these 
 hailed from America, where they had long been considered 
 indispensable by every farmer who owned a forty-acre lot. 
 Some of the leading English manufacturers of agricultural 
 implements had tried unsuccessfully to improve on the 
 American patents. The most futile, if the most amusing, 
 attempt was that of a firm who invented a machine which 
 horses were to push instead of pull ; but this truly original 
 suggestion was not destined to be long-lived. Welsh and 
 Irish labourers were beginning regretfully to discontinue 
 the journey they had made, during harvest-time, to the 
 same farm for many years. Their abstention was to be 
 
 106 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 followed a little later — as rats leave a sinking ship — by 
 that of the natives, who were become " ambitious of the 
 town." Cattle-dealers, an honest and capable set of men, 
 and hitherto the chief dependence of the stock-breeding 
 farmers, were to be driven out by the auctioneers, and 
 the value of land in clay counties was to drop to nothing 
 at all. 
 
 I soon found there were disadvantages in a position 
 I had rather hastily assumed, yet it was not long before 
 I saw that I might have done worse. True, there was 
 little chance of making money, or of getting much profit 
 intellectually, still, I might be able to keep what I 
 had. There was, at any rate, plenty of fresh air, any 
 amount of hunting and shooting at what would now be 
 considered infinitesimal cost, and association with men 
 who, if not very clever in the city acceptation of the 
 word, were an honest and true-hearted race, and some of 
 them even in those days interesting characters. They 
 would be still more interesting could they be met with 
 to-day, but, alas 1 they have departed, and their successors, 
 however worthy, are of a different sort. The isolation of 
 that part of Shropshire was favourable to "character," 
 which flies the intrusion of strangers as an owl from the 
 teasing attention of small birds. 
 
 At that date most of the visitors to Bridgnorth arrived 
 by a unicorn coach from Shifnal. It was the time when 
 the glories of the old coaching days w^ere over, and their 
 place had not yet been filled by the railroads. The few 
 coaches yet remaining on the roads were certainly not 
 fitted to survive. I shall never forget the way in which 
 the three skeleton horses attached to the Shifnal bus 
 crawled along, while the driver nodded on his box. It 
 was indeed only right that by a leisurely approach the 
 
 107 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 stranger should be prepared for the peaceful calm of 
 what was almost, not quite, the sleepiest town in a county 
 where none were too lively. In addition to the Shifnal 
 coach there was a rather better two-horse bus from 
 Wolverhampton, which contrived to continue running long 
 after the opening of the Severn Valley Railway. This 
 was driven for many years by a man named Sefton, a 
 fine specimen of the stalwart Shropshire breed, and with 
 the rare endowment of a fund of native humour. This 
 gift he utilised — as is the case with humorists — in a 
 way that must sometimes have been prejudicial to his 
 business. When Mr. Sefton got a little " market peart," 
 the return journey from Wolverhampton was not always 
 entirely free from danger. The hill by which he had to 
 make the descent into Bridgnorth is one of the steepest 
 in England, and it was his delight if he had a nervous 
 passenger, or one whom he chose to consider so, to gallop 
 down this steep hill at top speed. Of course his 
 knowledge of the road, and of his horses (and their 
 understanding — which horses endowed with a little 
 humour must surely have arrived at — of just how much 
 was earnest and how much brag), made his recklessness 
 less dangerous than it appeared to the stranger who was 
 experiencing it for the first time. A regular traveller 
 soon got to enjoy the fright of the novice as much as the 
 driver himself — or else to pretend to. Sefton's skill, or 
 luck, generally brought him and his fares through safely, 
 but once a portion of his freight was shot through the 
 bow-window of the little public-house — which stands, or 
 used to stand, at the bottom of the hill — to the great dis- 
 comfort of the two elderly landladies. 
 
 Not that Bridgnorth in those days had a monopoly 
 of isolation. There were places even more secluded and 
 
 108 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 harder to arrive at, and on that account even more 
 primitive. Some of these to this day preserve the 
 personaHty — so to speak — which Bridgnorth may con- 
 gratulate itself, fortunately on insufficient grounds, on 
 having lost. Bewdley, near which town I afterwards 
 resided for some years, has scarcely undergone any 
 change since the days when it used to return two Members 
 to Parliament, though the thousands of trippers may be 
 too much taken up with admiring the blooming cherry 
 orchards, or studying the intricacies of the river, to take 
 much notice of the natives, who would prove at least 
 equally worthy of their attention. As a student of their 
 peculiar traditional customs, I must confess some of these 
 incited rather to annoyance than admiration. It was 
 difficult for a resident requiring a new door to appreciate 
 the humour of the Bewdley carpenter, who would take 
 the measure with his arms, which he would strive, of 
 course unsuccessfully, to keep rigidly unmovable till he 
 reached his shop. On his way home he would be 
 accosted with the usual hospitable formula, " Come and 
 have a drink, mate." To which the grieved but con- 
 scientious workman would reply, " You d d fool, can't 
 
 you see as I've got the measure for a door?" 
 
 There was a large tannery in Bewdley, at which in the 
 season the arrival of wagons laden with bark from the 
 neighbouring forest made quite a busy scene. I would 
 see from my window a loaded wagon drawn up, from 
 which the horses would be removed. Some one would 
 strew a few slabs of bark by the side of the wagon nearest 
 the river. A big man — deus ex inachind — would then 
 emerge from the tannery armed with a crowbar. This he 
 would place under the wheel, while another man held the 
 shafts. A jerk, and over went the wagon ; surely a clever 
 
 109 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 if primitive mode of unloading. Almost before the crash 
 had travelled up to my window, the empty wagon had 
 been reinstated, with a haste that may possibly have 
 served to keep the proprietor in ignorance of the strain to 
 which his vehicle had been subjected. 
 
 There were some curious folk about Bewdley in those 
 days, as very likely there are still. About the drollest 
 was a man named Griffiths, a commission agent, from 
 whom I used occasionally to buy linseed cake. He 
 was quite without education, except of the most ele- 
 mentary sort, yet posed as an author (of historical plays, 
 amongst other things), and writer of poetry. On market 
 days he used to try and persuade his customers to 
 purchase his doggerel, which certainly had neither rhyme 
 nor reason. Griffiths actually came forward as a 
 Radical candidate for Bewdley at the General Election 
 (I remember his informing me of the fact as he walked 
 about Bridgnorth market with a big sample of cake 
 under his arm) and obtained one vote — his own. He 
 used to be favoured with a considerable amount of chaff, 
 but no rhinoceros could have been more impervious, and 
 his folly may have brought grist to the mill. Many years 
 afterwards, when living near Kidderminster, 1 came across 
 a book purporting to be a history of the town and its most 
 notable citizens, when to my surprise I found my old 
 linseed-cake friend exalted into "one of our worthies." 
 It struck me that Kidderminster must have been rather 
 hard up ! * . 
 
 But a reputation for eccentricity may have been in 
 those days a paying asset, though to-day it might consign 
 its possessor to a lunatic asylum. 
 
 Another amusing character, as I hope he still is, was 
 the agent from whom I used to buy artificial manure, and 
 
 no 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 whom I must have known for about forty years. His 
 delight was in long words and high polite phraseology, 
 which, when he was offended — fortunately a rare occur- 
 rence — would diverge into an exaggeration of Maryatt's 
 " bloody politeful." One day not so very long ago I 
 found him at the bar of the Lion Hotel, Kidderminster, 
 having a rather heated argument with a farmer about 
 Phryne, of all people. " Here," he exclaimed as I entered, 
 " is some one who can decide the question." Then turning 
 to me, " This gentleman and myself have had a little 
 difference of opinion. Would you have the great kind- 
 ness to inform us who Phryne was ? I have been trying 
 to persuade my friend that she was a lady of doubtful 
 antecedents." I felt a little astonished, though I was 
 fairly well used to his excursions into matters having 
 little or no connection with the artificial manure trade. 
 " Not very doubtful," I replied ; " Phryne was a ..." 
 I never inquired what the farmer's opinion of Phryne 
 might have been, or how he became interested in her 
 character, but he may have bought a cow or a mare 
 on whom the name had been bestowed by a previous 
 owner. 
 
 There was a young fellow who used to attend the 
 Bridgnorth market with whom I dealt occasionally, chiefly, 
 I think, to begin with, because he played a very good 
 game of billiards. Once I sold him a quantity of beans ; 
 when he paid me he had the assurance to dock me several 
 pounds for quite an insufficient reason. I was standing on 
 the steps of the newly built Market Hall (which no one 
 used, all business being done in the street), when, seeing him 
 
 some distance off, I called out in a loud voice, " B , you 
 
 are a thief." It made quite a sensation. I had not seen him 
 for over thirty years, when one day, being at the Talbot 
 
 III 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Hall, Kidderminster, one market day on political business, 
 I came across my friend of the beans, old looking and 
 almost stone deaf. Rather to my surprise he accosted 
 me at the top of his voice. " Do you remember calling 
 
 out to me in Bridgnorth market, ' B , you are a 
 
 thief? ' " The farmers raised a roar of laughter, and 
 
 B seemed to enjoy the joke as much as any one 
 
 else. 
 
 The first year I was in Salop there was a good deal of 
 charcoal burning ; several ironworks on the Severn banks 
 belonging to Mr. Foster (who afterwards purchased the 
 Apley estate) used charcoal in the manufacture of iron. 
 Salop iron was then thought the best in the country. A 
 year or two afterwards these works were standing idle, and 
 I never heard any more of charcoal-made iron. The 
 charcoal burners were a rough lot and notorious poachers. 
 Pheasants in the breeding season are very pugnacious, and 
 the burners were said to keep a gamecock to challenge 
 them, and put them hors de combat^ whence they speedily 
 went into the pot. 
 
 I had not, in deciding on my new home, paid much 
 attention to the scenery, and was therefore as much 
 surprised as pleased to find that the locality, if rather wild, 
 was exceedingly beautiful. The Severn flowed through 
 Bridgnorth, four miles away, and on the other side, near- 
 ing Ludlow, were the Clee Hills. Towards Shrewsbury 
 the VVrekin rose out of a fairly level country, while within 
 a drive the Caradoc uplifted its peak in the neighbourhood 
 of Church Stretton. Bridgnorth itself was a quaint old 
 town, with its Town Hall (the council chamber, apparently 
 only to be reached by a ladder from the High Street), 
 standing erect on its props in the centre of the roadway, 
 as if waiting for another flood, and its fine old timbered 
 
 112 
 
«^^-^^^■ ^^^^'^'-'-'^t^^^^- 
 
 West Front of Christ Church, Oxford (1840). 
 
 [See page 49^ 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 houses. It has long since been provided with a railway of 
 the sort one would suppose it to have desired, which 
 travels through a number of old-fashioned places till it 
 arrives at Shrewsbury, formerly considered an Ultima 
 Thule. I suppose the approaching traveller, craning his 
 neck out of the carriage window, still compares Bridgnorth 
 to Jerusalem, though the surrounding country is scarcely 
 a replica of the Holy Land, nor do the Wheatland farmers, 
 unless they have recently changed a great deal, bear any 
 close resemblance to the Jews. My neighbours almost to 
 a man were sportsmen, and fortunate in that the locality 
 was an ideal one for the sportsman with a limited income. 
 They made but little money, and that little they spent 
 freely. There was a good deal of wheat grown on the 
 strong land, which indeed would grow but little else, and 
 the price was not yet absolutely prohibitive. A great 
 number of Hereford cattle were bred and fatted on the 
 rich grazing lands in Corve Dale and similar localities. If 
 not cattle-kings, the Shropshire farmers were a well-to-do 
 and independent class. Since I left America the farmers 
 in the States have been practically ruined by the Trusts, 
 and it seems too much to hope that the characteristics 
 for which the English farmer has so long been noted have 
 a chance of surviving much longer. 
 
 My farming began very badly with the most disastrous 
 season I ever saw or heard of On many farms in my 
 neighbourhood no corn was carried to the rickyard. For 
 some reason, probably the eccentricity or impecuniosity of 
 my predecessor, I had less grain to harvest than should 
 have been the case, and some of my wheat I managed to 
 stack, but greatly out of condition. One farm on which 
 I had the shooting was a melancholy sight, the wheat 
 standing in the fields in October, the shocks grown 
 H 113 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 together, while the oats which had been cocked were mere 
 heaps of ill-smelling black dust. 
 
 In addition to the shooting on my farm of four or five 
 hundred acres, I had shooting rights over the remainder of 
 my landlord's estate ; and these extended to rabbits, to 
 the great annoyance of the tenants, one of whom was 
 accustomed to state that he had lost a cow in a hole 
 which I had had dug when searching for a lost ferret. 
 The whole district, notwithstanding the stiff clay, was 
 overrun with rabbits, which required an immense amount 
 of keeping down, or they would soon have eaten up 
 everything, as in Australia. It took quite a year's 
 apprenticeship before I was able to make head against 
 them. Afterwards, with careful management, they never 
 gave me any trouble, but a good deal of pleasure, except 
 when I happened to be asked out to lunch, and my host 
 thoughtfully regaled me on rabbit pie ! 
 
 Fortunately it was considered bad form to have one of 
 these little beasts on the table. They were carefully 
 reserved for the weekly advent of the " higgler " — a race 
 of men even more useful to the small farmer than the 
 cattle-dealer — who found appreciative customers in the 
 " Black Country." For a clay country partridges were 
 plentiful, and we had an occasional stray pheasant, and a 
 few woodcock. There were stubbles in those days, not 
 the bare shaven things that now usurp the name, but a 
 thick cover, a foot or so high, interwoven with all sorts of 
 weeds, and making better lying than swedes. On the 
 advent of the reaping machine, partridges which had been 
 accustomed in September to lie like stones till they were 
 kicked up under the nose of the old pointer, soon de- 
 veloped new habits, and began to run down the furrow 
 as soon as you came into the field. This necessitated 
 
 114 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 driving ; but for the destruction of the old stubbles, people 
 might yet be found " pottering," as some call it, with a 
 pointer — than which I feel sure there was no more enjoy- 
 able or sportsmanlike way of shooting. However, I soon 
 found that I was not to be entirely dependent for my 
 sport on shooting. 
 
 I had only played cricket in " aquatics " while at Eton, 
 and was surprised when I first joined the Bridgnorth 
 Cricket Club to find that my play had improved instead 
 of deteriorating. I had lost touch with all my old friends 
 while in America, but found six or seven Christ Church 
 men members of the club. The majority had been at the 
 House with me, but, having lived all their lives in one of 
 the dullest neighbourhoods in England, they were not 
 particularly lively. One of them had nearly killed me 
 when a friend was bowling lobs to him on the Ch. Ch. 
 ground, and I was doing ditto hard by to some one else. 
 A man named Colley used to play regularly with the 
 B.C.C., who had made over seventy runs in an innings in 
 the Oxford and Cambridge match ; he never made any 
 with us, and I suppose the bowling was not good 
 enough for him. One of the annual matches played by 
 the B.C.C. was on the late Lord Stamford's ground at 
 Enville. Lord Stamford used to play with the Enville 
 club when staying at the Hall. He bowled very fast 
 underhand, a practice that, if reintroduced in the present 
 day, might prove very destructive to good batsmen — 
 which we were not. On a hard wicket the way his 
 lordship used to make the ball whiz about one's ears was 
 a caution ; and what particularly vexed him was to see 
 the intended victim taking things calmly instead of 
 funking. With all his faults — one of which was the over- 
 preservation of game, whereby the farmers on the estate 
 
 115 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 were as surely eaten up as if they had themselves been 
 rabbits or pheasants — Lord Stamford was immensely 
 popular in the district, and his victories on the turf (which 
 would have been more considerable had not his hot 
 temper led him so frequently into disagreement with his 
 trainer or jockey for the time being) were welcomed with 
 enthusiasm. I remember being one day at Wolver- 
 hampton market, when I saw a small landowner and 
 farmer from the Enville district walking on the other side 
 of the street. He was laughing to himself, and slapping 
 his thigh at intervals when I crossed the street and asked 
 him what the dickens was the matter. " Matter ! " 
 he said ; well, not much the matter. Only Lord Stam- 
 ford won a hundred thousand from Lord D last 
 
 night." 
 
 How he had got the news, and whether it was true, I 
 
 don't know, but there was an impression that Lord D 
 
 was not a very desirable friend to the Lord of Enville, 
 though the latter might have been supposed to be able to 
 take care of himself 
 
 It might seem that with hunting, shooting, and cricket 
 I should have found plenty of occupation even without 
 farming, which last required a great amount of time and 
 attention. The chief market towns were at a great 
 distance, Ludlow, the best market for Hereford cattle, 
 was sixteen miles off; Wolverhampton twenty, and 
 Shrewsbury twenty-four. This last opened at eight, so 
 that to drive there one had to start at 5 a.m. If you 
 arrived a little late everything had been bought up by the 
 dealers, who would ask a big profit. Yet the fact of being 
 hard worked did not prevent me from taking up another 
 occupation, and from this I reaped — while doing, I hoped, 
 some good in my generation — a fund of instruction and 
 
 116 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 amusement. Needless to say the new occupation was 
 politics. I had been brought up a Tory, and did not find 
 that my long stay in America had done anything to 
 change my opinions. Indeed, I think it was rather the 
 reverse. Though not a voter for the borough, I soon began 
 to take an interest in Bridgnorth politics. Several of the 
 " Freemen " worked for me, or in some other way came 
 under my influence, and I was frequently asked to try my 
 hand on some one who had managed to escape the net 
 which was pretty closely drawn. This book has nothing 
 to do with politics, but I cannot refrain from giving an 
 instance of the strange way in which the Freeman of 
 Bridgnorth regarded his privilege of " exercising the 
 franchise." 
 
 Once on the eve of an election I was asked to canvass 
 a Freeman of good position and more than average 
 
 intelligence, one R , a farmer, over whose land I had 
 
 the shooting, and who eked out his farming by making 
 draining tiles. There were three candidates in the field 
 for one vacant seat : Mr. Henry Whitmore of Apley, a Tory, 
 
 and R 's landlord ; Mr. Pritchard, a rich Bridgnorth 
 
 banker of no particular politics ; and Sir John (afterwards 
 Lord) Acton, a Liberal. The situation was made more 
 
 complicated by the fact that R 's farm was on the point 
 
 of being sold to Pritchard, while Sir John's agent had 
 developed a mania for draining, which caused a vast 
 
 number of draining tiles to pass from R 's yard to 
 
 Aldenham. I called in one day after shooting to inter- 
 view R , who seemed delighted to explain matters. 
 
 *' Naturally I should have voted for Whitmore, but he is 
 selling the farm to Pritchard. Then Sir John is getting a 
 lot of tiles off me. I'd best not vote at all." 
 
 I demurred to this, and put in a few words about the 
 
 117 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 farmers' duty to the Tory party, and so on ; but he did 
 not appear to be greatly moved. 
 
 At last, " I'll go and fetch my book." 
 
 Leaving me, he returned shortly with a book contain- 
 ing the accounts of his sales of draining tiles. After some 
 time spent in calculations, " I find," he said, "that Whit- 
 more has had quite a lot of tiles ; not so many as Sir 
 John, but he's not my landlord. Pritchard will be soon ; 
 but he hasn't had any tiles. You may say I shall be 
 pleased to vote for Whitmore." 
 
 As I have before remarked I was never much of a 
 fisherman, but I now possessed a trout stream, a very 
 little one, and hard to fish on account of the overhanging 
 trees. I used to " lade " it every year, damming the 
 stream, and running off the water through a number 
 of wooden troughs. The men enjoyed the "sport" 
 immensely. I used to get a few pails full of moderate- 
 sized trout, which else would have been utilised by the 
 herons from Lord Forester's heronry. In the first year 
 of my tenancy I came one day on the son of a neighbour- 
 ing landlord and J. P. walking calmly up the brook with 
 his rod. " I've got quite a nice basket of trout," he 
 said (so he had). " I come here every year." He did not 
 offer me any trout, but I said nothing, as we were very 
 good friends. That autumn there was a General Election. 
 I had been doing a little political work, and a man living 
 on the other side of the country, proprietor of two or 
 three small farms in my neighbourhood, who had been 
 in correspondence with me about his tenant's political 
 leanings, advised me to go over his farms some day and 
 see if I could find anything to shoot at. One day I went 
 with a sporting friend to look for them. They were hard 
 to find and not much use, with the exception of one, 
 
 u8 
 
Bridgnorth 
 
 where there was a patch of three or four acres of heather 
 in front of the house. This was full of birds, and we 
 made up quite a nice little bag. Taking leave of the 
 farmer's wife, whom we presented with a brace of birds, we 
 told her we would pay her farm another visit very shortly. 
 " Oh," said she, '' that bean't our land as you shot 'em on. 
 
 That belongs to Squire P " — whose son had caught my 
 
 trout. I wrote and apologised, not very humbly, as I was 
 thinking of a " Roland for an Oliver," and got a very nice 
 polite reply saying it didn't matter at all. 
 
 I had another proof that it is unwise to be hard on 
 any one for a small peccadillo when you are at all likely 
 to be in the same box yourself. I was one day walking 
 along a footpath leading to an outlying farm about four 
 miles from my house, where I had the shooting, when a 
 number of quite large birds got off the stubble at some 
 distance and settled in the big straggling hedge adjoining 
 the footpath. I had not the remotest idea what they were, 
 but when my dog pointed in the hedge and they flew out, 
 I got a brace right and left, and on picking them up, saw 
 to my surprise that they were grouse. I heard afterwards 
 that there were always a few grouse on the Brown Clee 
 Hill adjoining. The next market day at Bridgnorth a 
 very rude little man came up to me, and said he heard 
 I had been poaching on his shoot, and had shot some 
 grouse. I explained the matter, saying it was owing to 
 curiosity on my part, and that I would send him the 
 grouse if he wished ; but he made a great row, and at last 
 I walked away, " leaving him to it," as they say. A week 
 or two afterwards my bailiff and keeper told me he had 
 seen the little man, who was some sort of a bagman, when 
 driving along the Ludlow road, about three fields from my 
 house, stop his horse, get out of his trap, and shoot over 
 
 119 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 the hedge into a covey of partridges grouped on the 
 stubble. This was a very soothing quid pi'o quo, the 
 more so as on the appearance of my man the Httle 
 bagman had jumped into his trap and driven off without 
 the birds. 
 
 120 
 
/' 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 CATTLE-DEALERS IN THE SIXTIES. 
 
 IF, as seems fair, the provider of sport is entitled to 
 take rank as a sportsman, the leading cattle-dealers 
 in South Shropshire had an undeniable claim to the 
 honour, since without them sport in the district would 
 have been impossible for men of limited incomes. In 
 addition, they had the great recommendation, than which 
 nothing is more characteristic of the true sportsman, of 
 finding their own sport and enjoyment in the business 
 in which they found themselves placed, and which they 
 followed, to the exclusion of all other matters whatsoever. 
 
 It is hard to say how, in the days before auctions, the 
 Wheatland farmers, many of whom never dreamt of keep- 
 ing banking accounts, would have got on without the 
 cattle-dealers. There were a number of them in my 
 day, and of these, two, of quite opposite characteristics, 
 were notable men. 
 
 The first of these, Tom Davis by name, was certainly 
 the most remarkable cattle dealer I^ever heard of, and to 
 do him justice would require the pen of a Smiles. He 
 was a little, wiry, fresh-coloured man of about forty, with 
 a gentlemanly address, and an insinuating smile, which 
 could not but have its effect on all who came across him, 
 from gentlemen farmers to butchers. He was one of the 
 best and quickest judges of sheep or cattle that ever went 
 
 X2I 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 into a market. By seeing him so frequently about our 
 neighbourhood, and from knowing that he had a large 
 farm a few miles away, many got to fancy that he was 
 merely a local dealer, and our peculiar attribute. So also 
 may have thought the farmers of many other districts ; 
 but the fact was very different. He lived at Wolver- 
 hampton, in the Black Country, finding that a convenient 
 centre from which to travel all over the Midlands. On 
 Monday he attended Liverpool market, a journey of 
 over a hundred miles, and to reach there in time for 
 the market, then held much earlier than is now the 
 custom, he would have to spend a good portion of 
 Sunday night in the train. Travelling back after market 
 he would reach home late on Monday evening. On 
 Tuesday there was a large weekly market near home. 
 On Wednesday he would be at Wolverhampton, where 
 he nominally lived, and on Thursday at Birmingham. 
 I forget his Friday's task, but the day was certainly not 
 unoccupied. Saturday (except when there was a monthly 
 or fortnightly cattle market which he wished to attend, 
 and which might be in any county) he would devote to 
 looking over his farms, of which he had two or three 
 large ones always crowded with sheep and cattle, or to 
 driving about amongst his numerous customers. When 
 the season permitted — that is, always except in mid- 
 winter — he would, at the conclusion of each market, 
 ransack the neighbourhood he happened to be in. How 
 he found time and energy to visit all these markets, in 
 addition to calling on his legions of customers, was a 
 mystery even to those who knew him best. But he 
 managed it somehow. He had, of course, to pay the 
 penalty of his success and popularity. If he had desired 
 ever so earnestly to do less business, he would have been 
 
 122 
 
Cattle-Dealers in the Sixties 
 
 forced to continue in the old groove or give up altogether, 
 as many of his customers would have nothing to do with 
 any other dealer while he was to the fore. Failure — not 
 that he ever failed — to keep an appointment would 
 frequently have meant a financial crisis to a hard-working 
 but overburdened farmer. At night, when other dealers 
 were enjoying a glass, or glasses, in the bar of their 
 favourite inn, and waxing eloquent over the day's 
 successes or failures, he would be engaged, after a frugal 
 meal, in going through the day's accounts with his clerk. 
 These were always posted to his customers next morning, 
 and he was himself a good accountant and correspondent. 
 Bank holidays were his great delight ; no child could have 
 more enjoyed what he was pleased to consider a holiday. 
 Contrary to most people's ideas he would have liked a 
 few more of them, and he probably thought that Sir John 
 Lubbock — as he was then called — was the most practical 
 and businesslike of statesmen. He would start from home 
 at daybreak, driving twenty miles or so into the country 
 with his big brown horse, which was almost as well known 
 in the district as its master, to a farm where he had pre- 
 viously arranged to look at some beasts. From thence he 
 would get the farmer to drive him to another place, whence 
 he would be forwarded to another ; in good times selling, 
 perhaps, at the next farm the stock bought at the last. 
 He was such a valuable man to the country that the 
 farmers would do anything for him ; but it was not 
 every one he would visit. Towards night he would 
 have worked round to the farm at which he had left 
 his horse in the morning. Then came the twenty-mile 
 drive home, where he would arrive sometime in the small 
 hours, having thoroughly enjoyed his holiday. Perhaps 
 his plan was as healthy a way of spending his time as 
 
 123 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 that of many others. Oddly enough, though he did a 
 large business, often amounting to thousands of pounds a 
 week, with a London agent, he had never been in London. 
 It was said that he once started, and got as far as Rugby, 
 when he returned — I forget why. The enormous amount 
 of work he had to get through found him out at last, and 
 he died a comparatively young man, from a slight illness 
 which he had left himself no surplus power to resist. No 
 man could possibly have been more missed, and he left a 
 gap that it took a dozen of the ordinary dealers to fill, 
 and even then it was not filled in the same style. He was 
 not above the necessary arts of a dealer, whose absence 
 would have caused many to put him down as a fraud, and 
 without which he would not long have remained a dealer. 
 But his depreciation of his customers' wares, and " cracking 
 up" of his own were exceedingly moderate, if not absolutely 
 true or conspicuous by their absence. He was a thoroughly 
 honest man, and it would have been hard to find any one 
 in any walk of life — I say this advisedly — more respected. 
 Times have altered since then, and it is not risking much 
 to prophesy that his like will never appear again. One of 
 what he considered his amusements is worth noting. In 
 the Birmingham cattle market when trade was dull, and 
 butchers — which was seldom the case — deaf to his blandish- 
 ments, he would fill up the time by making careful estimates 
 of the weight of the cattle he had for sale. With these on 
 next market day he would compare the real weight as 
 returned by the butchers to whom the cattle had been 
 sold. Cattle in a dull market are generally sold by 
 weight. This amusement was all very well and improving 
 for the assistant, but it was a great proof of modesty that 
 he should imagine that there was any room for improve- 
 ment in him. But it is the men with most knowledge who 
 
 124 
 
Cattle-Dealers in the Sixties 
 
 are most anxious to acquire more. Just as the busiest 
 men always have a little spare time, whereas the idlers 
 never have time for anything. 
 
 After his death it seemed as if very little good had 
 come of all this slaving process, and some people went so 
 far as to pity him, in that — in their view — he had got no 
 fun out of his life. I certainly knew him well enough to 
 be certain that he would have got no enjoyment out of it 
 in any other way. All men are not similarly constituted, 
 and there may be professions generally thought less 
 seductive than cattle-dealing, on the followers of which a 
 good deal of pity is wasted by men who cannot understand 
 that there are persons who, fortunately for themselves, take 
 a pride in doing well whatever they have to do. The 
 last time I saw him, he knew he was dying. His eyes had 
 a weary look, whether from illness, or because he could 
 not go on dealing, it is impossible to say. 
 
 " God bless you, old chap," I said, but the words 
 seemed to have very little meaning to him. Any heaven 
 without a cattle market at least twice a week he would 
 have found very dull. He looked wearied and worn out, 
 and motioned me away. He had been an honest man 
 and wronged no one. On the contrary, he had done much 
 good, and forgiven many who had wronged him. I think 
 his only feeling with regard to dying was a dread of 
 enforced idleness. There are many to whom this would 
 not be a very terrifying prospect. 
 
 It would have been quite impossible for Tom Davis, 
 even had he been more zealous and energetic than the 
 reality, to do all the work of a district which included 
 Corve Dale and other noted cattle-raising centres. Ben 
 Cooper of Pattingham, who shared the trade — I am sure 
 the idea of "rivalry" never suggested itself to either of 
 
 125 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 them — which before the introduction of auctions must have 
 been exceedingly profitable, was equally well known and 
 trusted. Yet no two men could have been greater 
 contrasts. All Tom Davis required, even after a deal of 
 exceptional magnitude, was a cup of tea, and I never 
 remember seeing him touch a glass of liquor. Ben was a 
 hard-headed old chap who could, and would, take any 
 quantity of whisky, brandy, or gin, good, bad, or 
 indifferent, and it was reported of him that he had tried 
 the hardness of his skull against the curb stones of all the 
 neighbouring market towns. He died not very long ago, 
 having survived his more temperate colleague for many 
 years. There was little to choose between the judgment of 
 the two men, though I have heard some say that Ben was 
 the better judge of a beast — he could scarcely have been 
 much better. I was myself a witness of the celerity with 
 which he could price a number of cattle with, it seemed, 
 merely a glance of his eye. During the rinderpest scare 
 in the winter of 1866, when the plague seemed to be 
 advancing towards our neighbourhood, he was fearful that 
 the restrictions imposed on the moving of cattle would 
 make it difficult for him to supply his customers in the 
 spring. He therefore asked me (and no doubt a number 
 of others) to feed some cattle for him till the beginning of 
 May, which, if not permitted to remove, he would slaughter 
 on the premises, and for which he would pay eightpence 
 per lb. I thought this quite good enough, though as a 
 rule I did not do much winter cattle-feeding, and I 
 managed to feed twenty-two beasts, of which I was getting 
 rather tired before the time came to hand them over. 
 Being doubtful of my own judgment, I asked the Scotch 
 bailiff of a neighbouring magnate to come over and value 
 them, when, after an hour or so's consideration, we arrived 
 
 126 
 
Cattle-Dealers in the Sixties 
 
 at the sum of ^510. Old Ben turned up after dark on 
 the appointed day, and without having his horse taken 
 out, marched off to the cow-house. He came out in 
 five minutes, or less. " If I give you a cheque for five 
 hundred and five," he said, " there won't be much the 
 matter." So I thought, and he wrote out the cheque, 
 had a drink or two, and was gone. 
 
 I am not sure that in those days it was an advantage 
 to a dealer to be temperate and sober. Apparently few 
 dealers used to think so. If a dealer determined on being 
 temperate, he had to start with a cast-iron will, while if he 
 was to be the reverse, he had J to be provided with a cast- 
 iron head and inside, to enable him to swallow with 
 impunity the awful stuff served out at the publics he was 
 forced to frequent. There are men still surviving who 
 have got drunk after every market for forty years on the 
 vilest of vile liquors. One of these, a clever fellow enough, 
 who had made a large fortune, once remarked to me in a 
 hurt tone, when half-seas over, that he supposed I did not 
 think him fit to black Tom Davis' boots ; to which I quite 
 honestly replied that I didn't. There were' some curious 
 characters among farmers in those days, many of whom 
 could imagine no greater insult than for a man to refuse to 
 
 drink with them. Jerry , one of the best-known farmers 
 
 in Corve Dale, who kept a fine herd of Hereford cattle, 
 used always to feed a big lot of bullocks for the Christmas 
 market, and for these there would be considerable com- 
 petition. Tom Davis would very likely go to look at 
 them, but, as he would not stop to make a night of it, he 
 had but little chance of acquiring them. The day after 
 his visit Ben might rattle up to the door with his 
 thoroughbred horse in the shafts. If, as was likely, it was 
 getting dark, he would ask for a lantern, and go straight 
 
 127 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 off to look at the bullocks. In about two minutes, during 
 which time the man would have taken out his horse, he 
 would come back. *' How much for them bullocks?" 
 
 Jerry would ask twenty-five pounds, when Ben 
 
 would bid twenty. After supper the two would sit down 
 by the kitchen table, and try to drink one another under 
 it. By slow degrees, and with vast expenditure of 
 cider — to my astonishment it has recently been stated 
 in Parliament that cider is non-intoxicant — the seller's 
 price would come down, while the offer of the would-be 
 purchaser would rise to meet him. Once they were 
 reported to have been found in the morning, their arms 
 leaning on the table, both fast asleep. On one occasion 
 the battle raged for three days and nights, when old 
 Ben departed, looking as fresh as paint, but without the 
 bullocks. He may indeed have forgotten the object of 
 his coming. 
 
 It is hard in these times to imagine how any farmers 
 could have got on in this way, but the fact may be thus 
 accounted for. Their rents and payments were low, they 
 spent little or nothing on themselves except in drink. 
 Their labour bills were low, owing to most of their land 
 being in grass. The grass land was good, and they had 
 sufficient sense to value the famous herds of cattle which 
 grazed it. Fat beasts were dear, and they made their own 
 cider. 
 
 In addition to these two notable men there were scores 
 of little dealers, shrewd enough most of them, but unable 
 to make more than a living, owing, generally, to their love 
 of " a glass." A few of the smartest of these made money 
 during the rinderpest scare, when it was impossible to 
 get any cattle at all except through the benevolence of the 
 dealers, who charged what they liked, and were the only 
 
 128 
 
o 
 
 
 > 
 
 in 
 
 p 
 < 
 o 
 
Cattle-Dealers in the Sixties 
 
 people really conversant with the troublesome and 
 exacting regulations. One of these men, who leapt 
 suddenly into comparative affluence, though, like many 
 other dealers in those days, he could neither read nor 
 write, I knew very well, and he was useful to me on many 
 occasions. I remember him as usually having his head 
 bound up with a red silk handkerchief, in consequence, I 
 suppose, of an affray on the previous evening. He lived 
 close to Lord (then Sir John) Acton's place at Aldenham, 
 and was, if I am not mistaken, a tenant on the estate. VVe 
 had just had a fright, as the Government Inspector had 
 declared the cattle on Sir John's home farm to be infected 
 with rinderpest, and had ordered them all, about fifty in 
 number, to be pole-axed. According to the experience 
 elsewhere, we expected the plague to spread to our own 
 homesteads, but days and weeks passed without our fears 
 being realised. I called on the dealer, Adams by name, 
 to induce him to send me, as a special favour, some cattle 
 I urgently wanted. After our business was transacted he 
 said that if I had a few minutes to spare he would like to 
 show me something. He took me, with an air of mystery, 
 his finger on his lips, to the boundary of his farm, and, 
 looking over the hedge on to Sir John's home farm, pointed 
 out to me a thick crop of saffron — colchicum, or autumn 
 crocus — growing luxuriantly in the field on the other side. 
 This plant, as I well knew, was dangerous to cattle turned 
 out on it through carelessness or ignorance. Sir John 
 mistrusting, I suppose, native talent, had imported a new 
 agent from Norfolk, where (perhaps owing to the immunity 
 of the natives from gout) saffron may have been unknown. 
 The new agent turned some hungry cattle on to this field, 
 grateful, no doubt, for what he imagined "an early bite." 
 " Rinderpest," whispered Mr. Adams with a smile, as he 
 I 129 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 pointed over the hedge. Indeed, it was shortly decided by- 
 local judges, to our great relief, that the supposed cattle 
 plague was only a case of our old acquaintance " saffron," 
 and it must have been long before the agent forgot the 
 properties of that previously unknown herb. 
 
 130 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 FARMERS AS SPECIALISTS. 
 
 FORTY years ago there were more specialists to be 
 found among farmers than is now the case. Sir 
 Walter Scott's remark that a literary career should be 
 looked on rather as a walking stick than a crutch, applies 
 with equal force to a specialite as an aid to the more 
 commonplace work of the farmer, though in these days of 
 keen competition even the least profitable divergence 
 from the beaten path is unlikely to remain the monopoly 
 of the inventor for more than a season or two. In old 
 days the specialist was more fortunate. One of the 
 earliest and most successful was the now almost forgotten 
 " Simpson," who may have been indebted to his prosperity 
 for the simplicity of his methods. " Simpson " was the 
 embodiment of milk adulteration in the last century. 
 The original was probably a large dairy farmer in the 
 neighbourhood of London, a genial old fellow who 
 considered his special treatment, which was merely the 
 diluting of the milk as provided by the cow with as much 
 water as his customers would stand, a joke of the first 
 water; and indeed no joke is as good as the one that 
 pays you. There was probably a verb "to 'Simpson'/' 
 though certainly not in general use. Oddly enough 
 " Simpson's " customers were equally alive to the humour 
 of paying for new milk and getting the bluest of sky blue. 
 
 131 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Indeed, till quite recently a milkman taking his milk 
 from a farm would drive his cart straight to the pump, 
 and pump water into his cans, till, if the farmer 
 happened to be about, he was ordered to stop, when he 
 would, almost reluctantly, make the addition of a little 
 milk. There were curious ideas about milk in those days, 
 many people believing that it was chiefly composed of 
 calves' brains and chalk, but it is certain that " Simpson " 
 would never have authorised the expenditure that the 
 more costly of these ingredients would have involved. 
 He has departed, and, indeed, was scarcely fitted to sur- 
 vive. People are now so wanting in humour as to be 
 unable to see any joke in the adulteration of milk which 
 is now subjected to pains and penalties more or less 
 deterrent. The stream once so profitable to " Simpson " 
 and his successors has been diverted into other channels, 
 and the pumpers are now so skilful and energetic that 
 almost everything we eat or drink is more or less of a 
 make-believe. 
 
 Another once profitable specialite, which has also 
 come to grief, was taking farming pupils. While there 
 was still a profit to be extracted from the pleasant pursuit 
 of agriculture, numbers of young men of good family were 
 sent to noted farmers, chiefly in Norfolk and the Lothians, 
 to learn farming. Nowadays parents prefer their sons 
 to matriculate in stock-jobbing or wine-selling. Yet 
 surely the advantage of agricultural lore to any one 
 destined to succeed to an estate well out of the reach of 
 the jerry-builder is more obvious than ever. In the 
 sixties I used frequently to visit a Norfolk farmer who 
 occupied about 2000 acres of light land, all arable, with 
 the exception of one lOO-acre meadow. He was an 
 active young fellow, about thirty years old, already getting 
 
 132 
 
Farmers as Specialists 
 
 a little grey, and no wonder. His wife was a member of 
 a noted farming family, her father and brothers holding 
 about 7000 acres in the county. He had a large house, 
 formerly occupied by the local squire, which was packed 
 from attic to basement with pupils of whom he always 
 had five or six at ;^200 a year, and his rapidly increasing 
 family. A horse was kept for each pupil, and after break- 
 fast the hacks were brought round, and the cavalcade 
 accompanied their tutor round the farm. Instruction was 
 blended with amusement ; there was a good deal of lark- 
 ing over fences, and those who did not care to study 
 agricultural lore could, at any rate, learn to ride. One 
 day, I remember, we had a race, ten shillings entry, round 
 a lOO-acre field that was being got ready for swedes. 
 The going was first-rate, and, as I had been provided by 
 my host with a superior quad, I managed to distance the 
 lot. At dinner it was dress clothes and champagne. 
 There have been considerable changes since that day ; not 
 all for the worse. If there is no more champagne, neither 
 does the landlord send round keepers, when the corn is 
 about ankle high, to drive in stakes to prevent the tenant 
 from using a reaping machine. This was not an unusual 
 procedure in Norfolk. No doubt my friend's specialite 
 was a useful help in a bad season, but I used to think 
 that when the champagne and the horse's keep had been 
 paid for there was not much left of the ;^200. When 
 agriculture got into a bad way, farming pupils, like wheat, 
 fell lower and lower in the market. First to ^100, then 
 to ;^5o (when the " education " of the unfortunate youths 
 was limited to chaff-cutting, and other menial occupations), 
 and then to zero. The specialite was as dead as 
 " Simpson " or Queen Anne. 
 
 Later on there was the supplying of Shropshire sheep 
 
 133 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 (a breed that for many years was exceedingly fashionable 
 at home and abroad) to Americans, then just beginning 
 to turn their attention to the improving of their flocks — 
 this not before it was needed. Out of the new develop- 
 ment a number of Shropshire farmers, whose flocks were 
 above the ordinary, made fortunes, and these, no doubt, 
 supplied the genuine article. At cattle shows they would 
 lunch sumptuously about twenty times a day — and even 
 more frequently at the Royal — and each time with a differ- 
 ent American in tow. I used to wonder how they could 
 keep up even a pretence of an appetite. The Americans 
 were so ingenuous (a less unusual trait with them than is 
 generally supposed, if one may judge from the frequently 
 recurring reports of transatlantic victims to the old and 
 familiar " confidence trick "), that I am afraid a good 
 number got taken in. A young man, a neighbouring 
 farmer with whom I was acquainted, who was related 
 to a successful breeder of Shropshires, went into the 
 American business — as tipsters trade on the names of 
 famous jockeys — and I was for some time puzzled to 
 understand how he managed to supply his numerous 
 clients from quite a small flock. I had some lambs once 
 at a local sale, and to these my friend paid a good deal of 
 attention. They were eventually knocked down to him, 
 and, meeting him afterwards, he informed me — " only don't 
 tell any one " — that one of my lambs had started for 
 America. I forget the price, but it was, no doubt, more 
 than I received for the whole pen, and conformable to the 
 pedigree with which it had been supplied. And indeed 
 the purchaser might have had a worse lamb. I believe 
 that American taste has since shifted to Lincolns. In my 
 opinion — perhaps a little prejudiced — it would have been 
 better to stick to the Salopians. 
 
 134 
 
Farmers as Specialists 
 
 Yet another specialite that came in with the bad times 
 was the attempt made by farmers in the neighbourhood 
 of towns to subsidise their legitimate business by taking 
 lodgers. I once paid a farewell visit to an old friend who 
 was on the point of leaving the farm whereon he had been 
 born and bred. This move had been decided on not 
 from any desire to cast himself adrift from the associations 
 of a lifetime, but because the agriculture in which he 
 delighted had, so to speak, receded, and left him high and 
 dry. Rather, perhaps, his once quiet home had been 
 overwhelmed by a flood of buildings and villas occupied 
 by townsfolk with whom he had nothing in common. 
 He was a cheery old fellow, and I found him seated on 
 one of his boxes, watching the loading of the last van with 
 furniture, of which he had inherited or collected a vast but 
 not very valuable store. In his right hand was an oak 
 stick with which he was making passes, not very vicious 
 ones, in the direction of an intrusive crowd of queer and 
 uncountrified-looking men and women who were attempt- 
 ing, some with threats and others with no less futile 
 blandishments, to force an entrance some hours before the 
 expiration of his legal tenancy. The incoming farmer 
 had already let his house, with the exception of the 
 kitchen and an attic or two, in suites to various lodgers 
 from the neighbouring town. It was raining heavily, and 
 this caused the delay in their anticipated introduction to 
 furnished apartments in the country to be specially 
 aggravating. The new farmer had not put in an appear- 
 ance, but his wife was present in her new role of landlady, 
 and engaged in smuggling in the more riotous, and con- 
 doling with the less obstreperous of her clients. 
 
 Passing out by the back way, after shaking my old 
 friend's hand — for indeed it was no time for prolonged 
 
 135 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 leave-takings — I chanced upon a herd of eager supph'ants, 
 resembling in their disarray a ghostly crowd awaiting 
 Charon and his ferry, and each one bent on smuggling 
 something over. At the door of the harness-room stood 
 a hysterical woman bearing a cage, in which was a canary, 
 apparently her sole possession. A man stood on the 
 doorstep, watching like an exiled cat for the opening of the 
 door, and holding suspended by a string a tawdry picture 
 in a dilapidated frame ; presumably an heirloom which 
 he was desirous of placing under cover in the new gallery- 
 to-be. In the yard (drawn up side by side with a farm 
 wagon, loaded with the soaked bedding whereon the new- 
 comers were to repose) was a town cab, from the shafts of 
 which the horse had been removed, and whose Jehu was 
 grumbling at the non-arrival of the beer with which no 
 one had thought it necessary to regale him. The windows 
 of the cab were hermetically sealed, and the occupants 
 were awaiting the course of events with a creditable 
 amount of patience, slightly tempered with wonder. 
 
 I have sufficient confidence in the shrewdness of the 
 present race of farmers to feel certain that many of them 
 would be quite capable of inventing new specialities, fitted 
 to take the place of those that have unfortunately lapsed, 
 were it not evident that in these days of fierce competition 
 a hungry horde of imitators would hasten to profit by the 
 experience of the yet unremunerated pioneers. 
 
 136 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 THE WHEATLAND HUNT. 
 
 I FOUND the local hunt, the Wheatland, a rough-and- 
 ready pack, and these epithets were equally applic- 
 able to the field, which was only on very rare occasions 
 supplemented by an iron master or two, or a sporting 
 publican from the Black Country. I lived in the house 
 that had recently been inhabited by the owner, John 
 Baker, M.F.H., who, since resigning the Mastership of 
 the Wheatland, had been twice promoted, the second 
 time to the command of the North Warwickshire. He 
 was one of those, still occasionally met with, who are born 
 with an ineradicable love of sport. His subscription list, 
 while hunting the Wheatland — a two-days-a-week pack — 
 varied from ;^I40 toi^i70, and he had been accustomed to 
 come home from hunting to dine on a red herring, washed 
 down with a bottle of port. He would then start off on a 
 night journey to Wales, where he was agent to a big 
 landlord, making the return journey again by the night 
 train in time for the next meet of his hounds. No doubt 
 he quickly discarded the herring when he took up his 
 residence at Leamington, compounding for it by a double 
 allowance of port. In my time the subscription list 
 of the Wheatland rose to ^400, which was considered 
 sufficient to enrich the Master beyond the dreams of 
 avarice. 
 
 137 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 I lost no time in making my appearance with the 
 hounds, when my old pink, or rather mulberry, caused 
 considerable surprise, but I couldn't afford to spoil a 
 decent black coat, or to buy a green one — green was the 
 colour of the hunt uniform. For seven years I seldom 
 missed a meet of these hounds, or failed to be in at the 
 death on the occasions, rather infrequent ones, when 
 reynard was unable to save his brush. I was fortunate 
 in possessing just the horse for the country, and if I had 
 had the pick of all the hunting studs in England, I could 
 not have found a more suitable one. 
 
 The horse was indeed no other — as an Irishman would 
 say — than the mare who had carried me so well when I 
 had come over from America during the winter. One of 
 the first things I did when I left the prairie " for good " 
 was to inquire about her. I heard from my North 
 Walsham friend that he had sold her to my brother, 
 Captain R.A., to whom I had I suppose weakly let out 
 the secret of her prowess. My brother was stationed at 
 Tilbury, and about that district he was driving " my " 
 mare in a high dogcart, and at a pace that I saw must 
 soon finish her. Her pedigree was a trotting one, of 
 which fact I had then heard nothing. However, for some 
 reason, my brother was not particularly anxious to keep 
 her, and he sold her to me, together with the trap and 
 harness, in which she was seldom afterwards to figure. 
 Shortly after I was riding her with the Wheatland Hunt, 
 and she at once showed \v<txs^\i facile princeps in that wild 
 and difficult country. She would creep, she would fly, 
 or do whatever she considered best suited the occasion. 
 There was only one thing that she neither would nor 
 could do, and that was turn away from hounds. She 
 was a bit of a puller, and, as I always rode her in a 
 
 138 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 snaffle, I sometimes came home feeling as if I had been 
 sawn asunder. 
 
 The M.F.H. at that time was a large, fat, handsome 
 man, a small wine merchant at Broseley, a little Shrop- 
 shire town celebrated for its clay pipes. He looked 
 exceedingly well in the green uniform of the Wheatland 
 Hunt, but he hadn't an idea in his head, and he never rode 
 a yard. Mitchell, the huntsman, may have had every 
 wish to keep with his hounds, but, as he was always 
 mounted on a screw or a roarer, or both, he was quite 
 unable to do so, so he contented himself with blowing his 
 horn in the rear. Naturally the hounds took to hunting 
 themselves, without bothering their heads about horn- 
 blowing. They were of all sorts and sizes, with or without 
 pedigree, but though rum 'uns to look at, some of them 
 were undoubtedly good 'uns to go. In that blind and 
 awkward country it was hard work to keep with them, 
 but out of a field of fifteen or twenty there were five or 
 six who could do so. 
 
 There was a brick earth in a little spinney a few 
 hundred yards from my house, and there was always a 
 vixen from the surrounding country ready to utilise its 
 advantages as a lying-in hospital. 1 have no doubt 
 that there was considerable jealousy of the fortunate one 
 who succeeded in making good her claim to the domicile. 
 The earth was a bit of a nuisance sometimes, as when 
 they could not find elsewhere the hounds would be brought 
 some miles across country to try "Baker's gorse" — there 
 was no gorse that I ever could see — when I had to fetch 
 my terrier and bolt a fox for them. One winter I had an 
 attack of diphtheria, a disease of which no one in those 
 days, in my neighbourhood, at any rate, knew anything. 
 There was an oldBridgnorth doctor named Phillips, who 
 
 139 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 had an enormous nose, and wore a remarkable hat, but 
 was, in other ways, not much of a doctor. Except that 
 he wore no beard, he bore some outward resemblance to 
 the prairie doctor of the senna-tea bowl, who may even 
 have been his superior in medical science. This man used 
 to come over and look at me every day, always leaving 
 with the formula, " Soon be well ! " I was getting fright- 
 fully weak when one afternoon the hounds turned up, 
 desiring me, as usual, to save them from a blank day. 
 Hearing I was ill, the Master sent for my terrier, but she 
 was an old favourite, and I never allowed any one else to 
 handle her. There was nothing for it but to twist a 
 comforter round my neck, throw on a topcoat, and 
 stagger out to the earth with the terrier under my arm. 
 She duly bolted a fox, when I picked her up and 
 staggered back to the house without speaking to a soul. 
 I was told afterwards that none of those present ex- 
 pected ever to see me again. Next morning I came 
 down as usual, having neither slept nor eaten anything 
 for days, when suddenly I felt hungry, and, snatching 
 up a crust from the breakfast-table, found to my sur- 
 prise that I could swallow, and in about a week I was 
 out hunting again. Old " Soon be well " congratulated 
 himself, during the brief remainder of his career, on his 
 wonderful cure. 
 
 Yet it was seldom I called in a doctor, as in those 
 days nothing seemed to disagree with me. I remember a 
 post office official coming down to regulate our affairs, and 
 as I had a boon to ask anent delivery of letters, we 
 became acquainted. He was a splendidly built man of 
 great size and strength, and had brought down with him 
 a useful mare, which he rode regularly with the Wheatland 
 during his stay, which his love of sport may have caused 
 
 140 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 him to prolong for a week or two after his business had 
 been concluded. One day he was to dine with the 
 M.F.H. at Broseley, with whom I also had an engage- 
 ment, and I arranged to call for him in Bridgnorth on my 
 way. A hard frost had set in, and the night was bitterly 
 cold. I had a couple of rugs in the trap, which were 
 under the seat. About half-way my companion began to 
 shiver. " I think you might have brought a rug," he said, 
 his teeth chattering. " Oh," I replied, " there are a couple 
 under the seat." He gave me a look while he reached 
 for them, and wrapped himself up. " Why on earth 
 didn't you bring them out?" he asked testily. ''Never 
 
 thought of them," I said. " I wouldn't give a d for 
 
 a man whose skin wouldn't keep him warm." This remark 
 I had made once or twice in America when coming 
 across some Yankees shivering and shaking, with their 
 feet roasting on the red-hot stoves in the depots. They 
 used to give me a look, half anger, half envy, and 
 my friend gave me just such another ; but in those 
 days, and with the exception of one or two extra- 
 special occasions in America, I had never troubled about 
 cold. 
 
 In addition to the brick earth near the house, there 
 was generally a litter in a spinney a few hundred yards 
 on the other side of the road. I found the close proximity 
 of a dozen or so of foxes rather trying. I never knew 
 foxes behave in such a free-and-easy way before or since. 
 Looking out of my bedroom window in the morning 
 before the men were about, I several times saw a fox 
 negotiating the yard-gate with a hen or half-grown 
 chicken in his mouth. In fact, it was impossible to keep 
 chickens. I did not mind so much about the rabbits, to 
 whom reynard paid close attention morning, noon, and 
 
 141 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 night. My neighbour at Meadowly, near Aldenham, 
 had also a huge covert which always held foxes, though 
 once I remember him laying out a long row of about 
 twenty dead turkeys for the inspection of the M.F.H. 
 when he arrived with the hounds. I think it was my 
 keeper (and bailiff) who, finding his occupation going, 
 suggested that we should trap one of the cubs from the 
 second litter by way of giving them notice to remove 
 themselves a little farther off. He set a trap carefully, 
 and caught a well-grown cub, which he put in a big loose 
 box, and kept in condition by driving him round it every 
 day for an hour or so with a hunting whip. He took to 
 it like a squirrel to a cage. One day when hounds were 
 coming to draw our spinneys we decided on treating the 
 M.F.H. to a bag fox. I had been away, but came back 
 in the morning, drove home, and found a note from the 
 Master saying that he had heard I was going to put 
 down a bag fox, and requesting me not to do so, as he 
 thought it bad for the hounds. It was, however, too late 
 to alter our arrangements, as my man had started with 
 his charge. After several small coverts between Bridg- 
 north and my house had been drawn blank, the hounds 
 were put into the spinney, and for some little time the 
 fox seemed disinclined to make a move. When he 
 did so he got a very short start, and made away up 
 a steepish grass hill with his brush a foot or two from 
 the leading hound. I thought, as he must also have 
 done, that it was all over with him. Then he worked 
 off the stiffness, and got a lead of a few yards, and 
 eventually he got clean away, after giving quite a good 
 run. 
 
 About this time something happened to the Master — 
 whether financial or not, I forget — and the hunt was put 
 
 142 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 into commission. Five or six Masters were appointed, 
 none of whom rode to hounds, preferring to keep their 
 breath to blow their horns. When you were well on in 
 front, the music, as of a brass band, was quite pleasantly- 
 mellowed by the distance. 
 
 The field included a droll character or two. The 
 drollest, perhaps, was a small landowner, less notable 
 then than would be the case now for a thick, muddy 
 complexion. I had seldom seen the like, and it is no 
 great loss to the present generation that neither they nor 
 their fathers are conspicuous by it, since it was the result 
 
 of a close addiction to port wine. H could scarcely 
 
 be called an extravagant man, since in other matters he 
 was almost penurious, but port wine he would and must 
 have. His contempt for a man who could not drink port 
 wine was unutterable — not that he did not occasionally 
 try to utter it — and indeed he had, as a general thing, 
 but little fault to find with the inclinations of his associates. 
 
 It was not so many years ago that H , who even now 
 
 was far from being an old man, was a keen fox-hunter, 
 and one of the best goers with the Wheatland. Gradually 
 he had become less and less of a hard rider, till now, 
 though still frequently seen at the meet, he was never to 
 be found at the finish of any run, however brief. He 
 would come out appropriately clad in a coat of port wine 
 hue, on his old white horse, and when a fox was found he 
 would quietly disappear, and make his way to the 
 nearest house where he might hope to be regaled with 
 his favourite wine. On these occasions he was the least 
 exacting of men, and was hardly ever known to complain 
 of the quality, provided he was sure that his hostess — 
 whose husband was very likely following the hounds, or 
 who might even be dismounting elsewhere on the same 
 
 143 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 errand to which she was indebted for her guest — had 
 nothing better to offer him. Towards evening, having 
 finished his bottle, and, if he could get it, a second, he 
 would mount his old white horse, and ride home for some 
 more. To show what a good example can effect, this 
 worthy man was the means of forming quite an associa- 
 tion of port-wine drinkers ; a sort of oasis in a cider 
 country. There was no meanness about him, and 
 nothing pleased him better than for his friends to do to 
 him as he did to them, and sit drinking port at his house 
 from morning to night. In such a truly hospitable 
 neighbourhood, the man whose legs — and body, very 
 
 likely — had been under H 's table yesterday was 
 
 anxious to return the compliment on the morrow. At 
 
 first, H had been voted a nuisance, but his pertinacity 
 
 — the fine old English quality of being determined to 
 have what you want — had in course of time succeeded 
 in developing among his friends a taste for the liquor he 
 loved, till now, when the hounds might be experiencing 
 a blank day, any covert that he chose to draw in the 
 course of his day's hunting was almost certain to reward 
 him with a find. It was noticed that the once smartly 
 dressed wives of these accommodating topers, who had 
 never ceased to grumble at the visits of " the old soaker," 
 as they called him, grew year by year more slatternly 
 and careworn. The local wine merchants, on the other 
 hand, flourished exceedingly, and were unanimously of 
 
 opinion that H was one of the best and most 
 
 useful of men. 
 
 Not that the majority of the farmers in the Wheat- 
 land district indulged in port or in anything but cider, 
 and even this was sometimes very sour. As all Germans 
 drink beer, so all the inhabitants of Shropshire drank 
 
 144 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 cider, and this, taken in moderation, is, no doubt, a fairly 
 wholesome drink, though, after living for some years in a 
 cider country, one gets to doubt the statement, sometimes 
 made, that it is a non-intoxicant. Some of the cider I 
 used to come across — made without any admixture of 
 water — was about as strong as brandy. Any one un- 
 accustomed to it was liable to be speedily overcome. I 
 remember a Staffordshire J. P. and his brother, a parson 
 and Christ Church man, who lived outside the cider zone, 
 arranging to call at my house on their return from fishing 
 near the Brown Clee. It was getting late, and I had 
 almost given them up, when I saw half a mile away across 
 the fields a pony-cart, such as my friend drove, trying a 
 short cut to the house. Not finding a gate the pair 
 charged an old disused fence with a ditch on the far side. 
 Suddenly the trap disappeared, though I could still see 
 the pony attached to it, and the heads of the occupants 
 rising above the bank. After they had been there some 
 time, without apparently attempting to improve the 
 situation, I thought I had better go and inspect matters. 
 I found them sitting placidly in the cart, which was at 
 the bottom of the ditch, grinning contentedly. What 
 with cider and the sun their jolly faces were a fine 
 brick colour. They were quite overcome with the 
 unaccustomed beverage, and I had some trouble in 
 getting them out of the ditch, and still more in starting 
 them off home at an hour that could be considered 
 respectable. 
 
 As a rule the Wheatland farmers were a genuine lot 
 of hard-working, sportsmanlike fellows. No one bothered 
 about the colour of his tops — gaiters were the usual wear 
 — or the cut of his coat ; snobs, as I have said, were very 
 few, and better still, there was no wire. 
 K 145 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 The way horses regularly hunted with the Wheatland 
 used to negotiate their fences struck strangers as novel, 
 but it was well for them if their mounts could copy it. 
 Dingles, their steep, rocky sides overgrown with black- 
 thorn and young saplings, abounded ; while the fences 
 in the more open country were frequently left untrimmed 
 for years. Indeed, but for the ancient gaps which were 
 seldom stopped, and so became well-known to the 
 initiated, it would have been impossible for the cleverest 
 horse and rider — and both were sometimes very clever 
 — to keep with hounds. If the Wheatland hunters 
 had behaved as hunters do elsewhere, their riders would 
 have had to carry not one but half a dozen spare necks 
 in their pockets. But they soon learnt that there were 
 places it would be impossible to jump. They crawled, 
 or climbed up a fence, and gingerly down on the other 
 side. If the fence could not be got over by crawling 
 or climbing, some one (probably one of the horn-blowers) 
 would set to work methodically to pull it down. I think 
 two or three of these used to carry a small carpenter's 
 shop in their capacious pockets, amongst the contents 
 of which a saw would certainly be included. Every 
 now and then a man on a racing-like three-parts bred 
 hunter would cross the Severn from the Albrighton side 
 of the country to have a look at the strange people 
 some one had told him about. He seldom came twice. 
 If, as was probable, his horse tried to fly his fences, he 
 came to speedy grief Then would he recross the river, 
 the skirt very likely torn off his pink, and altogether in 
 very different guise from that in which he had crossed 
 it so gaily in the morning. 
 
 After the deposition of the horn-blowing committee, 
 which had not given universal satisfaction, the hounds 
 
 146 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 were taken by L , a hard-riding, hard-drinking, hard- 
 swearing customer, who provided capital sport. He 
 retired, and Captain Browne, of sporting fame, and the 
 owner of the well-known chaser, " Hall Court," came 
 down to see if the pack would suit him. No doubt he 
 made inquiries to which unsatisfactory answers may 
 have been returned. Several members of the defunct 
 committee of horn-blowers attended to meet him at the 
 kennels. Said the spokesman — one of the " carpenter's 
 shop " gentry — " We hope, if you take the hounds, 
 Captain Browne, that you won't swear at us. Mr. 
 L has been accustomed to swear at us ; the lan- 
 guage he used was horful, and we don't like it, Captain 
 Browne." 
 
 " Gentlemen," replied the Captain, " I was in want of 
 a pack, and I came down with the hope that the Wheat- 
 land would suit me. I find it won't. Mr. S " — the 
 
 spokesman — ''tells me that your late Master used to 
 swear at you, and that you hope I won't continue the 
 practice. I can only say that if I had come here as 
 Master, I should probably not only have sworn at you, 
 but laid my whip across your shoulders. I wish you 
 good-day." 
 
 The Captain's objections, any more than his whip, 
 could not possibly have applied to the farmers who 
 came out twice a week on their fifteen-pound cobs, and 
 who were true sportsmen to a man. I shall never 
 forget a run from the covert on the Shrewsbury side of 
 Wenlock Edge, where we got into a country almost 
 unknown, and whipping off at dusk — nothing having 
 been seen or heard, for some time, of the huntsman — 
 wondered how we were going to find our way home. 
 Then there was the meet at Lodge Coppice, old Stobbs, 
 
 147 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 the tails of his black swallow-tail coat pinned up in front 
 of him, and his " hunter's " bridle mended with string, 
 coming forward as Master of the Ceremonies. The fox 
 would almost always make for the Clee Hills. You 
 would begin with a gallop, to subside soon into a canter, 
 from canter to slow trot, then to a walk, when you would 
 dismount to ease your panting steed, soon to wish you 
 had been less mercifully inclined. Farther and farther 
 in front would stretch the hounds, till they and the fox 
 disappeared by the cairn on the summit — the latter to 
 be seen no more. 
 
 But few notables did us the honour of appearing with 
 the Wheatland. T. Wadlow, the trainer from Stanton, 
 had numerous cousins and brethren in the locality, and 
 he was sometimes seen at our meets. I remember Lord 
 Granville coming out one day when the hounds met 
 at Aldenham, where he was staying with Sir John, 
 afterwards Lord Acton. His lordship was in morning 
 dress, as if on his way to a garden-party, and he 
 trotted about on his staid old hunter, rising and falling 
 most carefully, and looking through it all like the courtly 
 old gentleman he was. I was riding a pony, and had 
 put a light-weight friend up on the mare, as I had no 
 expectation of a find. We were sitting on our horses 
 in front of the Hall talking to some friends, when sud- 
 denly the mare looked round, and missed the hounds — 
 or perhaps, being the property of a politician, she missed 
 Lord Granville, who had already reached the far end of 
 the long drive. She turned round like a shot, and 
 started after them at a hand gallop. My friend pulled 
 and pulled, but he might as well have pulled at a 
 house. It was sometime before I saw him again, when 
 he had had quite enough of his mount. I had forgotten 
 
 148 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 to tell him that you could only stop her by talking to 
 her. 
 
 In addition to two days with the Wheatland, from the 
 meets of which pack I was seldom an absentee, I used, 
 when I happened to have a spare horse, to get a third 
 day on Saturday, on which day the Albrighton Hounds 
 generally met in the neighbourhood of Bridgnorth. The 
 Albrighton country on the other side the Severn was 
 mostly light land, and my mare used greatly to appre- 
 ciate the change from the stiff clay. She would take 
 the bit in her mouth and fly all her fences at top speed, 
 hoping perhaps that I should part company, as several 
 times very nearly happened. She was keener with hounds 
 than any horse I ever bestrode, and seemed besides to 
 have a keener eye for the work of the hounds than most 
 hunting men. Directly the hounds turned, she did the 
 same. I should frequently have preferred to leave the 
 line, either to escape a nasty fence, or to keep for awhile 
 on sounder land, but she would not allow me to do so, 
 and I soon found the only way for us to agree — as in 
 cases when the grey mare is the better horse — was for her 
 to have her way. 
 
 The Master of the Albrighton Hounds was Sir T. 
 Boughey, who was at my tutor's at Eton, and also my 
 contemporary at '' the House." His jumping powers had 
 not improved since those days, and he never dreamt 
 of taking any, even the tiniest feaces. It is wonderful 
 what good sportsmen these non-jumping M.F.H.'s were ; 
 later on I came across two more — Mr. Ames, the 
 excellent and popular Master of the Worcestershire, 
 and Mr. Lant, who had the North Warwickshire. Neither 
 of these ever, to my knowledge, crossed a fence without 
 having it, as far as possible, pulled down. 
 
 149 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Only one chance have I ever had of being M.F.H. 
 A Mr. Lloyd, who had been, I believe, a farm bailiff 
 near Bridgnorth, but had since made a fortune sheep- 
 farming in Australia, came home for a time, and took 
 Dudmaston, a large house in the neighbourhood, from 
 whence he attended the meets of the Wheatland. I think 
 he was Master for a time ; at all events, on the eve of 
 his return to Australia, he put forward a claim to the 
 ownership of the hounds. I was playing billiards at 
 the Crown in Bridgnorth one Saturday after market, 
 when the ostler came to the door, and said Mr. Lloyd 
 wanted to speak to me. I went outside, cue in hand, 
 and found him at the top of the steps. He spoke so fast 
 that it was hard to understand him, but at last I made 
 out that he was telling me that the hounds were his 
 property, and that he wished to present them to me, 
 as he was sure I should do the best I could with them 
 for the country. If he did not assign them to somebody, 
 the late Master would certainly claim them. I replied 
 that, of course, I knew there was a dispute about the 
 ownership, and that I should not care to have a row 
 after he left. He was exceedingly vexed with me, but 
 I was afterwards glad that I had declined. Hardly was 
 Lloyd out of sight of land before the late Master declared 
 his intention of selling the pack, and this he would have 
 done if we had not subscribed ;^300. I rather think 
 we had had to do this once before. As to the real 
 ownership I am not certain. Lloyd was a strange char- 
 acter, and I should have wanted strong corroboration 
 of his story before putting up with the unpleasantness 
 that would certainly have ensued on my taking over the 
 hounds. 
 
 Almost all Wheatland farmers were horse-breeders in 
 
 150 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 a happy-go-lucky way, and apparently without knowing 
 or wishing to know anything about breeding as a science. 
 A farmer would find that a mare that had taken him 
 hunting and brought him home safely from Saturday's 
 market — no slight feat, as if the owner tumbled off going 
 home, the horse was expected to stand by him till he 
 recovered sufficiently to mount again — for about twenty 
 years, was getting past work. " Oh ! " he would say one 
 day, when he chanced to open his eyes to the fact that 
 she was worn out, spavined, very likely, and a prey to 
 divers other ailments, "I'll breed me a foal from the old 
 mare." It is not hard to guess what sort of a foal the old 
 mare would occasionally present him with. The entire 
 horses, too, that travelled through the district left much 
 to be desired. Certainly there were no motors or cycles 
 then, so there was a sale for all sorts and conditions of 
 gees. The breeder would put his fifteen or twenty pounds 
 in his pocket — where it would not stop very long — with a 
 smile of satisfaction, never troubling himself to calculate 
 whether it had cost him forty or fifty pounds to obtain it. 
 A farmer would appear with the Wheatland, mounted on 
 the progeny of a cart horse and a half- or quarter-bred 
 mare, and there were people in those days to argue in the 
 Field and elsewhere that that was the correct mode of 
 breeding a hunter. Some of the mares were of a hardy 
 and useful sort, that it would have been possible to im- 
 prove into a valuable breed. Frequently, instead of the 
 mare's breed being improved, she herself had to do what 
 little improving there was. I shall never forget the 
 enormous heads by which some of these hardy animals 
 were handicapped. It is true, as has been remarked 
 before, that the horse has to carry his own head, yet when 
 brought to a walk half-way up the Clee Hill, with hounds 
 
 151 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 disappearing over the summit, the poor animal must 
 sometimes have wished his head were not quite so heavy. 
 However, there is often a providential arrangement 
 to neutralise one's disabilities. T. Wadlow's training 
 stable at Stanton was not many miles away, and you 
 might sometimes see a Wheatland farmer mounted on a 
 thoroughbred that had been found too slow to race. In 
 the heavy Wheatland clay they would soon get consider- 
 ably slower, but still retain more speed than the natives. 
 Ben Cooper, of whom I have already written, was of great 
 service in providing the locality with hunters and trappers. 
 The horse I had been driving had fallen, or was hors de 
 combat in some way, when I would be told Mr. Cooper 
 wanted to see me. There would be Ben, seated in his gig, 
 and pointing with his whip to the noble animal ^in the 
 shafts that he had just brought from Stanton. The price 
 would be twelve or fourteen pounds, and Ben had very 
 likely got him for a fiver. These cast-offs were generally 
 sound, but their tempers as a rule were detestable. I had 
 one that might have made a good steeplechaser if he had 
 had a little ambition, but whatever weight he might be 
 carrying, he preferred to come in second. There are no 
 doubt a number of horses too good-natured to care about 
 taking prizes, and this fact explains some of the dis- 
 appointments that good judges have to put up with. I 
 tried this horse on the two-mile gallop in Apley Park, 
 which in Mr. Whitmore's day the neighbouring farmers 
 were allowed to use, and was at first greatly puzzled, as 
 two or three stone made no difference to him at all. 
 However, a sporting young farmer bought him from me, 
 and had the pleasure of seeing him run several seconds at 
 Albrighton and elsewhere. 
 
 While in America I had driven very few horses, not 
 
 152 
 
The Wheatland Hunt 
 
 having had more than five or six during the whole time 
 of my stay there. But when farming in England, what 
 with accidents, chopping and changing, and the blandish- 
 ments of old Ben Cooper, quite a number passed through 
 my hands. The two best cattle markets were at Shrews- 
 bury and Wolverhampton, respectively about twenty-four 
 and twenty miles away, and both these I would attend 
 once a fortnight. Shrewsbury cattle market opened about 
 eight, so that one had to make an early start, and what 
 with Wenlock Edge and another hill or two it was a 
 wearing day's journey. But higglers and pig-dealers 
 would take trappers off your hands when a little the worse 
 for wear, while the first cost of a useful horse was small. 
 Occasionally, too, what had seemed a middling article 
 developed into something better and got sold at a profit. 
 Many years later I happened to be lunching at an hotel 
 in a town undergoing a visit from Barnum and Bailey's 
 Circus, in company with a member of the troupe who was 
 advertised to drive seventy horses at once. This was a 
 bit of Barnumism, as they were driven like cattle in a ruck. 
 I pretended not to know who was present, and expressed 
 my surprise that any one should make such a fuss about 
 driving seventy horses ; adding that I had myself driven 
 more than that number. The Yankee quickly rose to the 
 bait, and after I had left the room eagerly inquired who 
 I might be, as he had never heard of such a feat being 
 performed until he undertook it. My son, who was pre- 
 sent, explained, to the general amusement, that his father 
 had driven them one at a time. 
 
 I tried my hand at breeding, if not quite so carelessly 
 as the general run of the Wheatland farmers, yet without 
 much success. For one thing, it was almost impossible 
 to get a decent groom ; if a man knew anything about 
 
 153 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 horses he was sure to drink, and if he kept sober he was 
 probably a fool. I had a lot of incompetents succeeding 
 one another, and each signalling his departure by some 
 blunder above the ordinary. Indeed, it was not till I left 
 the Wheatland country that I did any good at breeding. 
 
 154 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 JOHN EYKE AND SACHAROMETER. 
 
 I HUNTED with the Wheatland regularly for some 
 years, by which time my favourite mare was about 
 thirteen years old, and it was time for her to breed a foal 
 or let it alone. I had been very careful of her, frequently 
 riding a cob or a pony till the hounds found, so that on a 
 blank day she only trotted about with the boy on her. 
 My lease was running out, and my landlord, John Baker, 
 was getting old and an invalid, and desirous of disposing 
 of his property. He gave me a year's notice, as he was 
 entitled to do, and this, no doubt, was a bit of luck for 
 me, as farming had been so good for three years that I 
 should probably have been tempted to renew my lease, 
 and then the seven lean years that were coming, without 
 any prophet or interpreter to give notice of the fact, 
 would have about ruined me. I went down, some few 
 years after leaving, to have a look at the old place, and in 
 the big rickyard where I had last seen over a thousand 
 pounds' worth of wheat alone, was one little rick worth 
 from fifteen to twenty pounds. Wheat growing on stiff 
 clay was done for. 
 
 I settled at King's Norton, on the boundary of the 
 North Warwickshire country, seven miles from Birming- 
 ham, a clay or marly soil with numberless coverts where 
 horses got mired up to their hocks. No doubt, in her 
 
 155 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 prime, my old mare would have found a way of getting 
 over it, but it wasn't good enough to make the starting of 
 a suitable stud eminently desirable. Moreover, the Bir- 
 mingham hardware manufacturers hunted in gigs and shan- 
 drydans, in which they sat at the corners of the coverts, 
 where the fox could get a good view of them, shouting 
 and drinking gin from two-gallon jars. Occasionally 
 I had a day with the North Warwickshire or the Wor- 
 cestershire, but if a fox in the Worcestershire country ran 
 my way the hounds would be whipped off, and the same 
 with the North Warwickshire — and small blame to them 
 — so that if I had a run I was sure to finish a long way 
 from home. There were always foxes about my place, 
 but, of course, they were never hunted ; and one night they 
 accounted for the large flock of wild ducks I kept on my 
 pond. On one occasion the Worcestershire found in one 
 of Lord Windsor's coverts near Bromsgrove, and the fox 
 started for home, when the hounds were whipped off. My 
 shepherd told me when I got back that the fox, with a 
 couple of hounds at his brush, had taken refuge in an old 
 drain near the house ; so I suppose he was my friend of 
 the wild ducks. Once the North Warwickshire ran a fox 
 into the shrubbery by my house, and I never saw such a 
 lot out with hounds before or since — perspiring betting 
 men on broken-winded horses, publicans, butchers, and 
 bakers out for a holiday. 
 
 It was not long before I determined to see what could 
 be done with horse-breeding. I began by sending my old 
 mare to"Buckenham," and this I dare say was an error of 
 judgment which she repaid by presenting me with only a 
 middling foal. Next year I plucked up spirit to take 
 her down to John Eyke's at Stanton. I forget how I first 
 made John Eyke's acquaintance. He was then a notable 
 
 156 
 
John Eyke and Sacharometer 
 
 breeder and doing great things with Sacharometer, his 
 six or seven yearlings averaging, if I remember rightly, 
 over a thousand guineas. Eyke was a sour-faced, 
 crabbed-looking old chap, but not a bad sort. When I 
 turned up with the mare he was delighted to see me, 
 thinking, no doubt, that I was intending to put her to 
 Knight of Kars, a moderate horse, that had, however, 
 got a few winners. When I said she had come to visit 
 Sacharometer he stared. " What's her pedigree ? " he 
 asked. I told him she was not in the stud book, and 
 that what pedigree she had he wouldn't care for, as it 
 was chiefly a trotting pedigree, though I had traced it 
 down to Waxy. 
 
 " I couldn't think of it," he said ; " I'll never put a half- 
 bred mare to Sacharometer, and your mare isn't even 
 half-bred." 
 
 " All right," I replied, *' don't disturb yourself; I'll 
 take her back. 1 suppose you'll give me some lunch 
 first." 
 
 He gave me some lunch, and all the time was asking 
 questions about the mare, and praising Knight of Kars, 
 of whom I knew quite as much as I wanted to. 
 
 " Was she a good mare ? Could she gallop ? " 
 
 I told him she was the best I had ever known — which 
 was not saying much — and that as for speed she was fast 
 enough for any hounds ; as she always went straight, she 
 could take it easily. 
 
 Evidently he was trying to find a saving clause; he 
 resembled many other people in not liking to turn away 
 money. By the time lunch was over he was asking me 
 if I would buy a brood mare, Black Cotton, a grandly 
 bred one, her pedigree finishing up with Eleanor, winner 
 of Derby and Oaks, but old, and in foal to Knight of 
 
 157 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Kars. I told him I didn't want any thoroughbred mares, 
 and had too many horses already. 
 
 We went to look at Sacharometer, also the much- 
 belauded Knight of Kars. Eyke then saw my mare, with 
 which I think he was taken. Black Cotton pleased me; 
 she was black, of course, and had a very short neck, so 
 that when grazing she had to spread out her forelegs ; 
 you could tell her miles off. I then said that I must be 
 going, when to my surprise he said, " You can leave your 
 mare if you'll take Black Cotton at twenty sovs." I 
 jumped at it ; one can't expect to have everything one's 
 own way in this world. 
 
 My mare had a colt foal by Sacharometer, but spoilt 
 matters by dropping dead twenty yards from the dining- 
 room windows when her foal was three weeks old. He 
 grew up a spoilt child, and full of tricks. Sugar and milk 
 were the chief of his diet, and properly so for a colt of his 
 pedigree ; and he throve on it. He was always rather 
 small, and though he showed a lot of breeding, I did not 
 at first think of training him. I kept him at home till he 
 was four years old ; I had nothing to gallop him with, and 
 though my groom managed him fairly well, and got him 
 to be quite clever at his fences, he began to get head- 
 strong and tricky. Hearing of a young farmer who was 
 training a few steeplechase horses at Umberslade a few 
 miles off, I sent him there at twenty-five shillings a week. 
 It was a very rough place, and poor galloping ground, and 
 for these and other reasons I shortly removed him and 
 sent him to William Holman, who was training on the top 
 of Cleve Hill. The table land on the summit of Cleve 
 Hill is of great extent, and it would be easy to lose oneself 
 there, particularly if a sudden fog came on. It was no 
 doubt excellent training ground once upon a time, but was 
 
 158 
 
John Eyke and Sacharometer 
 
 getting worn out owing to careless treatment. The colt 
 had only been at Holman's a week or two when he was 
 due to run at a steeplechase at Baschurch, value, I think, 
 forty pounds. The entries included Goldfinder, who had 
 recently won the biggest sum ever run for over a 
 country. What brought him there I don't remember ; I 
 suppose little fish were sweet. I had asked " Mr. Thomas " 
 to ride, but he declined, securing me, however, the services 
 of W. B. Gilpin, whose first season it was as " gentleman 
 rider." It was a fearfully cold day, and the race was run in 
 a snowstorm, my colt beating the great Goldfinder in a 
 canter ; of course he had a pull in the weights. I went 
 into the weighing-room, and found the jockeys with their 
 hands frozen, crying with the pain, and swaying about 
 with their hands thrust into their bosoms. Captain 
 Machel came up to me afterwards and asked me how 
 my mare was bred ; he did not appear to think it possible 
 there could be a half-bred descendant of Sacharometer. 
 I remember noticing that Captain Machel wore a shocking 
 bad hat ; later I found that he never wore a good one, 
 except perhaps on the lawn at Ascot, where I never 
 happened to meet him. 
 
 This was Gilpin's first win, and he was much pleased, 
 notwithstanding his frozen fingers. He won many races 
 afterwards, but was unlucky in having some bad falls. 
 He had a strange career. He was at one time in the 
 Austrian army ; when he gave up ricjing he went to South 
 America or Australia horse-breeding, came back to 
 England, and began to write — of all things. One day 
 I had a book sent me to review — it looks as if I also had 
 been writing — and found it was a collection of short 
 stories by Gilpin, one being a description of the race in 
 the snowstorm. I have long since lost sight of him. 
 
 159 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Poor Sach was less fortunate than his jockey, as he never 
 started again. Having developed a leg, the result, I 
 imagine, of being over-galloped on ground that was 
 getting worn out, he was sent to Tattersall's and sold for 
 a hundred guineas, instead of the thousand I had valued 
 him at after his victory. And so ended my hopes of a 
 Grand National. 
 
 It had been some years since I gave a thought to the 
 colt, the best, very likely, I ever had ; but being in a 
 Worcestershire village inn a few months ago, the landlord 
 remarked that the man carrying on business at the little 
 store opposite said he knew me. I looked across the 
 road, and the name over the shop was that of my farmer 
 trainer. He came in afterwards, quite an old man, which 
 astonished me, till I remembered how many years had 
 passed since I had seen him. Putting his hand into his 
 breast pocket he brought out an old notebook, in which 
 was the account of the Sacharometer colt ; I don't know 
 if he had carried it in his pocket all the time. He had 
 just failed in business, he told me, and was off to Australia, 
 to begin life again at about seventy. Poor fellow ! I 
 thought him either very plucky or very foolish. 
 
 160 
 
VO 
 
 to 
 
 z 
 
 2 
 
 C/3 
 
 "z 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 z 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 z 
 
 en 
 O 
 
 X- 
 
 Q 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 H' 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 KING'S NORTON. 
 
 THE man who, journeying from Dan to Beersheba, 
 finds all barren, or who on arriving at either 
 terminus proclaims peevishly that there is no one worth 
 knowing, has himself to blame. Shortly after arriving at 
 King's Norton I discovered that my good genius had 
 provided quite a number of " characters," and if I cannot 
 flatter myself that I made the most of my opportunities, 
 yet I certainly did not wholly neglect them. What in 
 those days did it matter that your income was getting 
 too narrow for the retention of the merest screw, that you 
 had heard the horn of the hunter for the last time, except 
 faintly and at a distance, that your gun was rusting — no, 
 you would never let it rust — in its corner, as long as there 
 was Jones, or was it Brown, to interest or enliven you with 
 his quaintness, or his humour, or his honesty, or some other 
 quality which distinguished him from the crowd. Alas ! as 
 other sports have been taken one by one from the man of 
 limited income, so the student of character will soon find 
 his occupation gone; not because, as with other joys, it 
 has been annexed by the rich, who, thank goodness, never 
 worried themselves about a pursuit which had no honours 
 or money prizes to offer them, but because the quarry in 
 the pursuit of which he delighted is extinct, Jones has 
 L I6i 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 put off his smock, and with it a good deal of the manner 
 which gave it distinction, and Brown has taken on the 
 veneer of the bank or solicitor's clerk, which sits 
 awkwardly on him, and of which he feels thoroughly- 
 ashamed. As the book-hunter has now to hunt more 
 and more sedulously for his bargains, as the sportsman 
 finds it harder day by day to pick up a good horse " for 
 a song," so the dead level of education and dulness is 
 depriving the man of limited means of the last stronghold 
 to which he had betaken himself Let him seek for 
 character where he may, he will find every one built on 
 the same, and that a commonplace if respectable model, 
 like a row of plates on a dresser. 
 
 I soon had quite a number of friends, commencing with 
 
 the old blacksmith who kept the Bull's Head (at which inn 
 
 I had some sort of a meal after looking over the new 
 
 farm), and gradually increasing till they included all sorts 
 
 and conditions of men, from farm labourers to butchers, 
 
 bakers — I don't remember a candlestick-maker — racing and 
 
 betting men, an owner or two of the neighbouring factories 
 
 and mills, several M.P.'s, a score or so of candidates, 
 
 together with as many literary men as I could find ; and 
 
 these last were very few. In addition, I had a pack of 
 
 beagles — so called — two-legged ones, whose quarry was 
 
 any Radical politician who made himself temporarily 
 
 obnoxious. Some of our runs were quite exciting affairs, 
 
 and I early discovered that it was one thing to get the 
 
 pack to the meet and quite another to control it after 
 
 throwing off. Indeed, several times it got completely 
 
 out of hand. On the occasion of the opening of 
 
 two new Board Schools (unnecessarily erected, as was 
 
 locally thought), the beagles broke up the meetings, 
 
 intended to be congratulatory, in an uproarious way, 
 
 162 
 
King's Norton 
 
 which the oldest inhabitant had never seen and the 
 youngest will never see again. 
 
 One of my neighbours, for many years an intimate 
 friend, was Tom Pickernell — " Mr. Thomas " to the public, 
 for a generation or so — from whom I never cease to 
 regret that I am now severed by so many miles of 
 railroad. This is not the place to dwell on the distin- 
 guished career of the first gentleman rider of his day, 
 one of the least of whose claims to honour was that 
 he steered three Grand National winners, and whose 
 eventful story will no doubt be written one day by a more 
 capable, though not more appreciative, pen than mine. 
 And yet I don't know. I fear that the modesty that has 
 stuck to him through his long and distinguished career 
 will stand in the way of what would be a delight to 
 so many. " Mr. Thomas " would perhaps allow that 
 there were occasions when he was favoured by luck, 
 or his opponents may have suffered the reverse ; but 
 that his victories were due to his own judgment and 
 skill seems seldom to have entered his mind. My 
 groom could never master " Tommy's " patronymic, so 
 would announce him, on his arrival at my house, as 
 "Captain Pickles," or sometimes as, "him as rides the 
 cob." " Tommy " never professed to be much of a whist 
 player, so on one occasion of his visiting me we organised 
 a " nap," which necessitated the borrowing of three pounds 
 in threepenny bits from the vicar, which that worthy man 
 would have done better to bank, and so keep for a time, 
 at least, out of the parish. As it was, a good many of 
 these coins, so hated by parsons, remained in my pos- 
 session, and were returned in the course of several 
 years' contribution to the King's Norton offertories, while 
 quite a number must have gone to King's Heath, of 
 
 163 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 which church my guest was for many years vicar's 
 warden. 
 
 A great contrast to " Mr. Thomas " was George 
 Dawson, the famous Birmingham preacher — I forget his 
 exact denomination — to whom I let my house for a year 
 before going to reside at King's Norton. During that 
 period I saw a good deal of him, though not at his 
 " Tabernacle," at which he could never prevail upon 
 me to put in an appearance. At that time — before the 
 day of Mr. Shorthouse — a little learning, or the affectation 
 of it, went a long way in Birmingham, and Mr. Dawson 
 was literally idolised, as a statue was put up to him in close 
 proximity to the celebrated Chamberlain Fountain, and of 
 almost equal artistic merit. Indeed, there were about as 
 many good sculptors in Birmingham in those days as 
 literary magnates. Rightly or wrongly I formed a very 
 poor opinion of George Dawson as a mere man — and 
 without reference to his preaching — but no doubt he was 
 spoilt by adulation and flattery, and considered himself 
 quite a superior being. After he had left the house on the 
 conclusion of his tenancy there was a disagreement as to 
 some item in the account due, and he came to see me 
 with Mrs. Dawson, with a view to putting things right — 
 so he said ; my own opinion is that he intended to give 
 me a taste of his quality. Coming into the drawing-room, 
 he spread out a quantity of papers on the table, cleared 
 his throat, and commenced to harangue. He would prob- 
 ably have gone on all day, but I was extremely busy, and 
 wanted to get away. Quite in joke I exclaimed, " Please 
 do not preach to me, Mr. Dawson," when he sprang up, 
 and, shouting, " I didn't come here to be insulted," made 
 a rush for me with clenched fists. His wife, a fine woman 
 in every sense of the word, made another rush for her 
 
 164 
 
King's Norton 
 
 husband, whom she pulled down in his chair again. I 
 said nothing, but feeling there was little glory, under the 
 circumstances, to be gained from a pugilistic encounter, 
 walked out of the room, leaving him to declaim, if he 
 chose, to my wife. I forget how the dispute, which was 
 a very trumpery one, was settled, but I never held any 
 communication with him again, and he died shortly after, 
 full of honours. A portrait of this eccentric "worthy" 
 still hangs in the reading-room of the Birmingham 
 Conservative Club. Que diable allait-il faire , . .? 
 
 On the appearance of a recent book of reminiscences, 
 which contained some remarks, not wholly laudatory, on 
 parsons, I was reminded by several clerical critics that 
 there are still a number of good parsons extant, and that 
 even the sporting parson is not quite as extinct as the 
 dodo. One old friend in the shires informed me that 
 many parsons had their one day a week with the hounds ; 
 a fact that I was delighted to hear. If he is the truest 
 sportsman who, while setting his duty before everything, 
 still contrives to extract some pleasure from adverse 
 surroundings (as a bee will find honey in, apparently, the 
 most unlikely places), 1 think I must give the palm to a 
 parson, Yarranton by name, who lived at Wythal, a small 
 parish cut out of King's Norton, with whom I was for 
 many years on terms of friendship. He was getting on 
 in years when I first knew him ; a dark man of by no 
 means striking appearance, but with a kindly face adver- 
 tising the warm heart within. The income attached to 
 Wythal was very small, barely sufficient, indeed, to 
 maintain the vicar, his two sisters, and the wonderful 
 cream-coloured pony which did its best to enliven an 
 existence that otherwise all the piety in the world would 
 scarcely have made enjoyable. He was one of the very 
 
 165 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 few parsons in the neighbourhood who had the pluck to 
 hunt occasionally, feeling, no doubt, that while participa- 
 tion in the sport was of benefit to himself, his example 
 could do no harm to the neighbouring parsons who had 
 neither the skill nor the manliness to emulate him. He 
 was exceedingly short-sighted, which may have accounted 
 for his sometimes taking a fence which no one else seemed 
 to relish. I remember once being out with the Worcester- 
 shire hounds when the field was stopped by a stiff fence 
 out of a covert near Hewell, which, when he had got the 
 dwellers out of the way, Yarranton, sitting well back, 
 negotiated alone.- 
 
 But he had yet another interest outside his clerical 
 
 work which he took even more seriously than hunting. 
 
 This was chess, at which game he was facile princeps in 
 
 Worcestershire. On the eve of an engagement he would 
 
 drive his pony to Worcester, sixteen or eighteen miles, 
 
 win his game, and return home the same night. The 
 
 hunting parson, equally with him who has a love for 
 
 collecting beetles, is only to blame when he allows his 
 
 hobby to interfere with his duty ; this was never the case 
 
 with my friend. In those days the Religious Education 
 
 question was being fiercely fought, and schools were being 
 
 erected throughout the parish by a Board pledged to 
 
 oppose it. One of these schools was quite needlessly 
 
 erected at Wythal, with a view, no doubt, to closing 
 
 the Church School. Yarranton kept his school going to 
 
 the last, with the effect that the newly erected Board 
 
 School remained nearly empty. I told him often that 
 
 I thought he had done enough for honour, and that, 
 
 since the Board School had been erected and could not 
 
 be pulled down, while the staff had to be paid by the 
 
 ratepayers, it was time for him to give in. But I could 
 
 i66 
 
King^s Norton 
 
 make no impression on him. It was some time after 
 that we defeated the Radicals in a stand-up fight, and 
 returned Religious Education to the parish and the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 On the occasion of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, 
 after much correspondence and delay, notifying a welcome 
 increase in his stipend, he paid a round of visits to the 
 friends who had assisted in obtaining it. His appearance 
 at my house was delayed for some days, which he 
 accounted for by saying that he had waited until he 
 could present himself in a new hat. I had certainly 
 never seen him in one before, and it was also the only 
 occasion on which I ever heard him refer to his penury — 
 now happily diminished. 
 
 The world would be a more cheerful place both for 
 parsons and their clients if there were a few more to 
 follow the example of this man, who, on a limited 
 income, and while giving the closest attention to his 
 clerical duties, found time and energy for two such 
 different phases of sport. All work and no play makes 
 Jack an exceedingly dull boy; but it must be allowed 
 that an equal to the cream-coloured pony might be hard 
 to find. 
 
 There must have been something in the air of Wythal, 
 since the squire, Robert Mynors, was no less an original 
 than the parson. Instead of chess his hobby was the 
 rendering of the odes of Horace into English verse. 
 He would write saying that he was going to try his 
 hand at such or such an ode, and challenging me to 
 do the same. In a few days we would exchange our 
 attempts, or meet and compare notes. He used to 
 scribble his verses illegibly on the inside of an old envelope, 
 or the back of a circular, a procedure which Pope followed 
 
 167 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 when writing his Homer, and which may therefore be a 
 proof of genius. His paraphrases had a narrow escape 
 of being published. A literary man to whom I once 
 showed them took them away to study, and wrote 
 shortly afterwards to say that he supposed that there 
 was no harm in his sending them to his publisher; but 
 to this I demurred. Some of Mynors' work was admir- 
 able, but occasionally he introduced a little too much 
 of the rather grim humour for which he was noted. 
 I once had the pleasure of hoaxing him. I put 
 Dibdin's "Tom Bowling" into longs and shorts, and 
 when my brother Robert had corrected a false quantity 
 or two — my Latin verse-making having got a little 
 rusty since my Eton days — I sent it to Mynors ; a 
 proof, I told him, that the sailor, in the days of Rome's 
 greatness, was as highly thought of as in our own time. 
 I think he smelt a rat, but he was unable to locate it. 
 His brother, however, a parson of sporting rather than 
 literary propensities, happening to call, twigged it at 
 once, owing, no doubt, to the refrain, which in Ovidian 
 poems must be allowed to be unusual. 
 
 I was for some years vicar's warden at King's Norton, 
 and my colleague was a neighbouring farmer ; for a 
 wonder a successful one, but then he had a specialite, 
 being an indefatigable maker of cream cheeses. During 
 our time of office we had a trying time, as people had 
 a way of coming back from California or elsewhere, 
 where they had been for a generation or so, and then 
 fighting to regain their old seats from the parishioners 
 to whom they had been allotted since their departure. 
 This I would not allow, and my colleague loyally assisted 
 me. " Whatever you do I am sure will be quite right,'^ 
 he would say. 1 was not sure about that. For some 
 
 1 68 
 
King^s Norton 
 
 time I would not permit any one to enter the church 
 on Sunday before 1 made my appearance with the key, 
 to the great disgust of the CaHfornians, who were 
 prowHng about waiting to "jump " the seats. 
 
 My colleague was rather given to economy in his 
 farming methods, and one day, during the hay season, 
 I found him in my back yard inspecting a large con- 
 signment of beer which the brewer's men were lowering 
 into the cellar. The sight caused him to become 
 oblivious of the object (whatever it may have been) of 
 his visit. I took him into my study, and seated him in 
 my arm-chair, when he began at once about beer. " I 
 wonder you can go on like that," he said. " What may 
 that beer cost you ? " I told him sixpence a gallon, which 
 I thought fairly cheap, adding that I was obliged to give 
 my men beer during the hay season, or I should have to 
 get the hay in myself. " Quite right," he said ; " but I get 
 mine a good deal cheaper than that. Indeed, we brew it 
 ourselves. I'll tell you how we make it." I took up a 
 pencil and a scrap of paper, and prepared to profit by the 
 intelligence ; I was never above taking a hint. 
 
 " First of all," he began, after a pause intended per- 
 haps to whet my curiosity, " I get a thirty-six gallon 
 cask, then I take half a crown's worth of sugar. Got 
 that down?" 
 
 " Yes," I said, and waited for the next item. I waited 
 in vain. My colleague was lying back in my easy-chair, 
 the tips of his fingers joined together in front of his face, 
 and his eyes fixed on vacancy. 
 
 " Well," I said, wishing to recall him to business, 
 " what next ? " He looked up as if surprised. " There's 
 nothing more," he said. 
 
 " Nothing more ! " 
 
 169 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 "Ah yes, I forgot. G , the hop merchant has, 
 
 samples time and again he doesn't want. He gives 'em 
 to me, and I sprinkles 'em in. My, it's prime ! " 
 
 " But do you mean to say you put nothing more into 
 your — whatever you call it ? It's not beer." 
 
 " Well, since you're so particular, my wife if she sees 
 anything tasty lying about she pops it in." 
 
 A picture of this lady, whom I knew to be a clever and 
 devoted wife, finding here a duck's head, there a sheep's 
 trotter, and generously giving up her claim to these 
 dainties in order to advance the reputation of her good 
 man's famous ale, rose before me. 
 
 " But do you mean to tell me that the men drink it? " 
 
 " Some of them Irish," he proceeded, without noticing 
 my question, " they likes it old, so we brews it a bit 
 earlier and corks it up for them. My, it's prime ! " 
 
 " But what do the men say about it ? Doesn't a man 
 die of it every now and then ? " 
 
 " I never heard any complaints. Only, one day I was 
 peeping through the chink in the barn, and I saw the old 
 cowman come up with his mug, and take a drink. He 
 made a wry face ! " 
 
 I looked carefully at my colleague, and fancied I 
 discerned the least little tremor about the corners of 
 his mouth, as if he were keeping back a smile. Was it 
 possible he had been hoaxing me ? 
 
 We had our annual Conservative dinner late in the 
 year, when one of the two or three Conservative candi- 
 dates who were wooing the constituency, I think it was 
 the late Mr. Sampson Lloyd, made a speech on agriculture, 
 of which he seemed to know very little except that the 
 farmers' daughters played the piano all day, while their 
 fathers drank " sherry wine." The farmers were awfully 
 
 170 
 
King's Norton 
 
 disgusted. " Now," I said to my colleague, who was of 
 course seated by my side, " I'm going to get up and 
 put a stop to all this nonsense about extravagance, by 
 telling that man how you make your harvest ale. Do 
 you mind ? " 
 
 "Whatever you do I'm sure will be quite right," was 
 his calm reply. 
 
 It was not till some time later that I made the 
 acquaintance of the hop merchant who incidentally 
 assisted at the manufacture of my colleague's famous 
 harvest ale. I had, however, studied him from a distance, 
 and had found him a joy and delight. We had not, in 
 those days, started a choir in King's Norton, and the 
 psalms were negotiated in the old-fashioned way, the 
 minister and the congregation voicing alternate verses. 
 
 Old G 's pew was just in front of mine, and I 
 
 always, when the thirteenth day of the month fell on 
 
 a Sunday, paid careful attention to G 's rendering 
 
 of the sixteenth verse of the 68th Psalm : " Why 
 'op ye so, ye 'igh 'ills ? " One got the idea they ought 
 not to 'op without his permission, and no doubt he 
 thought some flattering allusion was intended to his 
 business, while on Whitsunday the "encore" would be 
 put down as a personal compliment. Later on I had 
 the pleasure of witnessing the summary if somewhat 
 truculent fashion in which he settled a dispute that had 
 
 somehow arisen about his pew. Old G was an 
 
 enormous man, and two or three of his sons were equally 
 gigantic. The pew had been "jumped" by a family of 
 
 weaklings, when G came into church with his family, 
 
 and, seeing a few inches unoccupied near the entrance, 
 motioned to one of his sons to take possession. The 
 young man squeezed in and sat down, when his brother 
 
 171 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 followed suit. Lastly came old G himself, with 
 
 the result that the family of squatters, " pa, ma, and 
 all," were shot out from the far end of the pew into 
 the aisle. 
 
 G had a few acres of land, and having an old 
 
 mare that, I suppose, had drawn him for many years 
 about the country on his hop-selling excursions, he went 
 in for horse-breeding, with the result that she one day, to 
 his great delight, presented him with a foal, with which, 
 after weaning, he was at a loss to know what to do. 
 I had at the time a yearling for which I wanted a com- 
 panion, and I told G that if he liked to send the colt 
 
 to me I would let him run with mine, asking him only 
 a nominal sum. He accepted my offer with empressement^ 
 and appeared, somewhat to my astonishment, on the first 
 Sunday after the colt's arrival at my farm with a 
 wagonette full of his Birmingham neighbours and friends, 
 whom he had called together to rejoice with him over his 
 yearling. There was nothing I disliked more than to 
 be disturbed on my " day of rest " except by an intimate 
 friend. The party entered the house before leaving, and 
 sampled my sherry and cigars, of which I possessed such 
 a moderate store that, after a few of these visitations, 
 
 I reluctantly had to request G to find a companion 
 
 for his colt elsewhere. 
 
 We had numberless reminders of our near neighbour- 
 hood to Birmingham, the chief being the indefatigable 
 prosecution of business, to the occasional neglect of 
 matters which were no doubt considered less urgent. 
 I remember once a villa resident and Birmingham maltster 
 rather too evidently considering his business arrangements 
 for the week when his thoughts should have been else- 
 where. Walking up the nave on Sunday, he paused at 
 
 172 
 
King's Norton 
 
 the entrance to his pew, and proceeded to divest himself 
 of his coat, which he folded up, and put carefully away 
 on the seat. He then looked up towards the roof of the 
 church for his office coat which he, no doubt, expected to 
 see hanging from the usual nail. Missing it, he gave a 
 startled look round, and, taking his coat from the seat 
 commenced to put it on again, while his face grew almost 
 as red as the flannel shirt that had been some time en 
 evidence. 
 
 A local "character" was Isaac Bate, a bluff, good- 
 natured, but exceedingly cute business man who, when 
 I first knew him, had succeeded in accumulating a large 
 fortune from very small beginnings. He was the survivor 
 of three brothers who started brewing at a small local 
 " public " and gradually increased their business till it 
 included an admirably constructed brewery, for a long 
 time the largest and best in the neighbourhood. He was 
 fond of racing, and at one time owner of Meter, by 
 Sacharometer, which he and his friends considered capable 
 of making a good show in the Derby. A disagreement 
 between Mr. Bate and T. Wadlow as to the wisdom of 
 starting the horse in the Derby after he had been lamed 
 by some accident was, I believe, the cause of the removal 
 of Mr. Bate's horses from Stanton, the owner wishing to 
 give the colt's numerous backers a run, or perhaps only 
 a trot for their money. Mr. Bate farmed a large extent 
 of rather moderate land near King's Heath, and on one 
 occasion, when I was calling at the brewery, he showed 
 me a large herd of cattle crowded together on a small 
 field, which he informed me were " my Frivolity heifers." 
 His friend and neighbour, Mr. Lyndon, had recently 
 (1869) won the "Middle Park Plate," and Mr. Bate had 
 chosen this mode of investing his winnings. Mr. Bate 
 
 173 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 fed a considerable number of cattle, and it was his 
 delight, when one of these was getting " ripe," to stand at 
 a little distance and pitch coppers on to its back. If the 
 coppers declined to stay there the beast was considered 
 capable of further improvement ; but there may have 
 been days when Mr. Bate " pitched " better than others. 
 
 I used to drive into Birmingham, and was sometimes 
 very late in leaving the club — it was whist in those days, 
 not bridge. There were no lamps outside the borough 
 boundaries, and as I generally had a fast trotter it was 
 rather risky work. Once I heard something coming, and 
 a trap went by with a slight click ; on reaching home 
 I found my step had been taken off It happened once 
 that I was for some reason without a trapper, and was 
 restricted to the services of a steady, slow-going cob 
 that I had hired or borrowed, when a young solicitor 
 who lived near me, asked me to drive him home. He 
 was a little elevated, and when we had got a mile or 
 two, " I wonder," he said, " that you drive such an 
 animal. I could kick my hat faster than this." I smiled 
 to myself, knowing that the cob, though very slow on 
 level ground, had the knack of going down-hill like 
 lightning, a talent that would have more than doubled 
 his value had everything — as some are of opinion 
 — been going downhill. Coming to the steep hill by 
 King's Norton Station I gave the cob a cut with the 
 whip, and we flew down it at about twenty miles an 
 hour. The man of law was dreadfully scared, and would 
 have jumped out — I think he had quite forgotten about 
 kicking his hat — when there would very likely have been 
 one less lawyer in Birmingham — possibly no great loss. 
 (Generally speaking, there is no greater mistake than 
 jumping out of a trap when horses are bolting or unruly. 
 
 174 
 
King's Norton 
 
 I was once going in a brake to a cricket match at Hagley ; 
 the horses ran away, when the majority of the team — of 
 cricketers — made for the door, and jumped out on to the 
 road. The jumpers were afterwards easily recognised 
 by the absence of buttons on their waistcoats.) The 
 brother of the young Birmingham soHcitor was a great 
 friend of mine, and frequently stayed at my house. We 
 used to drive into Birmingham on market day and put 
 up at an inn frequented by farmers, at which the stabling 
 and the ostler could be relied on. There is no place in 
 the world, I should imagine, where there is more difficulty 
 in getting a horse properly seen to than in Birmingham. 
 It mattered little to me that the whisky at this inn was 
 of a very indifferent quality ; on arriving I would order 
 two glasses for the good of the house, and both of these 
 my friend would kindly consume, thus getting a good 
 start for his day's work. Towards evening we would 
 meet at the inn by appointment to drive home, when 
 he would have to finish up a day that had probably not 
 been conducted on strict temperance principles by drink- 
 ing the two glasses of whisky that would be brought into 
 the room while the ostler was fetching the trap round. 
 It was about a fortnight after the adventure just related. 
 We were driving home, and had safely negotiated about 
 three miles, when my friend observed — I suppose the 
 remark was a family one — " I wonder you drive such a 
 
 beast as this. Why, I could " 
 
 " Get out and kick it," I interrupted, knowing what 
 
 was commg. 
 
 " I'll bet a sov.," he went on, " that I can get home 
 on foot quicker than you can drive." 
 
 " Done with you," I said, stopping the cob, which 
 there was very little trouble in doing. 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 My friend took off his coat and waistcoat, folded 
 them up quite neatly, placed them in the trap without 
 a word, and disappeared in the darkness. I jogged on, 
 and in about a hundred yards passed him, breathing hard. 
 He tried to hold on to the back of the trap, but I rapped 
 his knuckles, and he fell behind. I went on at my seven 
 miles an hour, and a little faster downhill, got home, had 
 my dinner, and was smoking a pipe in my study, when 
 my friend, still in his shirt-sleeves, opened the door. His 
 
 white face streamed with perspiration. "What a 
 
 fool I am," he said, and I could not help agreeing with 
 him. 
 
 Naturally, I chanced on a queer acquaintance or two. 
 Perhaps the queerest was "the diver," a business man 
 who lived two or three fields away, but ceased rather 
 suddenly to be a neighbour in the usual acceptation of 
 the word. He was a quiet, gentlemanly man, with a 
 charming wife and family, and had shown a kindly 
 interest in our parochial matters. One day we heard the 
 sad news that the canoe in which he had gone out 
 paddling from some Welsh watering-place had been 
 found empty, except of water, and that our poor friend 
 had been drowned. The family was condoled with, and 
 appeared in church for several Sundays in regulation 
 mourning. After a time strange rumours began to get 
 about. Smith — as I will call him — had been seen in London, 
 and elsewhere, but without his beard. I put it all down 
 to gossip, till one day it was definitely stated that he had 
 come up in Australia, where he was now establishing a 
 flourishing business. This surely was a record "dive," 
 and throws into the shade the recent attempts at swim- 
 ming the Channel. The wife and family put off their 
 mourning, and after a decent interval went out to rejoin 
 
 176 
 
King's Norton Church. 
 
 [See page 169^ 
 
King's Norton 
 
 the head of the family ; utilising for the purpose the 
 rather commonplace services of an ocean liner. 
 
 Recently, dining at a hotel in a southern watering- 
 place, I overheard a conversation relating to the disappear- 
 ance of a local bank official, whose yacht had been found 
 capsized in the Thames. The owner was mourned for as 
 lost, but a few weeks afterwards he was seen walking 
 about Dover as if nothing had happened. This had been 
 looked on as a record performance, but, on my relating 
 the above anecdote to those present^ it was sorrowfully 
 acknowledged that the local diver could not hold a candle 
 to ours. 
 
 When people have learnt to use caution before taking up 
 a new friend or a new dog the world will be a much more 
 pleasant place, except for the cur. I, the preacher, have 
 made a mistake or two, of which the following was the 
 least expensive. A young Birmingham man, to whom I 
 had shown some civility, returned it by favouring me with 
 a little too much of his company. I might have felt 
 flattered had I not referred his appreciation to a liking for 
 an excellent brand of cigars which I happened, for a 
 wonder, to be possessed of. One evening he boasted that 
 he had smoked six of them. I thought him very greedy, 
 but invited him to come again the next evening and 
 smoke some more. It was neck or nothing, for in another 
 week he would have made an end of ,them. In the morn- 
 ing I went to a Birmingham tobacconist — the mayor at 
 that time of the borough — and bought for one shilling ten 
 huge cigars, on which, when I had carefully dried them 
 before the fire, I placed, no doubt to their pride and glory, 
 the labels taken from my prime Havanas. The young man 
 spent the evening with me, and on leaving informed me 
 that he had gone one better than on the previous occasion, 
 M 177 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 as he had smoked eight cigars, which he supposed would 
 cost me over five shillings. " Not quite so much," I said, 
 
 " as I bought them for you at B 's at ten a shilling ; and 
 
 hope you'll take the others to smoke on the way home." 
 He turned round, walked out of the house, and I don't 
 think I ever met him again. 
 
 A miller used formerly to be a character, he is nov/ 
 almost as commonplace as other people, but a King's 
 Norton miller could hardly be expected to be common- 
 place. Ours, besides being a bit of a character, and an 
 excellent judge of wheat, a quality which 1 had frequent 
 opportunities of appreciating, was a good sportsman and 
 a capital shot. One market day I was to drive him home 
 from Birmingham, and arranged to meet him at the inn 
 in good time, as he believed in "early to bed." It 
 happened I went to the club, and got so interested in 
 whist that I forgot all about the miller, who, as he told 
 me afterwards, walked up and down in front of the inn 
 till it was time to catch the last train. When I started 
 for home about one, I found an enormous packet of fish 
 in the trap which I was to deliver, en 7'oute^ at the mill. 
 I had a skittish horse, which was always trying to pay me 
 out for buying him on a steeplechase course after a defeat, 
 and as the miller's family were all in bed, the delivery was 
 no easy matter. However, I got out very gingerly, and 
 picking up some stones threw them up at the barred 
 window of the miller's bedroom. After some delay he 
 appeared at the window in his night-shirt, a truly 
 wondrous garment, a sight of which amply repaid me for 
 my trouble. If only Caldecott could have seen it ! I 
 threw the fish up to him ; he made a clever catch, but 
 unfortunately had protruded his hands one on each side 
 of a bar, and so was unable to get the parcel into the 
 
 178 
 
King's Norton 
 
 window, while too careful to let it drop on the stones 
 below. It was not till after breakfast that I remembered 
 his predicament, when I at once hastened to his relief, 
 but found he had already been set free, no doubt by one 
 of his men coming to work in the morning. 
 
 As a " character " the miller was not fit to be named 
 in the same day with his brother, a man of far less local 
 importance. 
 
 People used to be always writing — I've done it myself 
 — about " the last smock." Recently I've lived in a place 
 where they are as scarce as blackberries in autumn, so 
 that when Joey — who is locally credited with being the 
 last smock-wearer — retires, there will still be a few smocks 
 for people to write if not to read about. 
 
 Joey would be a character anywhere, but that he 
 should exist near the up-to-date city of Birmingham is 
 nothing short of marvellous. He has a little grass farm 
 of thirty or forty acres. His custom is to cut the grass 
 himself, make it into hay (a task which in a wet or 
 showery season frequently reaches into October) load it 
 on the cart, unload it — as the rick gets higher, he climbs 
 with each forkful up a ladder placed on the cart. The 
 price of hay had not appeared to suit Joey for some 
 years, and his small farm was literally almost covered 
 with ricks ; some of them of quite patriarchal age. One 
 day he surprised his neighbours by tying a load, and 
 putting it on a cart, to which next morning he harnessed 
 the old horse, and proceeded to Birmingham. Arrived 
 at the market he had no difficulty in disposing of his load 
 at a good price. " I suppose," a neighbour remarked to 
 him on his return, ''you'll be going again." But Joey 
 shook his head. 
 
 " When I wanted to sell my hay they wouldn't have 
 
 179 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 none of it," he said spitefully ; " and now as they wants it 
 I'm d d if they shall have it." And they didn't. 
 
 There is no place where rabbits are fonder of breeding 
 than under a rick, and under Joey's ricks they simply 
 swarmed, not greatly to the owner's benefit, who was no 
 sportsman. This, however, was far from being the case 
 with his neighbour and brother, who was a capital shot, 
 and found it convenient to be able to secure a couple of 
 rabbits with a right and left, and without going many 
 yards from his front door. One day he visited the ricks 
 as usual, only to find the rabbits conspicuous by their 
 absence. It was soon known that Joey had called in the 
 rabbit-catchers, and though the miller said nothing, he 
 no doubt thought the more. One day Joey appeared at 
 the mill, and putting his hand under his smock brought 
 out a wash-leather bag. 
 
 " I've got some money," he said, " as I wants you to bank 
 for me. I don't like keeping of it in the house " — he had 
 indeed been attacked and nearly murdered in his cottage 
 a few months before. 
 
 Sternly the miller eyed him. " Them," he said, " as 
 cotched your rabbits can keep your money for you." 
 
 Joey departed crestfallen, to reappear in a few weeks. 
 " I've got a letter from my landlord as I wants you to 
 answer for me. You know I ain't no scholard." 
 
 " Better ask them," replied the still unappeased miller, 
 " as cotched your rabbits to write your letter for you." 
 
 No long time passed before the miller could count on 
 having his right and left as confidently as ever. 
 
 While I was at King's Norton I had two or three wet 
 hay seasons, one of them so bad that I was haymaking 
 for eleven weeks, and began to think I should never finish. 
 On the first of September I had eight acres uncut. The 
 
 1 80 
 
King's Norton 
 
 grass was over three feet high, and, as there was very little 
 cover about, it was frequented by all the partridges in 
 the parish. I was disgusted when my bailiff insisted 
 on cutting it. There seemed no chance of getting it 
 properly dried, so it was hauled off and put under a shed 
 in the yard. I don't know what I should have done with 
 it had not a man turned up who wanted some cheap 
 substance in which to pack bedsteads for a Birmingham 
 firm, and for quite a long time I enjoyed the sight of him 
 and his son twisting hay ropes on the premises. 
 
 It was one of these wet hay seasons that started the 
 shortlived rage for silos. The first 1 ever saw was on 
 Mr. Muntz's estate at Umberslade. His method was a 
 little crude. I was walking over the grass land with 
 a farmer on the estate who was training in a small way 
 when I saw some long, low mounds covered as if they 
 were mangold heaps. The farmer said Mr. Muntz was 
 accustomed to dig long trenches, fill them with grass, and 
 cover them with earth. I gathered that the stuff was 
 pretty bad, but my informant may have been prejudiced. 
 Later I knew several farmers who made a success of silos, 
 but the smell was unendurable if put up near the house. 
 
 At agricultural shows were to be seen for a few 
 years some costly inventions for drying hay. One was a 
 plan for heating barn floors after the manner of malt- 
 houses. The wet grass was to be carted off the field and 
 spread for ten minutes or so on the' floor, when it would — 
 so the showman averred — be ready for the rick. The few 
 hundredweights of hay provided on the show ground 
 would be wetted and dried some scores of times in the 
 course of the day. Then the newspapers took up the 
 matter. How silly the farmers were not to follow 
 the Hungarian — I think — custom of drying hay on ropes 
 
 i8j 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 stretched between poles. This would certainly have ap- 
 pealed to the proprietors of rope-walks. However, the 
 next few hay seasons were fairly fine, and the craze died 
 out ; silos and other even less promising methods were 
 forgotten, and, indeed, he would be very unwise who 
 should try any of these experiments while there was a 
 chance of getting together a rick of sun-dried hay. 
 
 Connected with hay was a class of men, hay-tyers, 
 who worked up the ricks for market, and some of them 
 were droll characters. Hay-tying was, for a skilled hand, 
 a profitable calling, since, however low the price of the 
 material, the wages of the hay-tyer never suffered diminu- 
 tion. Many of these men from being mere day labourers 
 got on in the world — more would have done so had they 
 been temperate — and took to buying ricks and marketing 
 them. This saved farmers who sold a good deal of hay 
 a lot of time, and wear and tear of horses and wagons. 
 Jimmy — as I'll call him — was one of those who had made 
 money. He was shrewd, though his shrewdness was not 
 assisted by the merest rudiments of education. He fre- 
 quently bought a rick from me, and I used to tell him the 
 date on which I wanted the money, giving him time to 
 work off the rick before paying for it. One day payment 
 was due, and Jimmy had not turned up ; he had never 
 disappointed me before. Between ten and eleven, as I was 
 thinking of going to bed, there was a row at the door 
 opening into the yard. My groom had gone home long 
 before; I went to the door, and behold Jimmy, truly at 
 the eleventh hour. He was not one of those who had 
 risen through temperance, he would " swear off" some- 
 times, but even then would make an exception in favour 
 of some special favourite, notably rhubarb wine, on a 
 bottle or two of which — I imagine this to have been an 
 
 182 
 
King's Norton 
 
 exceptional experience — he could manage to get " for- 
 rader." On the present occasion he was evidently in- 
 debted to something stronger. I helped him up the steps, 
 and into my study, when he brought out his bag of 
 money, and emptied it on the table for me to count. The 
 amount was in the neighbourhood of ;^ioo, mostly in 
 sovereigns, but a great part in half-crowns, shillings, and 
 sixpences. I told him he was drunk — a fact of which he 
 may have been already aware — and that he had better 
 take the money home with him, and come back in the 
 morning ; but to this he would not agree. " I'sh all right," 
 he said, looking round for the rhubarb wine, which he 
 knew was all I would allow him. On thinking it over, I 
 decided to keep the money rather than let him start home 
 with it, and perhaps lose it on the way. It took some 
 time before it was found to be correct. Then Jimmy had 
 his rhubarb wine, and got up to go. I assisted him into 
 the yard — he weighed about sixteen stone, and was lame 
 from catching his foot in the wheel of another trap driving 
 home one night — and then looked for his horse and trap. 
 These he had left in the drive, and after a prolonged 
 search I found them in the fir trees a hundred yards or so 
 away. I brought the trap back and helped Jimmy to 
 mount. It was worse than lifting a sack of wheat. 
 Directly he got the reins in his hands he started off at full 
 gallop, through the gate at the far end, with a sharp turn 
 into the high road, and then I heard the mare racing away 
 as fast as she could lay legs to the ground. There were 
 no gas lamps on roads in those days, and it would have 
 been thought very effeminate to carry lights. Jimmy was 
 indeed a terror to quiet and timid travellers. Luckily he 
 drove a white mare, and you could sometimes see, as well 
 as hear, him coming. But this is by the way. Jimmy 
 
 183 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 was strictly honest ; he would not have told you a lie, or 
 robbed you of a penny for — well, for more whisky than 
 would have been good for him. 
 
 Truly, the exodus from the land does not include 
 everything. Honesty has stayed behind ; afraid perhaps 
 to risk the journey. No roguery, no smart tricks of 
 business astonish us to-day ; but I think — considering the 
 way in which many fortunes have been made — that there 
 is room for a little wonder at the absolute honesty which 
 still characterises the vast majority of farmers. 
 
 184 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 HUNT MEETINGS IN THE SIXTIES. 
 
 IN the sixties any one possessed of a capital of twopence 
 halfpenny could get up a steeplechase meeting, and, 
 if he saw any advantage likely to accrue, bolt with the 
 entries, which would serve to increase his little store — 
 though perhaps to no great extent Some of these 
 country meetings at which farmers used to appear in the 
 saddle on horses of their own breeding — occasionally no 
 doubt a rather remarkable pedigree, if it had not been 
 " unknown " — their " colours " a red or grey flannel shirt, 
 and with loose cord hunting-breeches coming up to their 
 armpits, were very droll affairs. Yet these gatherings 
 made bright spots in dull lives, were productive of good 
 sport — as distinguished from racing — and attended by 
 men who, judged by their opportunities, were as a rule 
 genuine sportsmen. It must be allowed that the posses- 
 sion of a mare that could breed something a little better 
 than the ordinary — not necessarily of the first quality — 
 was a questionable advantage to a fa'rmer. One I knew 
 whom success in local races tempted to fly at higher 
 game, and to illustrate in his own person the fable of the 
 iron and the earthenware pots. His two sons, nothing 
 loth to escape from the dull routine of the farm, followed' 
 their father's example, with the variation that, having 
 somehow become possessed of a pony rather out of the 
 
 185 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 common, they travelled the country from north to south, 
 picking up the little prizes then run for at Galloway races. 
 Meanwhile the farm, left to itself, quickly began to 
 deteriorate, and this coming to the ears, or, more probably, 
 the eyes of the landlord, he simulated a keen desire of 
 starting a breeding-stud, for the inauguration of which 
 nothing seemed so suitable as his tenants' two brood 
 mares and their offspring. My friend, in default of horses 
 wherewith to pursue his favourite sport, once more took to 
 looking after his farm, though I noticed the corners of his 
 mouth drawn down for some time after from self-pity. 
 I never heard that the landlord made any mark with 
 the new stud ; but doubtless he had his reward in the 
 saving of a favourite tenant. There were some good 
 landlords in those days, as, indeed, I dare say there are 
 still. 
 
 Occasionally these local meetings witnessed diver- 
 gencies from the strict code of honour (and steeplechasing), 
 which a laudable ambition may have accounted for, if 
 it could not excuse. I remember arriving rather late 
 on the course at Albrighton Hunt Meeting, just as a 
 race was concluded in which a Buckenham mare that I 
 had sold to a friend living in the neighbourhood was 
 beaten about a hundred yards by a grey horse entered 
 by a sporting local farmer, and ridden by one of his 
 sons. I condoled with my friend, who informed me 
 with a grin that it would be all right, as the winner 
 would be disqualified. This happened about a year later, 
 when it was proved that another and far better animal 
 had been substituted for the original entry. The 
 Albrighton Hunt Meeting, now a thing of the past, or 
 finding a poor substitute from the breeder's or farmer's 
 point of view in the gate-money meeting at Wolver- 
 
 l86 
 
Hunt Meetings in the Sixties 
 
 hampton, was one of the best in the country. Several 
 good horses made their debut thereat, notably New 
 Oswestry and Bredon Hill, both of whom were expected 
 to be hailed winners of the Grand National. The former 
 was scratched owing to some disagreement between 
 owner and nominator, while Bredon Hill unfortunately 
 broke down. I had taken one thousand to twenty, some 
 time before the race, and arriving in Birmingham late 
 one night on my return from a visit, I engaged a " night 
 cab" at the station to take me home, a distance of 
 seven miles. 
 
 The horse, it appeared, had just been taken up from 
 a yard where he had been luxuriating on pulped turnips 
 and mouldy hay. Going up a little hill at Bredon Cross, 
 about three miles from my house, he stopped dead. I 
 thought he would have burst, and I with some difficulty 
 persuaded the driver not to persevere with him. Getting 
 out of the cab I started to walk home with my bag. 
 Arriving about 3 a.m., I told my wife that Bredon Hill 
 would be found to have broken down, and this I saw, 
 in the morning's paper, had really occurred. 
 
 When I was in Shropshire there was an old-fashioned 
 meeting at Much Wenlock, which still survives in a 
 slightly modernised form. In my time there used to 
 be four races, two of which were run before dinner. 
 Then came an adjournment of three hours or so for 
 refreshment, after which the meeting was resumed. The 
 farmers used to do themselves fairly well at and after 
 dinner, and I remember once to have seen the Master 
 of the local pack, the Wheatland, lying overcome with 
 his potations and fast asleep under a haystack adjoining 
 the course, his jolly red face upturned to the sun. There 
 was also a hunt meeting at Bridgnorth, which still 
 
 187 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 survives, with a change of venue. A difficulty once 
 arose as to the old course on the Wheatland side of 
 the country. The incumbent of the parish in which 
 the course was situated had a tiny piece of glebe a few 
 yards broad, which jutted out into the course as a watering- 
 place pier juts into the sea. Shortly before the date of 
 the annual races the parson (who was some sort of a sports- 
 man, as he hunted regularly with the Albrighton Hounds) 
 developed what I will suppose was a conscientious 
 objection to racing, and declined to allow his morsel 
 of glebe to be included in the course. This he no doubt 
 imagined would put an end to the races, the finish of 
 which was in close proximity to his churchyard, and 
 his opposition would have been comprehensible if the race 
 meeting had been held on Sunday. It was eventually 
 decided to coast round the obstacle, which must have 
 made winning an impossibility for hard-mouthed horses. 
 Next year the parson, being approached by a local 
 magnate, withdrew his veto. 
 
 Perhaps the strangest hunt steeplechase meeting I 
 ever attended was the Weobley Hunt in Herefordshire, 
 yearly run over land occupied by a farmer named very 
 properly Bull. He was a big fat man with enormous 
 brick-red cheeks, a quantity of chestnut hair, and a large 
 red nose which stood out boldly between two little 
 bright eyes almost hidden between the mountains of fat. 
 Squire Bull was accustomed to walk delicately, as if 
 he were another Agag, placing each foot down as gently 
 on the turf as if he expected to find it red-hot, and 
 indeed he was a martyr to gout. There was an inn in the 
 village whose proprietor would doubtless have been glad 
 to turn an honest penny or two on the occasion, but 
 Squire Bull took the wind completely out of his sails by 
 
 i8B 
 
Hunt Meetings in the Sixties 
 
 keeping open house during the two days of the meeting. 
 His place was in the centre of the cider country, and 
 his cider — though I was by no means unused to good 
 brands — was the best I had ever known. It is often 
 said that cider conduces to sobriety, and if so old Bull's 
 cider must have been an exception. To the best of my 
 recollection his guests were not expected to require 
 spirits or malt liquor, and, indeed, the man who was not 
 satisfied with the cider must have been very exigeant. 
 The steeplechase course, as was usual in those days, 
 was a perfectly natural one ; a little too natural indeed 
 as Bull, who was judge, clerk of the course, and every- 
 thing except horses and jockeys, was a slovenly farmer, 
 and occasionally neglected to mend the gaps left from 
 the previous year. 
 
 Some of the little meetings at that date were almost 
 entirely free from the betting "evil," as it is de rigiieur 
 to call it. I once took a mare, Grey Gown, to Ross, 
 where she had been entered for two races, one twenty 
 pounds in value and the other forty. J. Holman was 
 against the mare running for the larger stake, till I 
 showed him that the same horses were running in both 
 events. We easily swept the board, and cleared out 
 the ring, the amount laid by the two professionals 
 present (one of whom, George Ingram, afterwards de- 
 veloped into a big bookie) being no less than six or 
 eight pounds ! 
 
 It was a long time before much improvement was 
 noticeable in the quality or management of the smaller 
 local hunt meetings. When I moved nearer Birmingham 
 I found quite a number of them in my immediate 
 neighbourhood. There was — and is — a steeplechase 
 meeting at Hall Green, which was naturally greatly 
 
 189 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 affected by the Birmingham roughs. The clerk of the 
 course was James Page, father of the well-known steeple- 
 chase jockey who won the Grand National on Mr. 
 Brayley's " Cassy Titty," as the mare was styled in the 
 ring. On one occasion the roughs stormed the boarded 
 enclosure. I well remember the curious sight of a few 
 hundred exceedingly dirty hands suddenly appearing 
 above the boarding. It was anything but pleasant to 
 find oneself, a minute later, surrounded by the owners 
 of the hands, who were certainly among the most 
 villainous-looking inhabitants of our island. 
 
 Mr. Page also officiated at Henley in Arden, where 
 the gaps in the natural fences were unmended from year 
 to year, and the horses had to jump in and out of the 
 churchyard. In the centre of the course was a curious 
 oblong hill, by lounging from end to end of which you 
 could see the races from start to finish. I once saw a 
 laughable affair at this meeting ; a match between two 
 very bad horses, ridden by two not quite first-class 
 jockeys, one of the riders being a youth from Beards- 
 worth's Birmingham Repository. The two started very 
 gingerly, each rider being apparently afraid of his 
 mount, probably not without reason. At the third fence 
 both horses refused. Eventually one of the animals, 
 a mare, was got over, and having made the circuit of 
 the course, she came upon her opponent still at the 
 fence where he first refused. The despairing jockey 
 seized what he may have thought would be a last chance, 
 and rushed his horse at the fence alongside the mare, 
 with the result that he got over and the mare stayed 
 and took his place. 
 
 There was now a chance that the horse would win, 
 though he had a lot of ground to make up, and advice, 
 
 190 
 
Hunt Meetings in the Sixties 
 
 gratis, was shouted from the hill to the valley below, by 
 the adherents of either jockey. Fence by fence, and not 
 without many refusals, the horse got gradually nearer and 
 nearer, while the rider of the mare, the young man 
 from Beardsworth's, kept spurring and whipping in his 
 desperation, and to no purpose, for his mount had quite 
 made up her mind not to have any more jumping. Hear- 
 ing at length a shout from the hill that told that his enemy 
 was safe over another fence, and would soon join him 
 again, he turned the angry and excited mare once more 
 away from the fence to get a good gallop at it for the 
 hundredth time. He may have struck her a little harder 
 than she thought was quite fair, or she may have been 
 determined to bring the affair to an end, at all events, she 
 took the bit in her teeth, and ran away round the field 
 the reverse way of the course. The field was a large 
 fallow, and round and round it the unfortunate jockey 
 was carried at top speed till at last the mare stopped from 
 sheer exhaustion. By this time the hundreds of spectators 
 were rolling about on the hill in agonies of mirth ; but it 
 was no joke to the jockey, who when the mare at last 
 came to a standstill was unable to dismount without 
 assistance, and whom I had expected every moment to 
 see fall off, when he would almost certainly have been 
 dragged round the field. Whether the match was won 
 by the other rider I am unable to say ; and I doubt if 
 any one cared a straw about the event. I never remember 
 seeing the young gentleman from Beardsworth's in the 
 saddle again. 
 
 There was an old-fashioned meeting then held at 
 Sutton Coldfield — long before the institution of the un- 
 fortunate " Four Oaks Park " racecourse — and it was 
 here, I think, that John Sheldon, afterwards such a popular 
 
 191 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 clerk of the course made his debut. The entries for 
 hunt meetings in the neighbourhood of Birmingham 
 were required to be made at a sporting public-house 
 near the Birmingham Market Hall, and here farmers and 
 others would attend to discover what opposition they 
 would have to meet. If, as frequently happened, about 
 II p.m. the regular "gentleman rider" from a neighbour- 
 ing training stable put in an appearance with his entry, 
 the farmer, supposing him wise enough to do so, would go 
 home, keeping his fee in his pocket. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon, in his early days, was not accustomed to 
 limit his labours to those generally appertaining to a 
 clerk of the course. At some meetings he would 
 officiate also as starter and judge. When he had started 
 the horses on their first round of the course, he would 
 jump into his shandrydan, whip up his horse, and make 
 the best of his way — the last part with the horses close at 
 his heels — to the judge's box, into which he would barely 
 have time to shut himself before they went by. He was 
 one of those who appeared to be of the opinion that 
 silence was golden, and indeed he may have been more 
 or less indebted to it for his success. It is hard to find 
 much fault with a man who never says anything, and 
 quite impossible to contradict him. I remember he used 
 to sit at the end of the table at the Coach and Horses, 
 or whatever was the name of the house, and when you 
 handed him your entry he would pocket it without a 
 word. I have still a lively recollection of the quality of 
 the whisky one drank, or made a pretence of drinking at 
 that establishment. Mr. Sheldon was a fat little man, 
 who used to cock his hat over his right eye, or on the 
 bridge of his nose, stick his thumbs into the armholes of 
 his waistcoat, and look good-humoured, which he probably 
 
 192 
 
Hunt Meetings in the Sixties 
 
 was. When at " Four Oaks Park " or elsewhere, an 
 indignant owner who had a dispute with the stewards 
 accused the clerk of the course of taking part against 
 him, that official, after disarming the infuriated racing 
 man with a sweet smile, would walk away without saying 
 a word. He had a talent for organising — hardly the 
 strong point of farmers or country gentlemen. It was 
 not then thought a crime for farmers — who had not yet 
 been relegated by the decree of the rest of mankind to stop 
 at home and enjoy rusty bacon and sour cider — to own 
 a "hunter," nor had hunters' races yet fallen into the 
 disrepute that afterwards overtook them. Mr. Sheldon 
 began by assisting the inexperienced rustics in matters of 
 management and financing. Then came the gate-money 
 meetings, and the success of one or two of the first of 
 these encouraged a mushroom growth of them all over 
 the country, and led many people to think they had hit on 
 an easy and legitimate mode of raising money. But the 
 gate-money meetings were frequently commenced with an 
 outlay that made permanent success improbable if not 
 impossible. Mr. Sheldon was no doubt the best man that 
 could be found to manage the new meetings — or, rather, 
 the old ones on a new footing. The unfortunate " Four 
 Oaks Park " had the seeds of failure in it from the 
 commencement, and it would have required a greater 
 than Mr. Sheldon to bring success to the venture. For 
 one thing, some of the stewards were quite impossible, 
 and could only have been exalted into such a position on 
 account of the money they had put into the scheme. 
 I was for some years a member of the " Four Oaks Park " 
 Club, and I can recall one steward at least who would 
 have been unfitted for the post of shopwalker in a third- 
 rate millinery establishment. It was soon seen that — 
 N 193 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 whatever may be the case now — there was actually no 
 sporting population, in the best acceptation of the word, 
 to depend upon. It was depressing to find no one in the 
 palatial stand but half a dozen or so of fishmongers, 
 covered all over with gigantic diamonds as if they were 
 scales. 
 
 Since Mr. Sheldon's death his place has been filled 
 by his son, who has proved himself a capable and popular 
 Clerk of the Course under somewhat changed conditions. 
 I regret that of late years I have seldom been a witness to 
 his ability. 
 
 194 
 
^CHAPTER XV. 
 
 GENTLEMEN RIDERS AND HUNTERS' RACES ON THE 
 
 FLAT. 
 
 A NECESSARY preliminary to starting a horse in 
 a " Hunters' flat race " was, as many will remember, 
 the obtaining of a certificate from a Master of Hounds or 
 his secretary that the horse had been regularly hunted. 
 This was quite understood to mean nothing more than 
 that the animal in question had been ridden to the meet 
 (where it was usual to call the Master's attention to his 
 presence), three or four times. A horse could be utilised 
 in a " Hunters' flat race " without being in any sense an 
 adept at fencing, and indeed without ever having seen 
 a hurdle in his life. In fact, all fences were carefully 
 avoided lest a scratch or a blow should interfere with the 
 horse's training. Owners, indeed, used to get very im- 
 patient of the farce of sending their horses to the meet, 
 and, in cases where they were on friendly terms with the 
 Master, would cut the performance exceedingly short. 
 After winning a " Hunters' flat race," the weight would be 
 gradually increased till it got to be prohibitive, except 
 in the case of such horses as " Quits," which were remark- 
 ably scarce, and to whom two or three stone made no 
 difference, since they could continue winning with thirteen 
 stone and over, against all comers, until they broke down. 
 When the weight got too much, the owner of the *' Hunter " 
 
 195 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 could, if he chose, turn his attention to " Selling Hunters' 
 races on the flat " with the risk, if he won, of having to 
 buy his horse in for as much or more than he was worth. 
 In a few cases where a horse had a long and successful 
 experience of '' Selling Hunters' races," there was generally 
 something special in his appearance, or the guise in which 
 he was presented to spectators in the paddock to account 
 for it. Few people are sufficiently courageous to buy a 
 horse that " stands over," even though he may have done 
 so from a foal. Sometimes the horse with his forelegs 
 swathed in bandages was really on the point of breaking 
 down, occasionally he may have presented a fictitious 
 appearance of unsoundness. Yet even so one day 
 " Selling Hunters' races " would prove no longer available, 
 when the " Hunter " would be forced to take up with the 
 hitherto neglected art of jumping. At first his fencing 
 essays would be confined to hurdles. If successful the 
 weight would be gradually increased as before, when the 
 owner might, if he chose, once more avail himself of 
 " Selling races." At the conclusion of these nothing 
 remained but for the " Hunter" to learn to jump. Then 
 he could, if he was fortunate, go through the same process 
 as before, finishing up his " Hunter's " course with selling 
 steeplechases, after which there would be nothing left for 
 him but handicaps, at which he would not probably be 
 fitted to shine. 
 
 Naturally the certificate business lent itself to a vast 
 amount of humbug. From some Masters of Hounds the 
 obtaining of a certificate, even when one had gone out of 
 one's way to oblige by quite an exceptional number of 
 attendances, was like extracting a tooth. Some, more 
 good-natured, or more careless, would give certificates to 
 their friends and even to others without worrying about 
 
 196 
 
Gentlemen Riders and Hunters* Races 
 
 the matter. I have been told by a friendly M.F.H. that 
 if I would ride my horse over and put his nose against 
 the kennel door he would at once send me a certificate. 
 It followed that in a country at all given to " Hunt races" 
 one Hunt would be avoided by these non-hunting 
 " Hunters," while another would be patronised by quite a 
 number. Even if the M.F.H. was amenable to reason, the 
 secretary would sometimes interfere to try and make a 
 little money out of the affair for his Hunt. I had a mare 
 once for whom I required a certificate, and being a sub- 
 scriber to the North Warwickshire Hunt I sent her several 
 times to the meet — of course with the usual non-jumping 
 orders. When I thought she had had enough of it I 
 asked my friend Tom Pickernell to ride her over to 
 the meet at Solihull, call the Master's attention to her, 
 and say that she had been out several times, and I was 
 going to send for a certificate. T. P. turned out very 
 smart in hunting costume, and was interviewing the 
 Master when the hunt secretary interfered and told Mr. 
 Tommy that he had made a rule never to give any certifi- 
 cates unless a five-pound note was sent with the letter. 
 He said he would make no exceptions to this rule even 
 in favour of a regular subscriber. If, however, I wanted 
 some certificates he would give me any quantity at five 
 pounds apiece. I was at the meet, and Tom Pickernell 
 rode up and told me what had happened. I thought it 
 an awful piece of impertinence, and said I should send in 
 a form of certificate next day, and if it was not signed the 
 matter would appear in the sporting press. However, the 
 Master signed and returned it at once without more to do. 
 The novice who, when he had succeeded in getting a 
 good horse, and a certificate duly signed by a friendly 
 M.P'.H., thought himself secure of success in " Hunters' 
 
 197 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 races " was hullooing before he was out of the wood. In 
 reality his troubles were just beginning. He had still to 
 find a "gentleman rider," and this, for one who was 
 probably unacquainted with the best, or perhaps even the 
 worst of the genus, was frequently no light undertaking. 
 Naturally the leading " gentlemen riders " would not 
 desert their old friends for a stranger, or get up on a horse 
 they did not consider likely to do them credit. Sometimes 
 the novice would get a half promise from a " gentleman 
 rider," and on arriving at the meeting would find him con- 
 spicuous by his absence, or sporting some one else's colours. 
 The best thing to do then was to take the horse home ; 
 instead of doing so he would perhaps put up one of the 
 wastrels who were lounging about the weighing-room, 
 with results that he — and his horse — would remember for 
 many a long day. Fortunately most of the stables that 
 went in at all for steeplechasing and hunters' races had 
 a "gentleman rider" attached. This useful person was 
 sometimes a brother or relation of the trainer. T. Wadlow 
 had a cousin farming somewhere in the neighbourhood 
 of Wenlock Edge who used to appear at the little Salop 
 meetings, to the confusion of the sporting farmers, and 
 was generally successful. Indeed, his superior jockeyship 
 would almost have enabled him to win on a fairly bred 
 cow. One of the Stevens' was at one time qualified, as 
 also was a son of William Holman of Cheltenham. 
 Many " gentlemen riders " were gentlemen, but of no use 
 at all on a horse, while others could ride well enough, but 
 were anything but gentlemen. The really good, reliable 
 riders who could be depended on not to throw away a 
 race were exceedingly few and generally engaged weeks 
 or months in advance by some steeplechase magnate, so 
 that the man with the inferior horse was frequently still 
 
 198 
 
Gentlemen Riders and Hunters' Races 
 
 further handicapped by having to put up an inferior 
 jockey. How these men managed to win any races at all 
 was a marvel ; they certainly won very few. 
 
 My first introduction to the " gentleman rider " was 
 anything but promising. I had been out one day with 
 the North Warwickshire Hounds near Solihull, and had 
 noticed a farmer riding a good-looking chestnut horse 
 that fenced remarkably well. We exchanged a few words, 
 when he told me that, notwithstanding his jumping prow- 
 ess, the horse was anything but a comfortable conveyance, 
 and that he had bolted two or three times that day. 
 Being at the Birmingham Repository a week or two after- 
 wards, I read my friend's name in the catalogue as owner 
 of " Euphrates, ch. g. 6 yrs." Looking the horse over, I 
 found he improved on acquaintance, and I decided to try 
 and buy him. He was bought in at the auction, and I 
 afterwards got him for a small sum, about thirty pounds, 
 I think ; he certainly looked worth three hundred. I 
 heard there was nothing against him except that he 
 would always bolt when he got a chance, and, of course, 
 it was easy for me to decide that he shouldn't have one. 
 He was in good hunting condition, and galloped in good 
 form. My groom, however, was afraid to let him go, as 
 he didn't see the fun of being bolted with. I had ridden 
 one or two ordinary pullers, so told him one day to 
 lengthen the stirrups, and I would give him a gallop 
 myself Before I could get settled he was off, but he 
 jumped so cleverly that I soon saw that I was perfectly 
 safe, and I was almost sorry when he stopped, with a 
 view, as his custom was, to getting ready to bolt again. I 
 entered Euphrates in a farmer's steeplechase at Sutton 
 Coldfield, and then began to look round for a jockey. 
 
 At that time I had not owned a steeplechaser since 
 
 199 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 my Oxford days, and I had to thank my new purchase, 
 if for little else, for introducing me to the " gentleman 
 rider," who was afterwards to be a source — well, not 
 always — of trouble and anxiety. I was unacquainted 
 with the leading "gentlemen riders/' and had I known 
 one he would certainly have pleaded a previous engage- 
 ment when asked to ride Euphrates. At that date I may 
 have imagined that one "gentleman rider" was very like 
 another, whereas they differed more than chalk from 
 cheese. When a Staffordshire friend, whom I accidentally 
 met, told me that one of these wonderful beings was 
 staying at his house, and that he thought he might be 
 prevailed on to ride, I straightway went off to interview 
 him. Mr. Jim, as I will call him (I afterwards discovered 
 he had been a middling rider, but was getting shaky), 
 pooh-poohed me when I told him he had better come 
 down and ride the horse before the race. 
 
 " He's an awful puller," I said. 
 
 " Haw," said Mr. Jim, " if that's all, 1 think I under- 
 stand all about pullers." 
 
 I tried to impress upon him the fact that Euphrates 
 was just a little bit out of the comm.on, but soon saw it 
 was no use trying to pierce his self-conceit. 
 
 Mr. Jim duly appeared at Sutton, and my groom 
 didn't like his looks. He tried to utter a warning but 
 was cut short. The jockey mounted, for a wonder with- 
 out any trouble, and I then gave him a last bit of advice. 
 
 " Keep your hands down when you jump the prelimin- 
 ary hurdle ; " quite a number of second-class gentlemen 
 riders in those days used to throw up an arm to balance 
 themselves when taking a fence. 
 
 The horse walked off like a slug, which was a way he 
 had, and Mr. Jim had actually to hustle him into a canter. 
 
 200 
 
Gentlemen Riders and Hunters* Races 
 
 In jumping the hurdle up went Mr. Jim's right arm ; 
 Euphrates gave his head a shake on landing, and off he 
 went. I was half prepared for this, and was soon running 
 with the groom across the course to see what could be done 
 to stop him as he came round. At the turn, however, was 
 a steep grass bank, about twelve feet high, the boundary 
 of the gardens of some recently erected villas. This 
 was just in Euphrates' line — he could have gone up 
 the side of a house — and up the bank he bounded gaily 
 with Mr. Jim. They crashed into some cucumber frames 
 at the top, and then, as usual, Euphrates stood stockstill. 
 
 " Ride him down sharp," I called out from the bottom 
 of the bank, " or you'll be too late ; " the horses were just 
 preparing to start. 
 
 Mr. Jim, trembling as if with an ague fit, dismounted 
 among the cucumbers, and called to the groom to climb 
 up and take the horse. I climbed up also, and found 
 Mr. Jim in the centre of quite a little Exchange of 
 Birmingham manufacturers with their friends, who had 
 come to look at the racing — " trustees and aunts and 
 uncles." Such a row and threatening, with all the 
 rigours of the law, was never heard before. When they 
 had finished, or, perhaps, only stopped to take breath, the 
 groom got the horse down the bank easily enough. 
 
 " Up with you," I said to Mr. Jim ; " there's just time ; " 
 indeed, the starter was waiting for us. But Mr. Jim had 
 had enough of it. 
 
 " I think your horse is a little nervous," he said. So 
 he was, and so, no doubt, was the rider. I never saw or 
 heard more of Mr. Jim. 
 
 I afterwards discovered a jockey, a cross between a 
 " gentleman rider " and a professional, who " had never 
 ridden for hire." This was allowed then, but I think it 
 
 20 1 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 was stopped long ago, and rightly too. It was quite 
 usual to have an objection when the man who had never 
 ridden for hire won a race from the man for whom he had 
 ridden under the same description — and who had paid 
 him — the week before. Indeed, I soon found out that 
 there was not much to choose between " gentlemen 
 riders " and the class who had " never ridden for hire," 
 except that the former were rather more exorbitant in 
 their charges. You had to put them on ten pounds, and 
 if they lost, as they frequently did by disobeying orders, or 
 having no knowledge of pace, they wanted money to get 
 home, and very likely to have a night in town on the way. 
 My new jockey could manage to keep Euphrates 
 from bolting, but he was, naturally perhaps, afraid to let 
 him go. So he had some nice rides (for there never was 
 a safer conveyance over a country) without profit to me. 
 Indeed, Euphrates never won anything, though he always 
 ran well, and fenced magnificently. The worst of it was 
 that my man was by no means averse to beer, and, not- 
 withstanding repeated warnings, could not resist " having 
 a glass" when bringing the horse home. If he got the 
 first glass down safely he would celebrate the feat with 
 another. Usually the horse seized the moment when he 
 put out his hand for the first glass to bolt, and on several 
 occasions he found this also a good opportunity for 
 getting rid of the man. I once lost Euphrates for three 
 days — of course I knew he was as certain to come back as 
 a bad shilling — though the groom turned up all right, and 
 then heard of him some miles on the other side of 
 Birmingham, where some good Samaritan sportsman had 
 taken him in, clothing and all. Neither horse nor groom 
 was ever a halfpenny the worse for their escapades, of 
 which, however, I began, after some time, to tire. I can't 
 
 202 
 
Gentlemen Riders and Hunters' Races 
 
 remember what became of Euphrates, but suppose he went 
 back to the Repository, as was the case with the great 
 majority of horses that were bought there. No doubt he 
 played his old tricks in a new place, and, very likely, some 
 new ones in a bus. 
 
 Clearly, if I had had to put up with riders of Mr. Jim's 
 calibre, I should have done very little good at steeple- 
 chasing. But, chiefly owing to my friend '' Mr. Thomas' " 
 good offices, when, later on, I got a good horse or two, I 
 was sometimes able to secure a jockey who, if not quite 
 in the first rank, was yet fairly capable. The best " gentle- 
 men riders " then were " Mr. Thomas," Messrs. Crawshaw, 
 J. M. Richardson, E. P. Wilson, C. J. Cunningham, 
 Brockton, and another or two. Mr. Crawshaw, perhaps 
 in his day as good as any " gentleman rider " or most pro- 
 fessionals on the flat or over hurdles, and the only one 
 I had to do with who indignantly declined to be " put on " 
 the usual tenner, was once so obliging as to ride for me ; 
 but on that occasion he was unsuccessful. 
 
 His mount Barmstone had been a notorious rogue on 
 the flat, though one of the fastest horses in training when 
 in the humour. Thinking he might run more generously 
 over hurdles, he was put in a hurdle race at Cheltenham. 
 At the last hurdle he was winning easily, when suddenly 
 he put his ears back, and refused to try any more. Mr. 
 Crawshaw, thinking he would just win, did not use his 
 whip, and was beaten by a neck on the post. The next 
 day Barmstone had the same horses to beat, and was for 
 playing the same game, when Alfred Holman's whip on 
 his ribs was heard all over the course, and he left his 
 horses as if they were standing still. 
 
 There were several good horsemen, of whom George 
 Lowe (who rode principally for VVadlow's stable) was a 
 
 203 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 type, who were without, and apparently not too desirous 
 of acquiring a knowledge of pace, which deficiency, when 
 their mounts were of approximately equal merit, put them 
 at the mercy of their better educated opponents. George 
 Lowe, than whom a nicer or more straightforward young 
 fellow never breathed, rode for me several times, with 
 varying success. On one occasion he rode Spreading 
 Sail in a " Hunters' flat race " at Shrewsbury, and though I 
 was by this time well aware of the uncertainty of racing, 
 I made sure of winning the race, as the mare was then in 
 great form, and had a good deal the best of the weights. 
 I tried to impress .upon George that he should get away as 
 quickly as possible, and keep going, as his mount would 
 stay for ever. He soon got twenty lengths in front, his 
 two chief opponents, Messrs. Crawshaw and Spence — both 
 admirable judges of pace — keeping well in the rear, and 
 allowing him to think he was making the running. The 
 two closed with him at the run in, taking him in com- 
 pletely, and both beating him on the post. I told George 
 that if I had had a shot-gun when he came jogging past 
 the stand at half-speed the first time round, I thought I 
 should have shot him. He was much grieved at his mistake, 
 and confessed he " had not made enough of the old mare." 
 A long way behind such good honest fellows as George 
 Lowe came the ruck, and how some of these managed to 
 qualify was a marvel. They turned up from everywhere, 
 but chiefly from slums and public-houses. There was an 
 awful case of a " gentleman rider " who had a public-house 
 
 — hotel he called it — at C , and owned two or three 
 
 screws, which he was accustomed to manipulate himself. 
 Immediately after dismounting he would change his 
 clothes, and appear, with name emblazoned on his bag, 
 in the betting ring. Truly a nice state of affairs ! 
 
 204 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 BLACK COTTON AND HER PROGENY, 
 
 BLACK COTTON'S foal by Knight of Kars had now 
 arrived at what in a well-conducted animal would 
 have been years of discretion. There were few if any 
 mares in England better bred than Black Cotton. To 
 quote a letter from John Eyke : " She is by Faughballa 
 [sic], brother to Birdcatcher, dam Fantastic by Touchstone, 
 Revival by Pantaloon, Waterloo out of Eleanor, winner of 
 Derby and Oaks." And if Knight of Kars was not all 
 that John Eyke fondly thought him, still he sired a good 
 many winners, and might, not impossibly, sire one more. 
 Gun Cotton, as I had named the colt, was a big, dark 
 brown horse, and William Holman (who had some good 
 horses, one or two of them belonging to the Duke of 
 Hamilton) expected great things from him. Afterwards 
 I wished he had been less sanguine. 
 
 William Holman, who was then getting into years, was 
 a fine, straightforward man, with a good knowledge of 
 training, inclining, I should say, to- old-fashioned ways, 
 I remember once going round the stables at Cleve and 
 coming upon a horse whose loins were quite raw from a 
 recent severe blistering. The horse, I was told, had had 
 inflammation, when a hill sheep was killed, and the skin 
 applied hot to the horse's loins. I doubt if this remedy 
 is in vogue now in fashionable stables, but it was efficacious 
 
 205 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 at least in taking the skin off, and the cost of a hill sheep 
 was very small. 
 
 William Holman had a large and very fine family of 
 sons, the majority of whom were, as was natural, good 
 riders. The best of them was that " popular idol " George, 
 who so nearly won the Grand National on the Doctor, 
 who was unlucky in having to meet the Colonel, a horse 
 of quite exceptional merit. William Holman retired soon 
 after I went to Cleve, in favour of his son John, who could 
 ride a bit, but was apparently never very anxious to 
 distinguish himself between the flags. As a trainer he 
 was greatly the inferior of his father. John did not stay 
 very long at Cleve, but removed to Calne in Wiltshire, an 
 out-of-the-way place, but with some good galloping ground 
 and it was there that Mr. Brayley, after years of patient 
 waiting, trained his Grand National winner. I don't know 
 whether it was the bacon (the hedgerows in the neighbour- 
 hood of Calne presented a strange appearance, being hung 
 for miles and miles with bacon bags) or the solitude, but 
 John could never do any good there. Another son, 
 Alfred, who in his day was a good rider, still trains 
 near Cheltenham. 
 
 As I said, I should afterwards have been glad if 
 William Holman had been less sanguine as to Gun Cot- 
 ton's future. Without having any serious accident, some- 
 thing was always happening to put him hors de combat^ 
 just as he was expected to distinguish himself. He was 
 given to playing tricks in his box, and would rear up, and 
 paw the plaster off the ceiling. On the eve of a big 
 hunters' race at Aintree he developed a wart just below 
 the fetlock joint, which, though of no ultimate importance, 
 prevented him from running. He was a fine fencer, but 
 had to be stopped in his preparation for the National 
 
 206 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 on account of an accident in the stable. He had been 
 tried so well that I was loth to give him up while hope 
 remained. William Holman was very likely right in 
 thinking that, with luck, he would have proved himself 
 a good horse : he had less difficulty in proving himself an 
 expensive one, and unfitted for a sportsman of limited 
 income. But it must be remembered that the charge then 
 made by all but the more fashionable trainers was only 
 twenty-five shillings a week. It is now fifty shillings, 
 which makes it impossible to get one's expenses at 
 steeplechasing, with so many races whose value is not 
 more than forty pounds. This necessitates betting, 
 when the state of that man may be worse than 
 before. 
 
 Black Cotton's next foal was by Paul Jones, then 
 located at Mr. W. E. Everitt's stud farm at Finstal, 
 near Bromsgrove. Mr. Everitt had quite a large 
 establishment, which used to be visited by a number 
 of men connected with racing and breeding. It was 
 within easy reach of Droitwich, a place noted for the 
 cure, or supposed cure, of sufferers from rheumatic gout, 
 and other kindred ailments. I remember on one occasion 
 I had been walking round the farm with Mr. Everitt, 
 when, on approaching the house, we met a footman bear- 
 ing on a salver a card inscribed with the name of Mr. 
 Thompson. The owner of the card, a tall, fine-looking, 
 grey-haired man, was to be seen a little in the rear. 
 " Thompson ! " said Mr. Everitt to me ; " who is he ? " 
 I looked at the card. " The great Yorkshire breeder," 
 I said ; " father of Gig Thompson " — so he had been 
 nicknamed at Eton — " the gentleman rider." Mr. Everitt, 
 the most hospitable of men, welcomed his visitor cordially, 
 and the butler was at once interviewed with a view to 
 
 207 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 celebrating his visit with the production of a special 
 brand of champagne. Mr. Thompson informed us that 
 he had driven over from Droitwich, whither he had been 
 sent to be cured of his rheumatic gout. He appeared 
 to enjoy his visit, no doubt a change from Droitwich, 
 which he had found exceedingly dull. I never heard 
 how the new treatment agreed with him, but it is 
 unlikely that it had been prescribed by his medical 
 man. 
 
 The following is an illustration of how little some 
 owners know as to what their horses are doing. 
 
 When Stitch of Canvas — as the daughter of Paul 
 Jones and Black Cotton had been named — was three 
 years old I leased her for her racing career to Miller 
 Corbet, a well-known Kidderminster solicitor, who had 
 an idea that he was fitted to shine on the turf That he 
 may have been so is possible, but he had no time to spare 
 for a profession that demands as much attention as the 
 law, or perhaps even a little more. The mare was sent to 
 Malton to be trained, and ran once or twice in the north 
 without either disgracing herself or doing herself much 
 credit. Staying in the winter-time with a Yorkshire 
 parson, whose living was about fifteen miles from Malton, 
 I thought I would go over and see her. The parson 
 and I turned up one day about lunch-time at the big 
 hotel in Malton, which was kept by the trainer. The 
 place was absolutely empty of guests, and indeed there 
 appeared to be very little in it but an abundance of port 
 wine. It was a bitter cold day; there had been no fire in 
 the coffee-room on our arrival, and we found it impossible 
 to warm either ourselves or the doubtless choice vintage 
 brought up from the cellar for our approval. It was some 
 time before we were permitted to see the horses, and on 
 
 208 
 
Mr. E. p. Wilson. 
 
 [See page 203- 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 being escorted at length to the stables I found Stitch of 
 Canvas unable to walk out of her box, having had a bad 
 attack of humour on her return from a race meeting at 
 Redcar some time before. One of her hocks was nearly 
 the size of her head, and one fetlock joint much enlarged. 
 She had a ragged coat, and did not appear to have been 
 groomed for some time. To my inquiry as to when she 
 had last been out of the stable, " You will have seen," the 
 trainer calmly replied, " the statements in the sporting 
 papers as to her work." And indeed I had seen reports 
 that she was galloping regularly. I was greatly shocked 
 at seeing the mare in such a state, and said I would take 
 the responsibility of having her boxed down to me at once. 
 1 suppose some trainers in those days thought their clients 
 absolute donkeys, but no doubt they have since got a 
 little sharper. From that day I ceased to place the 
 slightest confidence in "training reports," believing, 
 perhaps wrongly, that they are written by a penny-a- 
 liner in Fleet Street for purposes of deception ; but there 
 has been plenty of time since for improvement. 
 
 I took Stitch of Canvas back, and for some time looked 
 on her as fit only for breeding ; and it was quite a year 
 before I thought it might be possible to train her for a 
 hunter's flat race. The fetlock joint remained so much 
 enlarged that it was a marvel how she avoided hitting it. 
 She first ran in a little race at Bromyard, which she lost 
 through being amiss. Bromyard was a queer course, up 
 and down some steep chalk hills that reminded me of the 
 cliffs on the coast of Kent. There was an amusing affair 
 here when, on a dispute arising as to the height of a 
 " Galloway," Mr. E. P. Wilson, who was to be for many 
 years in the front rank of gentlemen riders, treated the 
 local officials rather de haut en bas. The Bromyard 
 O 209 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 people stood on their dignity, but the matter, a storm 
 in a teacup, was soon got over. 
 
 Stitch next came out on the old course — a very bad 
 one — at Sutton Coldfield, and here recommenced my 
 troubles with "gentlemen riders." Mr. — it should have 
 
 been " Lord " — D , who consented to ride, was a young 
 
 man of good family, and I presume well off, but he never- 
 theless asked me to put him on a tenner, as if he were the 
 merest pauper, and my experience (not a very wide one) 
 has been that, with the exceptions that prove the rule, 
 " gentlemen riders " require what amounts to a much 
 larger fee than could be claimed by a professional. Mr., 
 
 or Lord, D was told not to win too far, so he raced away 
 
 and won by forty lengths. Inferior " gentlemen riders," 
 besides having no knowledge of pace, are always far too 
 conceited to dream of riding to orders. 
 
 Stitch of Canvas ran several times with varying 
 
 success — at her best there were only one or two " hunters " 
 
 that could beat her — when I sold her with a contingency, 
 
 and it was when again running at Sutton Coldfield that a 
 
 curious thing occurred. The mare had been carefully 
 
 kept out of the paddock, as she was looking very well, 
 
 and we had no wish to shorten the odds. Mr. Arthur 
 
 Yates had a mare in the race, ridden by " Mr." Rudd — 
 
 there were two Rudds, brothers, one a jockey, and the 
 
 other a " gentleman rider." To my surprise, when I went 
 
 into the ring, I found Stitch of Canvas at evens, and 
 
 Mr. Yates' mare at three to one. This was awkward, 
 
 but Stitch looked so well that I backed her for a pony. 
 
 Walter Holman was riding, and notwithstanding the fact 
 
 that she was spurred more on that occasion than in all the 
 
 rest of her life put together, Mr. Yates' mare won by many 
 
 lengths. I couldn't make it out ; but more was to come, 
 
 210 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 I did not go near the weighing-room after the race, not 
 being given in those days to suspecting fraud, and was 
 surprised to hear shouting when the horses were being 
 weighed out. Walter Holman came running up : " We've 
 got the race," he called out. It seems that Mr. Yates' mare 
 had carried a stone overweight, and had still been able to 
 win easily. The matter was never cleared up or explained 
 in any way. The fact that no one thought that Mr. Yates 
 had any part or knowledge of the affair only made it 
 more inexplicable. It was said that Stitch of Canvas was 
 backed by Mr. Yates' party, who thus pocketed their bets 
 on the race. The matter was to have been brought before 
 the National Hunt Committee, but nothing came of it. 
 But the oddest thing was that though the mare must have 
 been on that running a very good animal, she never earned 
 brackets. 
 
 Some little time after I heard that Stitch of Canvas 
 was to be put up to auction at Cheltenham, having a 
 screw loose somewhere. I went down, and bought her 
 back for twenty pounds, and could not see that she was a 
 halfpenny worse than when I sold her. I started training 
 her at home, and entered her for a hunter's flat race at 
 " Four Oaks Park," which meeting had been started a 
 year or two before. Being for some reason disappointed 
 of my jockey, I asked a big, strong man (one of the 
 unemployed, who was lounging about the weighing-room, 
 and whom I knew slightly) to ride her. Stitch had taken 
 to pulling hard, and no wonder, and I told my " gentleman 
 rider " that he must be careful or she would play him a 
 trick. It seemed I had happed on a second edition of 
 '' Mr. Jim." It was once more, " Oh, thank you very 
 much ; I think I know all about pullers." Whether this 
 was true or not he was certainly to know something 
 
 211 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 before he had finished. Stitch bolted with him in the pre- 
 liminary, big and strong as he looked, as if he had been a 
 child. She made the circuit of the course, when I walked 
 out and stopped her. When the race came off she bolted 
 again, but only lost by a length or two, being pumped 
 out just before reaching the winning post. She was 
 never to be trusted again after discovering what she could 
 do with such a big, strong jockey — as she may have 
 thought him. I kept her at home, and she got very 
 clever at her fences, and a young fellow who was staying 
 with me, a fair rider, seemed to have acquired the knack of 
 holding her. One day, however, he turned in his saddle 
 as he landed over a fence, to see how a Galloway of his, 
 coming behind with a stable lad on him, shaped at the 
 jump. Stitch seized on the chance as cleverly as 
 Euphrates could have done, and bolted in earnest. I 
 forget how far she went before she was pulled up, but she 
 was not one of those pullers who have had enough of it 
 after a mile or so ; and no doubt that gallop was the cause 
 of her shortly afterwards breaking down. 
 
 In the meantime her own sister had not satisfied her 
 purchaser, though I kept telling him she wanted time, and 
 he asked me to take her back, which I did. After running 
 unsuccessfully at Worcester in a Hunter's flat race, she 
 made a second essay at Warwick, where she won the 
 Great Warwickshire Hunter's flat race in a canter. I had 
 the best of the weights, but she must have been a good 
 mare that day, as she beat " The Scot " (afterwards 
 purchased by the then Prince of Wales, with a view to 
 winning the Grand National) and several other good 
 horses. I went early to Birmingham, and sent " my 
 commissioner" — a well-known, honest, if bottle-nosed 
 billiard-marker at the rooms in Stephenson's Place — to 
 
 212 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 see what he could do. He went down to Dale End, and 
 returned, saying he could only get three to one, and those 
 odds (luckily, as.it happened) only to ten pounds. Think- 
 ing I might find things even worse when I got to 
 Warwick, I told him to take it. I was surprised on 
 reaching the course to find my mare at ten to one. It 
 required some courage, but I pulled myself together, and 
 that was, I think, the best day I ever had on a racecourse, 
 though I should have had another or two had I not been 
 handicapped by inferior jockeys. I returned from War- 
 wick in time to attend a political meeting at Alvechurch, 
 where I had promised to speak. My friends were sur- 
 prised to find me in better form than usual, but perhaps 
 if some of our needy, place-hunting politicians could 
 always manage to have a similar experience to mine 
 before holding forth, their oratory might be more in- 
 spiriting than is often the case. 
 
 I had a great liking for Warwick, and when attending 
 the meetings there I used generally to drive over from 
 King's Norton, and put up with a sporting old fellow 
 named Newsome, who rented an old manor-house and a 
 few acres of turf from the Earl of Warwick, and who one 
 day surprised me by saying that he had formerly been a 
 tenant on the Swinton estate, with which my family were 
 connected. On entering the house his usual greeting was 
 the question — in a muffled voice, proceeding from the 
 cellar — "'34 or '47?" I used generally to declare for '34, 
 when the sound of the drawing of a cork would be heard, 
 and the whole house would be impregnated with the 
 bouquet of that famous wine, of which my host seemed 
 always to have a bottle or two remaining from his more 
 prosperous days, and which he was already decanting for 
 our after-dinner delectation. Dining a few days ago at 
 
 213 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 a rather second-rate London restaurant 1 was amused to 
 see that the list on the wine card included my old friends 
 '34 and '47, of which vintages I imagined the last bottle 
 had been drunk long ago. 
 
 Spreading Sail afterwards lost the Claremont Hunter's 
 at Sandown — for this I was advised not to start her, as 
 she was the only penalised runner — but won the Ludlow 
 Cup, and two or three smaller races before running at 
 Shrewsbury (the last races on that course), when she 
 would have won easily enough had G. S. Lowe, who had 
 previously ridden her at Warwick, known a little more 
 about pace. The week after she won again at Warwick, 
 this being her first appearance over the sticks. It is odd 
 how lucky I was at Warwick, having hardly ever lost a 
 race there. Warwick had at one time a bad name for 
 the tricks that got hunters' races temporarily into such 
 disrepute. Every one will remember the mound there ; it 
 was impossible to see what went on behind this, and it 
 was strange sometimes, on the horses' reappearance, to 
 note the change in the order of the runners. 
 
 There is the story of Tom Oliver, who was riding 
 a steeplechase at Warwick in a snowstorm, when he 
 stopped behind a hayrick on the side of the track, and 
 joining in the second round, won easily. But no doubt 
 many stories have been fathered on Tom Oliver, as 
 Sydney Smith used to be credited with all the jokes. 
 
 Not long afterwards 1 chopped Spreading Sail for a 
 grand-looking horse by Lowlander, belonging to Mr. 
 W. B. Partridge, who should have won the Grand National 
 with Timothy Titus. Low-water, as I named him, was 
 unlucky. He was sent over to a steeplechase at " Four 
 Oaks Park " in charge of a stable boy, to get a certificate, 
 under the new rules, for hunters' flat races. Holman 
 
 214 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 sent a note to say that the horse had been coughing, and 
 had not had a gallop for some days, but was better and 
 quite able to get the course, and that the stable boy could 
 ride him all right, though, of course, he could not win. 
 My friend, Tom Pickernell, was acting as judge, and I 
 told him I only wanted a certificate, whereupon he replied 
 that he would stop in the box till dark if required. This, 
 however, proved unnecessary, as, at the second fence all 
 the other horses refused, when Low-water cantered on by 
 himself, taking his fences like a well-seasoned hunter, till 
 he arrived at the fence where the others were still refusing. 
 One of these managed to get over with him, but as Low- 
 water had a mile to the good he finished very much alone. 
 The horse looked exceedingly well, insomuch that a 
 number of people backed him, which of course I didn't ; 
 which shows that luck is sometimes better than know- 
 ledge. Mr. Young Graham, the Yardley breeder, admired 
 the horse, and went so far as to ask his price, but, as in 
 the case of the Sacharometer colt, I would not have sold 
 him for anything. He was only to run once more, and 
 again unbacked. This was in a farmer's race at Worcester, 
 when he was a little shin sore, and didn't care about 
 the hurdles. I sent a friend into the ring to put fifty 
 pounds on, but he returned saying they were asking for 
 odds. When I sent him back again it was too late. The 
 horse was very sulky, and got nearly a quarter of a mile 
 behind, but of a sudden he began racing, when he speedily 
 caught his field and won in a canter. Shortly after I had 
 the horse home for a time, and my friend Joe Parker, 
 the well-known Birmingham vet., coming over one day, 
 strayed into Low-water's box. " Do you know," he asked, 
 when he came into the house, " that Low-water is going 
 blind? In fact, he has lost the sight of one eye already." 
 
 215 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 This was true, and there went another good horse. Con- 
 sidering that I never had more than a couple of horses, 
 and generally only one, I don't think I did so badly, and 
 any one who has a good horse and an honest trainer, and 
 who is able to resist backing other people's horses, of 
 which he knows nothing, cannot do very much harm. 
 
 About this time instead of my running horses, people 
 began to run me for offices of all descriptions. There was 
 a little fun — with long intervals of dulness — to be got out 
 of these affairs, or — with the exception of politics, to which 
 I was devoted — I should soon have given them up. 
 
 I subjoin a few. samples of the sort of thing for which 
 I had to be thankful. 
 
 Some of the gentlemen elected to the County Bench 
 presumably for political services, were a curious lot. 
 Numbers of men pushed themselves on, so to speak, by 
 proclaiming past services which only existed in their 
 imagination, or by promising great things for the future, 
 when they were apt to disappoint expectations, very 
 often taking no further interest in county matters when 
 they had obtained the desire of their hearts. I once 
 attended a political dinner on the borders of my parish, 
 adjoining Birmingham ; the chair was taken by a newly 
 made J. P., who had some works in the neighbourhood and 
 was going — he said — to interest himself in politics. I had 
 the honour of being seated on his right hand, and was 
 surprised, after dinner, when the speech-making was about 
 to commence, to see the chairman's head clerk come in 
 with a sheaf of typewritten documents which the chair- 
 man set himself to study. Imagine my joy at discovering 
 that these were the speeches he was to deliver during the 
 evening. He was, unfortunately, or fortunately, rather 
 careless in shuffling these documents, and some of them 
 
 2l6 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 got out of place. He would calmly rise and begin read- 
 ing from a typewritten page ; when he had got half-way 
 he would stop, " Ah ! I find 1 am reading the wrong 
 speech," and then go through the pack till he came to the 
 right one. The odd thing was that the audience, com- 
 posed principally of working men, did not seem to think it 
 anything out of the way. 
 
 When a Liberal Unionist was first brought forward 
 for Mid Worcestershire I was anything but pleased, as 
 Liberal Unionists formed but a very small portion of 
 the constituency. Subsequently I changed my mind in 
 deference to Lord Salisbury's wishes, and as a local meet- 
 ing was taking place in my village in favour of a Radical 
 candidate, I thought it a good opportunity for advertising 
 the fact. The Radical candidate was a little quack 
 doctor, and he had recently been accused of writing 
 something about the Liberal Unionist candidate which 
 was not strictly true. When he had finished his speech 
 I went up* to the platform and charged him with bringing 
 a false accusation against his opponent " It's a lie," said 
 the little man quite boldly, when I sprang forward, putting 
 out my hand as if to seize him by the throat. He 
 collapsed into the corner of the platform, and his adher- 
 ents came round me, making a furious row. However, 
 nothing came of it, and next day I saw a paragraph in all 
 the local papers, " Tory J. P. assaults Radical candidate." 
 This of course, was just what I wanted. I had not the 
 slightest intention of harming the little doctor, who was 
 afterwards relegated to the obscurity from which he had 
 temporarily emerged. 
 
 At the institution of County Councils I was in favour 
 of farmers coming forward, thinking they would be the 
 best people to look after the country districts, and that 
 
 217 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 they might be trusted not to err on the side of extrava- 
 gance. This last would no doubt have been the case, but 
 whether from want of the necessary leisure, or because 
 they felt shy of opposing the " nobility and gentry," who, 
 with one accord, sought election on the new body, very 
 few farmers came forward. Still fewer were elected, and 
 these, with an exception or two, were failures, their ideas 
 never seeming able to soar beyond their parish boundaries. 
 An old farmer, who used to make long speeches on the 
 most peddling matters, raised a discussion one day on the 
 Highways Committee about a culvert which, it seemed, 
 was unused, and. which it appeared to be his chief object 
 in life to fill up with stones. This went on till lunch-time 
 without the farmer being appeased. He joined our party 
 at the usual lunching-place ; the Evesham district had 
 been favoured that year with a big crop of plums, and in 
 consequence an enormous plum tart made its appearance 
 on the table. To this he paid great attention, taking the 
 stones out of his mouth and placing them on the tablecloth 
 beside him. When he had finished the tart I asked him 
 if he was keeping the stones to fill up his culvert. He 
 blushed. " Beg pardon ! " he said, as he shovelled them 
 on to his plate, where they made quite a nice little cairn. 
 There was occasionally a little amusement to be 
 obtained from the meetings of the King's Norton School 
 Board. The examiner from the Board of Education was 
 an Irishman, and no doubt a capable official, but his 
 usefulness was greatly minimised by his brogue, which was 
 something terrific. On one occasion he gave our school a 
 bad report, and this greatly upset the schoolmaster, who 
 was thereby placed in danger of losing his situation. To 
 mend matters, he brought me the draft of a memorial 
 which he had drawn up for presentation to the Board, 
 
 2i8 
 
Black Cotton and her Progeny 
 
 In this he stated that the reason for the unfavourable 
 report was that the children could not understand what 
 the examiner was saying. He instanced the word 
 " garden " which the children had been accused of being 
 unable to spell, and which the examiner, he stated, had 
 pronounced " ghearhding." It took me some time to 
 persuade our schoolmaster that no good would be done 
 by presenting the memorial, in which, as author, he took 
 considerable pride. 
 
 These things were all very well, though occasionally 
 rather wearisome. I have seen very little racing for some 
 time, but given a good horse and a good jockey, I should 
 enjoy a visit to a racecourse again ; without these adjuncts 
 I had rather stop at home. 
 
 319 
 
A 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 SCENES ON RACECOURSES. 
 
 NY one who on a racecourse gets tired of watching 
 the racing should turn his attention to the 
 " bookie," than whom there is no one who would better 
 repay study. Scarce a betting man of the first class but 
 might have made his mark in any other line, save perhaps 
 as parson or minor poet, and of these there is already an 
 ample supply. The cunningly tentative offers, the quick- 
 ness with which they are withdrawn, the brief lapses — to 
 an old customer, and between two paroxysms of concen- 
 trated blasphemy — into the country gentleman must 
 surely amuse if they do not instruct the most prejudiced 
 anti-sportist. In addition to quick wits the bookie must 
 be endowed with lungs of brass and a constitution of iron, 
 or he will succumb to a cold caught on the " Heath," or an 
 equally disqualifying, if less deadly, " clerical throat," 
 which it seems sacrilege to mention in such a connection. 
 There are other causes of disappearance from Tattersall's 
 ring which involve, it is said, the making a fresh start at 
 the bottom of the ladder. It must require no inconsider- 
 able amount of pluck to recommence climbing after being 
 hurled from the coveted position on the topmost rung, but 
 the resuscitation, if infrequent, is not unknown. Rumours 
 too had reached me of a prison house in which these 
 probationers were confined till their crimes — chief among 
 which was the being found out — were burnt and purged 
 
 220 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 away, and one day at Doncaster, when there chanced to be 
 little in the racing to interest me, I started off to find it. 
 
 My way led through the paddock gate across the 
 course. As I neared the centre of this the roar gradually 
 subsided, till I was conscious of a heavenly calm. A few 
 more steps and the noise recommenced with less concen- 
 trated clamour from the opposite side. A mounted police- 
 man having vehemently objected to my movements, the 
 sympathetic crowd by which the rails were densely lined 
 of course opened readily to allow my passage. I pushed 
 forward a few yards, strode over a second rail, and found 
 myself in what may be described as a Tattersall's of the 
 gutter. It is presumably from the elite of these outsiders 
 that the aristocratic ring on the other side of the course 
 is re-stocked — as a Parish Councillor used gradually to 
 develop into a County Councillor or an M.P. — and the gaps 
 so made are filled in their turn by failures from the other 
 side. The acquirement of the leisure necessary to the 
 evolving of new objurgations, unique in their combination 
 of depth and volume, may be no" slight set-off to the dis- 
 appointment of finding oneself after much wearying toil in 
 the exact spot whence one started years ago. 
 
 Though the personality of the "list-men" varied im- 
 mensely, some being apparently good fellows, while others 
 were clearly the reverse (or those who looked " good fellows" 
 may have been the greatest blackguards), their parapher- 
 nalia were absolutely identical. Each was the proud pro- 
 prietor of three sticks, which opened to form a sort of easel 
 to support a canvas frequently adorned, in addition to a 
 name in enormous letters, with the portrait — an ideal one 
 — of the owner. These names were generally suggestive 
 of aristocratic or titled descent. Either many scions of 
 noble families have, in the dearth of other remunerative 
 
 221 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 employment, taken to outside betting, or members of the 
 profession modestly discard their own patronymic on 
 appearing in public. There was not a Smith or Jones 
 among the lot. What with the name and the portrait 
 there was but little space remaining on which to hang a 
 small black board. On this the proprietor wrote with a 
 piece of chalk the name of the race, and the names — as far 
 as he was cognisant of them — of the horses about to 
 compete. I failed, moreover, to discover among these 
 gentry signs of the conspicuous talent that would justify 
 its owner's promotion, or even of such " astuteness " as 
 might be expected to survive the fall which some of them 
 may have undergone. When the "list-man" thought it 
 time to commence business he ruminantly jotted down 
 under each horse's name the odds he was prepared to lay. 
 I had supposed that the men whom I had seen signalling 
 from the paddock, as it were in a sort of magnified deaf 
 and dumb alphabet, were acting on behalf of the outside 
 bookies. It was rather a shock to find that the latter 
 showed little anxiety to profit by information gained by 
 this or any other means. 
 
 Half-way up the straight the "lists" got fewer, and 
 the few were less patronised. I supposed there was an 
 unwritten law compelling a novice to begin at the far 
 end, and work his way, as vacancies arose, towards the 
 winning post. Possibly, however, failure on the other 
 side conferred a sort of degree. As yet I had not come 
 on anybody who looked as if he were trying to climb up 
 again after a fall, or was likely to succeed if he tried. I 
 was beginning to surmise that for the fallen angels there 
 must be yet another place of repentance, when I came 
 upon " Pan of Birmingham." 
 
 " Pan " was a middle-aged man, probably about forty 
 
 222 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 or forty-five, though an immense brown beard and 
 moustache almost entirely concealed his features, and 
 made it hard to tell his age with any exactitude. He 
 was dressed in a new suit of tweeds. His canvas was 
 for some occult reason — perhaps by way of informing 
 people that " Pan " was his novi de plume — decorated 
 with a rude design of the Prince of Wales' feathers. If 
 he had chosen his " stand " with the intention of com- 
 manding a view of the start for the two-year-old races, 
 he was to be congratulated on his success, but from a 
 professional point of view the spot seemed, to a novice, 
 ill-chosen. Here, I thought, must be the latest fallen 
 angel from the other side. There was absolutely nothing 
 beyond him but the blank and unoccupied heath ; so 
 far was he indeed from the telegraph that it was hard 
 to believe his information could be up to date, and, 
 indeed, the odds he had chalked up against the horse 
 for which the race seemed to me a certainty were 
 exceedingly liberal. I laughed at finding myself tempted 
 to invest half a crown, and again when I had a reminder 
 that hesitation is as fatal — perhaps a little more so — on 
 the turf as elsewhere. A countryman lounged up from 
 somewhere, perhaps from the farm on the other side of 
 the course, and produced from an avaricious nook under 
 his smock a shilling, which he invested on the favourite 
 — which was not Pan's. I had thought the latter 
 lethargic, but no snail could have drawn in his horns 
 more expeditiously. He rushed to his board, as on an 
 errand of life and death, and substituted a three for the 
 figure seven, by which I had been tempted; then, still 
 with his back to me, he mumbled in a tone of triumphant 
 apology, " First come, first served." 
 
 As Pan turned his back on me it came into my mmd 
 
 223 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 that I had seen him before. Some fallen leviathan, no 
 doubt, who had come to grief, and was beginning again. 
 But it was only his back that I seemed to recognise. 
 The enormous beard that covered his face and flowed 
 down far over his waistcoat was unknown to me. 
 
 My curiosity was aroused, and, waiting till the country- 
 man had pocketed his eight shillings and sauntered off 
 again, I was approaching him with a view to the solving 
 of the mystery, when to my astonishment I saw that he 
 was packing up his easel. The process was not a long 
 one, and was apparently accelerated by his happening to 
 look up and see me almost at his elbow. Putting the 
 few light sticks that had supported his canvas under his 
 arm, he ducked, with more agility than I had expected, 
 under the rails, and was soon among the crowd on the 
 other side of the course. I would have followed, but the 
 course was being cleared, and the horses were already 
 cantering down to the starting-post for the next race; 
 and so for that time I lost him. 
 
 Yet if lost in one way, he was found in another. 
 Something in his gait as he moved away amongst the 
 crowd gave me the clue. Impossible! It can't be ! But 
 
 it was Tom sure enough. It was years since I had 
 
 seen or heard anything of him. He used to farm a few 
 
 miles from me in shire, and we had had many a 
 
 day's hunting and shooting together. He was fond of 
 excitement, and would frequently contrive to enliven 
 the somewhat dull routine of farming by the introduc- 
 tion of something risky and akin to gambling. When 
 this was impossible he took to attending races, but 
 instead of racing helping to keep the farm going the 
 farm had to pay for the racing. This it naturally 
 objected to, so Tom got hard up. One day I was at 
 
 224 
 
Mr. Thos. Pickernell ("Mr. Thomas") 
 
 [See page 216. 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 Races, and a horse that should have won was left 
 
 at the post; it was the jockey's doing, I think. I 
 came on Tom a few minutes later, and he was deadly- 
 pale ; I guessed something had gone wrong. It was 
 his horse that had been left, and I heard afterwards 
 that he had put his last sovereign on the race. He 
 gave up his farm and disappeared ; I met him one 
 day in Manchester, and went home with him. He 
 seemed to have settled down as manager of a sort of 
 Company of three or four women, none of them young, 
 who made a living by pleating petticoats, a change of 
 fashion having caused undergarments so treated to be 
 in vogue with the daughters of the operatives. The 
 Company had three or four sewing machines, on which 
 Tom was now the best and fastest operator. I forget 
 what he told me he could make in a day, but it was a 
 considerable sum, and quite enough to have kept him 
 comfortably, but I suppose he gambled it away. He 
 must have tired of the life, and of the petticoats, and 
 the women no longer young, for one day he disappeared 
 again, and here he was starting " outside bookie." 
 
 Next day I could not find him on the course; I 
 supposed he was keeping out of my way. But as I 
 was walking in to town after the racing I came upon 
 him. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and he started 
 when I accosted him. 
 
 " Why did you run away froni m^ ? " I asked. 
 
 "Why can't you let me alone?" he answered, and I 
 could see the blush rising outside the confines of brown 
 beard. 
 
 " I'll let you alone," I said, " when you've told me what 
 I can do for you." 
 
 " I was getting tired of cab-driving," he said, as if 
 P 225 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 nothing mattered much, " and a fellow left me a few 
 pounds. I thought I'd try this, but it's no use ; I've done 
 with it. I can't make 'ex's' at it." It would have done 
 no good to tell him he'd gone the wrong way to work. 
 
 He told me where I could see him in the evening. 
 He had a small room in a tiny house in one of the 
 little streets vacated temporarily by the toffee-makers, 
 presumably from a sporting desire to accommodate 
 race-goers. Contrary to the usual rule, he looked much 
 older without his beard. 
 
 I sent for a bottle of whisky, and after a glass or 
 two I got him to laugh once or twice, but it was a dreary 
 laugh, as if the machinery had gone rusty. We talked 
 over old times ; he didn't tell me what he was going to 
 do, and perhaps he didn't know. " I've been a fool, and 
 I've got to pay for it," he said quite cheerfully, and I 
 suppose there is always a certain amount of pleasure 
 in paying one's bills. 
 
 As I was going he got sad again. 
 
 " Thanks for coming, old chap ; if you could do any- 
 thing I'd ask you ; don't worry about me." 
 
 I tried to slide some money on to the mantelpiece, 
 but he wouldn't have it. 
 
 " None of that," he said, quite angrily. 
 
 I have never set eyes on him since, nor have I ever 
 made another incursion into the realms of the "outside 
 bookie." You see it is just possible that I might come 
 across another old friend. 
 
 On one occasion, being at Doncaster, I was asked 
 by Joe Parker, the before-mentioned Birmingham vet, 
 to attend at Edmond Tattersall's ring and buy in 
 Messrs. Graham's yearlings should they fail to make a 
 certain price. Quite a number of them had been sent 
 
 226 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 to Doncaster from what was in those days an overgrown 
 stud. Messrs. Graham were then breeding from the Duke, 
 whose progeny seemed to be in no great demand. I 
 forget how many were knocked down to me at twenty-five 
 pounds, but no doubt the spectators appreciated the parsi- 
 mony and lack of judgment displayed by the stranger who 
 seemed bent on picking up a stud for very little money. 
 
 Give a dog a bad name and hang him ; I have never 
 found Doncaster such a ruinous place to stop at during 
 the St. Leger week as it is generally represented. But 
 those who object to putting up at Doncaster have the 
 choice of quite a number of places within easy reach. 
 One of these is Retford, a rather quiet little country town 
 with an excellent hotel, where to my surprise I found it the 
 custom to serve " benedictine " in ordinary wine-glasses ; 
 a proof of liberality on the part of the landlord which 
 some of his customers could, no doubt, have well spared. 
 
 A good deal has been heard of the '' Yorkshire roar," 
 and it would be possible to attend Doncaster for many 
 years without discovering anything of the wild beast in 
 
 it. I once heard it in all its ferocity. The late Lord 
 
 (then a magnate of the turf) ran a horse at Doncaster 
 about twenty years ago, which became a hot favourite, 
 and, " by the book," should have won easily. The horse 
 got off all right — it was before the days of the starting- 
 gate — but the jockey, (retired), apparently made no 
 
 effort to keep him in the front, and he came in a good 
 last, the jockey's hand gracefully on his hip, as if he were 
 taking a canter in the park. i\s he came back to the 
 weighing-room an ominous growl arose which quickly 
 developed into the "Yorkshire roar," divorced from the 
 usual good-humour. A rush was made for the weighing- 
 room, which the police unaided would have been quite 
 
 227 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 unable to resist, and the owner and jockey would in all 
 probability have been torn to pieces had not the entrance 
 been guarded by a number of true sportsmen who, while 
 objecting to the impudent pulling of the favourite, had no 
 wish to see their county disgraced by an appeal to force 
 which the perpetrators had yet richly deserved. The 
 demonstrators were encountered with determination more 
 than equal to their own, and the weighing-room was 
 defended till the arrival of a strong body of police en- 
 abled the lord and the jockey, their faces blanched with 
 fear, to leave the course, carefully guarded. 
 
 I have not been to Doncaster for three or four years, 
 but before that time I attended pretty regularly, and never 
 without seeing a group of three men in the dress of 
 Roman Catholic priests, who remained all day in the 
 betting ring, and apparently took the deepest interest in 
 the odds. They attached themselves to one particular 
 bookie, who may have felt flattered, but I doubt if he 
 benefited much pecuniarily, though he may spiritually have 
 been a winner, by their patronage. The sight was not a 
 very edifying one. A contrast to the priests were the 
 clergymen of the Established Church, of whom quite a 
 number are to be seen in the paddock at Doncaster on 
 the Leger Day. Fine, burly men, and looking a little 
 old-fashioned in white ties, instead of the modern cut- 
 throat arrangement. I don't think this sight is to be seen 
 on any other racecourse. No doubt these parsons, like 
 all " Tykes," were born with a love of sport, and, if kept 
 within bounds, who would grudge them the distraction, no 
 doubt an agreeable enlivenment in what must often be 
 dull lives. 
 
 There is a little farm adjoining the paddock at Don- 
 caster, the owner of which on one occasion provided a 
 
 228 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 private Grand Stand in the shape of a haystack on the 
 boundary of the course, and also a little amusement for 
 one at least of the spectators. At first no one could have 
 been more obsequious than the farmer, who was in attend- 
 ance with a rather short ladder, which his patrons 
 mounted gleefully after disbursing. The first-comers sat 
 astride on the top of the rick, while the late arrivals seated 
 themselves less securely on the sloping roof. It had 
 rained overnight, and the thatch was slippery. Some of 
 the tenants of the slope got scared, and dug their heels 
 into the rick, but to little purpose. Others descended 
 cautiously towards the edge of the roof to look for the top 
 of the ladder ; but this implement I had seen the farmer 
 remove, and it may have been required on some other 
 portion of the estate. On recognising the fact of its 
 absence the unfortunates who had arrived so carefully at 
 the edge seemed to lose hope. Soon after the panic 
 reached the sportsmen who had been seated safely astride 
 on the top, and they began to join the already demoralised 
 people on the slope ; these were pushed over the edge, 
 and as they had attained considerable velocity, they shot 
 out quite a distance into the farmyard. One fat woman 
 landed with a thud that it would require a reporter for 
 the halfpenny press fitly to describe. The droll thing was 
 that the landlord appeared to have ceased to take interest 
 in the affair, and probably he was by this time watching 
 the racing from a less slippery location. By the time he 
 had put new thatch on the rick, I should think he was a 
 loser by his enterprise. 
 
 I was at Epsom to see Lady Elizabeth win the Derby 
 — which, as every one knows, she didn't. Spectators of 
 the fiasco could not believe their eyes, and never had a 
 secret been better kept, since the fact that she had com- 
 
 229 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 pletely lost her form was concealed even from the unfor- 
 tunate owner. Could this jaded-looking mare, people 
 asked, who never ran into her bridle, be the celebrated 
 flier who had been favourite throughout the winter? It 
 was for years confidently expected that some explanation 
 would be given, that something would leak out, that the 
 honour popularly ascribed to thieves would in this case, 
 if never again, be found wanting; but a satisfactory 
 elucidation is no longer possible, since all the actors in the 
 affair have passed away. 
 
 The fact that my mother was the daughter of the 
 Rev. Sir Robert Affleck of Dalham Hall, near Newmarket, 
 caused me to see a good deal of racing that I should 
 otherwise have missed. The sale of Dalham to the late 
 Mr. Cecil Rhodes recently brought the place into notice, 
 when some curious particulars were given as to the value 
 of the estate in the days of Edward I. The present Hall 
 was built by the Bishop of Ely, who sold the place in 1714 
 to John Affleck, Esq., and it remained in possession of 
 that family till its purchase in 1902 by Mr. Rhodes. It 
 is a fine sporting property, and during the lifetime of my 
 uncle, the Sir Robert who succeeded my grandfather, I 
 used frequently to visit there, and, in the days before 
 " driving," one of the big fields (alternate strips of man- 
 golds, swedes, kohlrabi, and common turnips) would 
 provide sport for a whole day. Seated on a gate taken 
 off its hinges and set against the hedge, you could watch 
 the birds flocking back to the field till lunch was over, 
 and it was time to begin again. My visits used to 
 synchronise with the autumn handicaps at Newmarket. 
 My uncle, though caring little or nothing for sport, used 
 always to provide me with a good hack whereon to attend 
 the races. 
 
 230 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 Newmarket in the sixties and seventies was the most 
 delightful place in the world for racing. There was 
 nothing to pay, and every one could ride everywhere. 
 Now, as I read in a sporting paper, " the heath all 
 about the Stand is notable for a network of fencing," one 
 of a number of so-called improvements that have been 
 made of late years with a view to luring the British 
 public, who, after all, would be more comfortable at 
 Hurst Park or Alexandra Palace. 
 
 The '' Bushes " Ring at Newmarket was an isolated 
 circular enclosure of wooden palisades, of a height to 
 permit horses to put their heads comfortably over it into 
 the ring, and listen, if so inclined, to the conversation 
 carried on by their riders with the bookies inside. Some- 
 times the conversation consisted chiefly of nods, and these 
 may have been to them as good and comprehensible as 
 words. I had ridden over from Dalham, and my hack 
 had put his head over the palisades as if to the manner 
 born, and no doubt he had been there before. For the 
 ensuing race there were only two runners, and one of 
 these was the property of " the Baron " — it was the time 
 when to " follow the Baron " was thought the royal road 
 to fortune. 
 
 Scarcely had my hack commenced to make his 
 observations when a cob was edged in between him and 
 his neighbour, and its rider was immediately approached 
 by a bookie from within the enclosure. 
 
 " Want to back your horse, Baron ? " inquired the 
 bookie. 
 
 A nod from the Baron. 
 
 " Even thou. ? " 
 
 The Baron nodded again. 
 
 "Another?" 
 
 231 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 The answer was another nod from the Baron. 
 
 This went on till either the Baron or the Leviathan — 
 probably the latter — thought he had had enough. The 
 cob, a magnificent animal, never turned a hair, but I 
 imagine my inferior steed must have turned a good many. 
 It was five or six " thous.," and on that occasion the 
 Baron's luck deserted him. 
 
 Besides introducing me to some excellent racing, my 
 connection with Dalham caused me to have a distrust — 
 I was nearly using a stronger word — of that able writer 
 Macaulay, that I have never been able to overcome. My 
 maternal grandmother was a daughter of Sir Elijah 
 Impey, who might have been better remembered if the 
 fact of being slandered by Macaulay had been a little 
 more uncommon. Nothing could possibly have been 
 meaner or more unsportsmanlike than the cool way in 
 which that great man declined to acknowledge mistakes 
 of which he must afterwards have been well aware ; and 
 he has, since my boyhood, been my beau-ideal of the 
 literary snob. Sir Elijah's character has since been 
 cleared by Mr. Justice Stephen, who observes on the 
 famous passage in which the great historian sums up the 
 charges : " Every word of this is either incorrect, or a 
 proof of ignorance both of the law, and of the facts 
 relative to the matter." He further remarks : " Of the 
 attacks upon Impey, which I have done my best to refute, 
 it is fair to say that they were in a review, of which its 
 author, when he wrote it, probably did not know the 
 importance. To him it was a mere matter of journalism, 
 hastily put together from insufficient material. To the 
 memory of Impey it was a gibbet. To the whole English 
 nation it has become the one popular account of the early 
 stages of the Indian Empire — the accepted myth. Slightly 
 
 232 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 to adapt the famous remark of De Quincey in his essay 
 on ' Murder as a fine art,' Impey owed his moral ruin to 
 a literary murder of which Macaulay probably thought 
 little when he committed it." 
 
 The Affleck family included a queer specimen or two. 
 My mother's youngest brother went to Australia when 
 quite young, and returned while I was at Oxford to sell 
 the reversion of a sum of money coming to him on the 
 death of Mrs. Harcourt, widow of Admiral Harcourt — 
 who will be remembered as winning the Derby with 
 Ellington — and owner of Swinton Park, Yorkshire. He 
 then returned to Australia, and little was heard of him 
 for many years, till, on the death of Mrs. Harcourt, it was 
 found, to the general surprise, that Swinton was left to 
 him. He came to England to take possession, and I 
 saw a Yorkshire paper containing his brief speech on 
 the occasion of his entertaining his tenants. Almost 
 immediately afterwards he went up to London, whence 
 he dispatched a telegram to my mother, who was keeping 
 house for him at Swinton, saying that the ship in which 
 he had arrived from Australia was going back, and he 
 was going with her. He left a power of attorney with 
 a friend to enable him to dispose of Swinton, and the 
 place was shortly sold to Mr. Lister, afterwards Lord 
 Masham. The greater part of the purchase money was 
 paid over to Messrs. Parker, my uncle's solicitors — a 
 member of which firm had boarded, from a rowing boat, 
 the ship in which he had arrived from Australia — and the 
 holder of the power of attorney permitted them to retain 
 it, which piece of carelessness was no doubt the excuse 
 those worthy men made to their consciences for bolting 
 with the money. This was a sad loss, not only to my 
 uncle, who, on reappearing from Australia, found himself 
 
 233 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 as poor as before, but also to my mother, who had an 
 interest in the estate. As her executor, I had afterwards 
 the pleasure of receiving for a short time occasional 
 dividends of one halfpenny till these amounted to two- 
 pence in the pound, when the supply was suddenly cut 
 off. When in town I used to see my uncle and his 
 friend of the power of attorney sitting smoking their pipes 
 in the hall of a London hotel, the latter soothing and 
 apologising, and the former vowing he didn't care a 
 
 d ; and I firmly believe he didn't. 
 
 The most sickening sight I ever saw on a racecourse 
 was at Aintree, just before the race for the Grand National. 
 I had been walking round the course, the reverse way, 
 with a friend, when, about a quarter of a mile from the 
 starting-post, we saw a poor hare, frightened out of her 
 few wits by the noise and crowd, crawling timidly towards 
 one of the fences, in which she tried quite unsuccessfully 
 to hide herself. She was instantly perceived, surrounded 
 by the roughs, caught, torn to pieces, and eaten alive — fur 
 and all — by these representatives of the British working 
 man, who fought for each dainty morsel more furiously 
 than hounds for the last remnant of reynard. This 
 happened some years ago, since when the working man 
 has eventuated into our ruler. So at least we are told 
 by those who hope to get something out of him — skilled 
 practitioners these who can get blood out of stones. It is 
 to this class that some sanguine people imagine Tariff 
 Reform is likely to appeal ; it appears likely their pre- 
 ference will be for free food. " First catch your hare," 
 wrote the worthy Mrs. Glasse, who would have had no 
 raison detre if all culinary processes were to be after- 
 wards dispensed with. I am squeamish enough to hope 
 (since the practice would be objectionable in a Royal 
 
 234 
 
Scenes on Racecourses 
 
 Highness) that our rulers have given up eating h've hare, 
 and the assurance would give me more confidence in the 
 future of the Empire than I am able to feel at present. 
 
 No one can have attended many steeplechase meet- 
 ings without witnessing some shocking bad riding, of 
 which one or two instances may have occurred in the 
 Grand National itself I have seen a Grand National 
 won by a " gentleman rider " who, however good he 
 may have been with hounds, was an absolute duffer 
 between the flags, and one could but wonder how far the 
 horse would have won by in more capable hands. Some- 
 times at a little country meeting one would see a bit of 
 riding almost approaching to genius. I was once at 
 Stratford-on-Avon when the course was flooded, and 
 slippery with liquid mud. There was, of course, a water 
 jump (though it was not needed), and in the chief steeple- 
 chase the first horse slipped on landing, when his rider 
 went over his head, and rolled about in the mud. Mr. 
 Brockton came next, and his horse also slipped on land- 
 ing, whereupon his rider joined the previous arrival. 
 Next came Mr. E. P. Wilson, and seeing what had 
 occurred he lay back, his head almost on his horse's 
 quarters, and so was saved from the mud-bath in which 
 the others were wallowing. I travelled on my way home 
 as far as Birmingham with Mr. Brockton, and as he had 
 not removed any of the mud from his face, I was able to 
 judge of the constitution and stiffness of the soil of 
 Stratford-on-Avon, as well as if I had been farming in 
 the locality. 
 
 A great deal has been written about the number of 
 falls in this year's Grand National, and one writer 
 accounts for it by the riders not sitting back enough. 
 *' Riding a chaser with your knees up to your eyes isn't 
 
 235 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 the way to get over Liverpool or any other country." 
 It will be allowed that the methods of Mr. Wilson and 
 Mr. Brockton — fine rider though the latter was — were 
 very dissimilar. Other writers blame the fences, though 
 these were no bigger than of old. Loose horses are, of 
 course, responsible for a number of accidents, and there 
 are epidemics of steeplechase accidents as of other things. 
 It seems to have been forgotten that at the big steeple- 
 chase at Bristol many years ago, when that city made 
 a shortlived attempt to outbid Aintree, sixteen or seven- 
 teen horses — speaking from memory — fell out of about 
 twenty runners. This was accounted for by a fall of 
 rain making the previously dry course so slippery that 
 few horses could keep on their feet. Pathfinder was an 
 unsuccessful competitor, and on my saying to " Mr. 
 Thomas " after the race that I supposed he thought 
 little of his chance for the Grand National, he replied 
 that, on the contrary, he thought he should win, which, 
 as every one knows, was the case. 
 
 236 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 THE DECAY OF HORSE-BREEDING. 
 
 SINCE I commenced farming a great change has 
 come over horse-breeding. Times had got too bad 
 for the old-fashioned haphazard style in favour with the 
 majority of farmers. Not that much had ever been made 
 of it, but while other matters were fairly prosperous on 
 the farm, the profits or the reverse of the horse sales were 
 not closely considered. It was a poor horse that could 
 not be sold at a price for some purpose, and it did not 
 take a very good one to make ^30 or ;^40. The many 
 accidents occurring to trappers, frequently on the return 
 from market, were minimised by the number of small 
 tradesmen who were always on the look out for a 
 blemished steed. Or you would send to your pig-dealer 
 saying you wanted a sow and pigs, when he would very 
 likely go away with your broken-kneed or otherwise 
 injured trapper tied behind his cart, in lieu of cash. 
 Looking over my old farming accounts I find numbers of 
 poorly bred three- or four-year-olds sold at ;^40, and a 
 few lucky ones at £60 to ;^8o. Recently the dearth of 
 suitable horses for army purposes has been brought into 
 notice, partly perhaps owing to Mr. Haldane finding 
 himself obliged to bring horses from Colchester to 
 Manchester for the mounting of his new army. But 
 though from motoring and other causes the supply may 
 
 237 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 have decreased in the last few years, it is a mistake to 
 think that since the Crimean War we have ever had a 
 horse supply commensurate with our needs. About 
 thirty years ago there was a sudden war scare — whether 
 with America or not I forget — and the Government 
 hastened to send buyers to all the agricultural centres to 
 secure horses and hay. Amongst other places a great 
 number of horses were sent to the Birmingham Repository 
 to be inspected. From these the Government agent 
 selected a few, at about ;6^40, but the vast majority were 
 quite useless for the purpose. Indeed, it was droll to see 
 what sort of animals farmers considered suitable for 
 cavalry or transport. Really good horses to-day are 
 worth more than ever, but, with the exception of Shire 
 horses — a fashionable craze — very few people breed horses. 
 Farmers for the most part gave up breeding when they 
 gave up hunting, and there is now such a feeling of 
 insecurity as to vieum and tumn that few people would 
 care to start a breeding establishment, except for racing 
 purposes, before knowing what is likely to happen in the 
 future to capital. 
 
 Even in the old days it was quite possible to have too 
 many horses about, and it was almost as easy for a farmer 
 to be devoured by his equine friends, as, on some estates, 
 to be eaten up by rabbits. I was fortunate in having the 
 fact that I was keeping too many horses brought to my 
 notice in rather a droll way. A young farmer came to my 
 house late one evening on some parish business, after my 
 groom had gone home. I went to the door, and told him 
 to put up his horse and come in. Some time passed, and 
 as he did not appear I went out into the stableyard and 
 shouted to him. A voice from the cowshed answered, 
 " I can't find a place to put my horse in ! " I mentioned 
 
 238 
 
The Decay of Horse-Breeding 
 
 several stalls and boxes, but, apparently, they were all full. 
 At last I told him to turn one of the cart-horses into the 
 yard and put his nag in his place. He did so, and next 
 morning I got a wigging from my old wagoner, who 
 found his favourite horse standing in the rain with his 
 nose over the yard wall. Before my friend left me I 
 promised him room for his horse next time he came. I 
 found on looking round that I had about thirty horses, 
 counting mares and foals, and I decided on immediately 
 reducing my stud ; but it was hard to see where to begin. 
 However, the doctor settled that matter when he called 
 next day. His first words were, " Have you got anything 
 that would suit me for a few days' hunting? " I had a 
 thoroughbred mare, very good-looking, that I had picked 
 up, and with which I intended winning a hunter's flat race 
 or two. I led her out of the stable to the gate of a long 
 grass field adjoining the drive, slipped the halter, gave her 
 a cut on the quarters, and she galloped off in fine form. 
 The doctor was delighted with her looks, and next day 
 brought the money in a huge bag, a few sovereigns, and a 
 lot of half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences. It was ages since 
 I had seen so much silver. The doctor tumbled about a 
 bit that season, but he never complained. Next week I 
 answered an advertisement from Jack Goodwin in the 
 Racing Calendar \ he came down and bought three or four 
 two-year-olds for South America. What with local fairs, 
 the Birmingham Repository, and another doctor or two, in 
 three weeks' time I had got rid of about twenty horses, 
 and I never allowed myself to be overcrowded again. 
 
 I have since done little towards the improvement or 
 the reverse of our horse supply; long ago I gave up 
 farming, except on the smallest possible scale. I feel as 
 strongly as ever on the subject, but cannot help seeing 
 
 239 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 that most of those whose influence or example would be 
 of any use have ceased to bother their heads about such 
 things as our horse supply — thinking perhaps that in a 
 week or two we shall be all sailing in the air like seagulls 
 — or our food supply — the tramps will fetch it all right for 
 us from overseas — or indeed about any of the matters 
 which one used to hear people say were bound up with 
 our nation's greatness. Can we be surprised that the 
 working classes, seeing the disregard of the rich, decline 
 to excite themselves about ships, or armies, or Empire? 
 
 240 
 

 CHAPTER XIX. 
 TRAINERS AND PUBLISHERS. 
 
 AFTER all, a man may be a sportsman without having 
 his heart set on winning the Derby or Grand 
 National, or even on making a century for his county. The 
 truest as well as the most fortunate sportsman is he who 
 can find his sport in that state of life in which he had been 
 placed and in which he has to remain. To bear may be 
 to conquer our fate, but how much more complete the 
 victory if we can enjoy it. But for being animated by a 
 determination to find sport in whatever you had to put 
 your hand to how impossible the practice of some dull but 
 useful profession would become to any but the most 
 phlegmatic of men. As it is, we frequently see a man going 
 about what appears to us an unpleasant business with a 
 contented and smiling face ; he has found something 
 akin to sport in it. To do well what one is best fitted for 
 would seem to be a good receipt for a sportsman, did it 
 not happen that many people do evil things remarkably 
 well. And, indeed, what is sport to a lawyer or an under- 
 taker may be something quite different to his client. 
 Yet all sportsmen have one thing in common, since, to be 
 any sort of a sportsman, you must run to win, and for this 
 reason there is more or less similarity in the sports 
 affected by different classes of people. At a first glance 
 the two professions of publisher and trainer would seem 
 Q 241 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 to have little in common. There are members, no do; bt, 
 of both who prefer the sport to be found in their business 
 to any other that could be provided. The points of 
 resemblance have escaped notice for the reason, very- 
 likely, that few people — Lord Rosebery is a notable 
 exception — have had to do with both. Who could or 
 should be happier than the successful trainer one day 
 graciously patronised by His Majesty, the next playing 
 Triton to the minnows on the village green ; and no doubt 
 he prefers other people's horses to his own — as some one 
 once said of wines. Who could, or should, be happier 
 than the successful publisher, whose discrimination, or that 
 of his " reader," has brought out some famous books, from 
 which he has received as much honour and more profit 
 than the author? 
 
 Both the trainer and the publisher are supposed to 
 take raw material from their clients with the view of con- 
 verting it into a mutual source of profit, and, unlike the 
 publican, both are allowed to pick their clients. You ask 
 the trainer, quite humbly (unless you are a man of some 
 note on the turf, or elsewhere), to be so obliging as to 
 allow you to become a source of income to him ; and the 
 man with a MS. to dispose of has frequently to make a 
 long and weary round before he can find any one to stable 
 his literary steed. The more famous the trainer, the more 
 successful the publisher, the greater are the chances of 
 refusal. But the man unable to place his horse or his 
 book in the best hands would often do well to make a 
 hack of the one and a bonfire of the other, since a bad 
 or indifferent trainer or publisher is likely to be equally 
 fatal to either debutant. 
 
 The trainer's profits accrue from his weekly bills, with 
 sundry additions, and the publisher's (to a man with a 
 
 242 
 
Trainers and Publishers 
 
 b' d head for [figures or a better knowledge of human 
 nature) may also be calculable. 
 
 The first-class trainer would not dream of taking 
 a bad horse into his stable, or even a good horse, the 
 property of a man he knew to be a rogue ; just as there 
 are publishers who would refuse to bring out a book likely 
 to be harmful, though to do so might prove a profitable 
 speculation. Many good customers have been asked to 
 remove their horses from a training stable with a good 
 name to lose, because of some real or suspected sharp 
 practice. Yet the number of rich people who fancy that 
 owning a horse will bring them into notice, and of authors 
 who wish to see themselves in print, have made it almost 
 necessary that there should be trainers who will take in 
 any sort of horse from anybody, and publishers who will 
 bring out any book, however rotten and absurd, " on 
 commission." Of these the latter are the greater nuisance, 
 for while the bad horse, with his curbs or what not, may 
 remain in the stall — " eating his head off," and the sooner 
 he performs that difficult operation the better — the bad 
 book has to be published and, so to speak, appear at the 
 post, even if it is certain to die speedily away in the ruck. 
 
 Trainers are always styled " astute " by the penny-a- 
 liners — as a miller is always " worthy " — and the epithet 
 is equally applicable to publishers, who are (with the 
 exception of the numerous failures) a little too much 
 " men of business," while their customers are not 
 enough so. 
 
 But, as no two men are exactly similar, there are 
 almost as many divergences as points of resemblance 
 between the two professions. When a trainer worth his 
 salt has agreed to train a horse he looks after its well- 
 being in every way. If it wants shoeing, or a dose of 
 
 243 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 medicine, he doesn't wire the owner to come down and fit 
 on the shoes, or administer the dose. Publishers do Httle 
 or nothing except to lend their name — sometimes, no 
 doubt, a loan of considerable value — to the venture, and 
 receive the money. They never read books, or, at least, 
 so they tell you. All that is left to the "reader," who 
 may even read for several firms, in which case the author, 
 in going to a new publisher, may be mistaken in imagining 
 that he is getting a fresh opinion. I came across a 
 " reader " once who must have been employed (as if he 
 were a sort of dust contractor) by a whole street. When 
 a book is accepted by a publisher the author has to see 
 to the arrangement; he must correct the proofs and — if 
 he does not wish the book to be unintelligible — put in the 
 stops ; which last (as the fashion of " stops " is constantly 
 changing) one would have thought the publisher might 
 have found himself capable of superintending. 
 
 When the trainer has a horse likely to win a good race 
 he does not stop his corn just on the eve of his engage- 
 ment, as if he were a pig destined to the butcher. Some 
 publishers, when the bin (which may have had very little 
 in it to begin with) is empty, stop the corn — i.e. the 
 advertising, etc. — ^just when another bushel would have 
 meant success. The horse — the book, I mean — which 
 yesterday was feeling so strong and well, looks into its 
 manger. There is nothing there ! What can this mean ? 
 All day he waits for the boy to bring him his usual feed ; 
 if not that, yet a lock of hay would be better than nothing. 
 In the morning he is deadly sick; but nobody comes near 
 him. The niggardly publisher has buttoned up his pocket, 
 having succeeded in recouping himself for his outlay. In 
 a few days the horse (the book) is dead, and will be heard 
 of no more. 
 
 244 
 
Trainers and Publishers 
 
 I used to know quite a number of trainers, some of 
 whom are unfortunately dead. My recollections of the 
 majority are that they were always in new silk hats. I 
 used to wonder in those days where all the old silk hats 
 went to, but, no doubt, after wearing them once or twice 
 the trainers handed them over to their clients. Most of 
 them were also genial, a sign, no doubt, that the cares 
 with which they were burdened were other peoples'. 
 Perhaps the most genial trainer I ever knew, and one of 
 the best hatted, was Teddy Weaver. He was fond of 
 attending little steeplechase meetings not too far from 
 home, and was for some time very successful at Worcester, 
 and other meetings in the Midlands. I well remember 
 his smiling face at the window of the railway carriage in 
 which I was leaving Warwick after winning the Great 
 Warwickshire Hunter's flat race in 1880. "A useful sort 
 for a farmer to breed," he remarked, beaming on me rather 
 sarcastically — I forget whether he had a horse in the race 
 — and I agreed with him. 
 
 T. Wadlow, whom I first knew from his being occa- 
 sionally seen with the Wheatland Hounds in the sixties, 
 is the only trainer I never saw in a silk hat ; and I have 
 also seen him without the genial smile generally affected 
 by the profession. He kept his own counsel to a degree 
 beyond that which is, and should be, the custom of a 
 trainer, and practised quite a Spartan economy of words. 
 Coming across him one day at a steeplechase meeting I 
 asked him, rather audaciously, perhaps, if he would find a 
 temporary job for a young friend of mine, a gentleman 
 rider, who wanted to learn something of training. Mr. 
 Wadlow looked at me hard — he was then very short- 
 sighted — slowly unbuttoned his long, heavy, brown ulster, 
 hunted leisurely in his inner pockets for his glasses, found 
 
 245 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 them, put them on, scrutinised me through them, replaced 
 them in their receptacle, rebuttoned his ulster, and walked 
 away without speaking. 
 
 I have known about as many publishers as trainers, 
 and while the former may be presumed to wear silk hats 
 when seen abroad, I have never had to complain of any 
 excess of geniality on their part. This very likely because 
 in their case a smiling face is not considered, for some 
 business reason, a paying asset, or because a sedentary life 
 saps the springs of mirth and good-humour. In fact, there 
 are publishers and editors whose wish seems to be to 
 strike terror into the hearts of would-be clients by a dis- 
 play — it is to be hoped a fictitious one — of ferocity. One 
 editor I knew who had a spring chair ; I am almost certain 
 it must have been a spring chair; from this, when he 
 wished to overawe his interviewer, or felt offended by 
 some remark which, as it was intended to be jocose, had 
 escaped his comprehension, he would suddenly be sent 
 high towards the ceiling. When he came down again he 
 would apologise, as though wishing you to believe the 
 machinery had been inadvertently started, but it was not 
 long before he was off again. To see a long, ungainly 
 body glowering over you wrathfully was trying to the 
 nerves, and the first time I came in for this manifestation 
 I was quite taken aback. On the second occasion it fell 
 very flat, or rather, perhaps, the publisher went up like a 
 rocket, and came down like a stick. I have never yet 
 met with a trainer who had a spring chair. 
 
 246 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 BIRMINGHAM THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 BIRMINGHAM when I first went to reside in the 
 neighbourhood was a curious place. It had an 
 evil odour in the country generally, and this fact visitors 
 may have thought unnecessarily advertised by the 
 presence in the principal streets of goats (four-in-hand, 
 and harnessed to little carriages) whose fragrance the 
 natives doubtless preferred to veritable eau-de-Cologne. 
 The town was, and, alas ! still is adorned (?) with a number 
 of inferior statues of not very superior people, in defiance 
 of the dictum that the arts of the statuist should be re- 
 served for the dead, and that even after death fifty years 
 should be allowed to pass before ratifying any decision 
 previously arrived at as to the worthiness of the suggested 
 recipient of the honour. 
 
 As a proof, were such necessary of the wisdom of this 
 course, it may be mentioned that scarcely any original of 
 a Birmingham statue who died before the unveiling of his 
 statue has left any memory behind, while the one notable 
 living exception is now an entirely different person from 
 him whom it was intended to immortalise. 
 
 The Royal Standard used in those Republican days 
 to be flying all over Birmingham, and without any special 
 reference to the comings and goings of the queen or the 
 rest of the Royal Family. To bring it from its place of 
 
 247 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 retirement — for it must be allowed that it was not 
 always en evidence — it was not even necessary that Mr. 
 Chamberlain should be holding a political meeting, or 
 presiding at a dinner of Jews'-harp makers, or some other 
 prominent local guild. It would have been quite im- 
 possible to persuade the gentlemen who were responsible 
 for the management of the Conservative Club (of which 
 excellent institution I was for many years a member), 
 that they really should not fly it over the club premises 
 unless when some member of the Royal Family was 
 present, and that it should be hauled down on the 
 departure of Royalty. A friend of mine, a major of 
 Marines, recruiting-officer for the Midland district, was 
 also a member of the club, and his indignation and 
 disgust at what he considered an insult to a symbol he 
 had been taught to revere were quite moving to witness. 
 Not that they moved the citizens of Birmingham, to whom 
 a flag was, and I suppose still is, a flag and nothing 
 more. 
 
 I was once walking down New Street with the above- 
 mentioned major, now colonel, when a young solicitor, 
 a mutual acquaintance, came out of a shop with an over- 
 coat on his arm. This he calmly handed to my friend, 
 with the request that he would help him on with it. " Til 
 
 see you d d first," said the punctilious servant of Her 
 
 Majesty, turning away in a huff. 
 
 I once made a small sensation in Birmingham, than 
 which nothing was further from my thoughts. I was at 
 the time sending some miscellaneous articles to the 
 St. James's Gazette^ and travelling one morning up to 
 London without any one to talk to, I wrote in pencil 
 my impressions of "modern Birmingham." Arrived 
 in town I put them into an envelope, and sent them to 
 
 248 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 Whitefriars. I stayed one night in town, and next 
 evening on my arrival in Birmingham bought a Mail 
 (the evening paper), when the first thing I saw was a 
 leading article headed, " As others see us," dealing, in 
 what was meant to be withering sarcasm, with my 
 remarks which, it seemed, had appeared in the St. James's 
 Gazette on the previous evening. My critic assumed 
 that the writer was a fashionable Londoner who had just 
 paid his first visit to Birmingham, and had been greatly 
 shocked at its vulgarity and outlandishness. I can never, 
 even at this distance of time, recall the affair without 
 laughing. If only the indignant writer of " As others see 
 us " had known that his enemy was farming in King's 
 Norton instead of " swelling it " in Regent Street ! 
 
 Between thirty and forty years ago the Birmingham 
 working man, if not a sportsman, as he probably con- 
 sidered himself, had yet a love for some sorts of sport, 
 of which rabbit-coursing may have been the chief and 
 most reputable. For higher forms of sport he has 
 never developed a taste. No doubt when the " Four 
 Oaks Park " meeting was inaugurated it was thought 
 that the vast population in and about Birmingham would 
 at once render it a success, but, contrary to expectation, 
 the working men did not seem to care for horse-racing. 
 
 When I was a member of the " Four Oaks Park " 
 club I attended a coursing meeting there, out of curiosity. 
 Once was amply sufficient. Out of 'some little plantations 
 tame hares, stiff from confinement or rheumatism, were 
 whipped, to be snapped up after a course that was 
 generally brief, and the exhibition, though sickening to 
 me, seemed greatly appreciated by a great crowd, prob- 
 ably composed of the same class of people whom I 
 saw eat a live hare at Aintree. I suppose there were 
 
 249 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 (and are) numbers of sporting clubs in Birmingham, each 
 with a numerous clientele ; but these were for the gentry 
 with brown leather bags, and their names — or some other 
 person's — in appropriate brass letters, who left Birmingham 
 early on Tuesday morning during the racing season, to 
 bellow and roar during the week, and, to give them their 
 due, generally to " settle," in every betting ring from 
 Land's End to John o' Groat's. 
 
 Soon after the inauguration of the unfortunate " Four 
 Oaks Park " meeting people discovered, what they might 
 easily have learnt before, that bookies were more numerous 
 in the neighbourhood of Birmingham than backers. At 
 " Four Oaks Park " (which I presume it was a point of 
 honour for them to patronise) the former simply swarmed, 
 and to do any business they must have had to make bets 
 with one another. Dog eat dog. The number of firms made 
 up of the two sporting families of Wilkinson and Collins 
 was quite confusing, and sufficient, one would have sup- 
 posed, to supply the needs of half the country. One and 
 all have, I believe, ceased, financially, to exist, yet they all 
 appeared at one time to be on the road to wealth. I 
 never had any reason to complain of any of them, and so 
 far as I know they were as fitted to survive as any other 
 of the genus. With Dyke Wilkinson especially I had 
 several transactions. Once at Warwick I had Spreading 
 Sail in a hurdle race, and John Holman, her rider, being 
 rather fearful of her refusing, advised me to have 
 some one by me whom I could send into the ring when 
 she had safely negotiated the two first hurdles. Dyke 
 was so obliging as to undertake this office, and though 
 the mare jumped well enough, John Holman kept in the 
 rear till the last hurdle, when he came out with a rush and 
 won easily. He was greatly disappointed when I told 
 
 250 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 him I had only got three to one after all his trouble in 
 keeping her so long in the rear. 
 
 Dyke Wilkinson was a fair type of the clever 
 Birmingham man, insomuch that, like a Yankee — who 
 is one day a shoemaker or liquor merchant, and the 
 next, perhaps, a farmer — he could turn his hand to 
 anything. Not only was he a bookmaker, but he had at 
 one time, I believe, a successful business in Birmingham, 
 and was also a literary man — of sorts — and ran a 
 surburban paper. He was a Radical in politics, and 
 when the Conservatives were fighting the King's Norton 
 School Board Election on the religious question, he 
 printed an article in which he questioned my fitness to be 
 a member of the Board. I was a little hurt at the attack, 
 and, taking the paper with me to a meeting at Moseley, I 
 gave those present a brief sketch of my career — Eton, 
 Oxford, Militia, America, farmer, churchwarden, member 
 of this and that Board — and asked what I had done to 
 make me unworthy. I ridiculed the local Liberal party 
 that had to take Its views on Religious Education from a 
 Birmingham bookie, and, tearing up the paper, threw it 
 over my shoulder with, " So much for Dyke Wilkinson and 
 his dirty rag." Meeting Dyke shortly afterwards I told 
 him what I had said. " I heard," he replied most good- 
 humouredly, " that you were very funny about me and my 
 paper." Truly the soft answer turneth away wrath ! A 
 few years ago a friend sent me a book written by Dyke, 
 whom I had not seen for many years, containing 
 anecdotes — some of them very interesting — of his ex- 
 periences. The book was exceedingly well written, and 
 I wrote to Dyke to congratulate him on it. The next 
 day, oddly enough, I met him in the Strand, and we had 
 a little talk about his book and other matters. We were 
 
 251 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 to have met again, but I have never seen or heard of him 
 since. 
 
 The " Stork " in Corporation Street was a sporting 
 house, rather, perhaps I should say, that a portion of it, 
 familiarly termed the " smoke-room," was for certain 
 portions of the day allowed to be more or less mono- 
 polised by a bookie and his clients. I do not remember 
 the bookie's name — indeed, I am not sure that I ever had 
 
 the pleasure of meeting him — but his clerk, D , was 
 
 own brother to a big trainer whom I then knew very well, 
 and this fact gave a greatly needed air of stability to the 
 concern. Thither used to flock on the eve of a race all 
 the Birmingham punters who wanted to lay a sovereign 
 or two, and the sporting farmers from a distance who 
 were paying business visits to the town, which they hoped 
 by a little speculation to make more remunerative. In 
 this hope they often succeeded, in so much that, on settling 
 
 day, D had frequently to pay out more than he 
 
 received. I for one was so lucky in my transactions with 
 the firm that I was quite ashamed of myself. 
 
 On the morning of the 1886 Liverpool Grand National, 
 I found myself obliged to go to London on business, 
 instead of betaking myself to Liverpool, as I had intended. 
 I had been over a few days before to see Mr. E. P. Wilson, 
 and had been much taken with the appearance of 
 Roquefort, a previous winner, with whom, barring ac- 
 cidents, he hoped to score again. Arriving early at New 
 
 Street Station, I was about to send up a note to D , 
 
 telling him to put a pony on Roquefort and a fiver for a 
 place on some wretch whose name I have forgotten, when 
 I met on the platform a sporting ironmaster of my 
 acquaintance, who expressed his surprise that I was not 
 at Liverpool. I told him that I had business in London, 
 
 252 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 but that I was just sending up town to put a pony on 
 Roquefort. 
 
 " Don't do that," he said earnestly ; '' he won't win. I 
 can tell you a better thing to do. Back Old Joe for a 
 place. He's certain to get one, and what's more, he might 
 win. I've backed him for a place only." I laughed at 
 him, knowing but little of Old Joe, of whose merits, 
 however, I ought not to have been so ignorant. But 
 my friend had evidently such faith in his tip that I 
 
 hastily tore up my note to D , and wrote another 
 
 telling him to put me five pounds on Old Joe each 
 way. I then got into the train, and proceeded to 
 Euston. From Euston I walked across to St. James's 
 Street, where I lunched with the man who had appointed 
 to meet me, and, after a whisky and soda, lit a cigar, 
 and struck off on foot for Euston again, without having 
 spent one penny piece in the Metropolis. Arrived at 
 Euston about six o'clock, I bethought me of the Grand 
 National. Going to the bookstall I asked for an even- 
 ing paper, but they were all sold out, nor could the 
 stall-keeper remember the name of the winner, which 
 he said he had never heard before. Suddenly one of 
 the young Master Smiths jumped up from somewhere, 
 got his head over the counter, and squeaked out, " Old 
 Joe, sir." I chucked him half a crown, and went home 
 rejoicing. Old Joe started, I think, at forty to one, so, 
 without reckoning my economical fit; I had had a fairly 
 good day. T. Skelton, the winning jockey on that occa- 
 sion, had a very bad time after his health forced him to 
 give up riding. He married a daughter of Trevor, the 
 well-known landlord of the Swan Hotel, Lichfield, and a 
 great man in the coursing world. T. Skelton took a hotel 
 in Kidderminster, near which place I was then living, but 
 
 253 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 he could not make it pay. He might have done so if he 
 had abjured betting or been a little less incapable of 
 spotting winners. He succumbed to a combination of 
 ailments, the effects, no doubt, of wasting years before. 
 He was an excellent landlord and a good fellow in every 
 way. After his death I never cared to put up in a 
 Kidderminster hotel. 
 
 To return to D , and the Stork. I was crossing 
 
 New Street one day, and stopped in a street " refuge " to 
 avoid a bus. A man joined me there whom I had not 
 seen for years, and insisted on my backing Bendigo for 
 the Eclipse Stakes, 1886. It was getting late in the day, 
 
 and D rather demurred, but eventually settled all 
 
 right. 
 
 Less expensive to D was my meeting, on the 
 
 morning of the Cambridgeshire of 1884, with Mr. W. E. 
 Everitt, who got into the carriage with me as I was 
 passing through Bromsgrove on my way to Birmingham. 
 He said F. Webb had told him after the Caesarewitch 
 that Florence could not lose the Cambridgeshire. I had 
 not had a thought of betting on the race, but trusted to 
 his judgment, and, going down to the Mill at King's 
 Norton in the evening to see the paper, was pleased to 
 find my confidence had not been misplaced. Farming 
 was very bad in those days, and rates exceedingly 
 high, so that a few twenty-pound notes always came in 
 useful. 
 
 When visiting the Stork I had often noticed a door 
 on which was painted in large letters the legend : " Mr. 
 
 M ." From thence I had several times seen emerge 
 
 a large fat man with a red face and a long brown beard, 
 who I supposed was a dry goods traveller, or something 
 of that sort. Probably the proximity of D — > — had over- 
 
 254 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 come any objections "Mr. M " may have had to 
 
 betting. It was shortly after I had become possessed of 
 Low-water, who had not yet been out, but had been 
 doing very well at his fences. He had been entered at a 
 little meeting near Bath, and, being in the Stork a few 
 
 days before the race, I was told that " Mr. M " had 
 
 backed him for a pony. I thought this an awful piece of 
 cheek, as I had never spoken to the dry goods man in my 
 
 life. On the day of the race " Mr. M " came up to me 
 
 on the course with outstretched hand. " I hope we shall 
 win," he said blandly. I wondered what would happen 
 next. However, I went the round of the course, which 
 was in an unfinished state, and parts of it very hard going. 
 The stake was a small one and not worth the risk ; I was 
 
 therefore able to inform ''Mr. M " that "we "were 
 
 not going to run. He looked fairly disgusted, and I sup- 
 pose that on this occasion, at any rate, D had the 
 
 pleasure of receiving a pony from " Mr. M ," or taking 
 
 it out in dry goods. 
 
 The Birmingham Annual Horse Show was at one 
 time one of the best in the country ; for some reason it 
 was discontinued long ago. A good deal of its success 
 was doubtless due to its excellent management by the 
 well-known and popular auctioneer, Mr. Lythall. I sent 
 a number of horses there at different times, and even if 
 one failed to obtain a prize, a good animal could always 
 be well sold. Attached to the Horse Show was an 
 exhibition of agricultural implements, at which Birming- 
 ham manufacturers were accustomed (for the benefit, no 
 doubt, of their friends the " Apron Farmers " — as it was 
 the custom to dub Birmingham manufacturers who were 
 interested in agriculture) to exhibit marvellous products, 
 the outcome, apparently, of zeal, unassisted to any great 
 
 255 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 extent by agricultural knowledge. Strolling round the 
 collection one day I came upon an invention which fairly 
 made me gasp. In front was a small plough with an 
 arrangement for depositing the seed in the furrow, which 
 was followed by a harrow, which was succeeded by a 
 roller, so that the whole wearisome routine of ploughing, 
 sowing, and covering up the seed, which the ordinary 
 farmer is glad to be able to complete in several quite 
 distinct operations, was to be got over at once, a great 
 saving, no doubt, of time, trouble, and expense. What 
 struck me as most admirable was that the machine was 
 intended to be drawn by the farmer himself, so making a 
 radical and acceptable change by the total abolition of 
 horse labour. Not only was I delighted with the benefits 
 that might be expected to arrive to farmers, but I quickly 
 saw potentialities in the invention that had possibly been 
 overlooked by the proprietor. I noticed the latter, a fat, 
 pursy little man, strutting about his " stand " with a look 
 of pride on his features, which I had no difficulty in 
 referring to the coming revolution in ploughing and sow- 
 ing. I at once entered into conversation with him, and it 
 was not long before he was in the shafts of the machine, 
 and trotting so gaily down the boarded floor, that I could 
 easily guess that visitors to the show had not previously 
 paid him much attention. When he returned to his 
 " stand " with his paraphernalia in tow, I was pleased to 
 see that he was a little overcome by his exertion. I said 
 farewell, after passing my encomiums on his ingenuity, and 
 then spent some time in accosting farmers with whom I 
 was acquainted — then a goodly number — and exacting a 
 promise from one and all not to leave the show without 
 trotting out the patentee of the new implement. 
 
 I paid several visits to the " stand " during the after- 
 
 256 
 
The Chamberlain Fountain, Birmingham. 
 
 [St-e pas^c 247> 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 noon, and was pleased to see the inventor generally either 
 starting on his journey or mopping his face on his return. 
 I could see his features, fairly good-humoured-looking in 
 the morning, were getting clouded over, and that he would 
 not be able to stand it much longer. At this critical 
 moment I saw an old friend approaching, one of those 
 who had given me his promise to visit the inventor before 
 leaving. He was a large farmer on the Apley estate, 
 whom I had first known when residing in Shropshire. 
 He was bluff and outspoken, and as he was much too 
 stout to look with favour on the substitution of farmers 
 for horses, he might be trusted to enunciate his 
 opinion of the invention with some vigour. I quickly 
 withdrew into an alcove to watch the sport. He came up, 
 and after a few remarks, which I could see savoured of 
 ridicule, made the usual request for a trial. As the 
 inventor was harnessing himself for about the hundredth 
 time before trotting down the course, my friend burst out 
 laughing. Removing himself from the machine with 
 what little energy he could muster, the proprietor hastened 
 to vent all the rage he had been storing up for some hours 
 on my unhappy friend. " Call yourself a farmer ! You are 
 
 a , , " and I almost thought he was going 
 
 to proceed to violence, but he was probably too fatigued. 
 My friend got away as soon as he could, but not before 
 the usual Birmingham crowd had collected, which jeered 
 at him in the outspoken Birmingham vocabulary. I 
 came smiling out of my alcove, when my friend gave me 
 a look in which was more anger than sorrow. " I am 
 very much obliged to you," he said, " for letting me in for 
 one of your jokes." But he was soon laughing heartily 
 again. 
 
 In those days a mob could be raised in Birmingham 
 R 257 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 more rapidly and of greater size than in any other town 
 in England. Perhaps the most effectual way was the 
 exhibition of a small Eton or Rugby boy in a tall hat, 
 which, as tall hats were seldom seen in Birmingham on 
 men, and never on boys, quickly brought together a rude 
 and demonstrative crowd. Next in efficiency would be a 
 gaitered dean, or other church official, if possible with the 
 peculiar curly brimmed hat bound up with cords. In 
 these days, no doubt, a bishop may pass without arousing 
 any feeling but the respect which is his due. Yet there 
 may still be ways of getting a crowd together as quickly 
 as may be desirable. 
 
 Without presuming to object to the cry of Tariff 
 Reform, I have seen recently that the keeping out of 
 foreign manufactures might easily develop into a premium 
 on incapacity or ignorance, and especially do I think that 
 farmers would have a right to complain of a prohibitive 
 clause against American machinery. Almost all the really 
 useful inventions of agricultural machinery originated in 
 America, where native ingenuity was stimulated by the 
 high wages demanded by the labourers. At the time of 
 my return from America nearly all the mowing and 
 reaping machines used in England were importations ; 
 the few cases of attempted improvement by English firms 
 were costly failures. I suppose if all foreign machinery 
 was kept out, the result would be that men with the crude 
 ideas of the stout little Birmingham patentee would have 
 quite a good time, and perhaps, in the absence of any 
 more practical genius, English farmers would accept the 
 inevitable, and horse labour would be abolished, even 
 without the aid of the motor-car. I remember when I 
 first commenced farming in England, trying to get a farm 
 wagon built on Yankee lines, as I considered the English 
 
 258 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 farm wagon a great deal too heavy and solid. When 
 farming in South Shropshire I once attended a sale near 
 Shrewsbury, where I purchased a cart horse and gears, 
 and, as a wagon went very cheap, I bought it, as they say, 
 " to take the horse home." Arriving at Wenlock Edge on 
 my return, I found the horse, though a big, strong animal, 
 unable to drag the heavy wagon up the hill, and I had to 
 hire another horse to assist him. I never got my Yankee 
 wagon built, however, and soon forgot all about it, and 
 gave up crying for the moon. I am sure if an English 
 maker had undertaken the job he would have spoilt it by 
 preferring his time-honoured customs to any suggestions 
 of mine. ^ 
 
 It is hard for any one who has known Birmingham as 
 long as I have to credit the stories that have recently 
 been dinned into our ears as to the decay of the British 
 manufacturer. I have been witness to the gradual rise of 
 numbers of young men who from quite humble positions 
 have gradually developed into managers, and later into 
 owners of " works." These seemed fairly content till the 
 idea of keeping out foreign competition presented to their 
 minds — oblivious of the dog that dropped the bone to 
 grasp at the shadow — an even rosier prospect. The 
 curious thing is that I don't seem to remember any 
 failures — though, naturally, some have succeeded better 
 than others — except when there was absolute unfitness 
 in the aspirant. About thirty years ago I remember a 
 mayor of Birmingham counting on his fingers the few men 
 in the town who were possessed of a hundred thousand 
 pounds. If I am not mistaken he got no further than 
 nine. I think if a true estimate of the wealth of 
 the chief Birmingham manufacturers could be arrived 
 at to-day it would scarcely bear out the view of those 
 
 259 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 who think our trade is decaying or has actually 
 disappeared. 
 
 There are still, wonderful to relate, to be found in 
 Birmingham a few survivors of the old race of shop- 
 keepers, who were a very different class from their suc- 
 cessors. One of the two brothers Evans, the well-known 
 tobacconists, is still to the fore, and, I am glad to say, hale 
 and hearty. Messrs. Evans' place of business was for 
 many years, long before the Arcades were thought of, in 
 New Street, opposite the old Hen and Chickens — then the 
 best hotel in Birmingham, and frequented on market 
 days by the big corn-dealers and farmers. A great deal 
 of business was done, as was the custom in many market 
 towns in those days, in the street, and on wet days 
 Messrs. Evans' shop would become '' the Exchange " for 
 the nonce, to the profit, no doubt, of the well-known and 
 highly respected proprietors. 
 
 Birmingham used to be, and perhaps still is, noted 
 for the vast number of industries that had taken up their 
 abode there. Of these, fifty years ago, the manufacture 
 of Jews' harps was supposed by outsiders to be one of the 
 chief. Later there were reports that it had suffered 
 considerably; but I have reasons for hoping that the 
 industry is still extant. Travelling the other day with a 
 lot of boys returning to school, one of them brought out a 
 Jews' harp — it must have been more than sixty years 
 since I had heard one — and began to perform. Finding 
 that all the boys were possessed of these instruments — 
 most of them indeed had quite a number, and they 
 appeared to be able to discover some difference in the tone — 
 I asked them to give me a concert, which they obligingly 
 did. Jews' harps must, I think, still be in fashion, as not 
 one of these boys appeared to be indebted to Jewish 
 
 260 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 parentage for his choice of an instrument which the 
 old gentleman in one of Thackeray's Rotmdabout Papers 
 termed " the little harp of his people." 
 
 Though there has of late years been an increase in the 
 amount of local literary talent, Birmingham still seems an 
 unlikely place for the production of song-writers. It may 
 be news to some people that the author of the well-known 
 hunting song, "We'll all go a-hunting to-day !" so admirably 
 illustrated by Caldecott, hailed from Birmingham. He 
 was a Mr. Williams, a good sportsman and local secretary 
 (I believe) to the Worcestershire Hunt. I knew him very 
 well, but it was long before I had the slightest idea of his 
 authorship, which he was far too modest to boast of; and 
 he was one of the last people I should have credited with 
 the rare talent of song-writing. 
 
 Being for many years a member of the Birmingham 
 Conservative Club, I naturally knew some of the past 
 generation of Birmingham men, and the majority were, I 
 think, good fellows in their way, and a complete contrast 
 to the present race, who hunt, shoot, motor, travel, and 
 amuse themselves after the manner of well-to-do people 
 elsewhere. The days are gone when a client, calling on 
 his solicitor, is shocked on being informed by the clerk 
 that Mr. Smith has gone a-hunting, and there are, no 
 doubt, men hunting from Birmingham who " go " about 
 as well as people from what some would consider more 
 likely localities. Still the " pink " does not make the 
 sportsman; and some of the old-fashioned Birmingham 
 manufacturers who stuck closely to business, and never 
 dreamt of hunting or shooting, may have been better 
 sportsmen at heart than some of their successors who, 
 after posing as local Nimrods in the hunting-field, put 
 off the sportsman, together with the scarlet coat — in 
 
 261 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 which case the latter is only a very misleading kind of 
 veneer. 
 
 I once met a Birmingham man, a type of the old- 
 fashioned manufacturer, whom I had known for some time, 
 on the ground of the Warwickshire Cricket Club, and 
 noticed a cloud on his usually cheery face. It was just as 
 " the Skipper " was returning to the pavilion after making 
 an innings that would be reported on the morrow as 
 " the turning-point of the game." No one would have 
 guessed from my friend's appearance that he was the 
 exact antithesis of " the Skipper," and had never — not 
 counting cards, of which he had some elementary 
 knowledge — played a game in his life. He was regretting, 
 I felt sure, that he had never had a chance of exhibiting 
 this special sort of prowess, or the happiness of being 
 thrilled by such cheers. And yet he was strong, stronger 
 perhaps than " the Skipper," with as quick an eye too, 
 and certainly not lacking either in pluck or determination. 
 
 I don't know whether he was aware that I had noticed 
 his gloomy face, but shortly afterwards he took me on 
 one side, and told me his story. " The man who never 
 played a game " — there are very few of them nowadays 
 — was born in Birmingham, the son of a hard-working 
 mechanic. The father earned good wages in a small 
 factory where was produced a commodity, long since 
 superseded, but then in general use among sportsmen. 
 Aided by temperance and economy he was enabled after 
 many years to set up in quite a small way. When the 
 son — my friend — was twelve years old he had to work 
 hard in his father's shop from morning to night ; the only 
 difference between him and the hired man being that he 
 had no holidays and no pay. 
 
 When running an errand — and he literally had to run, 
 
 262 
 
Birmingham Thirty Years Ago 
 
 not to dawdle, as did other errand boys who rejoiced in 
 a weekly wage, and a master less than kin — or standing 
 at the cottage door in the dinner interval, " briefer far 
 than youth's delight," he would notice one morning that 
 hopscotch had yielded to whiptop ; or by the relinquish- 
 ment by vagrant boys of the sport of kicking one 
 another's caps about, and their taking instead to setting 
 up the famous three sticks which Englishmen are reported 
 to set up in all corners of the earth immediately on their 
 arrival, he would be conscious of the advent of summer. 
 
 Gradually the little business throve, and all this time 
 the son's nose was kept, by no means metaphorically, to 
 the grindstone. It was a great day for him when, in his 
 twenty-fifth year, he was taken into partnership, and soon 
 after he hit on or acquired an invention that at once 
 superseded the time-honoured specialite of the firm, and 
 made a revolution in the trade. The father was getting 
 old, and averse to sweeping reforms, but, by the new 
 partner's energy, changes were introduced, till bit by bit 
 a big factory rose on the site once partially occupied by 
 the old cottage, to become one of the chief sources of 
 employment to the artisans of the town. Long before 
 this happened he was too deeply immersed in the 
 business, besides being too old, and no doubt also too 
 proud to serve a second apprenticeship — this time at 
 learning to play games. 
 
 In the course of business " the man who never played 
 a game " had been all over the world, and in addition to 
 making acquaintance with the cities of many lands, and 
 the minds, or rather, perhaps, the requirements (as far as 
 they were in touch with his business) of their inhabitants, 
 had acquired a rough polish in place of the bluntness 
 for which formerly he was conspicuous. His shrewd 
 
 263 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 common sense, added to a kindly heart — to say nothing 
 of his wealth — had caused him to be sought after and 
 appreciated in his native town. Nothing seemed wanting 
 to complete his happiness, and he was the last man one 
 would have expected to complain of a crumpled rose 
 leaf Yet that he was aware of one it was impossible to 
 doubt, as he complained to me that he had never played 
 a game. 
 
 264 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 LONDON FIFTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 LONDON has of late years got to be a very different 
 place from what I remember it fifty years ago. 
 I seldom visited it in my Oxford days, though the trip 
 presented no great difficulty, and at least one under- 
 graduate at " the House " used to go up to town regularly 
 every week during the term. 
 
 London was then a dirty hole, and whatever London 
 ratepayers may think of the extravagance of the County 
 Council, that executive body has, no doubt, made the 
 Metropolis a far more agreeable place for country cousins 
 than in the old days. This at least was the case before 
 the advent of motor-buses. London now stinks of 
 petrol, while one's ears are deafened by the perpetual 
 rattling and shrieking. But, after all, the annoyance 
 and danger a country visitor has now to undergo 
 in London is no more than he has to suffer at 
 home. 
 
 In old days though there was a great scarcity of 
 decent restaurants, a few were better than anything to be 
 met with at present, when there is such a dead level of 
 German waiting and Swiss cookery, that it is hard to say 
 that any restaurant — of course with an exception or two 
 — is better (or worse) than a few hundred others. In the 
 fifties every clubless man used to dine at the Wellington, 
 
 265 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 formerly Crockfords', in St. James's Street, and there 
 were so few people that there seemed always room for 
 everybody. Nowadays there are millions of people 
 whose finances seem equal to a feast at the Carlton or 
 the Savoy. People who did not patronise the Wellington 
 or the St. James's used to dine at what we should now 
 call "hole-and-corner" places. Of these they became 
 habitues, and the waiter in the course of years got to know 
 the peculiarities of his dozen or so of guests so well, that 
 it was quite unnecessary for them to give any orders. 
 The dinners at these places were good, and if there was 
 but little change, you knew what you were eating, which 
 is not always the case now. The German waiter — with 
 the best intentions — is frequently unable to understand 
 your wants, as recently when, after a great deal of trouble, 
 I could get no nearer to seakale than " Worcestershire 
 Sauce." It is quite a common thing now for ingenious 
 writers to tell us how we are to be invaded in three or 
 four years' time. It seems to me that if the Kaiser wants 
 to take London — which I doubt — he has but to send over 
 a few thousand soldiers, and arrange for their gradual 
 absorption as waiters in the Metropolis. At a pre- 
 arranged signal they would drop their napkins, and, 
 leaving the guests to look after themselves, would march 
 — what should they march on? — but that would be a 
 matter for their employer to decide. There would 
 not be a sufficient number of troops to hold them in 
 check ; but we may hope that a loud cry of " waiter " 
 from the unfortunate guests might lead our invaders to 
 throw down their arms and take up their napkins once 
 more. 
 
 A great friend of mine at Eton and Oxford, but 
 who has been dead for many years, was D. E. Holroyd, 
 
 266 
 
London Fifty Years Ago 
 
 (brother to the late Earl of Sheffield), who used to 
 dine regularly at the John of Gaunt, in Rupert Street. 
 He never ordered any dinner, but on his arrival the 
 waiter would bring in a fried sole, which would be washed 
 down with a glass of sherry. The sole was followed by 
 mutton cutlets, which were succeeded by apple fritters. 
 I called on him one evening to say good-bye when I 
 was leaving for America. He was then half-way through 
 his sole. In about five years I was in London again, 
 and thought I would look up my old friend. I called 
 at the John of Gaunt about eight o'clock in the evening 
 to hear something of him, and the first man I saw in 
 the coffee-room was Holroyd ; he had just arrived at 
 his apple fritter, and I told him I thought he had been 
 long enough over his dinner. 
 
 Simpson's still survives, but has, as every one knows, 
 recently undergone a transformation, and the " old boxes, 
 larded with the steam of forty thousand dinners " — a 
 good number of which were mine — are no more. I 
 have heard a laudator temporis acti complain that the 
 change is not an improvement ; but I am unable to 
 agree with him. Long may Simpson's survive to protest 
 against the Swiss-Italian dinner with its tasteless suc- 
 cession of flabby morsels, each exceedingly like the other. 
 I am probably one of the oldest frequenters of Simpson's 
 still alive, having been taken there when a boy, in the 
 forties, by a cousin of my father's-, one Alfred Coxon, 
 a barrister from Pump Court, and a curious character. 
 He was then almost a stranger to me, and he succeeded, 
 notwithstanding the excellent dinner, in making me 
 very uncomfortable. I was at that time ignorant that 
 he had a mania for imitating or caricaturing the 
 peculiarities of leading counsel and judges, and would 
 
 267 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 give his entertainment quite regardless of time or place. 
 On this occasion he commenced one of his anecdotes 
 in the middle of dinner, and at the sound of the shrill 
 falsetto in which these were always narrated, the clatter 
 of knives and forks suddenly stopped — he had already 
 laid down his own — and I became aware that every eye 
 that commanded a view of our box was fixed on my 
 entertainer — and theirs. About twenty-five years later 
 he came to stay with me in Shropshire ; his liver was 
 out of order, and he had been recommended walking 
 exercise. He insisted on my joining him in his pere- 
 grinations, though, as I tried to make him understand, 
 I was already provided with a sufficiency of exercise 
 on my farm. Once we found ourselves at Much Wenlock, 
 about ten miles from home, on market day, when he 
 stopped in the middle of the street to give one of his 
 performances, which included a good deal of action. I 
 had no idea there were so many people in Much Wenlock, 
 and all of them roaring with laughter at the shrill sounds, 
 as of a Punch and Judy show, emitted by the little 
 red-faced man, in a swallow-tailed coat, and with a 
 paunch such as Punch is pictorially credited with. Many 
 of the audience I knew, and for a long time afterwards 
 I had to answer questions, mostly intended to be 
 jocose, as to what sort of funny person I had got 
 hold of. 
 
 Evans' in Covent Garden was the place for supper, 
 though, perhaps, even for the taste of those days the 
 entertainment was not sufficiently varied, the glees, which 
 were admirably rendered, recurring a little too often. 
 For this and other reasons — amongst them the rigid 
 exclusion of the fair sex — a similar entertainment would 
 to-day have no chance of success. I can fancy the look 
 
 268 
 
London Fifty Years Ago 
 
 of disgust with which a frequenter of the modern music 
 halls would listen to that once famous glee, 
 
 ^^ Integer vitae scelerisqtte purtts" 
 
 of which, no doubt, he would find the sentiment and 
 the language equally unintelligible. Paddy Green and 
 his snuff-box have been often enough described. Sidney, 
 a heavy comic singer, in more senses than one, wrote 
 his own songs, and improvised rhyming descriptions of 
 any one present who, to his somewhat sleepy eyes, 
 seemed worthy of the honour. These rhymes were of 
 the sort of which Thackeray gives a specimen in the 
 Newcomes^ on the Colonel's visit to the Cave of Harmony. 
 His description, however, of the latter place can hardly 
 have been intended for Evans', where Captain Costigan 
 would certainly not have been allowed to sing the ditty 
 which the honest Colonel found so offensive. Moreover, 
 Thackeray mentions Welsh rarebits, whereas kidneys and 
 baked potatoes were the specialite at Evans'. "The 
 Cider Cellars " may have answered to the description, 
 or '' The Coal Hole " where " Chief Baron Nicholson " 
 prostituted talents that might have brought him more 
 honour and, I should imagine, more money in a different 
 line. 
 
 The most popular music halls in those days were 
 the Canterbury and the Oxford. These, as every one 
 knows, still exist, but have long lost their pre-eminence. 
 There are more music halls now, but the talents of 
 the performers may not have increased in equal ratio. 
 I know very little of modern popular songs ; some of 
 the old ones were sufficiently absurd ; a few created a 
 furore. " Villikins and his Dinah " arrived at the honour 
 of inspiring one of Punch's cartoons, of which Disraeli 
 
 269 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 was the hero. " The Cure " was the most popular comic 
 song I ever heard. The point was to combine singing 
 and dancing, and, no doubt, the two performers were 
 kept in admirable condition during its run. For a short 
 time all the world, even the paralytic part of it, was 
 jumping, or trying to jump a la " Cure." I have quite 
 recently seen an obituary notice of " The Great Mackney," 
 whose name recalls " In the Strand," " Sally, come up," 
 and other once famous songs ; but I don't think any of 
 them equalled " The Cure " in popularity. 
 
 Being at a popular watering-place about this time, 
 with two friends, of whom one was about seventy years 
 old, we were walking along the parade in front of the 
 houses when it was suggested that we should give an 
 exhibition — minus words — of '' The Cure." At a given 
 signal we would all jump round in a circle, alighting 
 with our faces in the direction from which we took off. 
 If I remember rightly it was an operation at which 
 amateurs soon got giddy ; for an old man of seventy 
 the circumgyrations were simply wonderful. 
 
 Perhaps the difference between ancient and modern 
 music halls is more in the singers than in the songs. 
 I think some of the singers in the old days were destitute 
 of humour and so were able to preserve their own gravity. 
 Sam Cowell, a famous singer at the Canterbury, never 
 smiled, and that went a good way towards making you 
 laugh. It is the evident fact that modern singers think 
 themselves so excruciatingly funny that makes one unable, 
 or perhaps unwilling, to agree with them. 
 
 The most notorious place of amusement in London 
 was the Argylle Rooms, situated in Windmill Street. 
 This was not a very moral, or rather, perhaps, it was 
 a very immoral establishment. It was kept up in great 
 
 270 
 
London Fifty Years Ago 
 
 style by the proprietor Bignel, who officiated in uniform 
 every evening as Master of the Ceremonies. Bignel 
 was equally well known to the votaries of the turf as 
 to those of pleasure, being a bookmaker with a reputation 
 for about the average amount of honesty. The band 
 of excellent performers at a time when good music was 
 rarely to be heard except at a concert or the opera, was 
 in itself a considerable attraction to Windmill Street. 
 Though dancing went on till the small hours the manage- 
 ment was as good as is possible at such places. In 
 the present day the L.C.C. would, of course, refuse to 
 sanction the existence of any place of the kind, yet the 
 substitutes are in many cases questionable aids to virtue, 
 while the fact that the modern gilded youth is averse 
 to saltatory exercise is not of itself a proof of any im- 
 provement of his morals. 
 
 Looking back on what was euphemistically called the 
 hotel accommodation of the Metropolis, it appears to have 
 been nil. It is hard to say where people coming to 
 town for a day or two found any place to put up in. 
 Certainly there were fewer people. The Charing Cross 
 Hotel was thought a wonder when it was first erected. 
 There was the Golden Cross, "then a mouldy sort of 
 establishment in a close neighbourhood," where David 
 Copperfield had his memorable meeting with Steerforth ; 
 Morley's ; an hotel or two in Jermyn Street, for ambassa- 
 dors and the like; but where common people went is a 
 puzzle. There were, however, a few dozen of tiny hotels 
 scattered about London, each capable of accommodating 
 from half a dozen to a dozen guests. At one of these, 
 Fladong's, in Holborn, which was monopolised by country 
 parsons, I dined several times during my Oxford days ; 
 my host's son being with me at " the House." One day 
 
 271 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 after dinner the old gentleman expressed a wish to see 
 the Argylle Rooms, when I suggested that before doing 
 so he should at least make some change in his habiliments. 
 With this he agreed, and leaving his voluminous white tie, 
 baggy frockcoat, and enormous cotton "gamp," to be 
 assumed by his son, he went forth gaily in the latter's 
 cutaway coat and coloured neckgear. 
 
 During the days of the late Mr. Spurgeon's popularity 
 it was the custom for any one staying in London to fill up 
 an hour or two by paying a visit to his Tabernacle. I 
 went once with a country parson to see what was rightly 
 accounted one of the sights of London. Paying our 
 shillings, we were allotted seats not far from the platform, 
 on which the great preacher was wont to walk to and fro 
 while discoursing. Before the commencement of proceed- 
 ings an attendant lit a dozen or so of candles placed at 
 intervals on the front of the platform. I remember little 
 of the sermon, but towards the conclusion Mr. Spurgeon 
 made an allusion to the uncertainty of human life. 
 Starting at one end of the platform he ran swiftly along, 
 blowing out the candles one by one as he passed them. 
 Mr. Spurgeon was very fat, and by the time he had 
 blown out the last candle he had little breath left 
 wherewith to explain his somewhat unclerical gambols. 
 But the fact that he made no mistake, and that none 
 of the candles survived his attack, convinced me that 
 the scene had been carefully rehearsed before being 
 acted. 
 
 Few of the changes that have taken place in London 
 during the last fifty or sixty years are more remarkable 
 than the change in the status of the Jews. Thackeray 
 used to amuse himself, and some, at least, of his readers, 
 at the expense of that ancient people in a way that in the 
 
 272 
 
The Nelson Statue, the Bull Ring, Birmingham. 
 
 [See page 255. 
 
London Fifty Years Ago 
 
 present day would be considered outrageous. At the 
 head of one of his Roundabout Papers, " Auteur de mon 
 chapeau," published in the Cornhill Magazine in 1863, is 
 the picture of an Israelite wearing several hats, whom 
 he described as "an itinerant vendor and purchaser of 
 
 wardrobes. What you call an Enough ! you know 
 
 his name." Some time about the middle of the last 
 century I had rooms for a short time on the ground floor 
 of a house in Jermyn Street. Quite a procession of — not 
 to mince it — old-clothesmen used to pass along the 
 street, uttering at intervals their melancholy and monoton- 
 ous cry of " Clo'," and some of these in their anxiety to do 
 business would knock at the window when I was break- 
 fasting. One of the most importunate I once told to go 
 to the devil, when he replied good-humouredly, and 
 touching one of his hats, " After you, sir." I doubt if any 
 of his more showy descendants would show equal suavity. 
 The number of hats worn by some of these peripatetic 
 tradesmen even at that early hour was quite startling, but 
 what it must have been at the close of a successful day's 
 business I can only imagine. I have often been in Jermyn 
 Street of late years, but without meeting any old-clothes- 
 men, and I must suppose that the profession adhered to 
 under such difficulties for some thousands of years has been 
 suddenly relinquished for something that brings in the 
 " monish " a little quicker. Mr. Kipling has given us 
 some information about the " River of Gold." Very 
 probably the sons of the itinerant dealers who used 
 to rap so hungrily at my window are posing among the 
 autocrats of literature and finance. Perhaps, after all, 
 the old-clothesmen whom everybody used to laugh at 
 were as honest as the new generation of critics and 
 financiers. 
 
 s 273 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 It is impossible for any one who has knocked about 
 the world to be much in London without coming across 
 one or two " strays " whom he knew in different circum- 
 stances, and who have come to the Metropolis either to 
 hide themselves from their old friends, or from a wish 
 to see something of them, themselves perhaps unseen. 
 These strays frequent the neighbourhood of the restaurants 
 they used to patronise in happier days, and which their 
 more fortunate, but perhaps not more deserving, friends 
 still frequent. As you pass on your way to lunch, looking, 
 I trust, jovial and well-fed, they peer at you from a 
 narrow cleft between two palatial buildings that is utilised 
 as a hiding-place, or, if it is your special stray, he glides 
 ghost-like to your side, sometimes raises his shabby hat, 
 but seldom says anything. He has told you everything 
 he has to tell long ago. A strange thing about strays 
 is that they have a strong resemblance one to another, 
 so that frequently when in search of a particular member 
 of the guild you cross the road, only to find that you have 
 been deceived by a family likeness. Nor were you alone 
 mistaken. The downcast eyes are raised, there is a glad 
 look in them for a moment, which quickly passes when it 
 is recognised that you are not the man they were seeking. 
 You can but hope that the owner of the shabby bowler 
 hat and the worn covert coat you seemed to know so well 
 belongs to some one else. 
 
 There is little difficulty in accounting for the family 
 likeness. As certain misfortunes, or shall I say failings, 
 are chiefly responsible for the state of straydom, so 
 identical characteristics have caused the patrons to bear 
 at least a family resemblance to one another. These 
 characteristics (like the complexion, so common fifty years 
 ago, of port wine drinkers which was frequently the 
 
 274 
 
London Fifty Years Ago 
 
 appanage of a good fellow, and " no man's enemy but his 
 own ") are getting daily more rare. They include a little 
 more good-nature than wisdom, a dislike to see any one 
 go under, a disinclination to believe the worst. The 
 richer people get (and every one, save the writer, seems to 
 be getting rich) the more anxiously do they look after the 
 welfare of number one. Soon the strays will have no 
 patrons, and I wonder if the fact will serve to reanimate 
 them for one more struggle, or sink them yet deeper in 
 the mire. Even the most thoughtless possessor of a stray 
 must be conscious of a responsibility never, perhaps, 
 experienced before. He will go out of his way in doing 
 
 some commission with which he was charged to pass 
 
 Street, or the poor fellow will be feeling anxious — hurt, 
 perhaps. I frequently meet in London a man whom I 
 formerly knew in the days of his prosperity, now long 
 passed. He was a great jockey, rode the winner of one 
 of the " classic " races, received in one year over two 
 thousand guineas in fees — this was in the days before 
 winning jockeys received presents as a matter of course — 
 was lost sight of, and is now in London living (?) on five 
 shillings a week. How he manages I cannot guess. 
 Why he is left destitute without a friend I don't know; 
 did I wish to know there are still a few who would be 
 able and willing to enlighten me. I manage sometimes 
 to go and look for him ; the search is not a long one, for 
 if he is on his usual beat he is beside me before I have 
 seen him approaching. If he does not appear I wonder if 
 he is dead, and if so, whether I ought to be glad or sorry. 
 If I mention his name to an old turfite he usually remarks, 
 " I thought he was dead long ago " ; and dead to all intents 
 and purposes he is. 
 
 I was walking down Piccadilly a little while ago with 
 
 275 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 a young and successful business man when I mentioned 
 that very probably a client of mine who had seen better 
 days would be jumping out on me — we had arrived near 
 his usual ambush. 
 
 "For G — 's sake," said my friend, turning white with 
 horror, " don't introduce him to me." 
 
 2^6 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 CHANGES IN SPORTS. 
 
 Decay of Country Steeplechase Meetings. 
 
 SINCE I was a boy there has been plenty of time for 
 a good many things to come and go, and this has 
 been the case with country steeplechase meetings. Of 
 these there were very few in my young days, afterwards 
 there were quite enough, if not too many, and it is now 
 some time since the stringent regulations of the National 
 Hunt Committee dealt the death-blow alike to good, bad, 
 and indifferent. Some, no doubt, were quite unfitted to 
 survive. Steeplechasing, equally with racing proper, has 
 got into a profession, and people who still cling to it from 
 a pure love of sport are every day getting fewer. But of 
 old even small landowners and farmers who were fond of 
 sport might keep a horse or two, hunt one or even two or 
 three days a week, and shoot over their own holdings, 
 without looking forward to bankruptcy as a necessary 
 ending to their career. The man who once took delight 
 in breeding, training, and riding his own horses in his own 
 neighbourhood over a natural, sometimes a little too 
 natural country, must find some other way of amusing 
 himself; or, if he is bent on continuing at the game, he 
 must send his horse to a trainer at fifty shillings — it used 
 to be twenty-five — per week, and then travel a long 
 
 277 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 distance, probably to one of the numerous racecourses in 
 the neighbourhood of London, if he wants to see him run ; 
 where he will certainly feel like a fish out of water, and 
 his horse most likely be outclassed. Instead of assisting 
 at a meeting of country gentlemen and farmers, actuated 
 by friendly rivalry, he will join a mob composed of 
 "astute" owners, silk-hatted trainers, jockeys, betting 
 men, some sportsmen, more sporting-men, hosts of 
 miserable punters, welshers, and pigeons — these last to 
 develop shortly into a more predatory fowl — who are 
 watching the same horses jumping similar fences to those 
 they jumped yesterday, and (unless it should chance to be 
 Sunday) will have to jump again to-morrow. Country 
 meetings, from the racing man's point of view, were poor 
 affairs no doubt, but their destruction was a blow to 
 true sport. The '' followers " of the racing army have 
 increased in number, but who can say that a tithe of them 
 are worthy of the name of " sportsman " ? In many 
 thousands of cases, where it is impossible to become a race- 
 goer, people who never saw a racecourse or a racehorse 
 bet S.P., and would equally enjoy a bet, which will soon 
 be available, on the favourite of two or three motor-buses 
 racing up the Strand. 
 
 The Development of Cricket. 
 
 It is pleasing to note that the years that have prac- 
 tically swept away country steeplechase meetings have 
 dealt more kindly with cricket, whose votaries, amateur 
 or professional, have opportunities never dreamt of by the 
 cricketers of sixty years ago. The days are passed when 
 country folk had to rest contented with looking on at an 
 annual match of the sort described by Dickens in the 
 
 278 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 game between All Muggleton and Dingley Dell. Almost 
 every one nowadays has a chance of seeing some good 
 cricket, without going outside his county. The working 
 classes, except in a few places where a love of sport is 
 either unborn or extinct, flock to the county matches 
 generally played alternately on the grounds adjoining the 
 chief towns ; and there is no doubt that this system of 
 " movable feasts " has done much to popularise the 
 game. 
 
 Almost all country towns nowadays support a 
 cricket club, and it is unlikely, in these days of keen 
 rivalry between counties, that a youth of any promise will 
 be allowed to waste his talent on the village green. The 
 lad who with dauntless breast withstood the erratic bowl- 
 ing of the blacksmith or the baker on the bumpy common, 
 may aspire one day to play for his county, if not for " All 
 England," '' and read his history " in the eyes of as many 
 of his countrymen as can find places on the crowded 
 seats of the Oval or Lord's. The position of the profes- 
 sional cricketer may seem to some an unenviable one, 
 and he has, no doubt, occasional worries to surmount, yet 
 there may be harder lots than making one's living by a 
 game one enjoys and is an adept at. 
 
 Some people are so clever as to see in the numbers of 
 young men content to act the part of spectators at the 
 matches played on the grounds of Birmingham and Leeds 
 signs of the decadence of the race. But these crowds 
 might surely do worse, and it is impossible for every one 
 to find a place in a game that includes only eleven a side. 
 It is something that, with all the excitement, there should 
 be so little rowdyism, and hardly any betting. Any one 
 attending for the first time a big match at one of the 
 great centres of population would be surprised to find 
 
 279 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 how keen is the interest of these lookers-on. They seem 
 able to distinguish every player of note, however distant 
 his county, as soon as he appears on the steps of the 
 pavilion ; and if he has, as is not unlikely, a nickname, they 
 will shout it out not rudely but fondly. They appear to 
 know his favourite hits as well as the opposing captain, 
 and to appreciate the changes in the field made for his 
 discomfiture. The prowess of men on their own side is 
 welcomed with discriminating applause, and failure in the 
 case of an old favourite who has been so unfortunate as 
 to make but a few runs, or even to " bag a brace" is 
 greeted with groans and swear words — these last not 
 at the player but at his " luck." Many of them have 
 attended the match to see some favourite player, as racing 
 men attend a race meeting to back a particular jockey. 
 
 My recollections of cricket go back to the days when 
 Kent used to play " All England " during the Canterbury 
 Week. The increase in the population of Lancashire, 
 Yorkshire, and other counties that followed on the 
 development of the cotton and other industries has long 
 since made it impossible for Kent to retain her isolated 
 position at the head of affairs. The first sign of her 
 coming inability was her being granted the assistance of 
 two players from outside the county. Even this help did 
 not long avail her ; but that she has not fallen far is proved 
 by the gallant way in which she recently gained the 
 County Championship. 
 
 Among the players I remember in my early days, 
 Alfred Mynn stands out pre-eminent. Whether his 
 bowling was faster than that of any modern player is 
 impossible to say, but he had the strength and weight, 
 without which no fast bowler can last more than a season 
 or part of one. It used to be said that lookers-on could 
 
 280 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 not see the ball after it left his hand till it had passed or 
 been hit by the batsman. Perhaps this depended to 
 some extent on the eyesight of the spectator. The long- 
 stop twenty yards or so behind the wicket with top hat, 
 and pads underneath his flannels, would be thought a 
 comical figure in these days. I have often seen Box 
 keeping wicket, and I never remember him standing 
 back ; but when Lilley does so it is, no doubt, for a good 
 and sufficient reason. It is, of course, hard to say how 
 A. Mynn, Box, Felix, and a few others would compare 
 with the best players of to-day when wickets are so 
 carefully seen to. 
 
 Later there were the tours of the " All England " and 
 " the United " elevens, whose custom it was to play twenty- 
 two " of and district," when the latter were generally 
 
 defeated with ridiculous ease ; a local player who was so 
 fortunate as to make even the smallest score being looked 
 on as a hero. It is not hard to say what would happen 
 nowadays to an eleven that should venture to play 
 twenty-two of any of the leading counties. 
 
 There has been of late years an immense increase in 
 the numbers of professional cricketers, than whom there 
 are no nicer or — using the word in its best sense — more 
 gentlemanly fellows to be found anywhere ; and this says 
 a great deal for the class from which they are generally 
 recruited. One's chief regret is that the strenuous work 
 of the present day, with so little re'st between county and 
 other matches, wears them out so soon. In old days 
 " pro's." lasted to an age that would now be considered 
 quite patriarchal. As for amateurs, even under the 
 present stress some of them seem immortal. 
 
 The real danger to cricket nowadays lies not in the 
 lack of appreciation, but in the game being taken too 
 
 281 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 seriously. I can only suppose when I see " the Skipper " 
 of the county team wearing a look of angry or, perhaps, 
 rather of pained disgust, that he is over-estimating the 
 importance to the county — and perhaps more or less to 
 the Empire — of success in the match which is causing his 
 generally good-humoured face to wear such a fiendish 
 scowl. He should remember that even should the game 
 against Blankshire be lost there would still be cakes and 
 ale. What a number of good qualities are needed for the 
 making of even a fairly successful skipper ! Not only 
 must he know his own men thoroughly, but he must be 
 able to diagnose swiftly the adversaries he meets for the 
 first time, and while doing his best to guess at their 
 favourite hits or special " breaks," should be careful to 
 gain some knowledge of their failings. For every man, 
 for every player there is the irresistible temptation and 
 the fatal ball, if demon and bowler can only discover and 
 offer it at the right moment. It seems droll that, in 
 addition to being endowed with pluck and common sense, 
 a skipper should be expected to keep his temper under 
 control, since this particular virtue is not considered 
 absolutely necessary to a general or a premier; to these 
 last, indeed, a reputation for being able to lose command 
 of it has frequently been found invaluable. Nor would 
 an M.F.H. who should allow his best hounds to be ridden 
 over without turning fiercely on the aggressors be 
 successful or even popular. But the captain of a county 
 team has not the last privilege of the worm. 
 
 Perhaps of all the difficult questions a skipper has to 
 determine the hardest is to know when to resign office. 
 He may still be able to play cricket — more likely he isn't 
 — as well as ever ; but he ought to be playing, or rather 
 doing, something else. One cannot — though to this rule 
 
 282 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 there is apparently an exception — play cricket for ever, 
 and a day comes when it is too late to take up a new 
 role. But even if he could go on for ever there is some- 
 thing absurd in a middle-aged man, grey about the 
 temples — when in a fit of forgetfulness he takes off his 
 cap the sun shines pleasantly on his bald head — sporting 
 like an urchin of twelve or fourteen. 
 
 I confess I can't see a man, whose college days are 
 left far behind, still playing games more religiously than 
 an Eton fourth-form boy without wishing he had some- 
 thing else to do. The world is very full, no doubt — 
 though not so full as some folks fancy — and the pro- 
 fessions mostly overstocked. But the fuller the world 
 the more work to be done in it by those who take the 
 right way. It is not necessary to be a wine merchant, 
 or a doctor, or a lawyer, or even a parson ; of these the 
 supply seems fully equal to any possible demand. But 
 there are ways of employing one's self, and doing some 
 good in one's generation, that are still open to all. Byron, 
 of course, is quite out of date, though there are a few 
 survivors yet who think that he said some good things, 
 and that of these the following is not the worst : 
 
 " Many of the ills o'er which man grieves, 
 And still more woman, spring from not employing 
 Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying." 
 
 Skippers are, as a rule, such good fellows that one 
 does not like to see them preparing for themselves a 
 future that will not be thoroughly enjoyable. Perhaps, like 
 the Red Indian, they are looking forward to a continu- 
 ance after death, and under better conditions of the sport 
 they so love. 
 
 . . . quoe cura nitentes 
 Pascere equos eadem sequitur tellure repostos. 
 
 283 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 A heavenly ground, and — to use the words of one of 
 them the other day after a wonderful " century " — an 
 angelic pitch ; and if that is their desire I heartily wish 
 they may get it. 
 
 Wet-Bobbing. 
 
 While the ancients were not addicted to steeple- 
 chasing (having, very likely, the objections by which some 
 moderns are moved, to seeing their money in the air), 
 and cricket, had it been brought to their knowledge, 
 would, no doubt, have appeared too puerile, the " art," as 
 it may even then have been considered, of rowing was 
 necessarily held in high esteem ; and we are not without 
 some knowledge of the way in which their aquatic 
 contests were conducted. It would hardly occur, in the 
 present day, even to the most enthusiastic amateur oars- 
 man who had recently succeeded to the family property, 
 that a regatta was a fitting way of commemorating the 
 anniversary of his father's death ; yet we must feel grateful 
 to ^neas for giving Virgil the opportunity of picturing 
 the methods of the rival crews, whose enthusiasm appears 
 to have equalled that of the young men who annually 
 take part in the Oxford and Cambridge race. It is 
 matter of regret that Virgil omitted to give the weights 
 of the crews, which it would have been interesting to 
 compare with those of the present day. There was, no 
 doubt, some rough-and-ready way of coaching, but it is 
 unlikely that much dependence was placed on style — no 
 amount of " skill and dexterity " would have brought 
 " feathering " within the bounds of possibility — and 
 the stalwart propellers of barges on the Thames are 
 probably still the exponents of as much " form " as 
 was fashionable in those days. Yet there is very little 
 
 284 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 new under the sun, and possibly Eneas' winning " ship " 
 was provided with shorter oars than her rivals, in which 
 case the last year's victory of the Belgian crew was fore- 
 shadowed. Virgil's crews appear to have been " rowed 
 out " at the finish, and this was to be expected, as we read 
 that one at least of the vessels was too heavy for a racing 
 craft. It is no longer possible for the "skipper" to 
 animate his men by what would now be the dangerous 
 practice of " walking among them," but coxswains may be 
 thankful that they are no longer liable to be chucked out 
 of the boat should the captain disapprove of the course 
 that was being steered. Indeed, as races are rowed at 
 present, such action would seem to be unwise. Modern 
 rowing has been as fortunate as cricket in escaping the 
 betting evil, the nearest approach to which in old days 
 was the " vowing " in the event of success, of " a snow- 
 white heifer" or something equally tasty to whichever 
 deity seemed adverse, thus giving the latter the ad- 
 vantage of " standing on velvet," which was no doubt 
 just what he (or she) liked. 
 
 In one respect "wet-bobbing," as compared with its 
 sister sport, has lost ground in the last fifty years. While 
 the number of professional cricketers has enormously 
 increased, the professional rower is almost extinct. The 
 rivalry, once so keen, between the Tyne and the Thames 
 is a thing of the past, and there are no successors to 
 Chambers, Boyd, and a number of other good oarsmen 
 and scullers. This is a distinct loss to rowing, since, in 
 default of amateurs able and willing to undertake the 
 duties of a coach, instruction by professionals (who, if not 
 fairly good, would soon have to take to some other 
 business) would at least do away with some of the worst 
 faults of the suburban beginner. The reason for the 
 
 285 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 disappearance of the professional oarsman is not far to 
 seek. Of late years the funds of the numerous regattas, 
 once held annually at the chief river towns, have not 
 allowed of offering prizes for watermen's crews, and the 
 inducements that once made the profession of rowing not 
 unprofitable have therefore ceased to exist. From my 
 recollection of the crews that in old days used to compete 
 for these money prizes, which were sometimes of consider- 
 able value, I should say these men were as fitted to 
 survive as their dry-bobbing brother pros. In the middle 
 of the last century professional crews were to be met with 
 at regattas a great distance from their training quarters. 
 One of the best of these crews for a few years hailed from 
 Manchester, which, when one considers the poor oppor- 
 tunities for rowing afforded by the river Irwell, was 
 nothing short of miraculous. About equally remarkable 
 was the appearance a few years ago of a crew — in 
 this case amateurs — from Birmingham, which, I believe, 
 practised on one of the local reservoirs. They rowed — 
 as they say on the Severn — with beehive backs, and no 
 style to brag about, but, as might be expected, with 
 plenty of pluck and energy. The wonderful thing about 
 them was that they rowed at all. 
 
 I have a special reason for recalling the presence of 
 "watermen "at the Worcester Regatta of 1852 or 1853. 
 In one of my long vacations I joined a four that entered 
 for the two chief races then annually rowed at Worcester, 
 one for some silver oars, and the other for a silver cup, 
 which I remember even then to have been in a dilapidated 
 state, and which I heard shortly afterwards, on the advent 
 of financial difficulties, was melted down. Our crew was 
 anything but a strong one. I was in the Ch. Ch. eight 
 at the time, but a rower of no special eminence. Two 
 
 286 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 others were at " the House," but the stroke was a middle- 
 aged married man, a local schoolmaster, who pegged 
 away without any pretensions to style. An Oxford crew, 
 which included " Short, of New," who afterwards rowed 
 in the Varsity — was also entered for both races. While 
 we were ensconced in a mansion, our opponents put up at 
 the Dog and Duck, a riverside public, which, notwith- 
 standing my many visits to Worcester of late years, I 
 have never seen or heard of since. We were beaten in our 
 first race, owing, as we thought, to our boat, a tub hired 
 from the " yard " at the back of the Grand Stand on the 
 Pitchcroft. The interval between the first and second 
 race was exceedingly short, but long enough for us to 
 interview the members of one of the watermen's fours 
 attending the regatta, and ask for the loan of their boat 
 for our next journey. They acceded to our request in 
 the most sportsmanlike way, with the result that we ran 
 clean away from the crew that had beaten us an hour or 
 so before. 
 
 It makes an old rowing man sick to walk by the river 
 Thames (say, between Kingston and Hampton Court) 
 during the boating season, and see scores of great hulking 
 fellows rowing (?), evidently without having been instructed 
 in the first rudiments of the art. Worse still are the 
 scullers on sliding seats who have evidently escaped 
 preliminary instruction in a tub. Many of these last 
 (who will appear at some riversidef regatta during the 
 season) have every fault possible to a sculler. In addition, 
 some of them are physically unfit to undergo any form of 
 hard exercise, and their narrow chests, round backs, and 
 meagre limbs would raise a laugh if it was not so pitiful. 
 It should be remembered that as some people are in- 
 capacitated by nature for the functions even of a modern 
 
 287 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 M.P., so there are young men whom no amount of training 
 could convert into anything but a travesty of an athlete ; 
 and the friends of the latter should surely advise them to 
 take their amusement a little less energetically. 
 
 For a good deal of the bad rowing to be seen on the 
 Thames I think sliding seats — or their misuse by incom- 
 petent oarsmen — are chiefly answerable. Nee mens hie 
 sermo. The opinion — stated to me a few years ago — 
 of one of the greatest oarsmen of the last century — O. 
 Meade King — was that rowing had deteriorated since 
 the introduction of the sliding seats, while there had been 
 little improvement in the time in which races were 
 formerly rowed. Some improvement, of course, there has 
 been, but not nearly as much as is generally imagined. 
 In fact, in 1869 — as "an old blue" recently stated — 
 with fixed seats and outriggers, Oxford got over the 
 course from Putney to Mortlake in 20 minutes 5 seconds, 
 and in 1868 in 20 minutes 56 seconds. Supposing my old 
 friend to have been, to some slight extent, prejudiced in 
 favour of fixed seats, there is still no doubt that, allowing 
 for the increased number of young men who take up 
 rowing as a pastime, there is more vile rowing and sculling 
 to-day than fifty years ago. 
 
 The P.R. 
 
 The sport of boxing "iffers from rowing in that its 
 professors appear to have made no advance in skill or in 
 popularity since the days immediately following the siege 
 of Troy ; while their methods seem almost identical with 
 those of the ancients. Virgil describes Dares — what a 
 name, given a Cockney bookmaker's pronunciation, for a 
 pugilist! — as tiptoeing — constitit in digitos — round his 
 
 288 
 
" Skipper" King. 
 (Eton Eight, 185 1— afterwards President O.U.B.C.) 
 
 [See page 288- 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 weightier opponent exactly as might be witnessed to-day. 
 Entellus' o-auntlets would no doubt cause a sensation in 
 a modern ring, and his feat of supplementing the victory 
 by killing the bull, which was the prize of the contest, with 
 one blow of his mighty fist, would surely be welcomed as 
 a new sensation at the National Sporting Club if any 
 modern could be found capable of performing it. 
 
 I was at school at Highgate when the P.R. was at the 
 height of its glory, and I well remember how we would 
 fight — as if we were veritable embryo champions — for the 
 temporary possession of the copy of Bell's Life which 
 some boy always smuggled in when the issue of a big 
 fight had just been determined. With what interest would 
 we read how some one tapped his opponent's claret and was 
 punished by the " raising of a mouse " over the left eye. 
 In those days a noted member of the P.R. had won the 
 Derby, and succeeded in getting into the House of 
 Commons. There is nothing that I know of to prevent 
 a modern boxer from winning the Derby, provided he 
 wishes to do so, and has a good enough horse, but his 
 entry into St. Stephen's is improbable, though there are 
 politicians there who would be a disgrace to the P.R. 
 even in these days of its decay, and plenty of occasions 
 in that august assembly when the prowess of a Bendigo 
 or a Sayers would be of service to the party of his 
 choice. 
 
 George Borrow, an enthusiastic admirer of the P.R. in 
 its palmy days, waxes eloquent over some of the old 
 fighters. " There was — what ! shall I name thee last ? 
 aye, why not ? I believe that thou art the last of all that 
 strong family still above the sod ; where mayst thou long 
 continue — true piece of English stuff, Tom of Bedford — 
 sharp as winter, kind as spring. Hail to thee, Tom of 
 T 289 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Bedford, or by whatever name it may please thee to be 
 called, spring or winter . . ." 
 
 Borrow attributes the coming decay of the P.R. to the 
 Jews, who were accused by Cobbett of introducing bad 
 faith among pugilists. If things were as bad as Borrow 
 imagined there must surely have been a recovery later.- 
 Perhaps Borrow was inclined to exaggerate the preference 
 of the children of Israel for ** red gold " above glory. There 
 can have been little decadence at the time of Sayers' fight 
 with Heenan, when, no doubt, the leading members of 
 the P.R. fought out their battles in a manly and straight- 
 forward way. Nowadays, when thousands of pounds may 
 be won by a successful boxer, it is strange to think how 
 half a century ago men allowed their features to be pounded 
 flat and into pulp for a few pounds " and the belt." There 
 was more glory and more broken noses than wealth to be 
 got in those days, and one likes to think it was the glory 
 that was chiefly appreciated. It was the fashion in my 
 Oxford days for undergraduates " seeing life " to interview 
 noted ex-pugilists at the public-houses to which they had 
 retired on quitting the P.R. I remember several times 
 being the guest of Ben Caunt at his place of business. 
 He was a magnificent-looking man viewed from behind; a 
 front view was less pleasing, as his features, which may once 
 have been comely, had been battered and flattened in his 
 many contests. There was a light-weight champion — I 
 forget his name, but think he was some sort of a " chicken " 
 — whom we used also occasionally to patronise, and who 
 had the additional attraction of a rat pit. 
 
 Sayers was a popular idol till the day of his death, and 
 who will count him unworthy of the honour? It is safe 
 to say that such enthusiasm will never be evoked by a 
 " bruiser " again. Thackeray, not a very likely man to be 
 
 290 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 prejudiced in favour of the P.R., wrote in one of his 
 
 Roundabout Papers : " That one-handed fight of Sayers 
 is one of the most spirit-stirring stories ever told. . . . 
 That little man with one hand powerless on his breast, 
 facing yonder giant for hours, and felling him, too, every 
 now and again." The most civilised nations can least of 
 all afford to despise dogged resolution and pluck, of which 
 they are sure one day to stand in need. There was courage 
 and skill in the old days, and, no doubt, there is still plenty 
 of the former, but, in modern fights, the latter quality is 
 little in evidence, when (as I read in a latter-day authority 
 on boxing) "round-arm hooks at the point of the jaw, only 
 rendered possible by gloves " have been substituted for the 
 methods by which Sayers and many another won their 
 fame. 
 
 I once saw at Church Stretton, in the sixties, Joe Goss 
 leading a band of Black Country sportsmen against about 
 three hundred yokels, supporters of the late R. Jasper 
 More, then the Radical Candidate for South Shropshire. 
 A big battle was confidently expected, but it failed to 
 come off, neither party liking to commence operations. 
 After the nomination Mr. Goss was escorting the Tory 
 candidates from the hustings to their hotel, and trying to 
 earn his money by elbowing in the stomach everybody he 
 could reach, when a big, middle-aged farmer, annoyed at 
 not being allowed to approach and shake hands with the 
 candidates, took Joe round the waist, and chucked him 
 away among the crowd as if he were a child. The 
 champion came up to the scratch again as if nothing had 
 happened, and went on as before with his tiptoeing and 
 elbowing; but my estimate of him had suffered con- 
 siderably. There have since been plenty of less skilful 
 and less honest fighters than Joe Goss, and I think after 
 
 291 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 his day very few people but the combatants and the 
 members of a sporting club or two have taken any interest 
 in the encounters. Sic transit. 
 
 Swimming. 
 
 Now that such a vast number of Englishmen consider 
 themselves capable of swimming across the Channel, 
 swimming has to be included among English sports. 
 While Webb's great feat of many years ago is still a 
 record, those who have recently attempted to rival it 
 have, no doubt, been possessed of exceptional skill and 
 courage. I used to fancy myself a fairly good swimmer, 
 but my nearest approach to any exceptional performance 
 was thinking myself capable of crossing the bay at 
 Llandudno from one Orme's Head to the other. From 
 the shore the feat does not look anything out of the way ; 
 it has, however, been but seldom accomplished. I was 
 staying at Llandudno one summer, and a big farmer, a 
 neighbour of mine in Salop, was also there. The marker 
 at the billiard-rooms where we used to meet in the evenings 
 was one of the few credited with the feat, and, on the 
 matter cropping up, I said that I thought I could do it 
 myself. My friend immediately called out, " I'll bet you 
 a hundred pounds to a sovereign you don't do it." 
 " Done ! " I replied. The next day he came to me in a 
 dreadful state of mind. I don't suppose he had ever 
 made a bet before in his life. " Of course that was all 
 nonsense," he said. " Oh dear, no ! " I replied ; " a 
 hundred pounds is not to be picked up every day. I 
 am going into training at once, and I'll let you know 
 when I'm ready." He begged, he prayed, he almost 
 wept ; he said he should not like to be the cause of my 
 
 292 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 death. I assured him I would take every precaution to 
 prevent that catastrophe. When he left for home he 
 commenced writing to me weekly, trying to get the 
 bet off. I used to answer that I was getting on famously 
 and improving daily. Then he wrote to my wife, implor- 
 ing her to use her influence. I think his fear was that 
 it would leak out that he had been betting, as he belonged 
 to some strict sect of Dissenters. In a few days I dis- 
 covered that the feat was a harder one than I had 
 imagined, owing to the currents setting into the bay, 
 and I gave up all idea of attempting it, but I amused 
 
 myself by keeping S on tenterhooks. I never cared 
 
 much about practical jokes, especially when I was the 
 
 butt, and I am afraid S did not enjoy this one. He 
 
 got awfully teased, when he appeared at markets and 
 elsewhere, with inquiries about the temperature of the 
 ocean, and the state of my health. Autumn arrived, and 
 on the approach of winter he thought, good, easy man, 
 full surely he was safe ; but I reminded him that no date 
 had been mentioned, and that I might be in better fettle 
 in another year or two. The thought of the affair hanging 
 over him for the rest of his life was too much for him, 
 and he offered, if I would let him off, to give a dinner, to 
 be attended by mutual friends, at the Crown, Bridgnorth, 
 then one of the best of old country inns. I expressed the 
 hope, when proposing his health at this entertainment, 
 that it would be a lesson to him to avoid gambling in 
 the future. 
 
 Billiards. 
 
 A sport that has had a rise instead of a fall during the 
 last fifty years is billiards, which, from being considered a 
 low, disreputable game, to be played, if anywhere, in a 
 
 293 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 second-rate public-house between Captain Rook — who 
 had been turned out of the army — and Mr. Pigeon, when 
 that gentleman could be met with, has now eventuated 
 into a sport that supports quite a number of professionals 
 and professors. My father, who was not particularly 
 strict in his ideas, was greatly annoyed at my showing a 
 desire, when I came home from Eton (where we used to 
 make our little breaks of ten and fifteen on a table in 
 Windsor) for the holidays, to play billiards with a neigh- 
 bour of ours who had a private table, then quite an 
 exceptional luxury. I remember the woodwork of this 
 particular table was reported to have been derived from 
 the wreck of the Royal George, which must greatly have 
 increased in size from its long stay under water, if any 
 faith were to be placed in the numerous fragments thereof 
 which were to be met with in country houses and else- 
 where in my early days. Nowadays all good hotels in 
 the principal towns, and in some that are anything but 
 " principal," have billiard-rooms where guests can pass 
 an hour or two after dinner without fear of being "rooked," 
 while the matches played throughout the season at 
 Thurston's and other halls between rival professionals 
 are attended by all classes, from peer to farmer, up in 
 town for a day or two. Naturally the favour shown to 
 the game has done much to elevate the status of its 
 exponents — or was it their efficiency that removed the 
 taboo? — and it is now a very different game from the 
 one that was so looked down upon fifty years ago. Of 
 old when a writer of fiction introduced a billiard player — 
 which he only did to prove him a scamp of the first 
 water — the great player (one of the captains aforesaid) 
 would, with an exceptionally good opening, run out 
 triumphantly with a break of fifteen or twenty; yet 
 
 294 
 
Changes in Sports 
 
 seldom did he find any one capable of competing with 
 him on level terms. Now it is hard to place a limit 
 on what may be done by four or five of the leading 
 players. New rules are being constantly made to prevent 
 them from going on for ever, which would be destructive 
 of the " gate." The " spot stroke " has long since been 
 barred, and the same fate has already overtaken the 
 recently discovered *' anchor stroke," of which every one 
 quickly tired. It will be noted that while the professional 
 rower has almost disappeared, and amateurs are still 
 capable of holding their own at cricket, the gap between 
 the professional billiard player and the amateur gets 
 wider every day. The two men chiefly responsible for 
 the improvement in the game were John Roberts, senior, 
 who was for many years unapproachable, and his son. 
 The latter, though he has long since reached an age when 
 professors of any game requiring steadiness of hand, a 
 keen eye, and exceptional nerve have generally retired in 
 favour of more youthful exponents, has lost but little 
 of his skill. I was a great admirer of the elder Roberts, 
 and seldom missed an opportunity of seeing him play. 
 Afterwards, when in London, I preferred seeing his son 
 at the Egyptian Hall or elsewhere to any other entertain- 
 ment, when I would see seated near me celebrities from 
 the House of Commons or the House of Lords. 
 
 Many years ago when the elder Roberts was billiard 
 champion, I happened to be in' Birmingham, when a 
 friend asked me if I should like to see a little bit of 
 fun. On my assenting, he took me to Dale End, a 
 street in which there are numerous public-houses, and 
 entering one of these we saw seated in the bar-room an 
 elderly man, dressed as a farmer, who was manipulating 
 the end of a walking stick with a penknife. Going 
 
 295 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 upstairs to the billiard-room we found a heated dispute 
 going on between two players as to their skill or the want 
 of it " Why," said one contemptuously to the other, " I 
 could find an old countryman to beat you with a walking 
 stick." This was more than his opponent could stand, and 
 a match was made for a sovereign, I think. At that 
 moment who should walk in but the countryman with 
 the walking stick, whom we had seen in the bar-room. 
 This was no other than John Roberts, of whose identity 
 only two or three of those present were aware. I forget 
 what breaks were made, but it was quickly seen that the 
 old countryman could score a good deal quicker with his 
 walking stick than his opponent could with his cue. 
 
 296 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 THE feeling which binds us to places is one that we 
 share with the cats. Why we — or they — feel it, 
 is a mystery, but it is certainly one of the last feelings 
 to leave us, and age instead of weakening intensifies it. 
 The humdrum little village where we first drew breath 
 — such useful breath as it has been too ! — the spot where 
 once some commonplace ancestor was born or buried, 
 the fields we played in as children — and perhaps not 
 very happy children either — seem sacred to us while we 
 live, and are engraved on our hearts when we die. 
 
 This attachment is independent of any charm which 
 the place may possess, and often asserts itself stubbornly 
 against what we feel to be our better judgment. We 
 have been about the world, and may know that we 
 should be unable to exist for another week in the place 
 that our memory so hallows. Leaving it may indeed 
 have been the one wise or fortunate action of our lives. 
 But we feel the loss the more, the more we have gained 
 by it, and, as other things are torn from us, this, which 
 is but a sentiment and can therefore no more be taken 
 from us than a ghost or a shadow, becomes dearer and 
 more cherished than ever. 
 
 It was so many years since I had seen the place that 
 the feeling which impelled me to take the journey must 
 
 297 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 have been strong indeed. I had always — almost always 
 — wished to keep away. A feeling of soreness, almost 
 of shame, made all thoughts of the old place unwelcome. 
 To have struck deep roots only to pull them up and 
 transplant them was a relinquishment none the more 
 pleasant that it was forced upon me. My sole reason, 
 I told myself, for returning was my wish to see Nurse 
 Saxelberry. It was only the other day I heard of her 
 being still alive; I had fancied her dead many years 
 ago. 
 
 Nurse Saxelberry was one of the old-fashioned 
 faithful servants who were in my boyhood the rule rather 
 than the exception. I do not think we children liked her 
 much ; she was too masterful. We were a large family, 
 and she stayed on year after year till there was no longer 
 any need of her services. It gives some insight into her 
 character that I do not think any of us knew her Christian 
 name. The other servants who were in turn attached to 
 the nursery were Susan or Anne, as the case might be. 
 Some even had nicknames ; but he would have been a 
 bold youngster who had endowed Nurse Saxelberry 
 with a nickname. Her Christian name I afterwards found 
 was Kate. She did not look it, and yet no name could 
 have suited her better. Tu quoque litoTibus nostris 
 . . . CaicEtar 
 
 To us youngsters she was naturally middle-aged if 
 not actually an old woman ; yet I am constrained to 
 believe that there was a period in her life when she was 
 not absolutely without some measure of personal attrac- 
 tions. We were travelling abroad — in the days before 
 railways — in state, with carriages and posthorses, as was 
 the only way except by " diligence." Our courier, an 
 exceedingly handsome young Frenchman, used some- 
 
 298 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 times to ride in advance — his horse, frequently a sorry 
 one, decorated with bells which made music wherever 
 he went — while at other times he sat with me in the 
 rumble of the carriage, the interior of which was occupied 
 by the nurses and children. I was picking up French 
 quickly, chiefly no doubt because Michel did not know 
 a word of English, and, apparently, did not want to. 
 One day, however, when seated beside me, he asked 
 the English for " Quel jolis pieds." " What pretty feet," 
 I told him, and he repeated it over and over again — 
 " Wat putty fit " — like a parrot. When he was quite 
 perfect he called for the translation of " Je ne comprends 
 pas," and this also he repeated till he had got it, as he 
 thought, quite pat. The next and final sentence was 
 " II me I'a dit." This he seemed to find specially hard, 
 and it was long before he was satisfied. As he laboured 
 at " He tould me, he tould me," I wondered what on 
 earth he was up to. Arrived at the town at which we 
 were to stop for the night, Michel descended with even 
 more than his usual agility and opened the carriage door. 
 The first person to alight was of course Nurse Saxelberry. 
 I remember as if it were yesterday the protrusion of her 
 elephantine foot, followed by his remark, in a tone between 
 rapture and surprise — it was long before the days of the 
 Chicago belles—" Wat putty fit ! " 
 
 Nurse Saxelberry looked up surprised and indignant, 
 yet not, I feel sure, without some little access of gratified 
 vanity. The spirit, if not the words, of her ejaculation 
 " You great stupid " was no doubt sufficiently clear, but 
 Michel proceeded calmly with his lesson. " I do not 
 oonderrstand," he said, and then proceeded to lay the 
 blame of his impudence on my shoulders with, " He 
 tould me." 
 
 299 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Michel came to England once or twice afterwards 
 to see his inamorata, and he was such a nice, handsome 
 fellow that it is a wonder Nurse Saxelberry resisted 
 him. The reason no doubt was — a strong reason in 
 those days — that she did not like to leave my mother, 
 for whom she had the strongest affection. What a 
 different life would hers have been had she yielded. 
 In that case I doubt whether she would have seen her 
 ninety-sixth year, or been as happy as her calm single- 
 blessedness has apparently made her. 
 
 From the little station it is a walk of three miles to 
 the village. When I was last here the square church 
 tower and an adjacent clump of trees would have been 
 visible all the way. Now hop gardens on either side 
 the road prevent one getting any view of the country. 
 I hope the energy and pluck that went to the establishing 
 of what was locally quite a new industry have been 
 adequately rewarded ; but this seems unlikely. One 
 comes across so much beer nowadays that can only 
 be sentimentally indebted to malt and hops, that the 
 possibility of over-production in what were once con- 
 sidered its indispensable constituents can be easily 
 imagined. About half a mile from the village the 
 hop gardens come to an end, and the church tower 
 becomes visible. I pass through crops of barley and 
 oats ready — as we used to say — for the sickle, and I 
 am pleased, if a little surprised, to see that if the sickle 
 is no longer in use the almost equally old-fashioned 
 " cradle " still survives. I came upon half a dozen mowers 
 in line, swinging this useful implement as if it were in as 
 little danger of being superseded as its ubiquitous name- 
 sake. The season has been a dry one, and I am 
 surprised to see such good crops everywhere. The 
 
 300 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 chalk subsoil makes the farmer welcome a wet season. 
 I remember the local saying : 
 
 **When England weeps 
 The island reaps." 
 
 True, the district is no longer an island, but it once 
 was, and local ideas are slow to change. The clump 
 of trees now I am near it looks quite important. It 
 was a matter of local belief that there is no other 
 shelter between it and the North Pole, but I don't think 
 the villagers in my time knew much about the latter 
 locality. 
 
 Not a soul is to be seen in the village until round a 
 corner comes the middle-aged parson travelling gently 
 along on his tricycle. The sight of him suggests a 
 visit to the church before calling on Nurse Saxelberry. 
 The middle-aged parson, without raising his eyes from 
 the road, which he is apparently searching for obstructive 
 pebbles, directs me to a cottage opposite, where I find a 
 respectable elderly woman who has charge of the keys. 
 If I thought her elderly, I soon found she was yet too 
 youthful to greatly assist my rather dim recollections. 
 I am conscious of a slight access of pride when I see 
 her increased respect at hearing my name and the 
 memorials I wish to inspect. To be respected for what 
 one has thrown away — one's leavings, so to speak — is 
 rather flattering, and would be more so but for the 
 suggested doubt as to the wisdom of the abandonment. 
 
 The parson, who, I am told, has not long held the 
 living, has collected — almost as if he had foreseen my 
 visit — the memorials of our family into a neat row, 
 chronologically arranged at the west end of the church. 
 I remember them scattered about higgledy-piggledy. 
 
 301 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 Since 1695 my ancestors have been buried in the church- 
 yard or in the vault just outside the wall of the church. 
 Si qua est ea gloria — well, at all events, it is nothing to 
 be ashamed of. 
 
 Standing with my guide in front of the church porch 
 I look down the village street. It is a mere cluster of 
 rather poor and for the most part thatched cottages, with 
 increasing intervals between them as they get away from 
 the shadow of the tower. There is a small inn, whose not 
 very evident attractions may yet be locally irresistible. 
 I remember only two houses in the village with any 
 pretensions to gentility. One of these is the red brick 
 house exactly opposite the church, and this, once a neat 
 and trim residence, has a dilapidated and uncared-for 
 look. I am not surprised to hear — my guide has quite 
 conquered the taciturnity by which at first she was 
 troubled — that it is untenanted. The "troops of merry 
 children " who played there are dead, with the exception 
 of a son, who is colonising some distant land. I can 
 recall no family traits that suggested a probable or even 
 possible abdication of a position — Triton among the 
 minnows — that some even in these days are found not to 
 despise. Yet, without wishing, like Ulysses, 
 
 "To follow knowledge, like a sinking star, 
 Beyond the utmost bound of human thought," 
 
 it is possible that the survivor felt cramped in his little 
 kingdom, the revenues of which were no doubt sorely 
 reduced by bad times. For my part I never cease 
 wondering how so many still live contented with their 
 monotonous lives. Often, perhaps, it is not so much 
 content as sheer laziness, or not knowing how to get 
 away from them. Plenty of people wish to be the greatest, 
 
 302 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 if not the best, and there may be no greater curse than 
 ambition without the power to rise. 
 
 The other " family mansion " appertaining to the village 
 is the Court, which, with its extensive farm buildings, 
 stands within the shelter of the clump of trees previously 
 referred to. The Court is on the outskirts of the 
 village. Looking down the drive — not kept as trimly as 
 of old — I catch a glimpse of the well-remembered orna- 
 mental gables, an improvement, at any rate, on those of 
 the modern jerry-builder, and see to my disgust that the 
 old house has been whitewashed — a proceeding of which 
 it appears to approve as little as does the boy in the soap- 
 advertisement of the enforced cleansing. Was the opera- 
 tion, I wonder, intended to be symbolical of what so many 
 landowners and farmers have had to undergo? A few 
 yards from the entrance to the Court stands Nurse 
 Saxelberry's cottage. This has also been whitewashed, 
 but the effect is, for some reason, less injurious. 
 
 Nurse Saxelberry is, as I expected, standing by the 
 cottage door, which commands a view of the village street 
 and the square, defiant-looking church tower. Beyond is 
 the blue sea with a few rushing " ocean tramps " and their 
 long tails of black smoke. The old nurse can remember 
 the days before steam, when, on the wind changing, a 
 thousand ships that had been windbound for days would, 
 all at once, make sail; a sight that will never be seen again. 
 She was twelve years old when Waterloo was fought, and 
 was in her infancy no doubt terrorised by " Boney." Her 
 experience of foreign lands was of course quite excep- 
 tional. Only great, or comparatively great, people 
 travelled, and these not oftener than they could help. 
 How people arrived at or removed, in old days, from 
 these remote villages, often miles from any road 
 
 303 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 traversed by even a second-rate coach, is a marvel ; 
 but then so few wished or attempted to do either. 
 Now young men and maidens "trip it" merrily all the 
 year round, and perhaps are not any the better contented 
 after all. 
 
 When I approach, and my old nurse knows certainly 
 who is her visitor, she makes no attempt to speak. All 
 her energies are bent on controlling herself, and she was 
 always, outwardly at least, stern and collected. When I 
 have led her into her cottage, and she is seated in her 
 great arm-chair, she still keeps silence. I hold her hand ; 
 she puts down the other, with which she had been shading 
 her eyes the better to regard me, and strokes mine. So 
 we sit awhile; she is evidently much overcome. Once I 
 hear her murmur" Master John," and then, "your mother." 
 I make a few not very original remarks as to her comfort, 
 her great age, and so forth, but she appears to be paying 
 no attention. 1 am afraid of tiring her, and when I have 
 sat there almost twenty minutes, she all the time holding 
 my hand between hers, I think I had better be going. 
 
 As I rise to depart, Nurse Saxelberry says something 
 that I do not at first catch — her voice is indistinct, or 
 possibly I am a little hard of hearing — but which seems 
 to amuse her immensely. Then I understand that she 
 is asking me if I ever write any " lines " now. " I like 
 lines," she is muttering with evident relish, and something 
 of the air of a connoisseur. " Never miss reading lines," 
 she goes on. " I remember all your lines." I feel sorry 
 for this, as I am sure very few of them — at least of those 
 that she is likely to have met with — are worth remember- 
 ing. I regretted, I told her, that I had written a great 
 many lines. Her wrinkled old face looks quite shocked. 
 Why should I be sorry ? She has evidently, with all her 
 
 304 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 love for "lines" never heard of Mrs. Browning's poem, 
 " The Great God Pan " : 
 
 "And the reed that never can grow again 
 Among the reeds in the river." 
 
 She soon recovers herself, however. " I remember," 
 she goes on, " those lines about the Sargents." 
 
 Mr. Sargent was a plaguy Irish pedagogue who 
 came to our village when I was a schoolboy and pro- 
 claimed — in a rich brogue — his readiness and ability to 
 instruct the sons of the small landowners in Greek and 
 Latin, with the purest Hibernian accent. "Madaia" was, 
 I remember, carried away in a " charriot dhrawn by whinged 
 drahgons" — but I despair of reproducing it. To this worthy 
 my father insisted on sending me in the holidays, and I 
 avenged myself by lampooning the pedagogue in the 
 St. Margarefs News, a paper written by the juveniles of 
 our family for home consumption. But Nurse Saxelberry 
 is quoting the opening line : 
 
 (( 
 
 The Sargents came from Dublin Town." 
 
 I cannot help laughing — rather a bitter laugh, though. 
 I remember the "lines" well enough, and how strongly 
 my father, honest m.an, objected to my ridicule of the 
 neighbours as uncharitable. If he had gone farther, and 
 told me that the writing of" lines," even other than doggerel, 
 is an uncertain factor of happiness,'that to live contented 
 in the state of life, etc. — every one had the Catechism by 
 heart in those days, and some few tried to live up to it — 
 was the wisest, as it was certainly the easiest plan, perhaps 
 I should have attended to him, perhaps not. It was 
 certainly my success in this and similar early productions 
 that turned my thoughts towards authorship, out of which 
 
 U 305 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 I have got perhaps about the same mixture as the 
 majority. 
 
 Thus I think while Nurse Saxelberry declaims in a 
 voice broken by fits of senile laughter. I wish she would 
 stop. She looks up at me at last, and seeing there is 
 something wrong she does stop. I wish her good-bye. 
 She is wiping her spectacles now, either that she may 
 take a last fond look at me — she well knows it is the last — 
 or for another reason. There are tears in i)iy eyes at 
 any rate. 
 
 The last I saw of her she was standing- at her cottage 
 door shading her eyes with her hand, and looking after 
 me down the little street. She was blessing me, I felt 
 certain, but some blessings must surely come too late, and, 
 like sunshine after a wet harvest, prove rather tantalising 
 than beneficial. It is to be hoped that the exceptional 
 flavour of Nurse Saxelberry's may, even yet, make them 
 of some use to her " boy." 
 
 And now there's just time before catching my train to 
 attend to another matter which may after all have had its 
 share in bringing me back to " the Island." I knew very 
 well I should never get away without revisiting the spot 
 where I shot my first hare, though I have always regarded 
 this as an inglorious achievement, and was far from 
 experiencing the feelings by which the Duke of 
 Wellington was presumably moved on his return, many 
 years after the battle, to Waterloo. Of course my visit 
 was primarily to Nurse Saxelberry, but it is well, when 
 you get the opportunity, to kill two birds with one stone. 
 The big field out of which the bailiff and I — how well I 
 remember the former, with his good-natured face, and the 
 heads and legs of the precious " birds " sticking out of 
 the roomy pockets of his sleeved corduroy waistcoat — 
 
 306 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 put up that first — and last — covey of partridges is so near 
 the Court that I could hardly have avoided it had I 
 wished to, and it seems, like the middle-aged parson, to 
 have been expecting me. At any rate, it is down in 
 clover again, which has probably been the case nearly a 
 score of times since the visit by which I chiefly remember 
 it. The rest of England changed out of recognition, 
 stage-coaches succeeded by railroads, which are yielding 
 in their turn to motor-cars — I see in to-day's paper a 
 kindly suggestion that motor-cars should be provided 
 with nets wherewith to catch the farmers and labourers 
 instead of killing them outright — to give place in their 
 turn to flying machines, yet there are still people growing 
 clover as they did, no doubt, when things began to dry 
 up after the flood. With all this talk of agricultural 
 depression one almost expected to find this field out of 
 cultivation, as has been the case for many years with 
 others I use to plough, sow, and reap ; but the old county 
 has too much spirit left to allow things to come down to 
 that. I wonder how many hundreds of pounds have been 
 spent on this field since I tramped it so many years ago, 
 and what return two or three generations of farmers have 
 got for their outlay ? 
 
 I skirt round it, and make for the gate at the bottom 
 which lets you out on to the marshes. How well I 
 remember those birds skimming over the gate, and my 
 delight in following them. Then came the disturbance 
 in the rushes and the truculent old farmer — as I thought 
 him. Perhaps he didn't mean to be truculent — and if he 
 did, he ceased being so long ago — but he spoilt my day 
 for me. I think the memory of any one who snubbed 
 us in our boyhood outlasts any other. The people who 
 were always nice to us, and whose kindness was taken for 
 
 307 
 
A Sportsman of Limited Income 
 
 granted, may fade away and be forgotten ; but those 
 others are always cropping up. They might surely have 
 let us have a good time ; if they never had one themselves, 
 the more reason, one would imagine, for wishing us to 
 have ours. After all, there were not too many bright 
 days in the boyhood of most of us, and unless we are 
 very lucky we get to be glad of them all before the finish. 
 I think I may say that the boys I've snubbed have been 
 very few, and wanted snubbing very badly. Perhaps the 
 old farmer, ill-conditioned as he w^as — ill-conditioned is 
 just the word him — did me more good than harm. 
 
 Well, though the old farmer did his best to spoil it 
 for me, from that day onwards sport in one shape or 
 another has never ceased to appeal to me. There are 
 plenty of people to tell you that it is a misfortune for a 
 young fellow of strictly limited income to have a liking 
 for sport, as this may prevent his going into an office, 
 dangling his legs from a high stool, and afterwards going 
 in for money-grubbing. Then when he is fifty or sixty 
 he may be wealthy enough to take up sport after the 
 manner of the retired tradesman, than which nothing can 
 be a more miserable travesty. I feel sure this advice 
 would have been bad fifty years ago, nor do I believe it 
 wholesome advice even for the present day. 
 
 I happened a few years ago to be one September in 
 the neighbourhood of a town where two or three men who 
 had succeeded in making money had come suddenly to 
 the conclusion that it was time for them to have a little 
 recreation. So they together rented the shooting on a 
 big manor, provided themselves with guns and dogs, and 
 straightway took up the role of sportsmen. One day I 
 was induced to walk with them, and became an amused 
 if terrified spectator of their methods. I soon found there 
 
 308 
 
The Return of the Native 
 
 was no safe place in the same field with them. A Yorkshire- 
 man, a good sportsman, had been inveigled into giving his 
 assistance, and wishing to make himself useful he walked 
 up by the hedge-side a little in advance of the line of 
 guns, in order to turn the birds. Fortunately I had 
 advised him that this would be a service of some danger, 
 so when the birds rose near him he threw himself flat on 
 the ground. Once or twice I thought he was done for, 
 as the shot spattered into the hedge a foot or so above 
 his prostrate body. No one, with the exception of the 
 Yorkshireman, shot anything at all. The party gave up 
 " shooting " early in the afternoon in order the sooner to 
 commence the orgy, an appetite for which was, no doubt, 
 the real incitement of the outing. After dinner, mayors, 
 ex-mayors, and county councillors got up one after 
 another, supporting themselves by the table, to hiccup 
 out the most idiotic nonsense I had ever listened to. It 
 was a sickening exhibition, but I was not sorry to see it 
 once, and learn what crimes could be perpetrated in the 
 sacred name of sport. Surely since these rollicking 
 gentlemen had got so far without being entered to sport 
 it would have been better to let it alone than run riot. 
 
 I can only say for myself that I have had many 
 troubles, and a love of sport has generally enabled me to 
 lay them aside if only for a few hours. Generally, not 
 always. For the rich, no doubt, there may be other ways of 
 escaping dull care, who may consider his seat post eqidtej/i, 
 however uncomfortable, safer than the motor-car ; but I 
 am afraid that in the future a good many people of 
 limited incomes will have to do without the alleviations 
 that have done so much for me. 
 
 309 
 
Printed by 
 
 Morrison & Gibb Lii\iited 
 
 Edinburf;h 
 
FROM MR. MELROSE'S LIST. 
 
 THE MOST NOTABLE BOOK OF 1909. 
 
 "One of the greatest collections of memoirs that have appeared 
 in our time." — Vide Manchester Guardian. 
 
 THE M.P. FOR RUSSIA 
 
 Reminiscences and Correspondence of 
 MADAME OLQA NOVIKOFF ("O. K."). 
 
 EDITED BY W. T. STEAD. 
 
 Two Vols., with Sixty Portraits. Medium 8vo, gilt top, 32s. net. 
 
 In these intensely human and absorbingly interesting volumes is told the story 
 of how one of the most remarkable women of our time, fired with a great 
 patriotic idea, used her social position, her beauty, and her fascinating personality 
 to its realisation. Men of genius, statesmen, historians, litterateurs, the most 
 brilliant and influential of their day, fell under her charm, and united in helping 
 her to realise the great aim of her life— a rapprochement between Great Britain 
 and Russia. The meeting of King Edward and the Czar at Reval in 1908 was 
 the crown of a life-work which will be placed among the great achievements in 
 the political history of Europe. 
 
 The volumes are crowded with hundreds of intimate and amazingly frank 
 letters from GLADSTONE, FROUDE, KINGLAKE, FREEMAN, LECKY, 
 TYNDALL, CHARLES VILLIERS, LORD NAPIER and ETTRICK, 
 and other eminent men who for many years were her constant correspondents. 
 
 THE DAILY TELEGRAPH says— 
 
 " The book is a political document which will take its place in the 
 bibliography of the political history of the time, and will retain that place 
 for many years to come." 
 
 THE STANDARD says— 
 
 " In spite of some blazing indiscretions, he has given us a lively if oracular 
 book full of curious and sometimes startling sidelights on the march of events 
 in England, Russia, and the Near East in not the least dramatic years of the 
 Victorian era." 
 
 THE DAILY CHRONICLE says— 
 
 " Her influence proves to have been far greater than the wildest gossips 
 have dared to imagine. ..." 
 
 THE DAILY NEWS says— 
 
 " Contradictions had no terrors for her as long as she could bend them in 
 the one direction of her purpose, and Freeman and Froude, implacable 
 wolves to each other, followed her like twin lambs. ..." 
 
 THE MANCHESTER GUARDIAN says— 
 
 " It is one of the greatest collections of memoirs that have appeared in our 
 time. . . . For most readers . . . the interest will be chiefly in the record 
 of a wonderful series of friendships in the picture of a salon which can 
 have been scarcely less glorious than that of Madame Recamier herself." 
 
 ANDREW MELROSE, 3 York Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C. 
 
FROM MR. MELROSE S LIST. 
 
 RECENT BOOKS OF HISTORICAL INTEREST 
 
 Published by Mr. ANDREW MELROSE. 
 
 Twenty^five Years' Soldiering in 
 South Africa. 
 
 A Personal Narrative by a Colonial Officer. With Portrait of 
 Author and Illustrations, Medium 8vo, gilt top, 14s. net. 
 
 The Northward Trek. 
 
 The Story of the Making of Rhodesia. By Stanley Portal 
 Hyatt. Illustrated with Maps and Photographs. Medium 
 8vo, cloth, gilt top, I OS. 6d. net. 
 
 The Drama of Saint Helena. 
 
 By Paul Fremeaux. Translated from the French by 
 
 Alfred Rieu, M.A. (Cantab.), and the Author. With 
 
 numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo, cloth, gilt top, los. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 The Riders of the Plains. 
 
 The Story of the North-West Mounted Police (Canada). By 
 A. L. Haydon. With numerous Illustrations. Medium 8vo, 
 cloth, gilt top, I OS. 6d. net. 
 
 Men of the Covenant. 
 
 By Alexander Smellie, D.D. Medium 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 
 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 ANDREW MELROSE, 3 York Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C. 
 
Zn!fl •■*■ 3^ 0^ Veterinaiy fvledicine 
 ;ngs School of Veterinary A/ledicine at