A NEW BOOK OP SPOETS.

REPRINTED FROM THE "SATURDAY REVIEW."

LONDON:

EICHARD BENTLET AND SON,

IPublisfjetsin "rtmarg to fgerM^jtntu t\)t"ueen.

1885.

{Allrightsreserved.)

,.V

CONTENTS.

FoX-HUNTING ON DaRTMOOR

Otter-Hunting on Dartmoor

Deer-Stalking...

Covert-Shooting, Past and Present..

Badgers

Rowing and Sculling

Football in the Field...

...%

The Wall Game

Modern Falconry

"The Other Tennis"

GlUOCO DEL PaLLONE

Curling

Skittles

Wrestling...

Savate, Boxe, and Oanne

Boxing and Sparring

Backsword AND Schlabger

Rapier and Dagger...

Athletic Sports

Coaching

PAGE

1

12

20

29

37

45

55

62

72

81

90

96

104

109

119

126

137

146

155

165

tXttiUISH

iv CONTENTS.

PAGE

Riding-Schools...

......

......

...

178

Figube-Skating...

...

...

... ...

181

Ska-Fishing...

...... ...

..,...

191

Deck Pastimes...

...... ...

...

199

Canoeing in Canada...

...

... ...

...

211

Ice- Yachting in America...

...... ...

224

Coasting and Toboganning... ... ...

...

234

A Lacrosse Match at Montreal...

......

242

Lassoing and Bull-Tailing...

...... ...

251

Baseball",.

/...... ...

...

...

259

Cricket in Amerk^a...

......

......

271

Athletics in America... ...

......

280

Banjo and Bones...

... ...... ...

289

Marbles...

... ... ...... ...

300

Tops... ...

......

...

308

Knucklebones aud Oat's-Cradle...

......

315

ENGLia" Chess...

... ......

...

...

322

Mora and Lotto"...

......

......

330

Cttt-Throa* Euchre and Poker... ...

... ...

338

The OkMES of SayagbS...

...

346

The RegbbaTions op a Corps Bursch... ...

...

356

The Fiesta de Toios...

... ... ...

364

A NEW BOOK OF SPORTS.

FOX-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR.

Hunting the wild red-deer on Exmoor has become the

fashion of late"

^too ipuch the fashion, perhaps, to

make it a very sporting affair ; but a fine September

spent with the stag-hounds is a delightful way of

seeing and enjoying that beautiful couhtry. One ofthe greatest charms of hunting is that you are led bythe chase into sundry and out-of-the-wayplaces, some-times

of great beauty, which would nevef be seen

except by the few who live hard by, with whom,

familiarity may have bred contempt. To know a

large tract of country as well ai a hunting-man knows

his coimtry, to know every path, every stream, et'ery

ford, every lane, every gate^ to say nothing of all the

intricacies of the woodlands, is of itsdlf a joy ex-clusivelygiven to him. If hunting fells before the

scythe of the Destroyer, this knowledge, amongst the

rest, will be lost ; the red-deer and the wild fox will

be as the wild cat, the tree martin, the eagle, and the

peregrine falcon, beautiful animals gone from us for

ever " extinguished in the nam^ of humanity. It

1

2 FOX'HITNTING ON DARTMOOR.

would be a curious study in comparative psychologyto speculate whether a fox would prefer life with

hunting to no life at all ; as a tnan doubtless preferslife with the gout to obliteration.

As the wild red-de#r is to Exmaqr, *o is the wild

fox, the old aboriginallarge grey fox, to Dartmoor.And if you want to know Dartmoor as it ought tobe known, scorning guide-books and antiquarian re-searches

into Druidical remains which the freaks of

nature have bountifullysuppliedfor the dilettanti,youmust hunt this fox. You must not refrain from follow-ing

after him ; and where he goeth you must go, evenunto the bogs. Getting into a bog on horseback causesa curious sensation that no man who has any respectfor science ought to neglect. We have given up limit-ing

ourselves to five senses, and a sixth has bSen

authoritativelyannounced. If a philosophercould beinduced to hunt the fox on Dartmoor, he would ex-perience

another new sensation^ utterly unlike the

rest, when he rode his horse into a bog, which hewould be bound to pronounce a seventh. It i" an old

tradition,and a well-known fact,that no man or horse

was ever hurt in a bog, though it must be allowedthat it requires an educated taste, as in the case ofWagner's music and some curious old wines, to likeit. It is the necessityfor a good education that makes

hunting on Dartmoor, very fortunately,not so. popularas it migtt be. But to the past master, the man whohas come out in honours, what hunting can be com-pared

to it ? It is true that you may take a very

high degree in Leicestershire and find yourselfat thebottom of the class,if a bog may be made classical,atthe universityof Dartmoor ; and this,no doubt, carries

FOX'HVNTINQ ON DARTMOOR. Z

with it its vexaticHis. To lead the field with the

Quorn, and haye to follow a roughish-looking moor-man, albeit

-very well mounted, with the Dartmoorhounds is humiliating. But everybody knows thathumility is a very good thing,and it is not less so infox-hunting than in any other walk, or gallop,in life.To run one of these great grey foxes from the largecoverts at Stowford Cleave, on the Erme, near Ivy-bridge,across the moor to the still larger coverts atBenjay Tor, on the Dart, near Holne Chase, ten milesoflF,is the perfectionof hunting to a reallyhunting-man who is not a common rider to hounds. The vice

of the present day and of the present System is that

large,unmanageable fields have reduced hunting-meato mere riders, and woodcraft is like to become a lost

art. There has been a revival of hunting in this " so-called " nineteenth century, as there have been other

revivals; and hunting has its formalists as well asother more solemn institutions. The vestments are

gay and lively; the tall hat, the neat tie,-the scarletcoat,the white leather breeches, the top-boots,,and the

spurs, with every buckle and button in the rightplace,make a cheerful sight on Dartmoor with a pack ofhouiMls,And set oflFthe scenery with great effect. Butthe ceremonial or etiquette of the modem field is adamper to huitting. Not to know the names of thehounds, not to know their tongues, not to kpow theirdifierent merits in drawing or in chase,with the hunts-man

as a high-priestof the mysteries, is a miserywhich civilisation has happily as yet spared Dartmoop,Sir Francis Grant once said to Count d'Orsay," Thatwas a fine run," " Run !

"

said D'Orsay, " it was anepic poem." Such is a run from Stowford Cleave to

4 FOX'HUNTINO ON DABTMOOR.

Benjay Tor. The first stave is sung by Susan. Shehas ab-eady signalledto the huntsman by a feather ofher stern that the fox is there, and the fox's delicate

ear has caught a warning sound. Hq has moved atonce from his kennel, and soon Susan proclaimshimon foot,doubling her tongue in a high-pitched key,like the utterance of a wild cry of delight. He hasheard Susan's tongue before, and Sontag's,her dam's,too, for that matter, a season or two ago, and although

you may call it music, he thinks it Billingsgate,andputs her down as a common scold; no company forhim. He will get out of hearing as quickly as pos-sible,

and being of a rather decided character, as allgood foxes are, will not wait to be tally-ho'dandscreamed at by the vulgar,but goes away at once.

The meets at Ivybridge on great occasions some-timesnumber three hundred. But there are laggards

amongst them, and if the fox breaks quickly, theyare not all up. The moorman, on his small lean

thorough-bredlooking mare, with power in the rightplace,leads the way down what he is pleased to caila path,perpendicular,embossed with boulders, througha dense copse, into a ravine, at the bottom of whichis a foaming river. He knows the crossing-place,and

you must condescend to follow; not only that, youmust descend at the same pace he does, which is nocondescension at aU. In any other country this

would look like a break-neck piece of business, buton Dartmoor it is only a common-place everydaytransaction, and nobody ever breaks his neck. Thisis a Dartmoor cleave, coombe, or valley,cleft by thewaters, and it is very beautiful. The stream is too

large to be called a brook, but the trees nevertheless

FOX-HUNTING ON DABTMOOB. 5

meet over it,and the dense mass of copse defies thefisherman. The moorman must be followed on the

other side,for he knows the way out, and you must

get to the moor as quickly as possible. He will tell

you that there is not a moment to spare, and not to

be in a hurry, which is very good advice, though itsounds ambiguous. He means that you must be asquick as you can be, but you must not hurry youi*horse ; for if you impart your hurry to him and sethis heart beating,he will not *' show you the run."As for the moorman, he goes on at a perpetual easy,deliberate gallop. The hounds are ahead he knowswell, but he cannot afford to bustle his mare, and once

on the moor he will get to their sterns somehow. He

cares not who passes him, he has only one object inview, and that is to see the run, which, if a good moor-run, will demand all his skill and horsemanship, addedto the staying blood of his mare. It is hopeless to

attempt crossingthe few enclosures between the covertand the moor. The moorman scuttles up an unpro-mising

unsportsmanlike-looking lane, and you hadbetter put your pride in your pocket and do the same.Suddenly you emerge on the moor, and you havebefore you what looks like a vast expanse of fine turf,short furze, and heather, backed, it is true, by dark-

looking hills,with tors on their tops,and a suspicionof granite rocks scattered about ; but where you areis ground fit for a racecourse. You are on high land ;and, if you are so foolish as to look behind you,Plymouth Sound, with the shipsat anchor, the Channel,and a lovely country, rich with meadows, woods, rivers,and pleasant-lookingmansions, lies several hundredfeet below. Thanks to the moorman, you find yourself

FOX-HUNTING ON DABTMOOB.

^on prettygoodterms with the hounds,the high en-closures

havinghindered them a little; but now theyare racingas hounds on Dartmoor onlydo race, withstraight-runningfox before them, and under them theold primaevalturf which has never known the plough,and a soil on which the gentledews of heaven nevercease to drop. This seems an exceedinglypleasanthuntingcountry,and nothingcan be easierthan ridingto hounds. It is stillrisingground,but it does notlook very steep,and now would be the time to rideat the tailof the pack; but you have been warned tokeepyour eye on the moorman, and you see him goingon the same easy gallopas before,with his mare's earsprickedforward hearkeningto the hounds. It isexactlythe pace she can keepup for ever. The moor-man

kindlythrows away his advice on young Am-bition,who gallopspast him on a hack. "Gently,

young fellow,"he says in his own broadest Devonshire," you'llbeat your horse." " Oh ! I'lltake my guineaout of him,"says Ambition,who has that sum to payfor his hack. " You've a- took nineteen and sixpenceout of him already,"says the moorman, which provesonlytoo true,for in another furlongor two the poorhack hopelesslystopsfor good,and young Ambitionhas to get back to his mess at Plymouth,where hetellshis brother officerswhat a beastlycountryDart-moor

is. You are not longin gettingover this finegroundand reachingthe black-lookingtors. Thegroundhas been graduallyrising,and most of thethree hundred who had somehow got to the moorhave tailed ofi*.The scenery is very wild,and theenclosures are out of sight,exceptin the distancewhere the sun issmilingupon them. There issound

FOXHUNTING ON DABTMOOR, 7

footinground the tors,but the high table-land is hope-lessbog, from which trickle the streams that scoop

out the deep coombes, and joiningtheir forces form intorivers. Where the groimd is sound it is studded withgranite boulders, and between tor and tor there is asteep bit of rocky riding with a brook in a bed ofrocks at the bottom. The hounds are going at theirbest pace, and you must ride down over these rocks

at your best pace, for down this hill,or precipiceif

you like,is the chance you have to get on better termswith the pack. The moorman knows the best cross-ing-place,

to which he has ridden rather faster than

before, but still with none of that fatal hurry, down

over rocks which would make a stranger'shair stand

on end. But facing the hill opposite is a far moreserious thing,and to ride up a hill properly so that

your horse, who must be a stout one, can gallopwhenat the top is the art in ridingover Dartmoor to hounds.Many a horse will do the first hill gallantly,and

perhaps the second ; but the third is the stopper,andwhen you have got to the top of that and find that

your horse can gallop,you may put him down as aDartmoor hunter, and you may be sure he comes of

a long line of sires of the best staying families in

England. You may be very proud of your horse, butthe moorman will ask you

" Can a continny ? " which

being interpretedmeans. Can he continue to gallopfor ever ? If he cannot, his mane and his tail,and allhis other beauties are held in scorn. Having success-fully

followed the moorman up this first hill at exactlythe rightpace, no faster,and no slower,you find your-self

by no means too near the hounds, who are runningover the bogs on your left faster than you ever saw

^ FOX-HUNTING ON DABTMOOM,

hounds run before,and you have now to encounterthe greatestdifficultiesthat Dartmoor presents.Wellmay the Quom man say, " This is no countryfor me."Nevertheless,it demands the finesthorsemanshipatyour disposal,and the word finehere means " refined,"for care of your horse and nursinghis powers ai'eindispensablerequisites.No strangercan go here;you must know every inch of the country,or youmust followsome one who does. There are threesorts of bog" the impassable,the justpassable,andthe sound,thoughdeep" indistinguishableexceptbypersonalexperience.This the moorman has ; it hasbeen the business of his life,and he has been in all ofthem. His mare is goingher usual pace, which younow seem to think rather fast,with her ears prickedforward as before hearkeningto the hounds. He takesa very decideciline,and soon getson the jobbers pathon which drovers have driven theircattleforcenturies,as sound groundin the midst of the bogs. He keepsthe hounds well in sightand hearingby virtue of thispath,but suddenlyleavingit he rides down a boggyprecipicewith the inevitable granite,improvinghispace a little,to the River Awne. It is the Awne inDartmoor,but the Avon " in along."It is a bad riverto cross, but he knows the best place,and half cheatsthe oppositehill by ridingup a littlecoombe with astream in it. The hounds have crossed about aquarterof a mile above,the worst of Dartmoor hasbeen passed,and you are on the best gallopinggroundon itsborders. The hoimds are stillgoinga terrificpace,and you must ride all you know. Your horsehas justdone his second hill,and the third isto come.You are on highland,and away on your rightyou

1

FOXHUNTING ON DABTMOOB. 9

can see thQ valleysand thick woodlands leading downto the Dart ; beyond, the rich land, with Teignmouthand the Teign in the extreme distance. Before you,some way off the moor, lie Holne Chase and Buck-

land-on-the-Moor, two of the most lovely places in

Devon, opposite one another, with the great Dart

rollingand roaringbetween :

" Oh I river Dart ! Oh ! river Dart !

Every year thou claim'st a heart."

You are not* on a racecourse after all ; there are small,

deep coombes to cross, and as the hounds are goingstraight for Holne Mo"r the moorman thinks BenjayTor is his point (never,as a rule,ride to points),andhe rides for the crossingplace over the brook which

runs through that most lovelyof all lovely fox coverts,Skaye, the deepest gorge of giunite and the densestthicket of copse and gorse to be found anywhere,impenetrable even to the moorman. But the fox hasheard Susan's tongue there, and he likes Benjay Torbetter. Now comes the third hill down and up, steep,rocky,find trying,and the moorman is on Holne Moor,with the heather up to his mare's knees and the black-cock

flyingabout. This heather holds scent well, andthe pace of the hounds is as good as ever, better itcould not be ; but it is high land, and there is a slopedown to Benjay Tor with sound ground imder theheather. If there is anything left in your horse, youcan improve your pace, in the faith that no fox is sucha fool as to scorn Benjay Tor. There you find your-self

wellup with the hounds, though you have never

ridden a severer run in your life,but not the threehundred. A select few strajggleup, and look very

10 FOX-HUNTING ON DARTMOOH.

prettywith their red coats,off their horses,standingon the topof the tor. It is a rule with the moormanto getoffhis horse whenever there isnothingdoing,toease her spine,as he callsit. There speaksthe goodhorseman. The fox has gone in, too deep in thegranitefor any terrier to fret him. It is a fox's" holt,"and he getsairthroughthe cracks in the rock.In his presentstate he could not breathe in an " earth,*'hence the distinction. It would take a populationofminers to gethim out ; and the huntsman,who is up,grumbles,for he thirsts for his blood. You secretlyrejoicethat he has saved that beautiful bi*ushof his,with the longwhite tag at the end, and that hisintelligentmask, with his brighteyes dimmed, is notdanglingat the whip'ssaddle. You stand on the topof BenjayTor,which is the granitecrown of a highcliffhangingover the Dart,with a correspondingcliff,SharpyTor,on the oppositeside. It isalldense copseand granitestretchingdown the steepbanks of theDart as it flows to Holne Cot,Holne Chase, andBuckland-on-the-Moor,"brawling,"as the poet says,as it goes. Lookingup stream it is the same; butfurther up you see Dart Meet,where the two Darts,East and West,separateor join(asyou like it); andin the backgroundDartmoor againappears " shall wesay frowns ?" lookingback at you, with fine ruggedtors,BeUiver Tor,the chief,on his forehead. It is thefinestspotin Devonshire,and,accordingto the moor-man,

the finestspotin the world. His mare looks asif another five miles or so of gallopingwould be apleasureto her ; but he says a cheery" Good-bye!"and goes off into the heart of the moor at a slow

hound-trot,which often takes him twenty-fivemiles to

FOX-EUNTINO ON DABTMOOR. 11

covert withease.

He "knows by" a path with a

good sandy bottom through the bogs to his snug home

ina deep valley on the western side of the moor.

You haveseen Dartmoor, and you have had a lesson

in riding. The last stave of the epic was sung by the

moormanwhen he cried his " Whoo-hoop ! " at Benjay

Tor, in a scream that awakened all the echoes of all

the hills.

OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR.

I

The otter is said to be the wildest animal hunted inthis country. Most of the fercenaturce are more orless familiar with the appearance of man on earth.To their sorrow theyare apt to meet him at everyturn,for he with his domestic animals monopolizesthe land and drives them from their ancient inherit-ance.

If Mr. Henry George'sdoctrines were extendedto animals in general,and not in so narrow a spiritlimited to man, theywould be most acceptableto alargemajorityof our fellow-creatures.

The habits of the otter afford him but very few

opportunitiesof seeingthe human form divine,andwhen he does see it,which must be in most cases atan otter-hunt,clothed in the costume affected byotter-hunters,it cannot seem to him at firstsight" athingof beauty,"and is very far indeed from being"

a joyfor ever." There are many more otters in theworld than mankind in generalare at all aware of.As theydo not see much of man, stillless does mansee of them. They frequentthe coasts in largenumbers,especiallywhere rivers enter the sea, andwhere there are rocks. Beingfishersby profession,they make excursions up the rivers to hunt the

OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR. 13

salmon and trout, not to mention the frog,which is

a very delicate dish. They like a warm dry bed aftertheir wet work, which they make in the banks of theriver above water level,amongst rocks or the roots of

large old trees, the only entrance often being underwater. Here they put down their young, funny little

things, mainly consistingof very thick skin anddense fur, in all seasons of the year (young ottershave been found in every month of the year),and goout fishinguntil the otter-hunter comes to spoiltheir

sport. Man is very wrath at the idea of an otter

catching and eating his salmon; but, as everybodyknows, a spiritof fair play prevailsamong sportsmen,and as in the case of the fox, the only legitimatewayof killinghim is by an elaborate trial by jury, as itwere, of fox-hounds, with a scarlet huntsman, and

blowing of horns, like trial by jury at the assizes " sothere is only one legitimateway of killing an otter,all guns, traps, and other engines being held in scornand indignantly stigmatized as unfair. The peculiarfairness of the legitimatemethod would not, however,be very strikingto any one who did not know whatchances it gave the otter to escape. The fact is, it

takes a skilful huntsman and a good pack of houndswith terriers to find an otter in the first place,andkill him in the second. In the West of England thefox-hound is chieflyused to hunt the otter, and thatfine picturesque otter-hound, whose portraitLandseerloved to paint,and painted so well with his long head,small eyes set close together,shaggy coat, and rushystem, his deep bass tongue too freelygiven,fine nose,and patient style of hunting, is not much in voguethere. The dashing fox-hound is the fashion. He is

14 OTTER-HUNTING ON DAETMOOR.

handsome,a fine hunter,and the field know him,admire him, and like him. Well might the otterspray that the fashion may continue,for this dash ofhis saves many a life.

Otter-huntingcan be seen in very good styleonDartmoor,on the river Dart. The hounds are takenin the middle of the summer to the " Saracen's Head,"at Two Bridges,on the West Dart,in the heart ofDartmoor. The old original" Saracen's Head " wasbroughtby the Bullers from the Crusades,and this isonly a copy of it" a fastidious artist might say aroughcopy " swingingin an iron frame over the doorof an inn,and creakingallnightwhen the rains andthe winds come to helpon the rivers,a duty whichtheyas a rule assiduouslyperform.For otter-huntinga time should be chosen when this duty has beensomewhat neglected,and the rivers run light.Themeet of the hounds should be earlyon a fine morningat Dart Meet,where the East and West Dart join,and the hounds should draw up the West Dart. TheWest Dart is much the finer river of the two ; and,with its tributaries" the Cowsick,the Black-a-brook,the CherryBrook,and the Swincombe " is the per-fection

of a Dartmoor river,flowingbrightand rapidover a bed of graniteboulders richlycovered withmoss and lichen,its banks bedecked with the fernsand wild flowers of the moor, and fringedwith thebog-myrtleand withy. Water holds scent well,asnot onlyotter-hunters,but stag-huntersknow ; andthe whiff so fragrantto the nose of the hound risestothe surface and floatsdown stream,callingforth hismusical chant of praise.For this reason otter-huntersdraw up stream,and before the lair of the otter is

OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR. 15

reached the welkin ringswith the music of the pack.The otter has left his trail on the banks and on the

stones where he has landed when fishing,his spur canbe seen freshlyprinted on a sandy nook, and he is

very likelyto be found in a well-known and remark-ablysafe holt, as they call it in the West, about half

a mile above Dart Meet, which he shares at times

with foxes,though his access to it is under water, andtheirs,of course, above. If he were but wise enoughto stay here, he might defy his legitimateenemies todo their worst. But he knows not man and his little

ways, and he has heard the unwonted strain of the

hounds as they have been crying over his footstepshai'd by. They mark him in his retreat, and thewhole pack proclaim that he is in the otter's parlour,the strongest place on the river. It is in a largerock

hanging over a deep, dark pool in a corner made by aturn in the river, with an old battered oak-tree gi'ow-ing somehow from the midst, and backed by a con-fused

jumble of granite blocks. The artist and thefisherman both admire this spot, though for totallydifferent reasons, but the hunter likes it not, for he

knows too well that if he runs the fox or the otter

here his sport is over. A fox or an otter if run here is

likely to stay; he has experienced the dangers andwickedness of the world at large; but if found herein his quiet and repose he takes alarm at the unusualturmoil and incontinentlybolts. The otter is knownto have a way in under water, where no terrier can go,and he is so far safer than the fox. The most arduous

otter-hunters, therefore, when the hounds mark,

plunge up to their necks in the water to frightenhimout with their otter-poles.He has long known the

?' "w.l,^'-^

16 OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR,

Dart as a quiet,peaceable,happy hunting-ground;and he makes the fatal mistake of bolting,littlereckingwhat a harryingawaits him for the next fourhours. There immediatelyarisesa yellof " Hoo-gaze!"the view halloo of the otter-hunter" probablya mucholder Englishhuntingholla than tallyho! " and thedin.of the hounds and terriers,the human scream,and the horn,like Bedlam broken loose,which hehears behind him, makes him hurryup stream asbest he may. The master of the hounds,if he knowshis business,will now callfor silence,and,takingouthis watch,will givethe otter what he callsa quarterof an hour s law. It iswonderful how fond sportsmenare of law ; perhapsthere is an affinitybetween prose-cuting

a case and pursuinga chase. He wants theotter to go well away from his parlour,and his objectfor the rest of the day will be to keephim out of it.If he is a real goodsportingotter-hunter,he will tellhis fieldthat he wants his hounds to kill the otterwithout assistance from them ; for in the West of

Englandthe vice of mobbingthe otter is too common,with half the field in the water, hooting,yelling,pokingwith otter-poles,mixingthe wrong scent (theirown)with the right,making the water muddy, andturningthe river into a brawlingbrook with avengeance. The true otter-hunter only wants hishuntsman and whip,and perhapsa very knowingand trustworthyfriend,besides himself,to helphimin huntingthe otter with his hovmds,and not withmen. The master givesthe chase a goodquarterofan hour by the clock,and leavingthe imearthly,orperhapstoo earthly,sounds behind him, the ottermakes up stream as fast as he can go. It is sur-

OTTEB'HUNTING ON DABTMOOB. 17

prisinghow far an otter can get in the time, but fearlends speed to his feet. Then begins the prettiestpart of the sport. The hi)unds are laid on ; they dashinto the river,and instantlyopen in full cry. Thewater teems jvith the scent of the otter ; but the deeppools,rapidstickles,and rocky boulders over which theriver foams hinder the pace. There is ample time. toadmire the spirit-stirringand beautiful scene. Thewhole pack swimming a black-lookingpool under abeetling tor in full chorus; now and then an en-couraging

note on the horn ; the echoes of the deepvaUey ; the foaming and roaring Dart flowing downfrom above ; the rich colour from the fern,the gorse,the heather, the moss, and the wild flowers; a fewscattered weather-beaten oaks and fir-trees,and the

statelytors aloft,strikingon the eye and ear, makeone feel that otter-huntingon Dartmoor is indeed asport.

The Dart is a large river, for a Dartmoor stream,and presents many obstacles to the hounds ; but they

pursue the chase for some distance,and at lengthstopand mark, as they did before. The otter has got outof hearing,and has rested in a lair known to himunder the river-bank. The terriers and an otter-poledislodgehim, and the sport becomes fast and furious.He is seen in all directions,sometimes apparentlyintwo places at once, which makes the novice thinkthere are two or three otters afoot ; but it is only his

quickness, and he dodges about amongst the bouldersand under the banks in a manner that baffles all his

foes, hound or man. " Hoo-gaze ! " is now oftenheard as one or another catch sightof him, and thefield become very noisy and excited. It is still the

2

18 OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR.

objectto run him up stream,whilst he now finds iteasierto swim down. " Look out below " is,therefore,heard in the fine voice of the master. There is a

trustyperson " he should be a very trustyperson "some way down stream patientlywatchinga shallowsticklewhere the otter must be seen if he passes. Ifhe should getbelow this he must be turned up again,if possible.Suddenlythe whole clamour ceases, andsilence prevails.The otter has mysteriouslydis-appeared,

no man or hound knows where,after themanner of otters,and he has to be fresh found. The

master,a goodsportsman,and knowingin woodcraft,isin no hurry.There istoo much scent in the waterof various sorts,and he will be gladto pause until ithas floatedaway. He takes his hounds down stream,and some of the fieldhavingundulyexcited them-selves

vote it slow ; but he is nothingif he is not anotter-hunter,and his business is to kill the otter in alegitimatemanner. Down stream,therefore,he goes,with his hounds at his heels. The trustyman saysthe otter has not passed; but thismakes no difference.Some way further down, with a wave of his hand,hesends allthe hounds into the river againwith a dash,and one or two challenge,upon which the novicepronounces the trustyman a fool;but they onlyspeak on the surface-scent,which the current haswashed into the bank, as the master knows wellenough.They draw up stream again,pass the trustyman, stillat his post,and reach the spot where theotter vanished. The river is beautifullyclear again,and an old hound marks. A goodhour perhapshasbeen lost,or rather spent,since the otter disappeared,and here he has been in one of his under- water dry

^

OTTER-HUNTING ON DARTMOOR. 19

beds. He is routed out by otter-poles,and livelinessagain prevails,especiallywhen he takes to the landto get down stream by cutting off a sharp curve inthe river

" a way he has learnt in his frogging ex-peditions"

and the hounds run him then like a fox.

He is only too glad to plunge headlong into the riveragain, and he has reached it below the trusty man,who, however, goes down to the next shallow, andtakes with him some others to turn the otter up from

his safe parlour. They are hunting him now in along deep pool,where he shifts from bank to bank,moving under water whilst the hounds swim above.He has a large supply of air in his lungs,which hevents as he uses it,and which floats to the surface in

a series of bubbles. Otter-hunters call it his chain,and it follows him wherever he goes, betraying histrack in the muddiest water. He craftilyputs his

nose, his nose only,up to get a fresh supply of adr

now and then, imder a bush or behind a rock, and

then owners of sharp eyes call " Hoo-gaze !" He finds

himself in desperate straits, and he makes up hismind to go for his parlour at aU hazards; but thehounds catch sight of him in the shallow of the trustyman, and the chase comes to an end. Otters are

never speared in the West.Some short time afterwards, one of the field,who

has behaved himseK, pleased the master, and giventhe huntsman half-a-sovereign,will be seen in a waist-coat

made of the otter s beautiful thick skin and soft fur.

Thusmay otter-hunting be followed on the West

Dart on Dartmoor as a summer sport,amidst fine wild

scenery and in jovialcompany.

DEER-STALKING.

It may seem a strongthingto say, but perhapsthereis no sportin the world about which more nonsense istalked than deer-stalking.Because certain unsports-manlike

millionaireswho monopolizevast stretches ofmoor and mountain make bigbags,if we may speakof " bags" in connexion with deer,it is very generallyaflSrmed that deer-stalkingmay be made easy. Therecan be no greaterdelusion;and when there ispromiscuousbutcheryby *' potshots,*'it is when deerhave been driven pastambushes in the passes. Anyman who can raise a rifleto the shoulder can fire

point-blankinto a hustlingmob of animals,and thenmost of the ill-directedbulletswill probablyfind theirbillets. Some of the animals shot dead by accident"drop in their tracks,"while others will go awaycrippledor wounded. It is men like these,shootingas at the Court battues in Germany,who bringthesportinto discredit. We do not mean to say, never-theless,

that there are not gradationsin stalking,andthat a novice dry-nursedby skilful professionalstalkers may not gain far greatercredit than hedeserves. In favourable circumstances and on easyground,he may be broughtso near the unsuspecting

^

DEER-STALKING. 21

quarry that success should be almost certain if his

nerves be tolerablysteady. But the genuine stalker,while using the services and local knowledge of thenative hillman, never descends to the abuse of them,and there can be no wilder diversion than his,shortof shooting the moufflon and its sure-footed congeners,among break-neck mountains and precipices. It istrue that nowadays in a well-protectedforest therecan never be any scarcityof game " sometimes, indeed,it is only too plentiful" and so deer-stalkinghasdecidedly improved, since deer, except for the table,were valueless to the landlords. In the earlier part of

the century almost the whole of the Highlands maybe said to have been more or less deer-forest. The

deer roamed everywhere, with nothing to fear but theoccasional discharge of a shot-gun or musket. Butthen the hills were ranged by herds of black cattle orpastured by sheep ; and, what with the cattlemen, the

shepherds,and their dogs, the deer were being keptperpetually on the move. They were diflBicult to befound, for their haunts depended for the time on localcircumstances, and were diflScult to approach, exceptin their favourite fastnesses in the higher mountains ;while, with his imperfect weapons, the stalker coulddo no certain execution unless he came very near to

them indeed. Then there were long odds in favour ofthe deer; now it must be admitted that ordinarychances befriend the skilful stalker. The ground inthe forest has been swept clear of cattle and sheep ;the very vermin are fostered to keep down the grousewhich might give the alarm at the critical moment ofthe stalk; so the deer are lulled into false security,although that manner of protectingthe ground can

22 DEER-STALKING.

hardlybe called artificial,since the balance of natureismerelyleftto correct itself And we may observe,parenthetically,that the preserver does his best forthe ornithologistby encouragingthe eagles,the falcons,and the ravens. But even with those ordinarychancesarrangedin his favour the stalker,at the best,has" his work cut out for him/' He must be somethingmore than sound in wind and limb if he is to getanythinglike adequatevalue for his money, in theway either of excitement or heads. And, when arobust and active man has wealth as well as health,we can well understand that he should lavish largesums on his stalking.

In the firstplace,in an advanced state of civilization,it is somethingto enjoythe keen pleasuresof savagelife,agreeablytemperedby every available luxury.One dayyou are in London,loungingalongthe hotpavements of Pall Mall, worn out by politicsorprofessionalbusiness,or by a surfeitof gaietiesthroughthe season. The very next afternoon you may be inthe heart of the Highlands,monarch of allyou surveyin the meantime, so longas the rent is punctuallypaid. In the deer-forestthere are no shepherds,as onthe grouse-moor, owingallegianceto another tenant ofthe proprietor,and possiblyat feud with your keepersand giUies.The forest is one vast picturesquesolitude,with onlj'-here and there a lonelyshielingoccupiedby a watcher. From the windows on everyside of the shooting-lodgeyou look out upon a wildpanorama of mountain and hill,with glenswindingup into almost inaccessiblerecesses, and ravines wherethe rockysides slopedown to the brawlingbums-Beautiful as these Highlandhills are in the sunshine.

BEEB STALKING. 23

nothing can be more savagely stem than their effectswhen storms are gathering round their ruggedsummits. Then the heavy clouds, graduallydrawinglower and lower, cast their black shadows on each

bright sheet of water ; waves of fleecyvapour begin tosteam and boil in each nook and comer of the lower

valleys,till the bursting clouds send down the rain intorrents, and the landscapes grow dimmer, till theydisappearbehind a leaden-coloured pall. Or half thewinds of heaven may seem to be let loose together,and then the shrieking,and the howling, and thesobbing are terrific. In contrast with the roar ofthe elements without, nothing can be snugger thanthe accommodation of even a modestly-furnishedshooting-lodge; and at least,unless one's patience is

fairlyworn out, there is pleasurein watching the rainfrom under shelter. But such is the weather the

stalker must be prepared to face, for there is no

trustingthe weather-glassamong the Highland hills.One may make a start after breakfast under brightblue skies ; and, though the keeper may have shakenhis head over the doubtful prospects of the afternoon,

no one of course would dream of giving up the

expedition. When the sportsmen are leagues awayfrom home, they are aware of an ominous stillness;there is something like an earthy freshness in the air,which seems to portend an abundance of rain, and the

portents are confirmed by the lowering bank of clouds

slowly extending itself over a semicircle of the horizon.Later in the afternoon, and perhaps as you are drawingsteadilyupon the deer, the storm bursts. It is five toone that the stalk is spoiled; and in any case, and inan incrediblyshort space of time, the hill walking is

21 DEER.8TALKIN0.

made prettynearlyimpracticable.Each hill-bumhas swelled into a brawlingtorrent,and the streamsthat were passedin the morningdryshodon thenatural stepping-stones,must* now be forded breast-highat the risk of losingyour footing.The man whoisreadyand willingto go in for allthis can hardlybecalleda drawing-roomsportsman; and he introducesan infinityof other elements of excitement into theday'ssportshould he have personalexperienceofstalkingand be reasonablyself-reliant.

We do not say that goodlocalguidesare not nearlyindispensable.The hill-keepernot only knows thefavourite haunts of the deer in certain directions ofthe wind, and spares his employermuch time andwasted anxiety,but he is familiar,so far as man canbe,with the prevailingcurrents of the air as theyarecaughtand twisted in the corries. The professionalstalkeris admirable for bringingyou within sightofthe deer,for guidingyou alongthe surest lines ofapproachunder cover ; but as to when or whence heoughtto take his shot the experiencedsportsmanwilluse his own discretion. Strangeto say, the keeperorgillieis often flurried,or at least foolishlyeager andreadyto recommend precipitateaction,when thereisnot onlyno reason to be in a hurry,but when muchmay dependon deliberation. It may stillbe possibleto get nearer, should that seem advisable,or thestagyou have marked for your victim may presenthimself in such a positionthat it may be advisabletowait on the chance of his changingit. The man whosurrenders his own judgment,and slavishlytakes hisorders from the gilliein charge,is not worthythename of a sportsman.Everybodymust of course serve

DEER-STALKING. 25

a noviciate, and there are keen enough hands who tothe day of their deaths will never master the principles,or rather the instincts,of hill venerie. But the real

pleasure of the pursuit lies in devising your ownstrategy,though you must consult your followers asto carrying it out. A day's stalking,from the begin-ning

to the end, is full of incident and excitement ; the

highest hopes may be dashed by sudden disappoint-ment,and there are perpetual slipsbetween the cup

and the lip. It is so much the better when toils ha^ebeen crowned by success, and the stag round which

your manoeuvres have been concentrating themselves,at last,in his magnificentproportions,is lying dead at

your feet. First comes the findingof the deer. Timeafter time your trusty staff may have been driven into

the hillside,and the telescope steadied against it.Time after time the wild landscape may have been

swept in vain. After the closest e2:amination of each

rock and patch of heather, there has not been a

glimpse of hide or of horns. Then all at once, and

perhaps where you least expected it,you have seenthe little herd of deer feeding,unsuspiciousof danger.There is a heavy stag, we may suppose, with arespectable head, and on him you have set youraffections. But he is surrounded by a small seraglioof hinds, one or two of them having been told off uponsentinel duty. Sinking down upon the heather,crawling back behind the nearest cover, you holdquick but anxious consultation as to the circumventinghim. A great circuit has to be made before you can

creep down upon him against the wind. Taking thebearings of the herd by certain landmarks on thesky-line,you start away upon the long detour. You

26 DEER-STALKING.

have already done considerable walking in the courseof your peregrinations; but it is now that strengthand breath are tasked, or, rather,they would be tasked

were it not for the excitement. The sinewy keepersteps out in most deceptive style,getting over theground twice as fast as you might fancy. You mayhave to breast sundry stiff hills in succession erereaching the last point of vantage, where you beginthe critical operations. There, where you hope againto sightthe deer, is a moment of intense expectatioaThey may h^ve shifted their ground by chance, or

may have taken alarm and left it altx)gether.To yoursatisfaction you see that they are much as they were ;but the satisfaction is by no means unmingled. Thestag is recimibent, and iiiminating so quietlythat it

appears you might almost step up and stroke him;but one of the hinds on duty is constitutionallyrestless,and it is her ceaseless vigilanceyou have toelude. The approach is a sharp descent down thehills,and that makes the task all the more difficultThen it is that the Red Indian instincts of the keeperare called into play. He pioneers the path,if path itcan be called, where you are either crawling like asnake or grovellinglike a rated spaniel. Now youare grinding off your buttons against the angularitiesof impracticablestones. Now you are making a rushbetween hillock and hillock,bent nearly double, whilethe head of the sentinel hind happens to be turned inthe opposite direction. You know, nevertheless,thatshe may sight you at any moment, or that sometreacherous air current may give her your wind, inwhich case all your labours have been thrown away.Or perhaps your lines of painful approach may

DEERSTALKING. 27

have fallen in the broken bed of a mountain bum,

and then all the crawling and the crouching haveto be done with the cold water running in at theneck of your shirt and filteringout at the knees of

your knickerbockers. Surmounting these trials andvicissitudes successfully,you may congratulateyourselfwhen you find yourself safelyensconced within sixtyor eightyyards of the deer. It is then that the keepermay be thrustingthe rifle into your hand, urging youto shoot; it is then you will do well to assert yourindependence. In the first place,you have been over-heated,

over-strained, and then soaked ; so it is nextto impossible that the pulses can be beating quietly,or that even by the aid of some convenient slab ofstone you can make sure of steadying the rifle. Inthe next place,as we have imagined the deer lyingdown, it is possiblehe may offer but a doubtful mark.Yet undue delay will be dangerous, as well asirritatingto the nerves. Each fleetingminute ispregnant with hope or possibleincident. Luck maybefriend you; the stag may stretch himself and get

up ; or a low whistle may at last be necessary, which

will land him at once on his legs,when he will stand

stationaryand listeningfor a moment. Then, as thebullet goes home with a thud behind the shoulder, youknow that aU your labours are repaid; should youshoot wildly and miss, or merely maim him, your fii-stidea is instantaneous suicide.

This being, as we think, a fair sketch in faintoutlines of a day'sstalking,it will be seen how manychances are necessarilyagainst the stalker,even in awell-preservedforest, under circumstances the mostfavourable. Absolute quiet with security from

28 DEER-STALKING.

intrusion are the essentialconditions of success ; thecrow of a startledgrouse-cock,even the note of alarmof some small moor-bird will send the deer " scuttling,"while the sightof a human beingon a distant ridgewill be suflScientto clear a whole districtfor the day.It may be imagined,then,what will be the effect ofsuch a BiU as Mr. Bryce proposes on the value ofHighlanddeer-forests. We are not concerned now todiscuss its proprietyon the groundof publicrightsagainstthe privilegesof privateproperty.We do noteven go into the questionwhether itmay not be moregenuinesportto shoot deer with the additional hazardin the form of beingwarned or keptrestlessby chancepassengers. We confine ourselves to notingthat noSouthern sportsmanwill giveanythingapproachingthe existingrents if his projectedday'ssportmay bespoiledat any time by the apparitionof some tourist,artist,or ornithologistwhose arrangementshappentoclash with his own. A greatproportionof the incomeof certainHighlandproprietorswill be sacrificed,forthe confiscation will fall very unequally.Thosegentlemenwhose lands are remote from the touristbeats will come off comparativelycheaply;whileothers,whose forests lie "convenient" to hotels andpicturesquepasses, or chance to be consecrated byspeciallyromantic associations,will assuredlybeimmenselyout of pocket,thoughthey may gratifytheir patriotismand the politicaleconomists bygrowingmutton and wool in placeof venison.

]

COVERT-SHOOTING, PAST AND

PRESENT.

There isno more confirmed laudator temporis acti

than what is generally known as a sportsman of the

old school. Every modem innovation is looked upon

by him with suspicion and distrust ; and if by chance

anyinvention

or practice of more recent times should

meet with his modified approval, it will generally be

qualified by the assertion that the idea is merely a

development of something which was perfectly well

known and understood in his younger days, but which.

therewere good reasons for not adopting at the time.

The so-called sportsmen of the present day are a

degenerate lot compared with what they used to be

in his own time ; there is no such thing as real sport

nowadays ; and so on ad infinitv/m.

It is to shooting more than to other field sports that

such old-world criticisms are usually applied.. Hunting,

as long as it exists, wiU always remain much the same

in principle. The pace may be faster and the hours

later than in the good old days when our long-coated

forefathers took the field at early dawn, and returned

home in the middle of the day to spend a long

winter's afternoon and evening over their port and

30 COVERT-SHOOTING, PAST AND PRESENT.

their punch-bowl; but in other respectshuntingwillalwaysremain a sportthat can be indulgedin accord-ing

to the individual tastes of the sportsman. Therecan be no doubt,however,that a greatchangehastaken placeboth in the theoryand practiceof shootingduringthe last fortyor fiftyyears, and more particu-larly

in that branch of the sportknown as covert-shooting.The manner in which this pastimewascarried on about the beginningof the presentcenturyhas been made familiar to every one throughthemedium of the old sportingprints.We all know thelong-gaitered,drab-coated gentleman,with a ruddy,smooth-shaven face and a tallhat,the tightnessofwhose many-buttonedgarmentsmust have made activeexercise somewhat distressing,pausing,in a strugglethrougha sort of Indian jungleof imderwood,to takea steadyaim,with one eye carefullyclosed,at a wood-cock

which, accordingto the perspective,should besome hundred and fiftyyardsaway, while a brace ofopen-mouthedspanielsspringexcitedlyforward,andin the middle distance another smilinggentleman,ina green coat this time,by way of variety,stands withhis gun at the " port" to await the course of events.Or he is depictedin the act of almost treadingon aspeciesof bird of paradise,supposedby courtesytorepresenta cock pheasant,crouchingin the aforesaidjungle,of the immediate proximityof which thespanielsappear altogetherunconscious,but which wefeelwill create a most startlingeffectwhen ultimatelyroused from itslairand well on the wing. But,in anycase, the long-gaiteredperson hunted his game in apainstaking,business-like manner, much after thefashion of a Red Indian,and, whether alone or in

COVEBT-SHOOTING, PAST AND PRESENT. 31

the company of another tight-coatedsportsman, his

bag depended very much on his own exertions. Tohim an organized and disciplinedbody of beaters, suchas may be seen at any average shooting party of the

present day, was a thing unknown. As a rule,indeed,the presence of even a gamekeeper or other attendant

seems to have been dispensedwith, and one is temptedto speculatehow our friend would have disposedof

any game that he might be so fortunate as to secure.Occasionally,it is true, he carries a game-bag, but thisis the exceptionrather than the rule. He may, to be

sure, have used " hare-pockets." But the weight of ahare on each side, to say nothing of anything else,must have been a serious impediment to locomotion,and, besides giving the sportsman the appearance of aclown in a pantomime who has stolen a couple of

geese and a string or two of sausages, must haverendered anything like quick shooting almost animpossibility.

It is rather a remarkable fact that there should be

so few artistic records of the manner in which shoot-ing

is carried on at the present day. At the period of

which we are speaking,every phase of the sport was

elaborately represented by artists of more or less

capability; and, to say nothing of London print-shops,it is almost impossible to enter an old country house,

or even a country inn, without coming across one ormore works of art of this description. But one maywalk the whole length of Piccadillyand Bond Streetwithout findinga pictorialrepresentationof a modem" shoot." The few that do exist are well known, but

do not appear to be suflScientlysought after to have

made it worth the while of publishersand print-sellers

32 COVERT'SHOOTINO, PAST AND PRESENT,

to reproducethem in a popularform. This is all themore remarkable,inasmuch as there never was a timewhen other branches of sport were more profuselyillustrated than at present.Not only does everydescriptionof huntingand racingprintabound every-where,

but the shop windows are full of originalsketches,of more or lessartisticmerit,which at anyrate are improvementson the stiff,wooden produc-tions

of former years. It istrue that the surroundingsof modern shootingdo not lend themselves to artisticeffectin the same degreeas of old. There is nothingvery suggestiveof the picturesquein a longline ofguns and beaters manoeuvringin a turnipfield; andthe spectacleof a smartly-dressedgentleman,standingat the end of a plantationwith his loader behind him,does not afford any great scope for the painter'simagination.Yet,even in these degeneratedays ofsport,there are occasional incidentsthat mightwell beturned to account by a cleverartist. To a real sports-man,

the pleasuresof covert-shootingdependnot somuch on the number of shots he getsin a day as ontheirvariety,and this will dependin a great measureon the nature of the ground. Where, as is often thecase, the woods are low and the groundperfectlylevel,so that the pheasantsflyout almost at the muzzles ofthe guns, or at any rate,but a few feet over the headsof the shooters,there isreallyvery littlesatisfactioninkillingthem,and the sportbecomes simplebutchery.And as coverts of this descriptionare generallywelladaptedfor the rearingof game, it is in such placesthat the enormous bagsare made which have broughtthe practiceof battue-shootinginto such disrepute.But in a roughand broken country,where the coverts

\

COVERT-SHOOTING, PAST AND PRESENT. 33

lie on hiUsides or steepbanks, it is a very diflFerentaffair. There is usuallysome hard and roughwalkingto be done, instead of the lazysaunter alongsmoothrides or gravelwalks ; and not onlyare a sure footand a quickeye indispensableto success, but a veryconsiderable amount of skill and practiceare alsoneeded. To bringdown a "taU rocketer,"sweepingdown the wind from the top of a highbank, is by nomeans an easy performance,especiallyifthe sportsman,as will very likelybe the case, be at that momentbalancinghimself on the narrow footpathor flounderingamong slipperyrocks at the bottom of a guUy. Ashot obtained in this way would, in many cases, aflbrda subjectfor a prettysketch,and would certainlygiveas much scope to the artist as the old-fashioned

" potshot " with which we are so familiar. But, somehow

or other,the subjectdoes not seem to have commendeditself to our sportingartists;and the sportsman ofthe twentieth century" if by that time such a thingas sport should stillexist" wiU have littleto guidehim in the way of pictorialrecords as to how hismore immediate ancestors were in the habit of killingtheir game.

But however unfavourable may be the comparisonswhich the old-fashioned sportsman may draw betweenthe presentsystem of covert-shootingand that invogue in his youth,it is a questionwhether the formerdoes not, on the whole, afford more enjoymentthanthe latter,especiallyif regardedfrom a social pointofview. To go out,as in old days,with a dog and agun, and fightthroughbriars and thorns all day inthe hope of bringinghome as much game as you canconvenientlycarry about you, may possiblybe a more

3

i

34 COVEBT'SHOOTING, PAST AND PRESENT,

praiseworthyform of recreation than to form one ofa party of gunners who have littlemore to do thanto shoot the game that is driven up to them. Butafter all,the primaryobjectof shooting,like that ofany other field sport,is to providehealthyamuse-ment

; and if this can be secured as well in one wayas the other,it is difficultto see any justgroundsforinvidious comparison.The physicalaspectsof covert-shooting,moreover, have changedvery much duringthe last fiftyyears. Not onlyhave the old-fashionedgame-covertsalmost ceased to exist,but the habits oftheir denizens seem to have undergonea change,andtheycannot be soughtfor in the same manner as ofold. High farminghas in most districtsdone awaywith the old double hedgerows,formingthe best pos-sible

covert for game of all kinds ; copses have been

grubbedup; and everywhere,in fact,there is lessnatural shelter for game than there used to be. Theresultisthat both pheasantsand partridgeshave takento "running"in a manner which would have beenscorned by their ancestors,and that theyhave to becircumvented accordingly.Here and there,in remotewoodlands,it is stillpossibleto enjoya day'ssportinthe old style,with spanielsor beagles; but as a rule,it is now found easier to rear game in smaller woodswhere huntingwith dogs is altogetherout of thequestion.By the time,indeed,that a sportsman ofthe old school would have got halfwaythroughsucha covert with his dog and his gun, almost everypheasantin it" every cock pheasant,at any rate "would have quietlyrun out at the other end,and hewould very likelynot geta singleshot in a wood thathe knew to have been fullof game. In such cases the

C0VEBT-8H00TIN0, PAST AND PRESENT. 35

only way to get any sport is to make use of beaters,assisted by ''stops"at ceiiiain points to prevent the

game from running out. This, broadly speaking,con-stitutesthe groundwork of the much-vituperated

system of battue-shooting. But it is obvious that asystem which is equally applicableto a " chasse " ofeither the smallest or the largest dimensions canscarcelywith justicebe condemned, because in thelatter case it has occasionallybeen abused, and whatought to be a sportsman-likeand healthy recreationhas degenerated into a mere slaughter. This, how-ever,

opens a wide subject,which it would not be con-venientto discuss at present. But it may fairly be

claimed for the modem as against the ancient styleof

covert-shooting,that it affords greater scope for socialenjoyment, and has, in fact,become the raison d'etreof one of the pleasantestaspects of Englishcountry-house life. In the old days,when an ordinary countrysquire went out shootingwith his friend,his ideas didnot as a rule go beyond his actual sport, or at anyrate the dinner which was to follow it ; and it would

not have occurred to him to make it an occasion for

fillinghis house with a mixed party of both sexes,some of whom, at least,would look upon the shootingas a mere accessory. All this has doubtless in many

cases been overdone, in the same way as the shootingitself. The introduction of ladies,for instance, into

an actual shootingparty, is a questionable experimentat all times, and even the charm of their presence at

luncheon-time will scarcelybe appreciatedby a keen

sportsman; while "walking with the guns" which

a few years ago had become the practice,has now been

generallyadmitted to be not only a serious drawback

86 COVERT-SHOOTING, PAST AND PRESENT.

to the sport,but to be productiveof but littlesatisfac-tionto any one concerned. But there are few things

more enjoyablein theirway than a well-assorted partyat a well-appointedcountry-house,where there isgoodshootingforthe men and pleasantsocietyforthe ladies;and there can be no doubt that if,throughany com-bination

of circumstances,covert-shooting,as carriedon at present,should be interferedwith to any appreci-able

extent,a seriousblow would be struck at countrysocietyin general,and one of the few compensatingadvantagesof an Englishwinter would be done awaywith. The operationof the Ground Game Act hashad a marked effectupon the lately-endedshootingseason ; the hare,in many partsof the country,willsoon become as extinct as the bustard;and game-preservers will have to trust more than ever to theartificialrearingof pheasantsto secure even the mostmoderate amount of sportfor themselves and theirfriends. It is impossibleto say what form the nextagitationagainstgame may assume ; but as longasthere are woods left in the country,and until therelations between landlord and tenant have been

altogetherbroken down by mischievous legislation,it is to be hopedthat the good old sportof covert-shootingwill not come to an end

BADGERS.

The ruling instinct in the badger character is a dislikeof publicity. He objects to being looked at under anycircumstances, but most of all in broad daylight, and

invariably makes haste to efface himself from viewif he possibly can. There is a touch of anachronismabout his hoary person at first sight, a certain out-of-date Rip-van- Winkle-like air; and his demeanour

when disturbed has a difiident and sulky awkwardness

which irresistiblysuggests that he is conscious of his

oddity. When the privacy of his home is invaded by

an enterprising fox-terrier, his behaviour is very like

what one would expect from a shy and rather surly'' celebrity," confronted with the more shameless sort

of interviewer, his first instinct being to run awayand bury himself " an operation which he can conduct

with astonishing despatch. It is only when the

enemy's attentions become too close and persistent

to allow of this, that he will betake himself to his

formidableweapons; but then, woe to the intruder

if he has not had considerable experience in interview-ing

badgers before. The marks of punishment which

he carries away with him, ugly as they may be, are

merely a protest from an outraged recluse who has

i

88 BADGERS.

been goaded to discourtesyby wanton aggression.That a badger'stemperis of the shortest,no one whohas ever meddled with one will be likelyto dispute;but he never provokeshostilitiesin the firstinstance ;and,on the rare occasions when he finds himself hope-lessly

committed to warfare in the open, he generallybetraysa most undignifiedanxietyto avoid the con-flict;

his flurried,shufflinggaitand absurd air ofcompromisedproprietymaking an odd contrast tothe gay, festive,reckless demeanour of a fox undersimilar circumstances. He cuts but a veiy indifferent

figureuntil fairlybroughtto bay ; the situation seemsto bewilder him,and he behaves with feebleindecision.

With all this,there is a good deal of ironyin thefate which assignedhim so prominenta positioninurban " sportingcircles" of a generationago, beforehe came under the friendlyprotectionof a statute. Tobe broughtout with a pairof tongsinto the detestabledaylight,and be expectedto do battle,not merelywiththe light-heartedand comparativelycorrigibleterrier,but with an endless succession of cross-bred monstersof every weightand size; to be thrust stern foremostinto a slipperytub,and " drawn " again and againthroughouta long Saturdayafternoon amid theplauditsof backers,the groaningof layers,and muchefiusionof blood " all this must have been,to say theleastof it,tryingto a creature of sullen tempei*amentwith a natural taste for seclusion. Still,no animal ofhis weightismore formidable than a badgerwhen he isonce

" cornered " and compelledto stand ; and he seemsto have afforded his patronsa passablystimulatingform of recreation,ifcontemporaryaccounts are to betrusted. They may, of course, be a littleovercoloured

BADGERS. 39

by the natural enthusiasm of the time ; but, even ifwe compress the residuum of fact to the smallest

proportions,there is enough left to justifythe inferencethat a badger^s lot in those days was not one of un-mixed

happiness. The glory was something. To die

game in the presence of hundreds of spectators wasmuch. But if badgers have any sense of the fitness ofthings" and from their behaviour it is to be inferredthat they have" the glory of these encounters musthave been far outweighed by a painful feeling ofincongruity.

But now that tournaments of the good old sort areno longerheld, except strictlyunder the rose, and nowthat the badger^s career as a recognized entertainer ofthe British publicis finallyclosed to him, he has sunkinto complete obscurity,an obscurity as welcome tohim, no doubt, as it is well earned. He has so far

dropped out of notice,indeed, that it is difficult topersuade some city-bredpersons that such a creatureexists any longer in these islands. It is true that this

incredulity has been met with side by side in thesame brain with a fixed belief that flocks (or coveys ?)of bustards stiQ afibrd good sport on SalisburyPlain ;so it hardly merits serious attention, though it mightbe well,perhaps, in the interests of the race, to give it

encouragement.Be this as it may, the race of brocks is by no means

extinct, and is unlikely to be so for many generationsto come, in spite of much that has been said to the

contrary. They are very easy victims to any one whotakes the trouble to watch for them at night,and areshot and trapped without much difficulty,owing tothe methodical way in which they take their walks ;

40 BADGEB8.

but a very few casualtiesof this tind will drive themto fresh quarters; in fact the slightestsymptom of anintended raid will often clearout a largecolonyin asinglenight.It must not be forgotteneitherthat,sofar as we can tell,theyhave no natiu-alenemies toprey upon them,fortheycertainlyare more powerfulthan any other animal that theyare likelyto meet intheir subterranean walk of life. Besides this,thetendencyof the times is more in their favour thanmightat firstsightbe supposed.Railways,growingtowns, and improvedagriculturemay have driventhem from many of their old haunts ; but the reallyout-of-the-wayspotsin the country are becomingmore lonelyand more thinlypopulatedas time goeson. The farm labourers are fewer,and those that areleft are not such keen sportsmenas their forefathers,nor are theyblessed with so much spare time andenergy, and the successfulpursuitof badgersrequiresa gooddeal of both. Moreover,since the suppressionof baiting,a badgeris no longerthe valuable prizethat he once was, so that the principalstimulus to hiscapturehas been removed.

But even in these improvedtimes the animal is notentirelyfreefrom unwelcome attentions; for in everycounty where he exists there will be found a selectfew for whom he has a fascination above all otherbeasts of the field. These are not sportsmenquiteofthe newest fashion,for itmust be owned that " takingout a badger"is a very queer and old-world form ofthe chase,and one that isnot very likelyto commenditselfto the many. It dependsalmost entirelyforsuccess upon the excellence of the dogs;it means agood deal of labour of a slow and fatiguingkind,

BADGERS. 41

a good deal of patientwaiting and watching, and atbest a certain proportionof blank days " which things,more especiallythe last,will not be generallycon-sidered

invitingconditions by sportsmen of to-day.The thing has its channi however, and is worth aword of description,if only as a contrast to othermore stirring and pretentious pastimes. There is

something quaintlymysterious in the aspect of a partyengaged about ft badger eartli,especiallyif you chanceto come upon the scene without knowing beforehandwhat is going on. There is a smack of melodramaabout the situation,a certain suggestionof conspiracyand deeds of blood. The place will probably be asteep bank, darkly wooded, and slopingdown to streamand meadow below. You will first catch sightof threeor four figures,holding earnest colloquy over a grave-like

trench at their feet. Thej^ are covered with redsoil from head to heel,and talk in hushed tones, stoop-ing

to listen between whiles, as if for sounds from thebowels of the earth. The nature of the proceedingswill presently dawn upon you, when you becomeaware of a dozen or more terriers of all sorts and sizes

tied up to bushes and railingsround the spot, all

whining querulouslyand receivingadmonitory kicksat intervals from their several masters. Among thehuman members of the party the keeper is prominent"

of course somewhat negatively. He countenancesthe proceedings,and lends his dog; but he will notspecializebeyond the point of dignity. You will ob-serve

that there is no soil on his velveteens. He acts

the part of chorus, encouraging the principalactors, anddealing out counsel at appropriate moments. Thereis a recognizeddoyen of the sport in Nestor, the old

42 BADGERS.

squire,whose supremacy in the art of " tailing" is un-questioned,and who is venerated by every rustic in

the countryas an infallibleoracle in all badgerandother lore. He directs the partyand determines theplanof action ; he is the brain and theythe hands ;nor does he neglectthe minor pointswhich helptomake matters go pleasantly,for his are the demijohnofwhiskyand the amplepastyin the background,nearwhich the keeperkeepshis position.

Let it be premisedthat there is a gooddog "toground'';the keeper's"Turk," for choice (by thesquire's" Jim,"out of that well-known bitch " MerryLegs"). He has not been seen since he was slippedan hour ago, but certain muffled noises which havebeen heard at intervals meanwhile " gruntingsandtusslings,short smothered barks,and scurryingstoand fro" have set all doubts at rest about a badgerbeingat home.

Then a longsilenceensues, duringwhich the acutestanxietyreignsabove ground.Many thingsmay behappeningat this moment. Most probablythe in-trepid

" Turk " and his foe are plantedoppositeto oneanother,catchingtheir breath,and each waitingforthe other to stir. But,on the other hand,the badgermay have eluded "Turk" from his superiorknow-ledge

of the intricate passages of his dwelling,inwhich case he willby this time be hundreds of yardsaway under the field behind. Or, again,he may beemployingthese preciousmoments in buryinghimself" a fatal manoeuvre.

Everyone listens at every conceivable outlet,andthe situation is canvassed in discreetwhispers.Thekeeperhas infiniteconfidence in his dog;he enjoins

BADGERS. 43

patience,and narrates a few of "Turk's" exploits.Nestor

says nothing ; he rarelydoes say anything onthese occasions ; he merely glancesat the line of fencewhich skirts the top of the bank, and fills his pipe.Presently the keeper's confidence is justifiedby anexclamation from some one imder the fence sayingthat the dog is there,barking " solid." A generalrushis made to the place,and Nestor follows leisurely,trailinga light iron bar, the like of which may beseen in the repertory of any well-appointedburglar,and which he uses as a probe or a stethoscope as thecase may demand. The sounds are pronoimced tobe near the surface, the dog barking at intervals,and showing no dispositionto stir from the spot ; sospade and mattock are passed forward, and two sturdylabourers set to work, digging as they never dig for

wages. The suppositionis that the badger is pennedin a cul de sac, with the dog in front of him ; and,if he is now cut oflFby digging between him and themain "earth," his fate is sealed, his only chance of

escape being to slipout into the open through Nestor'sfingers,and to call that a chance were rank heresy inthese parts. After a quarter of an hour's work, atrench

" not the first excavation of the kind that has

been made to-day" is cut across the line of passage asnear as can be guessed to where the dog is; and Nestorinserts himself sideways into the space, thrustingonearm as far up the galleryas he can reach. His legsonly are visible from above, and the cluster of spec-tators

eye the convulsive movements of his heels with

anxious interest,inferringmuch therefrom. What ishappening underground is something in this wise." Turk," inspiritedby feelinga well-known arm and

|tl!44 BADGEB8.

hand thrust into the hole beside him,and quiteawarefrom previousexperiencethat the supreme momenthas arrived,comes to closequarterswith his foe. Thebadger,true to his instinct,makes for the nearestoutlet,pushingthe dog before him and punishinghim at every step. Hideous sounds of maulingandworryingcome to the upper air as theyrolland tusslenearer and nearer to the opening.PresentlyNestor'shand steals over the two strugglingbodies ; he passesit with wilycaution from one limb to another untilthe all-importanttailcomes into a favourable position,when he grasps itlikelightningand dragshimself outof the hole with a longgrey body held out at arm'slengthin front of him. "Boar of thirtypounds,"says the keeperwith decision,and turns to examine" Turk's " wounds. The doglooks a littlewoebegone;he has added a deepgashor two about the lower jawto an alreadysufficientnumber of honourable scars,but when he has quenched^histhirst and had his facewashed at the stream,he looks as gay and irrepres-sible

as ever.

After this,whiskyis passedround,horses are putto,and the rest of the dogsare let loose to scamperover the fieldsin the waninglight.The badgerfindsa placein a stout sack,under the seat of some one'sdog-cart.Into his further historyperhapsit werediscreeternot to inquiretoo curiously.

ROWING AND SCULLING.

The long lead which this country took about the

middle of the present century in almost all branches

of athletic sport has in these later years, as we all know,

been woefully diminished, if not altogether taken from

us. And in no case has the change been more remark-able

than in the department of aquatics. About

twenty-one years ago the best sculler that the colonies

could produce came over to England to row a match

with the then champion, Bob Chambers, and was

beaten with ridiculousease, having exhibited an extra-ordinary

turn of speed for a short distance, but no

staying power at all. The United States made their

first attempt three years later, when another English

champion, Harry Kelly, defeated Hammill of Pitts-burgh

with equal ease in a match on the Tyne.

Australia had been the first to challenge our supre-macy

onthe river, and it was Austmlia which first

succeeded ina

like attempt just ten years later. Butin the meantime

noother colony or country attempted

to interfere with our honours either in professional

rowing or professional sculling. An international

regatta, held on the Seine in 1867, and actively

favoured by Napoleon III., only served to demonstrate

46 BOWING AND SCULLING.

the superiorityof the Englishoarsmen, both amateurand professional; and the sole occasion of any import-ance

before 1876,when this superioritywas againcalled in question,was when Havard UniversitychallengedOxford,which won the Universityrace ofthe year, to row them a four-oared race on the Thames.The invitation was accepted,not indeed bythe Univer-sity

itself,but by a club within the University,whichwas able to turn out a crew probablyquiteas good;and the race, about which there had been manyopinionseven amongst the connoisseurs at Putney,ended in a very easy victoryfor the Oxford four. Atlength,in 1876, when Joe Sadler,never one of ourstrongestchampions,was manifestlyin declininghealth,the match was made which resulted in firsttakingaway the palm from the Thames and theTyne. Trickett,of Sydney,then carried oflFthe titleof Champion Sculler of the World,which was nextrowed for on the Paramatta river; and the subsequentmatches in Englandcould decide no more than whatbeganto be calledthe Championshipof England. Forthis inferiorhonour Boyd,Higgens,and Elliott con-tended,

with varyingsuccess, for two years, untilCanada put in an appearance, and at once rushed tothe front with a brilliantvictory.In June, 1879,Elliott,who had now beaten his two Englishrivals,was defeated in an ignominiousmanner by EdwardHanlan,of Toronto. The new comer astounded everyone, not onlyby rowingthe course in shorter timethan had yet been known, but by the extraordinaryvigoiu"of his styleand the extreme ease with whichhe disposedof a man then supposedto be well worthbackingagainstany one in the world. This victory

BOWING AND SCULLING. 47

of Hanlan was the forerunner of a series of others

equally decisive. Triekett,who had retained his title

against all comers in Australia,came over to meet thenew prodigy on the Thames. He succumbed without

giving the Canadian any trouble at all; and, in amatch rowed shortlyafterwards over the same coiu-se,Laycock, the second string of the Australians, faredrather worse than his fellow-colonist. The winter of

1880-81, which produced these two last races, alsoafforded the most humiliatingproof possible of thedecline of English professionalsculling. A grandwater tournament, historicallyknown as the "HopBitters" Kegatta,brought on to the course betweenPutney and Mortlake eight Englishmen, two Cana-dians

(Hanlan not condescendingto start),two Austra-lians,and two men from the United States. In every

one of the four heats into which the foui-teen scullers

were divided the Englishmen took the hindmost places.Not one of them beat a singleone of their opponents ;and the final heat showed Laycock of Sydney first,a Canadian second, an American third, and anotherCanadian fourth. Since then almost the only attemptmade to retrieve our lost laurels has been the match

between Bubear and Wallace Boss, which resulted in

so disastrous a defeat for this country. That race dis-poses

of our chance for many a day to come, and againcondemns English professionalscullingto a place inthe international list far below Canada, Australia, andthe United States. Those who attempt to console

themselves for the loss of the championshipby sayingthat it has gone to colonists of our own nationalityforget that in the last general trial of merit all ourbest scullers were beat either by the American Hosmer

48 ROWING AND SCULLING.

himself,or by men whom the same Hosmer beat in asubsequentrace.

For thisextraordinarychangein the relativepositionof Englishand foreignscullersmany reasons have beenassigned.It is,in the firstplace,hardlypossibletodenythat in pointof mere physiquewe have lostground as comparedwith the rest of the worldEvidences are not wanting to prove the superiorbodilystrengthof the labouringclass in the colonies,which isboth better bred and better fed than our own

people,and also lives in a purer atmosphere,furtherremoved than theyare from the material and moraldrnginessof the town. These reasons perhapsaccoimtsuflBicientlyfor the excellence of the colonists in anysportwhich theyseriouslytake up. But it is alsosupposed,not altogetherwithout goodgrounds,thatEnglishwatermen are becomingnot onlyrelatively,but actually,worse than they were. The habit ofspirit-drinking,now so longestablished amongst theworkingclasses,has undoubtedlybegun to have aseriouseflfectupon their health and constitutions; andtheir custom of idlingaway nearlythe half of everyweek is productiveof a laziness prejudicialto allmanlyvigour.But the greatestevilof allfrom whichEnglishrowing has suffered is the lack of publicencouragement. For several years pastthe watermenof the Thames have been dependentupon the chancemunificence of public-spiritedmen for anythingin theshapeof a national regatta.The grand displayof1880, which has been alreadymentioned,was theresultof an offferof no less than a thousand poundspresentedby the Hop BittersCompany to be rowedfor. Since that some well-known sportsmenhave had

'"

BOWING AND SCULLING, 49'

the generosityto givehandsome prizesto be rowedfor by second and third-class professionals; but therehas been nothingin the shapeof a subscriptionregatta,as in the amateur world, and there have been noprizesat all worth mentioningfor rowing as dis-tinguished

from sculling.Such a dearth of patronagemightwell be expectedto cause a decline of interestamongst the class affected,and to hinder the mostlikelymen from takingup the amusement of rowingas a business. It is not very flatteringto our nationalgood sense and good taste to find that,when manythousands of pounds are annuallyoffered for horse-racing,which' so littlepromotes the strengthor healthof the people,it should have been found impossibletoraise the very few hundreds necessary to givea first-rate regatta,such as was formerlyheld upon theThames every year. The failure to keep up suchregattasis often accounted for by sayingthat the menwould not row fair ; but this objection,even if it were .well founded, is not one that has been, or need be,fatal to other sports.There is,moreover, littlereasonto believe that the chief prizesin the old Thamesregattaswere at all commonly taken by other thanthe best crews entered. Probablythe one thingwhichhas most discredited professionalrowingisthe fact thatbettingmen " book-makers, in fact" became mixed upwith the races, and manipulatedthe matches so as tosuit their own personalends,to the detriment of thepublicon the one hand and of the performerson theother. Minor causes also helped,such as the new prac-tice

ofusingsteam-launches for the purpose of carryingumpires at Henleyand elsewhere,instead of dependingupon the services of paid crews; and, lastly,the

4

i

50 ROWING AND SCULLING.

wholesale declineof the waterman's trade,properlysocalled,by reason of the multiplicationof bridgesandsteamers,which have made it no longernecessary to" hail a boat,"accordingto the old-fashioned practice,whenever a person wishes to cross the riveror to travelfrom one placeon its banks to another. It must,however,be remembered that in itsbest daysprofes-sional

rowinghad one greatdisadvantageas com-paredwith amateur rowing.There were practically

onlytwo centres which had any espritde corps oftheir own " Loudon and Newcastle. The amateurclubs in a dozen diflFerentpartsof the country hadeach an exclusive prideand ambition of their own ;but there was no such healthyrivalryamongst thewatermen of separatedistricts; no " clubs

"

worth

speakingof;no localprizesfrom which outsiders werebarred ; nothing,in short,but the old-standingrivalrybetween North and South,which was not enoughtokeep up a livelycompetitionand lead to renewedstrugglesfor supremacy year after year between anumber of good crews.Very possiblyit is this last-mentioned difference

between amateur and professionalrowingwhich hasenabled the former to retain in this countryso far abetter positionthan the latter. It is true,no doubt,that when we speakof the highpositionof ouramateur oarsmen as comparedwith those of othercountries,we are talkingrather without book. Thedefinitionof an amateur is more stricthere than inother countries;and, althoughsome latitude hashitherto been givento strangers,yet,on the otherhand,crews which were allowed the name of amateursin America have alreadybeen excluded from our

BOWING AND SCULLING, 51

regattas,and are likelyto be still more often excludedin future. Still there are plenty of signs,later thanthat afforded by the four-oared race alreadymentioned,to show that our amateurs have not suffered the sameloss of prestigeas the watermen. There is the neg-ative

evidence supplied by the fact that foreignersso seldom enter for the big events at Henley ; but wehave also seen them fairlydefeated, as in the scullingrace at Henley last year, when a Frenchman and aGerman both entered, and the former was defeatedstill more easilythan in former years, while the latter,although he won his trial heat, and also beat theFrenchman, stood no sort of chance against Mr.Lowndes, the winner. Baces which have been rowedin other countries have not had so gratifyinga result,but they cannot certainlybe said to have proved anyinferiorityon the part of England. The analogy ofcricket and other sports, moreover, besides profes-sional

rowing, seems to show that if there had beencrews anywhere good enough to win the Grand

Challenge Cup or the Diamond Sculls, they wouldhave appeared at Henley to dispute those coveted

trophies. However this may have been, undoubtedlyan immense influence in keeping up the publicinterestin boat-racinghas been exercised by the remarkable

equality which has long existed between a number ofrival clubs. Oxford has never got so far ahead of

Cambridge as to make their meeting at Putney anuninteresting affair. The Grand Challenge Cup has

never fallen so often to one or two or even three

clubs as to discourage others from sending their

representatives.The London Rowing Club, Leander,Thames, Kingston, all these are known every year to

52 BOWING AND SCULLING.

be prettysure to send a formidable crew, and it isworth their while to train men hard for the event.The leadingCollegeboats at Oxford and Cambridgeare almost equallysure to appear, and are encouragedby knowingthat Collegecrews have several timestaken thischief prizeof the year. In the multitudeof competitorsthere is an assurance of excellence anda guaranteefor hard practiceand hard training; foroftentimes,as last year, the eight-oarwhich wasthoughtleast of by the connoisseurs has been known,with a littleof the luck that is so powerfulan agentat Henley,to make an exampleof far better-lookingcrews.

In these headquarters,the clubs and Colleges,rowinghas accordinglybeen keptup with unabatedzeaL Many changeshave been introduced since thefirstUniversityrace was rowed in 1829,and sincetheamateur scullingchampionshipwas founded in thefollowingyear. The old tub boats have developedinto very different-lookingcraft. Outriggers,slidingseats,self-actingrowlocks,and steeringsails,have allbeen successivelyadded,with divers other refinementsof the boat-builder*sart ; but the science of rowingremains after all essentiallythe same ; and the samebodilyshapeand muscular conformation are stillusuallyto be observed in the most successfuloarsmen.If we could confine our attention solelyto these greatclubs and the two Universities,there would be littlecause for findingfault with amateur rowing orsculling.Unfortunatelythe prospectis by no meansso limited or so gratifying.The increasingtaste for" boating,"as it is very advisedlytermed " that is tosay, of goingin a boat " ^hasled to the formationof a

EOWINQ AND SCULLING, 53

host of third,fourth, and fifth-rate dubs, as well as toan ^lormous amount of rowing in hired boats by-people who think they would like to learn the art allby themselves. Now rowing is, of all things,thatwhich a man finds it most impossible to learn byhimself. There is nothing,perhaps,in which unaidedpractice is so certain to make a man develop a badstyle. K any person doubts this,let him look at theriver Thames on a Saturday afternoon. From Ted-dington to Wandsworth it is covered with boats,which are being rowed and sculled by persons ex-hibiting

every possible fault that an oarsman cancommit. The round back, the bent arms, the hanginghead, the wriggling body " these are only a few ofthe hideous distortions observable on every side.

How are they to be accounted for ? Simply by this"

^that the wretched creatures who indulge in themare too proud to take a lesson. Go and suggest toone of the tradesmen's clubs which is out for practiceon a Saturday evening that one or two of its memberswould be all the better for a little coaching,and tento one both those individuals themselves and the

bulk of the club, if not even its captain,will feel in-sultedat any such suggestion. This sort of feelingis

one which fortunatelystill exists only in the lowerranks of the aquatic world. But it is constantlyliable to spread and infect the upper spheres,even asit infected the highest class of professionalscullers,inspiringthem with a bumptiousness which despisedgood advice, and prevented them from perfectingtheir style in proportion as new improvements wereintroduced into the boats they used. Such pre-sumptuous

vanity is particularlymisplaced at a time

54 nOWING AND SCULLING.

when technical skill and education are requisiteforexcellencein sportingas well as other matters. Itis to a very largeextent responsiblefor the defeatswe have suffered at the hands of the colonists,whoare more modest, to beginwith, have more per-severance

in learningwhat they want to do,and,finally,enjoya far better prospectof earningfameand publichonour when theydo creditto their nativecityor place.

FOOTBALL IN THE FIELD.

It might be a nice question for the curious to decide

whether the position that the game of football has

within recent times takenamong our national sports

is due to an increase in the manliness or in the frivo-lity

ofour age. Popular in one sha