The Merry Past 



Chute," enquired the King, " where are we now ? " 

 " Please your Majesty," Chute replied, in a droll 

 enough manner, " we are twenty miles from the 

 Master of the Concubines." The King burst out 

 into a loud laugh, and said : " Very well, Mr. Chute : 

 very well, indeed ! " 



George IV, when Prince of Wales, used to hunt a 

 good deal with the Cottesmore, at the time that 

 Sir Gilbert Heathcote was master of that pack. 



Ranksboro' gorse was one of his favourite fixtures, 

 as it afforded a commanding view, and if they went 

 away he could keep them in sight for a great distance. 

 His Royal Highness, too, would sometimes go pretty 

 fairly ; he would fence boldly enough, but he was not 

 fond of galloping. 



Sir Gilbert hunted what is now the Cottesmore 

 country for seven seasons, owing, it is said, to certain 

 family reasons which induced Lord Lonsdale to give 

 up his hounds during that period, 



George IV, in spite of the severe criticisms which 

 were so often levelled at him, was no unkindly man. 



When this Prince kept foxhounds at Critchel, in 

 Dorsetshire, he became much attached to Parson 

 Butler, the sporting vicar of Frampton, who was an 

 unconventional character of considerable originality 

 of dress and phrase. The parson in question soon 

 became a great favourite, and generally rode pretty 

 close to the Prince in the hunting field. 



On one of these occasions, the Prince remarked to 

 him, that he rode a very bad horse. This the divine 

 took rather in dudgeon : even his John Bull stolidity 



