Politics versus Fox-hwiting. 23 



pretty lot. Plenty in number, but small, it struck me. I 

 suppose it is the fashion. I saw one with a cock-up ear 

 and marked for a prize : surely this was a mistake. Very 

 few looked capable of tackling a fox, much less a badger. 

 The two prize hunt dogs from the Wheatland and Ludlow 

 interested me most, but then I am not a judge of fancy 

 dogs. 



Hunting has been in full swing, and the elements have 

 been fairly propitious. A bubble long in blowing has 

 burst at last ! Harmlessly too, I believe, although it was 

 popularly supposed to be charged with dynamite. All 

 true friends of sport breathe freer I believe now that this 

 Hodnet fulmen has been allowed to puff off". The 

 correspondence has been published, and no one, I am 

 sure, believes that Mr. Heywood-Lonsdale took the 

 hounds as a political engine, or that by taking them he 

 has influenced the politics of North Shropshire. No fox 

 hunter, whatever his politics, will, I am sure, deny Mr. 

 Lonsdale the free right to his political opinions, so long as 

 they do not interfere with fox-hunting, and I can truly say 

 that never have politics been introduced into the hunting 

 field by Mr. Lonsdale. In the present case, I bhink the 

 master does all that a rich man could do to facilitate sport, 

 and not give offence to any. He asks for no subscription 

 in North Shropshire — he has purchased kennels — he has 

 done the thing in a princely way — and yet (I say it with 

 shame and grief) he is the subject of treatment which 

 would severely try the temper of some hot-headed 

 M.F.H.'s that I know. Surely, however, there is yet 

 sufficiently good feeling left among us, impelling us to 

 throw aside politics, and stand by our Master so long as 

 he nobly and honourably stands by us. 



And now to the more genial topic of sport. 

 Tuesday the South Cheshire had perhaps the most 

 amusing and eccentric day of their season, as with a good 

 scent they galloped madly between Wrenbury and 

 Cholniondeley in the semi darkness of a fog, much 

 oftener hunting Mr. Corbet than attempting to ride after 

 his hounds. Much tumbling and fun resulted, which to 

 the more sober fox hunters must have been a delusion, 

 and the afternoon in Combermere proved no better than 

 the morning. 



