2q6 leaves from a hunting diary 



of which he is a member, Tilhng Bros., Peckham, own some 

 five thousand horses. Hunting one day a week pretty 

 regularly throughout the season, he is a good example of the 

 busy London man, to whom hunting is such a benefit. Mr. 

 Tilling always looks the picture of rosy health. No distance, 

 no weather ever deters either him or Mr. Samuel Fitch ; they 

 generally hack or drive on together, and it would be a very 

 extraordinary thing if they ever came home without having 

 picked the kernel out of the best day's sport the Essex can 

 show. Mr. Tilling is a very liberal supporter of all claims 

 tliat invariably fall on every hunt outside the Master's sphere, 

 and that he is one of the most popular members of the 

 r^ssex Hunt all who know him will admit. 



I am very glad that I am not compelled to turn out so many leaves per 

 week, or verilj' four such days as Wednesday, November 7th, when we met 

 at Swallows X would probably yield four blank ones. But would this be 

 the case ? I don't know, for even out of the worst day's fox-hunting some- 

 thing can be gained, something learnt, some consolation extracted, for now, 

 as I am penning these lines at 6.30 p.m. on the day in question, I con- 

 gratulate myself that the rain and wind, which are threatening to dash the 

 windows in, held off until the warm fireside was reached. I am afraid 

 the hunt servants will get wet jackets. More's the pity, as they drew on 

 late, for a rapidly thinning field in their endeavour to show sport. Horse- 

 frith Park at 4.10 p.m. on a November afternoon would have satisfied our 

 late Master, I think. 



Home in company with a man ■•'■ who only gets his one day a week, and 

 would not have exchanged even to-day for a gallop with stag — (N.B. : He 

 took a toss after 4 p.m. You don't often get a chance as late as this with 

 venison) — set me at least an example of resignation. It has been a wild, 

 stormy day, but this alone should hardly have accounted for such a large 

 tract of country being drawn without a whimper after the first catastrophe in 

 the morning at Fitzwalters. The usual thing, all coffee-housing (a golfer t 

 got hold of me), and the hounds away down wind. Not even a tail hound 

 for Easlerby to rate, as we flew round the corner of the second wood, but 

 plenty of fences to show a bold front over, if you like a gallop in the dark 

 — not for me. 



Give me the Queen's highway, if I can't see hounds and have no clue 

 to them. Was it fortunate or unfortunate, do you think, that the fox 

 slipped into a hole in less than five minutes ? Ask Ray, late huntsman to 

 the Essex Union ; he'll never get such a chance of dishing an Essex field 

 again. Back through the no longer timber-stopped gap came the huntsman 

 with a comparatively jovial and lively following, for hounds were recovered ; 

 the day was young. Shenfield, Thoby, Blackmore, ancient strongholds, 

 were they not before us ? 



But 1 can't pass that gap ; it has left far too vivid an impression. 

 " Don't go through the wood," said my pal, as we stood in the ploughed 

 field and gazed over the blind ditch down the narrow ride that bisects iMtz- 

 walters, " can't you see the post and rails at the end ? " Yes, but possibly 



Mr. R. S. Tilling. + Mr. A. C. Oldham. 



