CUBBING IN 95 407 



is not responsible for the dictum ; but it must have required all the 

 philosophy with which the huntsman of the Essex hounds is usually 

 credited to have gathered one crumb of comfort from his frosty surround- 

 ings on Monday, October aSth, 1895, when for one hour you couldn't see 

 fifty yards in front of you, and the fog clung to and frosted everything 

 with which it came in contact as we rode like restless spirits to and fro 

 in the dank atmosphere, hoping against hope for it to clear away. But 

 the grain of comfort was there, and it came in the showers of leaves which 

 the frost was cutting away in bushels from the trees overhead. As the 

 huntsman remarked, " Make it all the better going for us next week," and 

 so, if it rains, it will, for the leaves, scorched and shrivelled by the frost, 

 will disappear from the hedgerows as snow melts before the midday 

 sun. 



But is it not curious, in this strange season of '95, that the morning 

 in question made the fifth white frost without rain, and three in olden times 

 were considered quite sufficient to ensure a downpour? "Drop the 

 weather, and tell us what took place and w4io was there to see it," my 

 dear friend, the reader, not unnaturally remarks, adding, " I know that 

 you met at Coopersale." Quite right, O King, we did, and quite an 

 array of bicycles you would have seen had you been there. Three sisters 

 from Tawney Rectory rode up looking cool and collected, but with a 

 healthy glow on their cheeks, which their brisk spin of five miles to the 

 meet on pneumatic tyres had given them, and afterwards they joined in 

 the sport on foot, for, even with the latest patent in spring chains, the 

 bicycle is no use over a country. Two other ladies, also well-known for 

 their affection for bicycles, and their skill in riding them, were there, one 

 riding a dun-coloured cob, the other a rich dark-coated thoroughbred 

 mare. Perhaps you can identify them if you follow the Essex Hounds ; 

 if not, do not ask me to enlighten you, for I write for the followers of that 

 particular pack. 



The Master, Mr. Loftus Arkwright, drove up with his wife punctually 

 at nine. Mr. and Mrs. Howel Price graced the meet with their presence. 

 Mr. F. Green loomed up through the fog for an instant, and disappeared as 

 suddenly as he had arrived. Mrs. W. Sewell stayed out until one. Major 

 Ricardo, Mr. Roland Bevan, Major Carter, Captain Wilson, Captain Bruce, 

 curiously enough all riding greys, which diminished in size in the order 

 given. Mrs. Bruce was exercising, what she called, her harness cob, but, 

 as her husband sensibly remarked, they do not keep their horses to look at, 

 but all have to earn their living. Mr. H. Sworder and Mr. H.J. Miller, 

 both riding blacks ; Mr. Willis and Mr. Avila on bays ; Mr. Cook, Mr. 

 Baddeley, Mr. Lee, Mr. Steele, Mr. Single, Mr. Cockett, Mr. D. Cunliffe 

 Smith. Later on in the day Mr. Patchett, Q.C., might have been seen 

 with Host Morris, on his grey, in attendance, and Mr. A. J. Edwards 

 turned up before it was all over. 



Cubs were known to have been reared in the Gaynes Park preserves, for 

 although Mr. Chisenhale Marsh is not very keen about hunting himself — 

 only coming out occasionally — he always takes a lively interest in pro- 

 moting the welfare of the Hunt, and with no wire and plenty of foxes on his 

 estate, what more could you want ? But up to the time I left hounds that 

 day, I p.m., these cubs had not been found, though a friend of mine, out 

 shooting, viewed one in an adjoining wood, known as Watson's, which 

 undoubtedly hailed from Gaynes Park. 



i\t Beachetts, however, we had a rapid find and a nice little spin to 

 Knightsland. Eventually, we arrived at Rough Talleys in search of other 

 cubs which did not appear to be there, and the luncheon hour, fitting in so 



