THE FOXHOUND. 



209 



ally declared for one which was in the whole 

 length of their careers (sometimes extending 

 to fifty years) immeasurably superior to 

 all others they had hunted. Harry Ayris, 

 who was for just half a century with Lord 

 FitzHardinge, declared to the day of his 

 death that nothing had equalled Crom- 

 well ; Osbaldeston said the same of Furrier, 

 and Frank Gillard, who is still alive, never 

 falters from the opinion that Weathergage 

 was quite by himself as the best hound he 

 ever hunted. The Foxhound Kennel Stud 

 Book abounds in the strongest proofs that 

 hereditary merit in their work has been 

 transmitted from these wonderful hounds, 

 and they really make the history of the 

 Foxhound. 



The first celebrity to have had a traditional 

 repute brought down in print to present 

 times was Mr. Corbet's Trojan. This gentle- 

 man had kept Harriers for some years before 

 he thought of becoming a Master of Fox- 

 hounds, and he commissioned his brother, 

 Colonel Andrew Corbet, to buy for him 

 a pack of Harriers that were advertised 

 to be sold at Tattersall's. Amongst these 

 was a bitch called Tidings, evidently a 

 dwarf Foxhound, and she proved so good 

 in her work that when Mr. Corbet re-sold 

 the pack he retained her, and she was sent 

 to Lord Spencer's (the Pytchley) Tomboy. 

 In due course she had a litter that contained 

 Trojan, who was almost drafted, as he 

 would not look at a hare. Mr. Corbet, 

 however, began to hunt fox from Sundorne 

 shortly afterwards, and Trojan at his own 

 noble game entered naturally. He was 

 supposed to have been the best Foxhound 

 ever seen, that he could not do wrong, 

 could put the pack right on the coldest 

 scent, could jump walls that no other 

 hound would attempt, and then by him- 

 self would run a fox for miles to earth, 

 before the rest of the pack had joined him. 

 He lived from 1780 to 1789, and in eight 

 seasons he was never lame or missed a 

 day, and was always the leading hound. So 

 much was he talked of that a great many 

 kennels bred from him, and Mr. Corbet's 

 famous pack that he sold to Lord Middle- 

 ton for 1,500 sovereigns was nearly all by 



Trojan. A famous toast in Shropshire and 

 Warwickshire for years afterwards was : 

 " Here's to the Trojans." 



Another noble example of the Foxhound 

 was Lord Middleton's Vanguard, got by 

 a hound called Vaulter, that Lord Middleton 

 (the sixth baron) got from Lord Vernon 

 out of Traffic, a great grand-daughter of 

 the famous Trojan. Lord Middleton, who 

 hunted his own hounds and was very 

 liberal in giving them away, would never 

 part with Vanguard, declaring that no 

 man could possess two such hounds in a 

 lifetime, and that he was much too good 

 to give away. Vanguard's time was from 

 1815 until 1823, and his portrait was taken 

 by Fearnley, who also painted a picture, 

 now at Birdsal, of Vanguard running a 

 fox to ground. There is a line of ancestry 

 from Vanguard to the Oakley Driver, whose 

 blood is in almost every kennel list in 

 England. 



Next to Vanguard would come the 

 Osbaldeston Furrier, quite the greatest 

 in Foxhound heraldry for the last eighty- 

 seven years, as he was whelped in 1820. 

 Bred at Belvoir by Saladin out of Fallacy 

 by Lord Lonsdale's Wonder out of Frantic, 

 he was purchased by Osbaldeston, of Goosey, 

 the Belvoir huntsman, as an unentered 

 puppy, the probable reason for his being 

 drafted was on account of his colour — 

 black and white with a little tan on his 

 head ; and it is said that he was none too 

 straight. He was, however, a wonder in 

 the field when Osbaldeston hunted the 

 Quorn. He was exactly the hound his 

 master wanted, as he would get to the 

 head of the pack at once, and lead at such 

 a pace that few horses could live with them. 

 It was then that Osbaldeston would turn 

 round and say, " Now, gentlemen, catch 

 them if you can." Socrates is said to have 

 sworn by his dog, and to the day of his 

 death Osbaldeston certainly swore by 

 Furrier, and the very name would make 

 the little old man, close on eighty, start 

 when talking seriously or playing a game 

 of billiards. When he took the Pytchley 

 country more than half his pack were by 

 Furrier or that dog's sons, and he once 



