Their Difficulties. 461 



Witliout scent the most perfect pack cannot kill, cannot even hunt, and in the course of a 

 few weeks will seem to lose all confidence in the most skilful huntsman. In a bad scenting 



o 



season the life of a Master of hounds is one of misery at home and abroad. If he is new 

 to the county, he and his establishment are set down as "duffers." Even if he is an old 

 friend, some energetic new arrival in the county — some young peer or squire, fresh from the 

 university, "who knows not Joseph" — gives the signal of discontent, which those who are 

 always tired of "Aristides the Just" echo. The Master is "too old, too slow; he does not 

 lift the hounds," &c. &c. ; or, " is too fast and impatient." But this rising discontent will 

 often be nipped in the bud by a change in the wind and a rapid succession of good runs 

 and kills. 



Quite different is the man who takes the management for the sake of position, and finds 

 all or a large share of the subscriptions. The probability is that, even if he understands how to 

 keep a respectable place with hounds, he knows little or nothing about hunting, or the equally 

 important subject of kennel management, and maintaining the reputation of a pack by judicious 

 breeding. 



He is fortunate if his social position, style, and manner enable him to keep his "field" 

 in order ; still more fortunate if he obtains the services of a huntsman who thoroughly understands 

 his business, and yet on the strength of his superior knowledge does not forget that he is the 

 servant of the gentleman who employs him, and not of the young bloods who tip and flatter 

 him. 



Therefore, if a newly-enriched man — the son of some fortunate trader, solicitor, or contractor — 

 determines on taking the responsibilities and honours of a M.F.H., he has one of two courses 

 to pursue : either to qualify himself for the post by careful and assiduous study, or to confine 

 himself to the financial and diplomatic department, leaving the practical part to his professional 

 assistant — the huntsman. 



There are two sorts of M.F.H.'s who are equally contemptible: the one who, knowing 

 little or nothing of hunting, is continually blowing his horn and interfering with his huntsman, 

 in order to show his authority ; and the other, who, not interfering at all, allows himself to be 

 the bictt and the dupe of the great and imperious gentlemen for whose amusement he pays 

 heavily and works hard. 



Fox-hunting is seen under its most agreeable aspect either when the pack is the hereditary 

 property or under the management of a gentleman " to the manner born," or where in truly 

 rural districts it is maintained by a small body of subscribers, who are enthusiastic sportsmen, 

 who all know each other, and to use a familiar phrase, " mean business," and nothing else. 



Huntsmen, as a body, are an intelligent, sober, thoughtful class; servants not the least 

 like the drunken reprobates who figure in the stories of the orgies of the last generation — the 

 Tom Moodys, whose deathbeds and funerals were the occasion of scenes which sound blasphemous 

 to a soberer generation. Tom Moody, by-the-by, was not a huntsman, but a whip ; although 

 a very great rider, he had no hunting talent to justify the hero-worship which song-writers 

 and painters have accorded him. " He was a little eight-stone man, decidedly dirty ; he 

 would wear his boots without taking them off from Monday to Saturday. His whole existence 

 centred in hunting ; he could not read a word ; his spare time in summer was spent in fishing 

 for eels." 



It is no exaggeration to say that the qualities which make a first-rate huntsman in the 

 field are those which would also make a first-rate commander of cavalry. He must carry the 

 geography of the country in his head, have an instinctive knowledge of the liabits of the fox, 



