THE GOLDEN AGE, 1899— 19H. 63 



I apologise for the length of my letter, written with the hope 

 that it may inspire the young Nimrod to breed and keep a good 

 class of hound, with which even a not overspeedy Etonian may 

 possibly see some sport, for 



*Tell me, ye gods, if any sounds 

 Be half as sweet as t' hear the hounds.' 

 Nov. I2th, W. H. B." 



The reply to this came on Nov. 30th, when F. Grenfell wrote 

 a long letter to the Chronicle, in which he informs us that 



" Having disposed of all last year's pack, I have bought an 

 entirely new pack of hounds, 15 J inches and very level. Though 

 some hounds are rather lacking in good looks, the pack itself are 

 a level lot and very good workers." 



This pack was obtained from Mr. P. F. Hancock, of 

 Wivelscombe, Somerset, a well-known follower of the Devon 

 and Somerset Staghounds. There were 13| couple in all, and 

 the sum paid was £55. The whole of F. Grenf ell's letter is 

 printed in an appendix at the end of the book. 



But what shall I say of Grenfell's other innovation, the 

 introduction of George Champion? He is such a well-known 

 figure to all who have beagled during the last twenty years that 

 it seems superfluous to give a description of him. And yet, for 

 the sake of those who have never had the pleasure of knowing 

 him, I cannot resist making the attempt. 



He stands about middle height and his hair is white, but 

 this is almost the only sign of increasing age. His expression is 

 indescribable; he has a kind of mild good-humoured sarcastic 

 look which seldom leaves him, and a pair of eyes that seem to 

 notice everything. Although he wears no distinctive costume 

 his hounds will sight him three or four hundred yards away, even 

 though he is standing against a tree or a railway arch, and when 

 they catch sight of him nothing will stop them from galloping to 

 meet him, unless they are actually hunting. 



At the kennels he is always glad to see you, though he may 

 hide his pleasure under a somewhat gruff voice. He will never 

 open a conversation on anything except racing or the weather, 

 but he will answer any question you put to him, and is always 

 willing to help the seeker after knowledge in anything concerning 

 hounds; and, like all old men who have knocked about among 

 hounds all their lives, he can spin a yarn with the best. 



For who that hears the name of Champion does not 

 immediately think of the great huntsman of the Zetland? 

 George Champion is his son, and hails from Yorkshire. He was 



