SPORT ANCIENT AND MODERN 



cap, and that cry of ' Gone away ' rings 

 through the air. From out of the covert the 

 hounds stream, close behind them rides the 

 field, each one scrambling for a start. A big 

 stone wall confronts us. Side by side we 

 take it ; a few refuse and are lost. We are 

 landed in a rough grass field, rather heavy 

 going for the riders but carrying a strong 

 scent. Through a small wood they race, 

 their heads down. Making our way through 

 the fir-trees we follow, a bank with a blind 

 ditch carries us out of it, and down the green 

 fields we gallop taking two sets of rails as we 

 go. But the pace is beginning to tell ; al- 

 ready some are being left behind ; a rough 

 fence into the road, another out of it ; on we 

 go through plough which rides light to-day. 

 A ghyll is in sight, the wary huntsman turns 

 to the right, he knows the only practicable 

 spot ; several of the unwary plunge in and 

 we see them no more. Following close upon 

 the hounds we descend the ghyll, our hands 

 shading our faces from the thorn bushes, 

 which are so thick that one man is literally 

 pulled from his horse. This delays those be- 

 hind him, but a few of us who are fortunate 

 enough to be in front reach the bottom ; a 

 small running brook meets our eyes, the 

 hounds are already across. For a moment 

 on the other side they hesitate, they throw 

 up their heads. But before the huntsman 

 can get to them they pick it up and ascend 

 the hill in full cry. Treading on each other's 

 heels, reckless of consequences, we scramble 

 through the water, and breaking through the 

 rails on the far side speed up the hill ; a big 

 fence, about the biggest fence in Cumberland, 

 is before us, a copper beech hedge with rails 

 run through. We ride at it ; several refuse ; 

 the field is becoming more and more select. 

 Now and then the cry of ' Seeds ' sounds in 

 our ears, and this means a circuitous round, 

 as the Cumberland farmer on that point is 

 firm. Whether hard or soft the seed field is 

 sacred. We are on rising ground, anxious 

 eyes are turned with the hopes of viewing a 

 second horseman, but they have had no chance. 

 Banks and stone walls follow in quick succes- 

 sion, the scent is tremendous. As we cross a 

 road an old shepherd on his pony greets us, 

 ' I seed t' fox, nobbut a laal un.' And then 

 the excitement overcoming him, he turns his 

 pony at a fence exclaiming, ' T' sheep and t' 

 dog can tak' care o' thersels. I must hev' a 

 hunt,' and he joins us. We are crossing the 

 moorland in Greystoke Park ; it is heavy 

 going and the hounds are leaving us. Blen- 



cathra, or Saddleback as it is commonly called, 

 looms high above us, but we can't stop- 

 Across the broad open space we follow, down 

 into the grey valley of the Caldew, and then 

 begin the ascent. Hounds are facing the hill 

 in full cry. We are forced into a slow trot 

 and at times to a walk. Skiddaw Forest is in 

 front of us. We struggle on. The hounds' 

 notes get fainter and fainter, and only the 

 huntsman and whips pursue as they must. 

 We drop off our exhausted horses. We have 

 done our utmost ; we have lived with the 

 best of them ; and we ride our tired horses 

 home with that consciousness within us and 

 the hope that such a good fox may escape and 

 live to give us another such day. 



Harrier hunting in Cumberland is much 

 the same as in other counties. One important 

 pack of harriers, the ' Eamont,' has disap- 

 peared during the last few years owing to the 

 death of their master, Mr. Carleton Cowper. 

 One or two packs of beagles have sprung into 

 existence, but for the most part the same 

 packs of fell-hounds that have hunted for 

 many years are continuing to do so. Hares 

 in some parts of Cumberland are extremely 

 scarce and becoming more so, and in no part 

 of the country are they very numerous, ex- 

 cept perhaps in Lowther Park and its sur- 

 roundings. 



I would repeat again that the hunting in- 

 stincts are still strong in Cumberland. There 

 are no doubt a few who condemn it there 

 are some who have suffered by their land 

 being overridden there are always some who 

 have no sympathy with hunting, and there 

 are a few pessimists who tell us that hunting 

 will not last ; that bad times, want of 

 money, the prevalence of wire ever increasing 

 will all tend towards its disappearance. But I 

 am an optimist, and I am confident that this, 

 the national sport of England, has a deep- 

 rooted existence in the hearts of the people, 

 and I venture to prophesy that it will be a 

 bad day for the country when hunting ceases 

 to be ; it is the keynote to all sport, and tends 

 to promote and strengthen good feeling and 

 friendship between all classes of men. 



The following is a summary of the sport 

 during the last two years, which gives a fair 

 average and bring this article up to date : 



427 



