2o6 The Poets' Beasts. 



Between these two superlatives stand ranged every con- 

 ceivable degree of comparison, and it is very difficult indeed 

 to decide whether the poetic instinct is hostile to sport, as 

 sport, or is favourable. A few writers devote whole poems 

 to the glorification of the chase in general and certain forms 

 of hunting in particular. On the other hand, a score and 

 more of poets condemn it root and branch. 



Even on special points the diversity of opinion is note- 

 worthy ; for, while some go into raptures over the death of 

 the stag, others mingle their tears with those of " the sobbing 

 victim ; " one party exults over the fox-hunt, styling the 

 field " bold heroes ; " the other calls them " cravens," and 

 says the whole thing is a crying shame. Gay magnifies 

 coursing the hare as a delirious delight ; Somerville calls 

 down the vengeance of Heaven upon " the vile crew " who 

 go after Puss with greyhounds. 



They are not even agreed on facts. The quarrel com- 

 mences at the very beginning. For instance, Somerville 

 says — 



" When Nimrod bold, 

 A mighty hunter ! first made war on beasts ; " 



while Pope has — 



" Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began ; 

 A mighty hunter, and his prey was man." 



And they carry on their differences up to their own days. 

 Thus one poet eulogises the modern lady in the hunting- 

 field, as if she were a Florence Nightingale ; another cries, 

 Fie on her ! and tells the hussy to get home. So that it is 

 not easy to arrive at the just middle of poetical opinion 

 upon the subject of sport. 



But a very unmistakable point upon which our poets are 

 agreed, and, in my opinion, are every one of them open to 

 unfavourable criticism, is their deficiency of sympathy. Of 

 "sentiment" they have a constant abundance. I regret 



