HUNTING THE FOX 181 



the only portraits in Whyte-Melville's gallery that 

 most people will remember by name without much 

 effort. Mr. Sawyer and his fiat-catching horse 

 Marathon, the Honble. Crasher, and Parson Dove 

 have been too well drawn to be easily forgotten, 

 while the spirit of horse-coping that pervades the 

 whole book seems to reappear in most modern 

 transactions. 



When we speak of the Poetry of Fox-hunting 

 we probably mean nothing more than Verse. If 

 Coleridge was correct in saying that " Poetry is 

 the blossom and fragrance of all human knowledge, 

 human thoughts, human passions, emotions, lan- 

 guage," then it is doubtful if true poetry can be 

 a vehicle for the spirit of the hunting-field. Yet, 

 on the other hand, as Shakespeare has not omitted 

 to write about the Chase and about Hounds, 



match'd in mouth like bells 

 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 

 Was never hoUoa'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 



perhaps it may be claimed that hunting has indeed 

 received the authority of the poets. Those who 

 wish to examine this proposition cannot do better 

 than read a delightful work called The Diary of 

 Master William Silence; a Study of Shakespeare 

 and of Elizabethan Sport, by the Right Honble. 

 D. H. Madden, Vice-Chancellor of the University of 

 Dublin, The author reminds us of Dr. Johnson's 



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