THE OLD ORDER CHANGES 



than myself to see the pack back in their hands. This is my 

 twentieth season here ; of course, there is much change, but 

 the goodness of the farmers, under very trying circumstances, 

 is the same." 



Of these whippers-in there were of special note, Wells, 

 above-mentioned, now a huntsman of seventeen years* stand- 

 ing, carrying the horn well ; George Gillson, one of the best 

 and soundest huntsmen now at work, and whose wonderful 

 pack of musical bitches at Barleythorpe show that he did 

 not study in vain in the school of Gillard, and learned, as 

 his hound lists show, to value Belvoir blood ; and George 

 Cottrell, the galloping whipper-in, of whom Gillard tells a 

 good story : — 



" On a particular occasion, when a locked gate with an up- 

 hill take-off and bad landing confronted the field, some one 

 said, ' Now, George, give us a lead, and we'll give you a 

 sovereign if you smash it' Cottrell, riding a mare bought 

 from Mr. Philip Hornsby, humped his back, rammed the mare 

 at it, getting well over without breaking the top bar, but he 

 at once pulled up, and drew the sovereign." ^ 



For some years the hunt went on in the even tenor of 

 its way — the Duke still able to go out from time to time, 

 and always keen about the pack and looking after its in- 

 terests, and, with the help of Mr. Frederick Sloane Stanley, 

 carrying on a great deal of correspondence. When the Duke 

 was out, nothing escaped his eye, and if the old enemy, the 

 gout, detained him at the Castle, or sent him abroad, he ex- 

 pected from his huntsman an account of each day's proceed- 

 ings. To one who knew the country and the pack so well 

 such narratives were full of interest, but it is difficult to convey 

 the dash and fire of a run to paper. 



In 1883, when Gillard was driving the van home, one of 

 the horses shied, the wheel going up a bank, and the whole 

 staff, with Champion, the well-known Goodwood huntsman, 

 were rolled over, Gillard being the only one injured. This 

 was bad luck, coming, too, at the close of the cub-hunting 

 season, and Arthur Wilson had to hunt the hounds, with 

 ^ Hunting Reminiscences, by Frank Gillard, p. 121. 

 323 



