117 



CHAPTER XII. 



THE BURTON. 



Across the plough'd grounds, well hunted, good hounds, 

 But you must come down to your noses. 



Another country of which T must lay some description before 

 my readers is the Burton, and although there are now many 

 better to be found, in what has been termed the Homeric 

 age of fox-hunting, the early part of the present century, it 

 ranked quite as one of the best, and some of our most cele- 

 brated masters of hounds have thought it worthy of their time 

 and attention to hunt it. Its records commence in 1780, when 

 Lord Monson was master; Evans was his huntsman, Tom 

 Barnes the first whip, and James Wilson second. The hounds 

 were, tradition asserts, of a very handsome black, white, and 

 tan colour, and from them the Belvoir derived the colour which 

 has been so jealously preserved in the kennel. They must 

 also have been of some celebrity, as T find one called Crier was 

 used in the Brocklesby kennel, and that would be enough to 

 at once stamp them as something out of the common ; they were 

 also famed for their stoutness, but were not particularly level ; 

 in fact, that was not so much noticed in those days as the pre- 

 sent. Men cared less for show and more for work; good 

 voices and fine noses were more especially sought after. I once 

 heard old WiU Danby, at the York Hound Show, when some 

 of the huntsmen were having a joke with him about his bow 



