Sporting Society Volume I Part 18

The black-and-tan setters in Cla.s.s 37 (dogs) were good; but in Cla.s.s 38 (b.i.t.c.hes) were still better.

Cla.s.s 39, setters (Irish dogs), was good. Curiously enough, there was exactly the same entry this year as last, viz., 14. Mr Stone, with Dash, spotted the first prize; Mr Purcell Llewellin, the second with Kite, V.H.C. with Kimo, and three others got V.H.C.

In 1872 the entry for Cla.s.s 40, setters (Irish b.i.t.c.hes), was 10; this year it was only 8; but they were the best lot that have ever been shown at the Hall, and so highly were they thought of by the judges that every one in the cla.s.s was highly commended. Here three gentlemen, probably the best breeders of the Irish setter we have, contended, viz.:--Captains Cooper and Allaway and Mr Purcell Llewellin. Captain Cooper exhibited three, Captain Allaway one, Mr Llewellin one; but the first prize fell to neither of these gentlemen, Mr Jephson beating them on the post with Lilly II., and Captain Cooper running a good second with Eilie; though neither were bred by the same gentleman, yet each was two years and four months old.

There were 78 entries for retrievers. For the best in all cla.s.ses (curly-coated), Mr Morris took it with True; he also secured the Champion Cla.s.s b.i.t.c.hes (curly-coated) with X L; second prize in Cla.s.s 43 with Marquis; highly commended in same cla.s.s with Monarch; first prize in Cla.s.s 44 with Moretta. So with an entry of six he secured three first prizes, one second, and one highly commended--good form indeed.

My old friend Mr Gorse, one of our very best breeders, took the champion prize in smooth or wavy-coated dogs with Sailor, four years old; and a fine animal he is. The spaniels were 82 entries, and some very good ones, too, there were among them. Cla.s.ses 55 and 56 were capital. Better have never been seen at Curzon Hall.

The greyhounds were a poor lot. It is not the time of year for hounds or greyhounds, as they are all at work.

The non-sporting and toy cla.s.ses were well represented. And it was amusing to see the excitement and hear the exclamations of some of the ladies on looking at the cages which held these beautiful little animals.

I have often thought how much better it would be if ladies, or others who want dogs, instead of sending to a London dealer, who is almost sure to "do" them, were to attend such shows as Birmingham, the Crystal Palace, or Nottingham. There you can pick out what you want--always remembering you must give a good price for a good article. But, then, if you intend to exhibit, and you have a good animal, it will soon pay itself; and if you breed, the pups will see your money back.

Good as the other exhibitions have been at Birmingham, this must be considered the best; and with an entry of 944 against 911 of last year.

At the time of writing this--the 3rd December--I have seen no letters from disappointed exhibitors or others. But then, "Bell's Life," "Land and Water," and THE Authority (_query_) have not yet appeared.

The "Times," however, for the 2nd December, says it was a most capital show.

Both Mr Murchison and the Rev. Mr Tennison Mosse were conspicuous by their absence, but I hope to see them to the fore again at the Crystal Palace Show, with their unapproachable fox and Dandie Dinmont terriers.

Talking of fox-terriers, I have overlooked them. Not only was the entry a grand one (127), but the quality was good too. I love the terrier, for he is a sporting little dog, no matter what breed; but the fox-terrier is the favourite, if one may judge from the entries. But why other terriers, such as smooth-haired, black-and-tan, Skye, drop-eared, and others, Dandie Dinmont, broken-haired, wire-haired, and Bedlington should not be included in the sporting cla.s.ses, I have ever been at a loss to imagine. There is no better terrier exists to drive heavy gorse for rabbits than the Dandie Dinmont. He is the gamest of the game, and no cover, however thick, will stop him. Mr Wootton of Mapperley, near Nottingham, has a magnificent breed of wire-haired terriers, the best in England. For this cla.s.s (92), there were twelve entries; but Mr Wootton skinned the lamb, taking first and second prizes with Venture and Tip, and the highly commended Spot being bred by him.

Whatever sort of terrier Mr Wootton has, you may be sure of one thing--that it is the right sort.

I confess to a _penchant_ for the wire-haired terrier, rather than the fox-terrier, for the latter are now bred very soft and delicate--there is too much Italian greyhound in them for me. Of course I am speaking generally. Give me, if I must have fox-terriers, hard ones, such as Old Jock was--something that will stand wet and cold, the cut-and-come-again sort.

One thing I sincerely hope will be done away with next year at Birmingham, viz.:--the photographic dodge of advertis.e.m.e.nt, as was the case with Mr Price's Belle. It is quite wearying enough to inflict his long-winded pedigrees on the public, without the picture puff; and I trust the committee will see the necessity of putting a stop to this, or in a few years Curzon Hall will be turned into a photographic gallery instead of a dog show, which I hardly think would be pleasing to the visitors.

The next dog show of any importance will be at the Crystal Palace, held from June 9th to the 12th. It is to be hoped that the judges this year will be properly selected; but as it is to be held under the auspices of the Kennel Club, I suppose none but their own clique will officiate.

But let me hope they will see the folly of such a course, and that they will select judges that do not belong to their a.s.sociation--then the public will have confidence, which they will not if _members of the club exhibit_, and _members of the club adjudicate_.

HUNTINGCROP HALL.

"Reputation! Reputation! oh, I have lost my reputation!" It was, I believe, one Michael Ca.s.sio, a Florentine, who originally made the remark; and I can only say I sincerely wish I were in Michael Ca.s.sio's position, and could lose mine. It may be a "bubble," this same reputation; indeed, we have high authority for so terming it: but "bubble" rhymes with "trouble," and that is the condition to which such a reputation as mine is apt to bring you; for it supposes me to be a regular Nimrod, whereas I know about as much of the science of the chase as my supposit.i.tious prototype probably knew of ballooning: it sets me down as being "at home in the saddle;" whereas it is there that I am, if I may be allowed the expression, utterly at sea.

When, last November, I was seated before a blazing fire in Major Huntingcrop's town house, and his too charming daughter, Laura, expressed her enthusiastic admiration for hunting, and everything connected with it--mildly at the same time hinting her contempt for those who were unskilled in the accomplishment--could I possibly admit that I was amongst the despised cla.s.s? Was it not rather a favourable opportunity for showing our community of sentiment by vowing that the sport was the delight of my life, and firing off a few sentences laden with such sporting phraseology as I had happened to pick up in the course of desultory reading?

Laura listened with evident admiration. I waxed eloquent. My arm-chair would not take the bit between its teeth and run away; no hounds were in the neighbourhood to test my prowess; and I am grieved to admit that for a fearful ten minutes "the father of ---- stories" (what a family he must have!) had it all his own way with me.

"_Atra cura sedet post equitem_ indeed!" I concluded. "You may depend upon it, Miss Huntingcrop, that man was mounted on a screw!

Black Care would never dare to intrude his unwelcome presence on a galloper. Besides, why didn't the fellow put his horse at a hurdle?

Probably Black Care wouldn't have been able to sit a fence. But I quite agree with you that it is the _duty_ of a gentleman to hunt; and I only wish that the performance of some of my other duties gave me half as much pleasure!"

Where I should have ended it is impossible to say; but here our _tete-a-tete_ was interrupted by the advent of the Major, who heard the tag end of my panegyric with manifest delight.

"Huntingcrop is the place for you, Mr Smoothley," said he, with enthusiasm, "and I shall be more than pleased to see you there. I think, too, we shall be able to show you some of your favourite sport this season. We meet four days a week, and you may reckon on at least one day with the Gra.s.smere. It is always a sincere pleasure to me to find a young fellow whose heart is in it."

As regards my heart, it was in my boots at the prospect; and, despite the great temptation of Laura's presence, I paused, carefully to consider the _pros_ and _cons_ before accepting.

How pleasant to see her fresh face every morning at the breakfast-table--how unpleasant to see a horse--most likely painfully fresh also--waiting to bear me on a fearsome journey as soon as the meal was concluded! How delightful to feel the soft pressure of her fingers as she gave me morning greeting: how awful to feel my own fingers numbed and stiff with tugging at the bridle of a wild, tearing, unmanageable steed! How enjoyable to--

"Are you engaged for Christmas, Mr Smoothley?" Laura inquired, and that query settled me. It might freeze--I could sprain my ankle, or knock up an excuse of some sort. Yes, I would go; and might good luck go with me.

For the next few days I unceasingly studied the works of Major Whyte-Melville, and others who have most to say on what they term sport, and endeavoured to get up a little enthusiasm. I did get up a little--_very_ little; but when the desired quality had made its appearance, attracted by my authors' wizard-like power, it was of an extremely spurious character, and entirely evaporated when I arrived at the little railway station nearest to the Hall. A particularly neat groom, whom I recognised as having been in town with the Huntingcrops, was awaiting me in a dogcart, and the conveyance was just starting when we met a string of horses, hooded and sheeted, pa.s.sing along the road: in training, if I might be permitted to judge from their actions, for the wildest scenes in "Mazeppa," "d.i.c.k Turpin," or some other exciting equestrian drama. I did not want the man to tell me that they were his master's: I knew it at once; and the answers he made to my questions as to their usual demeanour in the field plunged me into an abyss of despair.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I unceasingly studied the works of Major Whyte-Melville, and endeavoured to get up a little enthusiasm."--_Page 271._]

The hearty welcome of the Major, the more subdued but equally inspiriting greeting of his daughter, and the contagious cheerfulness of a house full of pleasant people, in some measure restored me; but it was not until the soothing influence of dinner had taken possession of my bosom, and a whisper had run through the establishment that it was beginning to freeze, that I thoroughly recovered my equanimity, and was able to retire to rest with some small hope that my bed next night would not be one of pain and suffering.

Alas for my antic.i.p.ations! I was awakened from slumber by a knock at the door, and the man entered my room with a can of hot water in one hand and a pair of tops in the other; while over his arm were slung my--in point of fact, my breeches; a costume which I had never worn except on the day it came home, when I spent the greater portion of the evening sportingly arrayed astride of a chair, to see how it all felt.

"Breakfast at nine, sir. Hounds meet at Blackbrook at half-past ten; and it's a good way to ride," said the servant.

"The frost's all gone, I fea---- I hope?" I said, inquiringly.

"Yes, sir. Lovely morning!" he answered, drawing up the blinds.

In his opinion a lovely morning was characterised by slightly damp, muggy weather; in mine it would have been a daybreak of ultra-Siberian intensity.

I ruefully dressed, lamenting that my will was not a little stronger (nor were thoughts of my other will--and testament--entirely absent), that I might have fled from the trial, or done something to rescue myself from the exposure which I felt must shortly overwhelm me. The levity of the men in the breakfast-room was a source of suffering to me, and even Laura's voice jarred on my ears as she pet.i.tioned her father to let her follow "just a little way"--she was going to ride and see the hounds "throw off," a ceremony which I devoutly hoped would be confined to those animals--"because it was _too_ hard to turn back when the real enjoyment commenced; and she would be good in the pony-carriage for the rest of the week."

"No, no, my dear," replied the Major; "women are out of place in the hunting field. Don't you think so, Mr Smoothley?"

"I do, indeed, Major," I answered, giving Laura's little dog under the table a fearful kick as I threw out my foot violently to straighten a crease which was severely galling the inside of my left knee. "You had far better go for a quiet ride, Miss Huntingcrop, and"--how sincerely I added--"I shall be delighted to accompany you; there will be plenty of days for me to hunt when you drive to the meet."

"No, no, Smoothley. It's very kind of you to propose it, but I won't have you sacrificing your day's pleasure," the Major made answer, dashing the crumbs of hope from my hungering lips. "You may go a little way, Laura, if you'll promise to stay with Sir William, and do all that he tells you. You won't mind looking after her, Heathertopper?"

Old Sir William's build would have forbidden the supposition that he was in any way given to activity, even if the stolidity of his countenance had not a.s.sured you that caution was in the habit of marking his guarded way; and he made suitable response. I was just debating internally as to the least circuitous mode by which I could send myself a telegram, requiring my immediate presence in town, when a sound of hoofs informed us that the horses were approaching; and gazing anxiously from the window before me, which overlooked the drive in front of the house, I noted their arrival.

Now the horse is an animal which I have always been taught to admire. A "n.o.ble animal" he is termed by zoologists, and I am perfectly willing to admit his n.o.bility when he conducts himself with reticence and moderation; but when he gyrates like a teetotum on his hind legs, and wildly spars at the groom he ought to respect, I cease to recognise any qualities in him but the lowest and most degrading.

Laura hastened to the window, and I rose from the table and followed her.

"You pretty darlings!" she rapturously exclaimed. "Oh! are you going to ride The Sultan, Mr Smoothley? How nice! I do so want to, but papa won't let me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Gazing anxiously from the window before me, I noted the arrival of the horses. Laura hastened to the window. 'You pretty darlings!' she rapturously exclaimed."--_Pages 274-5._]

"No, my dear; he's not the sort of horse for little girls to ride;--but he'll suit you, Smoothley; he'll suit you, I know."

Without expressing a like confidence, I asked, "Is that the Sultan?"

pointing to a large chestnut animal at that moment in the att.i.tude which, in a dog, is termed "begging."

"Yes; a picture, isn't he? Look at his legs. Clean as a foal's! Good quarters--well ribbed up--not like one of the waspy greyhounds they call thoroughbred horses now-a-days. Look at his condition, too; I've kept that up pretty well, though he's been out of training for some time," cried the Major.