HUNTING IN SURREY.
THE annual lists of hunting establishments that are published in the sporting newspapers at this season of the year show that over four hundred and seventy packs of hounds are now kept up in Great Britain and Ireland. Although there are more packs of hounds in this country than there ever have been, it would be idle to deny that hunting is every year faced by greater difficulties and dangers. This is most true of fox-hunting, and particularly of fox- hunting in counties like Surrey, where building, small holdings, pheasant preserving, and wire fencing combine to harass the master, the hounds, the huntsman, the field, and the foxes. Yet hunting still flourishes in Snrrey as soon as one gets beyond the suburbs of the Metropolis; and within quite recent years there have been litters of cubs so near London as Tolwortb and Worcester Park in the Surrey Union country. We viill not pretend that Surrey, even before the days of railways and villa building, was what is called "a good hunting country." This phrase is apparently used in two senses. A good hunting country may mean a country where it is easy for hounds to catch their fox ; or it may mean that the country is a smooth one for those who ride to hounds. In neither sense was Surrey ever anything but a fine, wild, stiff, rough country, with enormous woodlands everywhere, bad scenting ground on the hills, and deep 'clay in the weald along the Sussex border. Even the heather country does not carry a scent as one finds it does in the New Forest. Nowadays, the increase of tame pheasant rearing, which means that old foxes get trapped and shot, and' the increase of house building, which means that 'large districts are impossible, render the , task Of the master who desires to show sport more and more heart-breaking. But in hunting we never can tell beforehand what the day's sport will be; and any day we may see a run which will give us something to think about for the rest of our days, and a tale with which to bore our grandchildren. A master of hounds has many trials. He should, if he can, be good tempered and an optimist. There is an anecdote of the Hon. Francis Scott, who was master of the Surrey Union between thirty and forty years ago. At the' end of a very good bunt, when his hounds were eating a fox who had made a ten-mile point, one of the field came tip saying : "Surely, Master, this is the run of the season ? " "At present, it is," was Mr. Scott's reply. So long as this spirit prevails, fox-hunting will exhibit no signs of falling off in Surrey, where four packs of foxhounds afford extra- ordinary good sport considering the many obstacles that have to be met.
These thoughts on hunting in Surrey are partly suggested by a book that has recently appeared, "The Old Surrey Fox Hounds," by Mr. Humphrey R. Taylor (Longmans and Co., 10s. 6d. net). Besides many interesting particulars concerning the history of the hunt from its earliest days to the present time, Mr. Taylor has collected a number of old prints, especially charming being those by Wolstenholme which depict hunting in Surrey as it was about 1820. In the earliest times of which any record can be found Mr. Gobsall was master and the kennels were at Bermondsey. This was towards the latter part of the eighteenth century. Then came Mr. Snow, who moved the kennels to Godstone. In 1840 kennels and hounds were moved to Garston Hall, near Couladon, where they are at the present day. Nor in the matter of huntsmen is the continuity less remarkable. In 1816 the celebrated Tom Hills, whose portrait was painted by Sir Francis Grant, became huntsman. From 1861 to 1892 his son carried the horn. So, save for a three years' interval, the Old Surrey were hunted by Tom and Sam Hills, father and son, for a period of seventy-six years. It is this that the hunting poet records in a song which ends :—
" Hurrah ! let each drink as a tumbler he fills: May the Old Surrey hunt last as long a& her Hills I " We have already observed that Surrey is a rough hunting country and that the Survey hills are steep. Sam Hills has a story of how, after a very severe run, he got off his horse at the edge of the downs to take the fox from the hounds. The master rode up soon after with a remark about the huntsman's horse. "He was all right when I left him," was the huntsman's reply. "Well, he's not all right now," rejoined the master, "because he has rolled down the bill !"
It is plain from Mr. Taylor's book that the Old Surrey Hunt is in a parlous condition. The hunting establishment and the pack may never have been better, but their country and their foxes are disappearing. It is, of course, a long time since they could meet at Peckham, Forest Hill, or Streatham, and find foxes in the coverts of which all trace is now lost. But now there is no hunting possible north of Croydon, and far to the south there is much building. The best country along the Sussex border has been made over to the Burstow. The Old Surrey have given up their dog-pack and reduced their bunting-days to two a week. During the last season the number of blank days was dis- appointing. The scarcity of foxes is increasing, and there can be little hope of an alteration for the better. This is the more deplorable as during the long mastership of Mr. Edmund Byron, who reigned from 1877 to 1902, the average of sport was high, and from 1877 to 1883 the Old Surrey did not have a single blank day. Let us, however, turn away from the melancholy to the more cheerful side of Surrey fox-hunting. Mr. Taylor several times remarks, and others have said the same thing, that Surrey is not Leicestershire. We have pointed out that fox-hunting in Surrey never was like hunting in the shires, and the same may be said of other provincial countries. Surrey is a woodland country in which it is almost impossible to make a fox face the open. Hunting in such a country, with steep hills and many unjumpable fences, bears little resemblance to a fox-chase over the grass with flying fences. But given an old fox, a good scent, and hounds keen for blood, no one who cares for hunting at all can fail to be stirred by the sport. We all hear and read about those twenty minutes at racing pace from Melton Spinney, or the wonderful point which a fox has made from Ranksborough Gorse. But who, except those that hunt there, know or care about hunting in Surrey ? There may be better bunting perhaps, but we are quite certain that Surrey hunting is much better than no hunting at all. If any one wants to know what hunting in Surrey is like, let him meet the Surrey Union at Horsley and see them find a fox in Barnetbornes or Brambleride and hunt him through the woods to the bills. Or let him go out with the Ohiddingfold when they are at Dunsfold Common, and watch them stick to their hunted fox as he dodges about the interminable chestnut copses and muddy oak woods of the Weald. Who can desire anything better than to see a fox found in the fern on the top of Hascombe Hill (from which you can look for thirty miles across Sussex and Hampshire), and to watch the pack as they disappear, racing down, until they are only specks in the fields below, whilst you follow as best you may. Spring hunting is delightful everywhere; and who can show us anything prettier than an April day on Ranmore Common when the sky is blue, and larks sing, and the hounds are drawing the gorse which is bursting into yellow blossom ? And when they find, there is such a crash of music that it brings tears into your eyes. It may be a problem whether it is better to hunt with bad hounds in a good country or with good hounds in a bad country. But if one is to hunt in a bad country, there can be no doubt that a pretty country is to be preferred. The Surrey packs, as far as hounds are concerned, are all that can be wanted. And where can one find a county to compare with Surrey ? There are still miles and miles -of downs and heaths and woodlands undefiled by builders. Nothing is wanted but a stock of strong, wild, seasoned foxes. This is, in some parts of Surrey, a difficulty. Given a good fox, as delightful bunting may be had in Surrey as in almost any other provincial woodland country. If only an old dog- fox is to be found, a wet day in the Hurtwood is not without a charm. Some happy persons are even capable of enjoying a blank day.
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