Mr. Punch in the Hunting Field Part 1

Mr. Punch in the Hunting Field.

by Various.

NOTE

From his earliest days MR. PUNCH has been an enthusiast for the Hunting Field. But in this he has only been the faithful recorder of the manners of his countrymen, as there is no sport more redolent of "Merrie England" than that of the Horse and Hound. At no time in MR. PUNCH'S history has he been without an artist who has specialised in the humours of the hunt. First it was the inimitable Leech, some of whose drawings find a place in the present collection, and then the mantle of the sporting artist would seem to have descended to feminine shoulders, as Miss Bowers (Mrs. Bowers-Edwards) wore it for some ten years after 1866.

That lady is also represented in the present work, at pages 49 and 111.

Later came Mr. G. H. Jalland, many of whose drawings we have chosen for inclusion here. Perhaps the most popular of his hunting jokes was that of the Frenchman exclaiming, "Stop ze cha.s.se! I tomble, I faloff! _Stop ze fox!!!_" (see page 141). To-day, of course, it is Mr. G. D. Armour whose pencil is devoted chiefly to ill.u.s.trating the humorous side of hunting; but now, as formerly, most of the eminent artists whose work lies usually in other fields, delight at times to find a subject a.s.sociated with the hunt. Thus we are able to present examples of Mr.

Cecil Aldin and Mr. Raven-Hill in sportive mood, while such celebrities of the past as Randolph Caldecott and Phil May are here drawn upon for the enriching of this, the first book of hunting humour compiled from the abundant chronicles of MR. PUNCH.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'ARRY OUT WITH THE 'OUNDS]

MR. PUNCH IN THE HUNTING FIELD

THE HUNTING SEASON

(_By Jorrocks Junior_)

The season for hunting I see has begun, So adieu for a time to my rod and my gun; And ho! for the fox, be he wild or in bag, As I follow the chase on my high-mettled nag.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WEATHER PERMITTING,"--MR. PUNCH DRIVES TO THE FIRST MEET.]

I call him high-mettled, but still I must state, He hasn't a habit I always did hate, He doesn't walk sideways, like some "gees" you meet, Who go slantindicularly down the street.

He's steady and well broken in, for, of course, I can't risk my life on an unbroken horse; You might tie a torpedo or two on behind, And though they exploded that horse wouldn't mind.

My strong point is costume, and oft I confess I've admired my get-up in a sportsmanlike dress; Though, but for the finish their l.u.s.tre confers, I would much rather be, I declare, without spurs.

They look very well as to cover you ride, But I can't keep the things from the animal's side; And the mildest of "gees," I am telling no fibs, Will resent having liberties ta'en with his ribs.

Then hie to the cover, the dogs are all there, And the horn of the hunter is heard on the air; I've a horn of my own, which in secret I stow, For, oddly enough, they don't like me to blow.

We'll go round by that gate, my good sir, if you please, I'm one of your sportsmen who rides at his ease; And I don't care to trouble my courser to jump, For whenever he does I fall off in a lump.

Then haste to the meet! The Old Berkeley shall find, If I don't go precisely as fast as the wind, If they'll give my Bucephalus time to take breath, We shall both of us, sometimes, be in at the death!

[Ill.u.s.tration: A LION IN THE PATH?

Oh dear no! Merely the "_first open day_" after a long frost, and a tom-t.i.t has been inconsiderate enough to fly suddenly out of the fence on the way to covert!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIALS OF A NOVICE

_Unsympathetic Bystander._ "Taking 'im back to 'is cab, guv'nor?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOW THE LAST RUN OF THE WOPs.h.i.+RE HOUNDS WAS SPOILT.]

PROVERBS FOR THE TIMID HUNTSMAN

_Dressing_

There's no toe without a corn.

If the boot pinches--bear it.

_Breakfast_

A snack in time, saves nine.

Faint hunger never conquered tough beef-steak.

_Mounting_

You can't make a hunter out of a hired hack.

The nearer the ground the safer the seat.

_In the Field_

Take care of the hounds, but the fence may take care of itself.

Too many brooks spoil the sport.

One pair of spurs may bring a horse to the water, but twenty will not make him jump.

It is the howl that shows the funk.

Fools break rails for wise men to go over.

Sn.o.bs and their saddles are soon parted.

_At Luncheon_