The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

The Sportswoman's Library.

Vol. II.

From a Sketch by W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A. For The Sportswoman's Library.

PUNTS RACING.

(THE START.)

THE
SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.

EDITED BY

FRANCES E. SLAUGHTER.

VOLUME II.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
W. L. WYLLIE, A.R.A., CUTHBERT BRADLEY,
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS.

WESTMINSTER:
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO.,
NEW YORK:
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.,
1898.

DEDICATED
BY PERMISSION TO THE
MARCHIONESS OF WORCESTER
A KEEN SPORTSWOMAN AND WIFE
OF ONE OF THE FOREMOST
SPORTSMEN OF THE AGE.

BIRMINGHAM:
PRINTED AT THE GUILD PRESS. 45, GREAT CHARLES STREET.

THE SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.

Vol. II.

[Contents.]

[PREFACE.]

When I look at the completed MSS. of the first volumes of the Sportswoman's Library, I feel deeply grateful to the many good sportswomen who have aided me in my work, not only for the great stores of practical knowledge they have brought to bear on the several subjects of which we have treated, but for the way in which they have collaborated with me. For this my warmest thanks are due to them one and all.

The object we have placed before us, is to give women the information and help they are not likely to find in those books, which are written chiefly from a man's point of view, and we have therefore avoided, as far as possible, trenching on ground that has been already adequately covered by those who, to sportsmen and sportswomen alike, are the best authorities on the various subjects. If, therefore, our writings sometimes seem to be wanting in completeness, it is, I venture to think, to be attributed to this cause.

When I first gathered round me the body of contributors, some of whom were personally unknown to me, I could but feel that the many threads I held in my hand might prove to be a very "tangled skein," before the work was brought to completion. This foreboding, however, I am glad to say, was entirely without foundation, for each writer threw herself into her part with such genuine determination to do the best she could for the matter of her work, that the minor details as to the manner in which it should be given to the world, did not assume undue proportions, and there has been nothing to throw the slightest shadow over the harmony in which we have worked. That the effort we have thus jointly made to give some help to our sister-sportswomen may be successful, is to wish the writers the best reward they can have, for the labour they have bestowed.

Besides my fellow workers, I have a debt of gratitude to discharge to all who have so kindly assisted me. Foremost among these I must acknowledge the valuable help given by Lady Gifford, Mrs. Pryse-Rice, Mrs. Cheape, and Miss Lloyd, of Bronwydd, without whose assistance I could not have ventured to write on the subject of Hare-Hunting: by Mr. T. F. Dale, author of The Game of Polo, whose great practical knowledge of sport has made him an invaluable referee on many important questions: by another good sportsman, Captain the Hon. R. C. Drummond, who generously gave me the benefit of his advice on matters which have been a lifelong study to him: by Elizabeth, Lady Wilton; Lady Theodora Guest, Lady Gerard, Lady Dorothy Coventry, Mrs. Wrangham, Mrs. T. E. Harrison, Miss Serrell, Mr. C. H. Bassett, late Master of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds; Mr. Ian Heathcoat-Amory, Master of the Tiverton Staghounds; Mr. W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A.; Miss Maud Earl, Miss Walrond, Mr. Cuthbert Bradley, Dr. Lewis Mackenzie, Miss Florence Ritson, and Mrs. Dudley Smith.

I must also acknowledge the help so readily given by Mr. Charles Lancaster, and Messrs. Holland and Holland, on the sport with which their names are so closely connected, and I must thank those photographers who have exercised their skill on our behalf, viz.: Messrs. Lombardi and Co., who, from the first, have helped us largely; Messrs. Lambert Weston, J. Weston and Son, Stuart, Becken, and A. Debenham.

My thanks are also due to the Proprietors of Baily's Magazine, The Field, The Gentlewoman, and The Lady's Pictorial.

Lastly, I must discharge the debt of gratitude I owe Messrs. A. Constable and Co., for the unfailing courtesy I have met with at their hands, and for the hearty way in which they have thrown themselves into the interests of the book.

Whether we have all succeeded in our object, viz., to give clear, practical directions to women in the several outdoor recreations of which we have written, it is for our readers to determine, and on their verdict will depend the extension of our plan to other branches of sports and pastimes.

To the great body of sportsmen, who so far have held almost undisputed sway in the realm of sporting literature, I would plead:

"Softly, my Masters!
Do me this right—hear me with patience."

The Editor.

Beeding,
March 31st, 1898.

MISS BARBARA HUGHES.

Debenham and Smith. Southampton.

[CRUISING AND SMALL YACHT RACING ON THE SOLENT.]

How can I with my poor pen do justice to all the delights of yachting as practised on the Solent? We need a nautical Whyte Melville to describe the joys of yacht-racing, and the real good sport which is its chief characteristic.

What an exciting game it is, how enthralling, how interesting, and more important still, how wholesome. What a benefit for city men to get right away to the sea, and enjoy such a complete change and relaxation as this racing affords. And how much they do appreciate it is shown by the number of little boats owned by stockbrokers and others who can only get down occasionally, but, nevertheless, keep their boats out the whole season through, so as not to lose the chance of a sail when their opportunity comes. Not on the principle that race-horses are kept, either, as every one knows there is no chance of a racing boat doing more than pay her own way at best, for the prizes are barely adequate to meet the expenses.

Yacht-racing makes quite a new interest in life. The clever mathematician can find a large field for his energies in the designing line, and the keen sailor a never-wearying delight in developing to the utmost the powers of the boat confided to him.

How much better than the London drawing-room's close atmosphere is the fresh sea air, and the delightful freedom of bounding over the waves in a well-equipped craft, with the additional pinch of excitement afforded by racing. Let me assure you no fear of sea-sickness need deter any. Many of us would not be proof against a long Channel swell in a large steamer, but the motion of our little boats over the diminished waves inside the Wight, is not likely to upset any but the most pronounced bad sailor.

Besides, the excitement of racing drives away all qualms of that sort, sea-sickness being, I believe, in most cases the result of boredom and nervous anticipation as much as anything else. No one could hate "yachting" as generally accepted more than I do. Anything so boring as a long sea voyage in a great lumbering schooner, I cannot imagine. The fact of "being taken," in nine cases out of ten, "where one would not," without having a hand in the matter, with a large crew of slow men to do all the work and take all the fun off one's hands, is to me nothing but an aggravation. The deliberate "cut and dried" way in which everything is done, the foresail being lowered and the peak eased when about two miles from the moorings, and such cautious measures, fidget me to death. There is this about racing, that one can never enjoy cruising in the same way after one has experienced its far superior joys. I must say, however, it is rather nice after the scrimmage of a long day's racing, to get on board a solid old cruiser and bundle peacefully home. But woe betide you if the wind is ahead, for you won't get home that night. No, you must be of a very leisurely disposition, and a great lover of Nature, for you to appreciate stereotyped cruising. This kind of thing is about as different from our Solent yachting, as the Derby is from a Margate donkey ride.

Of course I can understand the pleasure of cruising if the owner is also master of his vessel, but such a state of things is the exception, the owners mostly passing their time in standing about deck, or having large meals below, utterly oblivious of their course, their compass, or anything else. This must be a very stagnant amusement at the best, impossible to an energetic disposition, and only suited to an invalid, or man in his declining years. To people who lack any sporting instincts, racing, I suppose, seems ridiculous, but if they love the sea let them learn all about it, and navigate their own vessels like men, instead of being mere passengers on board their own craft, while their skipper is getting all the fun. Some women have taken their own line in this matter, and having mastered the science of navigation, are most enthusiastic on the subject, realising how it enhances a hundred-fold the pleasures of a sea voyage.

The news of a large schooner being on the stocks now-a-days comes as a surprise, as this type of vessel has almost entirely gone out of fashion in this country. That is to say, though there are still several to be seen about, the old ones being used because they are too good to throw away, so to speak, no new ones have been built for years. The advantages of steam are so great for cruising and travel, that they outweigh the more pleasant sensation of sailing, which is the schooner's only claim to superiority. The difference in the expense is not very great after all, as you require double the crew in a sailing craft, and at least double the time to accomplish your distance. So if you want to get—say to Gibraltar—the chances are, that the extra time for which you are paying your crew, would easily cover your coal bill on the steamer. The auxiliary in nine cases out of ten proves a simple farce. Many, I know, have never once set their sails. It requires all the crew of an "out-and-out" sailing boat, and also the great unwieldly spars, which make it a bad sea boat when not under canvas. I would only recommend an auxiliary to a real wanderer, a born "man of the sea" like Lord Brassey, for whom of course there is nothing like it. The variety afforded in sailing and steaming on a lengthened sea trip, must be attractive and resting, and when both courses are open, you would not need to carry so much coal as in a steamer, or endure the wearisome hours becalmed in a heavy swell, which are such a drawback to sailing.

The discomfort people will endure in the name of yachting, has always been a marvel to me. The less they know about the life on board, the more you will find they patiently put up with. They seem to think because they are on a yacht, cleanliness, cuisine, even elbow-room itself, should be entirely abjured. The miseries that rational, civilised human beings will suffer in this respect, is a constant source of wonder, to those who know how unnecessary they are. Not that these sufferers do not like yachting, for they are even persuaded to put their foot on board a yacht a second time after such experiences. It is only novices in the game, however, that you will find suffering these deprivations, for, believe me, there is no need for them. Do not overcrowd your vessel, or cut her accommodation up into about a dozen little cabins, into which you would not put a dog on land. You really require double the room for living afloat that you do ashore, as even your exercise has to be taken on board. There is nothing to prevent your having most home comforts, a boiling hot sea-water bath every morning, for example, and your meals served as well as they are in your own house. Neither need you have a bed only two feet wide, so that it is impossible to turn over without parting with the bedclothes. It is no longer necessary to go about on all fours, even in a 20-tonner, any size below which I would not recommend for a night's lodging.

DAPHNE AND LIL.

West and Son. Southsea.

It is the custom of builders to furnish a small saloon with gigantic sideboards, or lockers, as they are called. These are ugly, clumsy, superfluous impediments, which are only made into receptacles for every sort of rubbish, and take up an immense amount of room. There is no need to have your store cupboard in the drawing-room, as by a little ingenuity ample room can be devised in the pantry, and in a safe on deck. Another plan is to have a passage down the side from forward right away aft, which obviates the perpetual disturbance of the stewards passing through your sitting-room. There is then only one door, which necessarily makes a much cosier room. Unless you are an assured good sailor, do not be beguiled into occupying the "after cabin," which is likewise called the "ladies' cabin." How it earned this appellation I am at a loss to explain, as I was always brought up to suppose ladies came first, and if they are relegated to the after cabin they very decidedly come off second-best. There is twice the motion aft that there is in the middle of the vessel, and in a steamer you feel twice the vibration, beside being right over the screw.

How one gets spoilt! I remember sailing about as proud as Punch in an old Itchen ferry boat, with ragged sails and tarred topsides. The distances we used to cover, and the weather we went through in this old Zephyr are a wonder to look back upon. The whole day, from nine in the morning till nine at night, used to be spent on board, and the experience never palled, as far as I remember. Large lunches were always provided, in case of our getting becalmed, or stuck on the mud, both very frequent occurrences. We were always out to tea, and to boil the kettle in a choppy sea was the great excitement. There was only a kind of dog-hole place forward, where this important function took place. It was a severe test for the best "sailor" to balance a hot lamp, head over ears in methylated spirits, the hot fumes of which inundated the small cabin, while she patiently waited till the water boiled.

It was even worse at night, when a smelly paraffin lamp which would have made the atmosphere almost unbearable ashore, had to be endured, and in a small and lively boat was certainly trying. When we were "caught out" on our way home from some long expedition, the unfortunate women of the party used to be thrust into this salubrious resort, ostensibly for their own comfort, really and truly, to get them out of the way. That was a place, when there were half a dozen women in there, a paraffin lamp, and the door shut! If one of us ventured so much as to open a chink of door, it was instantly shut again, with such exclamations from our male tyrants as—"Whatever you want to come out for, into all this wet and cold, when you can be warm and cosy in there, I can't think," upon which the brow-beaten female crawled back disconsolate into her lair, muttering rebelliously. And yet we were nothing daunted. Out we would be again with the dawn, to go through all the same thing without a dissenting thought.

We had not even the luxury of a paid hand in those days, my brother, and my sisters and myself doing all the work, which was a splendid education in more ways than one. I reluctantly confess I am spoilt for this sort of thing now, though I shall always look back upon the time with pleasure, and I very much doubt if it was not one of the most enjoyable experiences in my life. It was all so new, so different from inland amusements, and I then learnt that a sea life has a charm all its own.

In 1888 we hired a 40-ton old-fashioned yawl called the Fox, with which we went in for the regular stereotyped cruising, as generally accepted. It was not a success, and I cannot say I enjoyed it. My back was always aching from stooping, and there was a permanent bruise on my head from constant impact with the beams. Besides, we were always being thwarted in our most urgent desires by the weather—as the skipper said—really by the incompetence of the vessel to cope with the elements. It was never worth while for instance starting with a head wind, as the time the yawl would take in accomplishing any distance, would have worn even Job's patience to a shadow.

Of course we share the sailor's love of fishing, and two large trawlers have been built at Brixham, by my brother and brother-in-law, for the special purpose. The Goddess was a huge great yawl, most comfortable below, and a grand sea boat. We did plenty of trawling in her, miles outside the Eddystone, and made some grand hauls. She had an enormous great trawl-beam, and steam to get it with. Night was the best time for fishing, and we were not spared if we happened to be enjoying our beauty sleep, when the momentous four hours were up. The row of course would have awaked the dead, and so we scrimmaged into our clothes and rushed on deck ready to claw the great net on board. A waterproof overall and indiarubber boots were essential for this performance, and old gauntlet gloves were a precaution against stinging fish, advisable for the uninitiated. What a grand sight it was. Picture a bright moonlight night, when you were alone on the great rolling ocean, nothing in sight except perhaps the fitful gleam of the Eddystone in the far distance. The great vessel with shortened sail, dipping and curtseying to the proud billows which toyed with her bulky form, as though it was nothing more than a feather. Then amidst great shouting and racket, the huge trawl-beam was brought slowly alongside, and the heavy net was clawed on board full of treasures from "the hallowed precincts of the deep." What a flippering was there, from whiting, soles, red mullet, etc., etc. What wonderful curiosities do live in Davey Jones' locker. All kinds of leggy, finny, and jelly mollusca, none of them very appetising in appearance, and most of them imbued with some formidable means of defence, such as a sting or a prickle. Once we got two enormous dog-fish, measuring five foot long, they were a great nuisance, as they cut the net all to pieces and were no good to man or beast.

One of the best hauls we ever made was in the Wayfarer, my brother's trawler, between Torquay and Dartmouth, when we had the whole deck full of fish, mostly whiting and soles, and the trouble was to get rid of them, even though we supplied every one in Dartmouth, and that in the time of the regatta.

Brixham and Bosham fishermen are much pleasanter to deal with than the self-styled "Yachtsmen," and they give much less trouble, do more work and require less wage. The custom of making a friend of the "Captain" is a huge mistake, as these individuals are usually the most wholesale extortioners that exist. The exorbitant wages they demand for filling a luxurious billet would stagger a longshoreman, and the petty pilferings, nominally perquisites, in which they indulge are what really make yachting so expensive. The familiar manner of some of these brass-bound autocrats is simply atrocious. They seem to consider themselves complete masters of the situation, and treat the owner and his friends as so much superfluous cargo to be ordered about at their desire. This, without any exaggeration, is the state of things on numerous yachts I could name, more especially those with lady-owners.

To turn now to clothes, that all important point to members of my sex. I can only venture to suggest the merest hints, as really it is not a subject on which I am an authority, that is to say, if one is supposed to practise what one preaches. Brown in any form is to be avoided on the water, it is unspeakably ugly, and a number of people dressed in brown on a boat would destroy its appearance, be it never so smart. Nothing looks so well as white and red, or dark blue, but not black. Blue gauze veils are useful, but not ornamental, though a broad-brimmed sailor hat embraces both these virtues.

I have been twice to the Mediterranean, once in a sailing boat, the Goddess, and once in a steam yacht, the Normania. So I will close my cruising yarns with a description of what we experienced at the hands of a Greek pilot. We were between the Piræus and Corfu one evening when it came on suddenly very dark and dirty. Being a very determined party of women on board, we made a stand for taking shelter behind one of the islands. We all "held a board" on the chart, but could see no harbour of refuge equal to sheltering our sumptuous craft. The little Greek pilot however proved equal to the occasion. Pointing out a small indentation in the coast, he urged us to confide in him, and he would guarantee us a peaceful night. Accordingly we slowed down the engines, and made for a faint red light. The chart, by the bye, said this light should be green, but that was neither here nor there. There was a rocky promontory sticking out with a lighthouse on the end, where was the aforesaid red light that should have been green. This our valiant pilot steered straight for. It was blowing a sirocco, with thick rain and a heavy sea, nevertheless we all stood on the bridge to watch the hazardous venture. On we went, straight for the rocks where the rollers were breaking. It was becoming decidedly interesting, and as the chart evidently did not consider the place worth its serious attention, we could no longer look to that for guidance. Very soon the darkness and hurly-burly of the storm lifted for a second, and displayed a most disorganizing prospect. We were almost on the beach on the starboard side, and could have thrown a biscuit into the lighthouse window on the port, and there was land right ahead. We were in a little pocket, a neck of rocks which ran parallel to the coast, taking the fury of the waves, and affording a good shelter. But a tighter place for a five hundred ton vessel could not be imagined. When we looked out of our ports in the morning, we were still more astonished, for without exaggeration we could have held easy converse with the people ashore all round the vessel, while our bow positively overshadowed the small quay. It was a place into which one would have hesitated to take a 50-tonner with twin screws in broad daylight, and for a 500-tonner to get in safely in a howling hurricane, and when it was pitch dark, was indeed a feat of ingenuity.

Of course it entailed backing out, but as the yacht fortunately was a very handy vessel, this was safely accomplished. Such little incidents, which lend a piquancy to cruising dispel the monotony, and while they keep up the interest in the manipulation of your vessel, also serve to entertain your friends on getting home.

Yacht-racing is in every respect a sport suited to our sex. No unseemly gymnastics, no over-straining or over-tiring, no cruelty can be laid to its charge, in fact nothing to offend the most exacting upholder of the feminine. Yet Yacht-racing is open to abuse, though even here in a lesser degree, perhaps, than other amusements. Where it stands alone, is that in it a woman can compete on equal terms with man.

Yacht-racing needs much study, and should not be attempted till the ordinary art of sailing is thoroughly understood. It is the most delightful education in the world, the most interesting and healthful. It becomes so engrossing you will not rest till you understand the whole thing, and know the why and wherefore of all the different moves. It is not advisable to order a boat of your own till you have served an apprenticeship as "hand." Very few people are now contented to go as "hand" or "crew," every one preferring to "paddle his own canoe." Nevertheless it is delightful to go in a well managed boat where you have full confidence in the skipper, and a beginner should certainly not be above it. She will then see how much there is in "handling," and realize how many races are won solely by clever management and attention to small details. At any rate do not attempt to have a boat of your own for the first time until you have secured an experienced racing skipper. When you have done this be guided by him entirely to start with, only you will do well to be still more particular than he is in adhering to the Yacht Racing Association Rules, which of course you should know by heart. If you are racing do what the skipper tells you instantly, and do not wait to ask the reason first, do that afterwards.

The great secret of racing is to keep your wits about you, do everything "smartly," never hesitate or waver between two opinions at a critical moment, for that will merely lose you the race. The need of prompt decision is one of the most exciting features of racing, now it has been brought to such perfection. One faux pas and you are done if the wind stops true, but on the other hand it seldom answers to give up, as you need never despair of the wind veering round and coming to the rescue, even if you have made a blunder. To be really good in a boat you should have done some single-handed work, but this is not to be recommended until you are well grounded in the rudiments of sailing, or you will very shortly be "well grounded" on something harder still.

The single-handed matches in one-raters which were witnessed in 1895 and 1896 were excellent trials of skill, as was shown by the results. It is impossible to exaggerate the difficulty of sailing those boats single-handed in rough weather, for it is a task worthy of a Sandow and a Carter rolled into one, and the greatest kudos is therefore due to those sportsmen who brought their boats safely across the winning line. There were some "lame ducks" too, through no fault of their own, and many I regret to say made but a poor show of their prowess. There is plenty of variety, however, in racing without going to any extremes, or attempting impossibilities like those single-handed matches. A half-rater would be quite as much as one man could manage properly in rough weather.

Becken. Cowes.

ONE-RATERS AT COWES.

Every year affords fresh interests, as the type of boat alters, for there is skill required to get them into trim and learn their ways. Each individual boat, too, wants different handling, and it will often be a surprise to an adept in one boat, to find himself quite adrift in another. Steering has been steadily becoming more difficult hitherto, but now I fancy there will be a return to the fixed rudders we began with, which are much easier to handle than the balanced ones of later years. The business will not then be as fidgety, or require such close attention, as with balanced rudders your boat which may be ever so light on her helm, will be constantly veering about and getting off her course, if you do not keep an undeviating watch on your steering. Of course it all makes it more interesting, because more difficult, but in a way it is not an advantage for the helmsman to be entirely engrossed with his steering, unless he can conscientiously rely on his "crew" to do the rest.

To enjoy racing to the full you should have it all in your own hands with no one to say you "nay," otherwise that spirit of independence—so rarely enjoyed by our sex—is lost. The sensation of being master of your own vessel, with the helm in your hand and a willing crew to do your commands, unquestionably, these are elements which should be experienced to be enjoyed. As a man is dependent on his eye for shooting, his hands for driving, his pocket for betting, so does he depend on his wits for sailing. To be a good skipper you must above all things have a clear head and plenty in it, for there is much to learn and to keep up. Yacht racing has now attained to a pitch of perfection verging on science, and to succeed in it you must have observation, self-control, perseverance, good ready judgment and self-reliance, besides many other qualities too numerous to mention, such as patience and cheerfulness. There is nothing to compare to yacht-racing in my opinion for a woman's sport, calling into play as it does all these qualities, besides giving the wholesome enjoyment of an ocean life.

I began my racing career practically in 1886, though I had had some experience with a little boat called Fairy, which my father had bought from Picket of Southampton. This boat had been built for letting out to pleasure-parties, and was nearly as broad as she was long. Some years before this he—my father—had built the 60-tonner Vanguard, and as he was a great connoisseur on boats he made a good hit in buying the little pleasure-boat, Fairy. She and the Bird o' Freedom were the pioneers of that now famous body the Solent classes. With some slight alterations to the keel, and with the addition of a large jib to the sail plan, little Fairy proved herself capable of beating the Bird o' Freedom, which was then the greatest flyer of the day. This caused some surprise to the faculty—who were few in those days—and some of them decided to try and beat her the following season. Consequently 1886 saw the Minima and Tootsie added to the list, and some jealous competitions ensued.

West and Son. Southsea.

READY FOR THE START.

(MYNAH, HOOPOO, STORK, AND MOLLY.)

The Royal Southampton and Portsmouth Corinthian Yacht Clubs came to the rescue and gave fortnightly matches for the small craft, as well as for the 25 and 30 footers. Then the fun grew fast and furious, for the small boat racing having been given the necessary fillip, the designers put their best foot foremost and the sport was fairly started. A motley crew it was that assembled off the Town Quay every Saturday fortnight. Most of the boats were of the nice little cruiser type, slow as a country dinner party, nevertheless so enshrouded in canvas as to present a most sporting appearance. Any deficiency in design was balanced by unlimited additions in canvas, no expense being spared in sailcloth to make up the necessary speed. And how zealous was the competition! Life and death might have hung on the issue, judging by the ardour and agility displayed in the management of the boats.

"Every dog has his day," and this was the heyday of the Dauntless Amateur. An eager, perspiring, undefeated creature was he! Minus hat and socks, having shed all superfluities in clothing, he gallantly plied his task before the mast. Any effort to persuade him further aft, or into the "well," were unavailing. He loved to stand boldly up forward, the wind running riot through his hair, the poor boat shoving along all out of trim, owing to his misplaced weight, while he gallantly stood at attention, eager to signify that he was "ready for anything." However we shall see our hatless, sockless friend no more, his place being now filled by the peerless Itchen ferryman at thirty shillings a week.

The richest man now has the best boat, and if he does not get it the first time he goes on building till he succeeds. The same with the crew, the man with well-lined pockets gets all the best men by paying the best wages. But still even the designers are not wholly responsible for what their craft will turn out, as was proved by Sibbick building the unsuccessful White Rose for the Duke of York. Other cases I could also mention where money was no object, and boat after boat untiringly turned out for the same owner, yet without success. Then some lucky man may get a boat from the same designer which will clear the board for two or three seasons, her capacities having been all unknown to the designer himself.

How we managed in those days of unlimited canvas with only two hands remains a mystery. What with the enormous topsail and all the extra gear it entailed, the long spinnaker, boom, etc., and the largest mainsail that could be crammed on, the wonder is that we ever gybed round a mark at all, without capsizing the whole lot overboard. The gear of course was very much stouter and the boats slower on their helms than they are now, or it could not have been done. We have the same crew on a one-rater now that we used to have on the 25-footer Lil, which is most astonishing to think of when we compare the two boats. True they are practically the same length, but with what a difference in build. The Lil was a regular ship with her enormous spars and canvas, and her well timbered heavy hull and large cabin, whereas these little one-raters are mere cockle shells without half the amount of gear, nor are they nearly so hard on it. Nevertheless, anyone will tell you it is impossible now-a-days to manage a one-rater properly with less than two hands, and that with only two sails instead of four.

The first race I think ever sailed by women was between us—my sisters and myself—in the Fairy, and the Miss Coxes in their sister ship Colinette, I believe the Miss Hammersleys also formed part of the rival crew. I have but a vague recollection of the whole thing, being too young at the time really to grasp the situation in its full value, or for it to make any great impression on my mind, as I was always being taken racing in some boat or other. In 1885, we were again rivals in Verena and Lil, one of the Miss Coxes always going in the former, and one of us in the Lil. These were great wholesome boats with enormous sails, and we managed to do a lot of cruising between the races, which in those days only took place once a week. The Lil had quite a nice deep cabin which was the pride of our lives, pictures being hung in every available space, and little curtains and cushions to match. Little Fairy meanwhile was "not quite dead yet," and in 1888 "came up smiling" to fight the battle and the breeze in a resuscitated form. That year she proved herself no mean opponent, and succeeded in making the same figure of merit as Thalassa, the champion of the previous year. This success was due to a fin keel, an experiment of my father's which has since been through almost every imaginable variation, and still holds sway in a modified form among the smaller classes.

In 1887, Miss Cox built the Madcap at Payne's, and divided the honour with Thalassa, also a two-and-a-half-rater by Payne. The latter belonged to Colonel Bucknill, whose daughters are now so well known on the Solent. Miss Bucknill is indeed much sought after as a helmswoman, and with good cause, as she has learnt the work thoroughly and is as proficient at the helm as she is on the jib sheet. Her father has raced steadily every season since 1886, and she has almost always accompanied him and shared in the work most gallantly. I cannot be quite sure if we sailed Fairy or Lil that year, 1887, but I think both went to the line, my brother also designed a five-rater with but little success, being young he had to buy his experience of course, and learnt the advisability of going to Arthur Payne in future.

The year 1889 was a memorable one for us, as we were fortunate enough to possess the champion two-and-a-half-rater by Payne. Hummingbird was a charming boat in every respect, comparatively roomy, a good sea boat, and a wonderful performer to windward. She gained twenty-five firsts and four seconds, out of thirty-eight starts, and succeeded in routing three creations of the famous G. L. Watson. It was one of these, the Thief, which my sister, Mrs. Schenley, had the misfortune to possess. A most uncomfortable little craft it was. Only about five foot beam, with decks like sieves, and we were all crammed into little holes or cockpit places with only our head and shoulders out, for all the world like chickens coming out of an egg. That was really my introduction to racing. I had to work hard, as it was not the boat to take people in who did nothing. We were fortunate in securing Charlie Devis, who is now considered almost if not quite the best skipper on the Solent. He was then little more than a boy, so we were all young and enthusiastic together, and despite the many drawbacks I think we all enjoyed that season thoroughly. At any rate we were nothing daunted, and only waited till the next year to renew our efforts in a five-rater of the same type.

West and Son. Southsea.

THIEF.

This was also Lord Dunraven's début on the Solent, and he was not much better off than we were, having a sister ship to ours, by name Cosette. Therefore, with the Queen Mab, G.G., Lady Nan (Mrs. Rudstan Reid), Thalassa and Madcap (Miss Cox), we had to be content to compete for second honours, the Hummer always carrying off the first.

I might here put in a word in season, on the evils resulting from keeping rival boats in the family. The battles are bound to be re-fought over the domestic board again in the evening, and of the two the wordy war is by far the most bitter and lasting. The envy and jealousy of the defeated cannot fail to show itself, and even the conqueror owes the other a grudge, for having so much as dared to get in his way at the start! We learnt the lesson in 1887, and have kept studiously clear of each other's hunting grounds ever since, even counselling our friends not to put our fidelity to so severe a test as to join the same class. It was this year that Mr. Philip Perceval made his début with the Lollypop, a boat he bought from Mr. St. Julien Arabin. Since that time Mr. Perceval has been an enthusiastic member of yacht-racing circles, and is now almost as well known on the Solent as Calshot Castle. Most lucky in his boats, whatever he touches must turn to gold, and besides this phenomenal luck, he has unrivalled skill at the helm and in the general manipulation of the craft. So his racing record must be indeed a remarkable one. Perhaps some day he will be persuaded to publish it, in all its branches.

At the end of this season, a ladies' match was sailed in the sister ships Cosette and Queen Mab. Miss Bucknill was at the helm of the former, and Miss Harvey had the Queen Mab. It is much to be regretted that Miss Harvey did not persevere in her racing career, as she showed much ability and came of a nautical family. Her father, Mr. E. Harvey, was well known as one of the original members of the squadron. The race was very interesting and well managed, but far be it from me to say which proved herself the better steerer. Lord Dunraven and Mr. Perceval who now had the racing fever, had both built five-raters at Payne's and divided the honours in that class. Mrs. Schenley determined to make another experiment with Mr. Watson's design in the five-raters. The Valentine, however, was a worse failure than the Thief had been, Glycera and Alwida being always first and second. The stern chase became rather wearisome, and we did not keep at it so steadily as we should have, only starting twenty-six times to the others forty. We managed to pick up five first and four second prizes, chiefly in light weather. The Babe, Mr. Payne's design, was champion of the two-and-a-half-raters, and poor old Hummer, which had served us in such good stead the year before, was clearly worsted. She was beginning the season in her old style, when the dreaded advent of the Babe put an end to her prosperous career, and she had a hard struggle till the end of the season to keep up her old traditions. I sailed many times on Hummer and Cock-a-whoop, my brother's two-and-a-half-rater, and on the former I said less, but thought the more, as my father's seamanship was undisputed, and his tactics a wonder to behold. That year the inventive genius of Mr. Clayton, champion designer of the old length classers, produced the Dolphin, also a two-and-a-half-rater. She was looked at with decided disapproval and some disgust by the rival faculty, as her over-hang was considered a crafty mode of cheating the rule. So it was, and continues to be to this day in a still larger degree, but after all it is the designer's object to get as much as he can out of the rule, without paying for it in time allowance. Miss Cox and her sister, now Mrs. Rudston Reid, both built two-and-a-half-raters, which they sailed most conscientiously but without much success. Miss Cox's Mliss did the better of the two, the Troublesome not being a morsel of use except in light air. However, it was a very strong class, and of course every one could not expect to win. Mrs. Schenley was at last persuaded, in 1891, to give Payne an order, and he proved himself fully equal to the trust confided in him, by producing that most delightful of boats the Windfall. Seaworthiness, dryness, roominess, and lightness of helm were some of her qualifications, besides her exceptional speed. War to the knife ensued between us and Mr. Perceval, who had likewise got a new five-rater from Payne. We came out of the fray each with thirty-four flags, Windfall's string however being the better by six firsts, indicated her superiority by six conquests out of the forty deadly conflicts. These struggles have never been renewed, the ordeal having been too great for both sides.

The small pickings left over and above, namely nine first prizes and twelve second, were shared by Alwida and Iernia respectively. The latter boat, one of Fife's failures, was owned by that genial Irishman, Mr. Langrishe, who had previously sold the famous Samæna to join the ranks of the owners of the smaller classes, to which he has remained faithful ever since. He placed his confidence from the first in young Mr. Charles Nicholson, who ultimately proved more than equal to the trust reposed in him, and he designed the Dacia in 1892. Miss Cox was again at a discount with a most unattractive two-and-a-half-rater, she called Fiera. This was one of the hard-mouthed type, and wanted a fresh wind and a strong man at the helm. She gave a good account of herself however on such occasions, and ran up a better record than Mliss. Miss Harvey was the possessor of a very pretty two-and-a-half-rater called Undine, built from a design by Mr. Clayton. This last was still more of an advance towards the type of the present day, and no doubt would have made a good performance then if she had been raced. She only showed up once or twice, however, and so of course never had a chance of getting into trim or anything else. Possibly Miss Harvey was put off by a collision she had with the Windfall during the Cowes week. It was very unfortunate, but not her fault as I can testify. Nevertheless it was none the better for that, and I remember pointing out the best place on the Windfall for her to ram with the least danger. Undine's bowsprit accordingly went clean through Windfall, just forward of the mast, and then the two boats got locked together and the spars began falling about our ears. There was a strong wind and a still stronger tide, and we were rapidly driven under the bows of a large steamer Gladwyn. The Undine had the inside berth between Windfall and Gladwyn, and as Windfall got across the tide she fairly ground poor little Undine's frail hull till the timbers groaned again. Meanwhile the gallant crew of the Gladwyn insisted on dragging us ladies up over the bows, and this was the most alarming part of all, as it was such a height. The owner of the Gladwyn, who was in the Squadron at the time, was much surprised a little later to see a strange lot of rather dilapidated females, being rowed ashore in his gig.

West and Son. Southsea.

NADADOR.

I must not forget to mention that lively little club at Bembridge, situated on a remote corner of the Wight, near to which is the double attraction of a superior golf-links. The Bembridge Sailing Club, or "B and S" Club, as it is irreverently called, was started in 1889 by Colonel Moreton and Major du Boulay. Some of the rules were nothing if not eccentric, and I am told the favourite hour for match sailing was about midnight. The women were duly considered in this club, and most ably did they acquit themselves in the one design class.

Miss Sutton was tempted out to the more easterly regattas, when she had a half-rater called Wee-Winn, of which more later on. Miss Moreton, Miss Hallows, and Mrs. Dudley Ward and her daughters, were among the other Bembridge sailoresses, though of course many more came down in August to this cheerful little resort.

The next year, 1892, both our family boats were beaten by a new talent, young Mr. C. Nicholson. It was a great thing bringing a new brain to bear on the matter, as for the previous five years Arthur Payne had held the whole sway, and prior to that Mr. Clayton. These boats went quite fast enough to make a good race of it amongst themselves, and though they assuredly were hard to beat yet they were beaten by the Dacia in the five-rater, and the Gareth in the two-and-a-half-rater class. The latter was the property of Mr. Henderson, who was indeed fortunate, as he was a complete novice, to own the champion of three seasons. Lord Dudley bought Dacia from Mr. Langrishe in the middle of the season for a fabulous price, nevertheless the latter was generally to be seen at the helm. Lord Dunraven's Cyane, from Mr. Payne's design, was at the old game of shovelling the first prizes into her locker, until Dacia came out and put a stop to it. The pace of this flyer soon spread dismay in the class, which was not very well filled even at first, and soon no one could be got to start against her, until she went down to Torbay to show a boastful Scotch antagonist the way round the course. The rivalry between North and South is always exceedingly bitter, but latterly the Scotchmen have not thought it infra dig. to come to the South for their best designs in the small classes. It would be more patriotic, to say the least of it, if the best Clyde amateurs were to challenge us in their home manufactures, otherwise their triumphs are but reflected glories after all.

West and Son. Southsea.

MORWENA, STEERED BY MISS SUTTON.

A little stranger from over the water appeared this year (1892), to the order of Miss Winnie Sutton. Wee Winn, however, did not belie her somewhat ambitious appellation, as is often the case. On the contrary, she amply fulfilled it, and the tiny Yankee did her country great credit, and that in what we flattered ourselves to be a very formidable class. She had nine competitors from four different designers, and yet fairly walked round the lot. Her performances were the signal for further Yankee inroads, and 1893 saw two American boats, namely Meneen and Morwena, added to the list. So now there was an American in all three classes from two-and-a-half downwards, and to our shame be it said each one headed her class. It was not till the year 1897 either, that Meneen may fairly be said to have been outclassed, her construction also was a masterpiece of lightness and durability. Her record was forty prizes in forty-nine starts, and this with seven rivals, one of Mr. Nicholson's design and one of Mr. Payne's included. Mrs. Hardie Jackson constantly accompanied her husband in Meneen, and was as at home on the water as she is known to be in the saddle. This was not a propitious year for South coast designers, as Fife held the laurels in the five and likewise in the twenty class. The twenties were a new institution promoted by Lord Dunraven, and they flourished for four years as Solent classes, but last season (1897) no new ones came to the line except towards the end of July.

In 1893 the race programmes were almost too well stocked, the scrimmage on the line to get the start being a sight to behold, especially in the one-rater class. There were considerably over a dozen of these, and almost as many half raters, all determined to get the start of the others over the line, and that sometimes a very narrow one as in the Hamble river. The Morwena, champion of her class, was owned by one of the sisters of Miss Winnie Sutton, and though her success did not cause such a stir as Wee Winn's, she made almost as good a record. Miss Cox's luck again failed her in Kismet, a two-and-a-half rater built by Payne. I believe she also was a very hard boat to steer, in fact worse than Fiera. My brother sailed the majority of races that year in Gareth, whose performance was a good one but not so good as the Meneen's. Gareth started five times more than Meneen and won two more prizes, but Meneen's figure of merit came out the highest. These two consequently pretty well monopolised the prizes, but a few being left for the other six, of which Kismet picked up two firsts and six seconds.

Mr. Jessop was the owner of the Molly, twenty rater, and Coquette, half rater. He consequently often required a helmswoman for the latter, which office he kindly offered me. Little Coquette was an extremely fast boat of Mr. Nicholson's design, and made one of the longest string of flags ever recorded. Wee Winn, fortunately for us, only started eleven times that season. In the same year (1893) the majority of boats and the largest prize winners were of a good wholesome type, but the three following seasons they went steadily down hill in this respect. Elf was considered an unsightly monster then, but there have been many like her since, not a whit uglier or less exaggerated, which have proved themselves also the fastest movers. Flat Fish was a case in point. She was most aptly named; indeed, I think the Flounder would have been a still more appropriate designation. She was put together with most wonderful despatch by Fay and Co., from Mr. Soper's design, for my sister, Mrs. Schenley. The first two races she came to pieces, owing to the hurry over her construction, and had to go back for repairs. To hear the flump of her bow on to the water, it was marvellous that anything could hold out; she was just the shape of a spoon forward, and when driven against a head sea she naturally made the splinters fly. Her nose was quite four inches higher in the air by the end of the season, in fact she presented the most cheeky appearance. A most powerful boat in a breeze, in all senses of the word except perhaps the individual frame, she also required a Goliath to steer her. My sister's and my united forces were unequal to the task, and it used to amuse us to watch for the signal of distress held out towards the end of a race by the boastful amateurs, whom we requisitioned to steer on hard windy days. They were never keen to repeat the experiment, and if they did, they were glad enough for us to take turns. Our chief antagonist was Fleur-de-Lys, built by Fife and owned by Major Montgomery, one of the few lucky yachtsmen who have not followed up their successes, although a dweller on the scene of action. Lady Sophia Montgomery occasionally accompanied her husband, and took a keen interest in the fray and kept a jealous eye on the records of the rival craft. Theirs was undoubtedly the better "all round" boat, as Flat Fish was no more good than a barge in light weather, although she was conscientiously sailed in all the races for which she was entered. In 1894 two new aspirants for yachting fame joined the ranks, namely, the Hon. Mrs. Oliphant and Miss Lord. I can hardly say which has proved herself the keenest sailor. Mrs. Oliphant was most fortunate in securing an excellent two-and-a-half rater from Sibbick, called Zivolo, which made a very good record, taking twenty-nine flags in thirty-six starts. Although the boat was her own property, she very wisely got others to steer at first, though she always accompanied the ship. Now she no longer needs assistance, and though not possessing a boat of her own this year, she has had several mounts on other peoples. The Rosemary, a formidable customer to steer was in her hands the latter part of this season, and though a slow boat Mrs. Oliphant often led the fleet in her, and won two or three prizes. Miss Lord has had a succession of one-raters since her début in 1895. She favoured Soper's design at first, but latterly has adopted Sibbick's. All her boats have been large prize winners.

West and Son. Southsea.

FLAT FISH.

In 1895, yacht-racing was distinctly the fashionable sport. Lord Dunraven was no doubt in a great measure responsible for this, he having persuaded several friends to join the twenty-rater class. Lord Lonsdale owned one of these, Lord Dudley another, Prince Batthyany Stratmann, a pretty boat painted blue, and the unfortunate Baron von Zedtwitz, who was subsequently drowned off his twenty-rater, the Isolde.

Even Royalty patronized the Solent classes. The Duke of York had a one-rater built at Sibbick's in less than a week, in which he took a great interest though he did not venture himself to join in the sport. The White Rose was, however, in good hands, being most ably sailed by his equerry, the Hon. Derek Keppel. She was not a success, however, and when Mr. Keppel, who was called away at the end of August, confided her to me, I made but a poor show with her, gaining only one first in tour starts. Miss Cox was well to the fore in the same class, also having got her craft from Sibbick. She made a string of twenty-five flags, eleven of which were firsts. My brother had bought an unsuccessful one-rater, he re-named Fusee, the year before. He and I sailed this little boat in several races, I steering and he doing the work. It was fun, and the boat was well suited to this game as she was only good for light water, directly it blew up at all she was passed in spite of all we could do. So when my brother went abroad at the end of June I got a boy to help, and sailed in the light wind races throughout the season. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and got ten prizes out of twenty starts, though poor little Fusee was invariably beaten on a reach except in the lightest air, and had to make up all her time on the "beats." That August was a busy month, for on looking back I find I raced every day, Sunday not excepted, as we used to have duels in Fusee and White Rose with amateur crews. The class to which these belonged (one-raters) was then and has remained the most popular of all classes on the Solent. Once at Yarmouth, fourteen of us started together over the line. It was grand fun and I was very proud of leading at the end of the first round in little Fusee, but unfortunately the wind dropped completely in the second round, and only a few of us managed to complete the course at all. I think Mr. Paget's Soper got in first, and Miss Cox's Mavis second.

1896 was also a great one-rater year, and Miss Cox had the honour of leading the whole fleet in almost every race she sailed. She had returned to her old ally, Arthur Payne, who designed her the Speedwell. No praise is too high for this little champion, for she still holds pride of place and has proved herself as seaworthy as she is fast. I never steered such a wonderful boat, to windward she positively edged along in the teeth of the wind and made all the others look foolish, as she outpointed them to such a ridiculous extent. I often sailed the old Meneen that year, and she also was dependent on her windward powers for her success, as being much shorter than the others she could not be expected to reach with them. This was well shown at some races at Seaview in August, when we headed the Florence (Sibbick's crack owned by the Marquise de Serramezzana) every time to windward, whereas she would pass us again on the reach. The Florence got two firsts and one second, and we secured two seconds and one first out of the three races. Mrs. Schenley had bought the Corolla, a success of the previous season. We did very well with her until about the end of July, when Tatters became too much for us, some slight alteration having given her the advantage over us. Florence then came out, and we left those two to fight it out to the bitter end. These boats, both of which were of Sibbick's design, were extremely fast, though they were not remarkably close-winded. Lord Albemarle built Valeria I. at Payne's, and I sailed in her many times but failed to score, there were certainly numerous and formidable rivals and Valeria came rather late to the fray. It must be an unlucky name I think, as Valeria II. has not proved any better, though she is a beautiful boat and great things were expected of her, being Payne's design. Tatters, with Miss Lord at the helm, won first prize in the Ladies' race (promoted by the Gentlewoman) on August 4th, Mrs. Oliphant who had a good mount in the Florence was second, Miss Bucknill being third in Meneen, I fourth in Valeria, my sister last in Mem Sahib. There was a fresh wind, and as the harbour was full of yachts, and the course was all amongst them, considerable skill was required in the handling. There were happily no casualties. Another ladies' race in one-raters, with a diminished crew of one amateur, was got up one evening at Cowes by Lord Harrington. There was a fine scrimmage getting on board, most of the women or their boats being late, the starting-gun—a 12-bore—was fired off in one of the bathing machines, regardless of the entreaties of the competitors for time. I was dragged on board the wrong boat at the last minute, my "mount" being late, and off we went after Speedwell, but she was already a speck in the distance, and we found we should never catch her again. My sister and I had a deadly encounter in Tartar and Bodagh, and after jostling each other round and round and tacking and filling in a remarkable manner only known to ourselves, I came out the best of it and she gained third honours.

Becken. Cowes.

COROLLA, STEERED BY MISS HUGHES.

In 1897, Mrs. Schenley joined the one-design class—with Cresta—- started the year before by Major Colville and Colonel Bucknill. These boats proved very popular and much good racing has resulted. They are ugly but wholesome, not very fast but answer their purpose well. We did not race very assiduously that season as we were often otherwise engaged. Cresta won us about fourteen prizes, in thirty starts I think. Many women sailed in this class, Mrs. Parry and Mrs. Tower constantly accompanying their husbands, also Mrs. Towers Clark and Mrs. Alwyne Greville were occasionally to be seen on the C'lerk and Eileen. These latter, however, never ventured to take the helm, though they were much attached to the sport and nothing daunted by weather. The boats owned by women this year were the Fairy, Miss Lord, Cresta, Mrs. Schenley, and Speedwell, Miss Cox, while Mrs. Oliphant was Queen Regent on the Rosemary. My sister, Miss Hughes, constantly sailed the Meneen and Speedwell, but she will never make such a record as she did with the Viva, half-rater, lent her by Mr. Wood, which was one of the largest prize-winners and most successful of her class ever floated.

Half-raters are too small for my taste, and I think a two-and-a-half, as the boats are built now, is the best size for a woman. Possibly the day may come back when the five-raters will be as easy on their helms as they were in 1891. My sister tells me she steered Forella, five-rater, in quite a fresh wind this season and had no difficulty in managing her, so perhaps I am not too sanguine in anticipating more sport for us in this class.

F. G. Stuart. Southampton.

FAIRY, STEERED BY MISS LORD.

My ideal mode of yachting would be to have a new two-and-a-half-rater whenever the old one was worsted, with a five-rater perhaps now and then to vary the monotony. A fifty-ton steamer, or one perhaps a little smaller, to act as convoy is essential, and it should be fast and have a good saloon, and a couple of rooms to change in if needed. Cowes is the most convenient pied-à-terre from a racing point of view, being very central with regard to the more frequent regattas. Racing is not a cheap amusement, but then, nothing nice ever is. To put it roughly, the two-and-a-half-rater would cost £300 to build, and £100 to "run." The steamer £2,500 to build, and £300 to "run," and the little house at Cowes, one or two hundred for the season. Of lesser items connected with racing there are several, the numerous club subscriptions for one thing being no small matter. The expenses of yacht-racing have been steadily on the increase, and I hope now they have attained their maximum. We have had sixteen racing boats in the family during the last twelve years, our last effort being made in the poor man's class, the one designers, which fact speaks for itself. Many others are in the same hole as ourselves, and are glad enough to find a means of racing without so much expense. The one-design class was specially instituted to meet this demand, as the boat only costs £200 to begin with, and all the costs, wages, etc., are limited and prescribed by the rules. They are fine little craft too, stiff and dry and light-helmed, in fact very suitable boats for a woman to start her racing in. About fifty prizes are given by Solent clubs for this class, though, of course, they are not so well catered for elsewhere.

A trip to the Westward at the end of the Ryde week is a pleasant change, the regattas at Torquay and Dartmouth being quite unique spectacles. I know of nowhere in England where ceremony is so lightly disregarded, or where conviviality is so essentially the order of the day.

The late Prince Henry of Battenberg did honour to these festivities in 1894, and won himself golden opinions by his geniality, and genuine enjoyment of the fun. He asked my brother to sail his twenty-rater, Asphodel, during this time, and proved himself not only a lenient master, but a kind friend and a keen sportsman.

My chronicle is now at an end. I am conscious of having made many omissions, and though my love of yachting makes even writing on it a welcome task, still I feel the futility of my endeavours to portray adequately the pleasures of the sport, which it has been my life interest to enjoy.

Barbara S. Hughes.

The following list of Racing Clubs of the Solent may be of use to those interested in the sport:

Lombardi and Co. 13, Pall Mall East.

MRS. W. L. WYLLIE.

[PUNT RACING.]

The first punts on our river—the Medway—were simply flat-bottomed shoe-shaped boats, which were built to slide over the mud, and were principally used by muddies and watermen, or by those people who, having boats anchored off the shore, required something they could push over the intervening flat. With a wind astern or on a slight incline in the mud, the slipping process was simple, the happy owner of one of these primitive punts finding himself on the river with but little trouble. A friend of ours at Gillingham determined to build himself one in his own dining-room to use for rowing, and being of an ingenious turn of mind, as he had to pull the punt up into his garden every time she was used, he added a detachable wheel under the bow, and then by fixing her oars on either side of the gunwale as handles, he was able to wheel her up and down the causeway with the greatest ease. This friend had long since found out that the Gillingham boy, boats, and mud did not agree. He it was who first saw the possibility of the punt being turned into a sailing boat, and when this idea occurred to him he started building the Snowflake, an ordinary mud punt with square chime, a centre plate and lug, which in its turn gave place to another named Crystabel. A small club was then thought of, for the purpose of opening up the healthy enjoyment of punt racing to the working class, and it was soon formed and my husband invited to become Commodore. A small subscription of half-a-crown, and a shilling entrance fee, made it possible for the working man to enter, and most races were arranged to suit his convenience. The money was paid to the officer of the day before the start, and only by the boats competing.

CRYSTABEL. NELSON.

Sketch made by W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A. For The Sportswoman's Library.

PUNTS RACING.

Punts in those days only cost from £4 to £5, and we soon had several. Our eldest son was promised a boat as soon as he could swim, which hurried matters, and a new punt was laid down, finished and christened Nelson before the summer was out, but this, as well as all the earlier ones, leaked. Then a real start was made. My husband being fired with the idea of improving the breed, began cutting out and drawing many models preparatory to building. The greenhouse was found to be the only place long enough, so the boat throve though the flowers faded, the pots grew chips and copper tacks to the despair of the gardener, and we had no show of flowers that winter. In the early spring, the new creation was taken into the little wood close at hand, and there with the sweet primroses and bluebells growing all round her was turned bottom up for all who were interested to come and sand-paper her whenever there was a "spell oh" in the course of the day's work. She was then finished off with a scarlet coat, and carried on the shoulders of four men in procession to the beach, where the christening ceremony was to be performed. At the moment, the family being full of Lear's Nonsense Songs and Stories, the little girl insisted she must have lavender water tinged with pink. So this of course was supplied. The boys ran up flags and hurrahed enough for the launching of a first-class cruiser, the men gave a big shove, and the little girl broke her bottle, calling out good luck to Scarlet Runner. This punt never leaked a drop, and sailed splendidly for her size, though unlike the accommodating bicycle of a well-known song, she would not hold two, and in a sea little but a man, mast and sail could be seen. At this time bigger punts were built, principally by Mr. Baker, a fruit-grower of Gillingham, who introduced a stronger, larger type with much higher freeboard. From his little yard were launched Tar Baby, Go By, Satan, and lastly Black Bess, which held her own against all comers. The blacksmith also built Ethel and Mud Puppy, so that altogether there was a nice little class. Scarlet Runner, after several alterations, ultimately beat Black Bess. Then came a decision to sail under Y.R.A. rules, and bring the boats up to half-rating. This in most cases meant building afresh, so once more Commodore started chipping bits of nice soft wood, till the desired shape for the new punt to hold two was arrived at. We then hunted for a building shed, and at last settled on a loft over the stables, a nasty draughty place, but one with plenty of room. The punt was drawn out life size on the floor in chalk, and five nice fir planks were procured from the village carpenter for the bottom. The centre plank was one inch thick, and the two on either side three-quarter; a grown oak knee formed the stem, and another the stern post, and to these a strong rope was fastened to make into a tourniquet to give the proper rocker to the bottom. Every day as it grew dusk, off we all went to that horrid cold loft, lit up the lamps and started an abominable din of hammering, a boy generally buzzing round the while with a broom to clear away some of the chips. When I grew tired of crouching and holding a hammer to the rivets, then the boy was victimised. The wheelwright came to lend a hand in the evenings, and envy seized my soul as I watched him send home screw after screw as if they were going into so much butter. Commodore would not even leave his work to come in to dinner, and looking back now, I really think it must have been a very uncomfortable time. The sides were made out of one wide plank of Kauri pine without a join. This was riveted to the beams and angles of Bull metal, and a devoted friend put in the mast step, which to this day holds all the water it catches, sending up a spirt as the mast drops into place. The centre board case gave a good deal of trouble, but even this gave way to patience. The seams were gone over with the greatest care with putty and varnish, as we were determined she should not leak, and the mixture proved most satisfactory, as whatever water the punt shipped ran out of the centre board case, and never a drop came through the seams. I was greatly distressed when the well was put in. I really could not see how I could be expected to sit in any comfort on a butcher's tray, which it resembled. The idea in itself no doubt was lovely, for any water coming on board emptied itself out of the tray, which was flush with the top of the centre-board case, down the case, thus making the boat absolutely unsinkable. But fancy sitting for hours with one's knees up to one's chin in a calm. I argued for a long time, and was made to sit in position over and over again, my husband declaring it was quite comfortable, but I could not see it. I agreed, however, to waive the question till the punt should be afloat. So a light deck was put on her, with canvas strained and painted over it, and then she was turned bottom up on the tressels, and Commodore planed, whittled and sand-papered till every line was beautifully fair. The rudder was shipped on to the transom on the curved Bull metal gudgeons, so that if it touched the bottom it slid up the gudgeons without coming off. It could also be triced up with a line when sailing in shallow water.

From a Drawing By W.L. Wyllie, A.R.A.

PUNT: SEA MAIDEN.

At last came the happy day for launching, when a cart was brought up from the farm filled with straw, and pulled up close under the door of the loft, the punt being lowered away carefully on the top. In procession we followed down the old road to the brickfields, the little girl[1] bringing up the rear in her chair. When the cart had been backed as close down the river as possible, Sweet Pet dashed her bottle of wine against the boat's side, and with a little excited shriek, called out good luck to Sea Maiden, as the punt plunged into the water.

That same evening, Sea Maiden's sail plan was calculated, and drawn out. We have very strong ideas of our own on the sit of a sail, and had proved by many experiments that a sail that sits dead flat is a mistake, but to make sure, we made one more trial with a lot of little paper vanes stuck on pins, and setting our sail, pinned these right across, shifting them time after time as we sailed about. Then we came to the conclusion that there should be a fairly flat after-leach curving very gradually to the luff, and that seams carried across the sail in the direction of the wind, caused less deflection than the usual seams up and down. Now the carpet was rolled up in the drawing-room, and our union silk cut and ruled with the greatest care, each seam with half-an-inch curve towards the luff over-lapping to form pockets for the light ash battens, and a nice round after-leach and foot. Then came the machining, which was simple enough, and fell to my lot, and in time the sail was bundled up and sent off to be roped, with strict injunctions that it was to be sewn loosely to the rope, especially the luff. When it came home it was set between a tree and a fence, where through the early spring it flapped gently up and down whenever there was a light breeze, stretching and improving itself in the sun. Sailing was then started in real earnest, so that we might learn the ways of the boat, and get all the gear to work with the least amount of trouble, before the racing came on. Our balance-jib looked after itself, being laced to a light ash boom. In going to windward the sheet was always fast, and when off the wind it could be goosewinged in a second by letting the sheet run, and pulling on the lee-guy, so that what little we lost in the size of the sail was counteracted by the speed with which we could handle it.

Drawn by W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A. For The Sportswoman's Library.

PUNTS RACING.

(THE RACE.)

That butcher's tray was uncomfortable, and there was not a thing in the boat I could lay hold of to keep myself on board. Only those who have sailed punts can imagine the rapidity of their movements, and my first attempts were certainly exciting, as only having the tiller to hold on to, which naturally was not of much use, it came over with me. I several times nearly went backwards into the river. After this, Commodore cut a square out of the well, so that my feet could just fit down, and framed it in with water-tight canvass, and so altered matters that my real joy in sailing began. The feeling of being run away with in a boat is glorious, and a good punt is hard to beat at this. The excitement keeps you in a glow, though the water breaks all round and over you. The first race in which I steered we won, and then began a record on our own river. Punt after punt was built to beat us, but still Sea Maiden came in first. Emboldened by our wins, we took her round to the Thames to try her against the half-raters. Our first race was over the circular course off the Royal Corinthian Club, at Erith, in a very strong wind. As we stepped on board the Sea Maiden, the waterman, from a little grey steamer that was being repaired, begged us to be careful, as it was blowing very hard and we should find more sea on the other side. Mr. Hope thinking Lotus' mainsail too big for her, hoisted one belonging to a dinghy, the other boats starting closely reefed. Lotus led the first round, with Sea Maiden a close second, but the wind gradually lightening, Lotus increased her lead. We saw it was absolutely necessary to shake out our reefs, which we dared not do whilst close-hauled, so we could only wait impatiently as the stern of the leading boat grew smaller and smaller. At last we got round the buoy, and out came our reefs in a minute. The effect was magical, and we ran up to Lotus hand over hand, till by the time we reached Crayford Ness mark we were close astern. Mr. Hope could not stand this, so began shaking out his reefs, but we now had a turn to windward and at once passed him, and throughout the remainder of the race kept the lead. The boat was looked at with great curiosity as we came alongside the causeway. She was called a "Thing," an "Eggbox," and other uncomplimentary names, but all agreed that she could go in a breeze.

A. Debenham. Cowes.

SEA MAIDEN.

Next day was almost a perfect calm. A racing tide was running down the wind to Greenhithe, and we were all mortally afraid of being drifted over the line before gun-fire. Nevertheless, we thought it best to risk it, and consequently stood away close hauled right into the middle of the stream, the other boats meanwhile keeping in a little eddy close to the shore. When the gun did go they were over the line long before us, but we were in the middle of a swinging tide which swept us away at four miles an hour, whilst the others were all trying to work out of their little slack. On reaching Greenhithe we found we had left our instructions behind, and could not remember on which hand to leave the buoy, so to make no mistakes rounded first to port and then to starboard. Unfortunately Lotus came in sight as we rounded the wrong way, and having also left her instructions behind was led astray. Our very light draught enabled us to skirt the mud out of the tide all the way back, and brought us in first again with a very long lead. Our third race was sailed in a moderate breeze which fell to almost a dead calm at the last. Lotus led for the three rounds of the circular course, and do what we would it seemed impossible to pass her; however, at the very last, a stretch of strong tide had to be crossed to reach the line, Lotus left the slack first, sailing straight for the mark. Seeing it was our last chance we kept away in the slack much further down, then started across keeping the line on our weather beam and the tide on the lee-bow, we slowly drifted crab-wise across the broad stretch of river. It was a moment of intense excitement, the wind had died down to a mere breath and a crowd of tugs, huge steamers and drifting barges were coming up with the tide, we had to pick our way through these as we both converged towards the bobbing flag-boat. Lotus, seeing her mistake, set a spinnaker and tried to stem the tide, but it was too late, and again Sea Maiden took first gun, and the Muriel Challenge cup for the best of three races.

The punt went on winning after this, till we were afraid of being disliked on our own river, so put her in a railway truck and took her down to the Solent, where the storm drum was up and a sou'wester blowing in heavy squalls. As we started across from Portsmouth Harbour, we reefed down small, for the sea was the biggest I had ever sailed the boat in, the waves breaking completely over us, filling my bucket and drenching us both to the skin. A strong tide too was running to windward, but we got into the shelter of Wooton Creek in a very short time, and were most hospitably received in the Canoe camp and dried bit by bit. Our first race on the Solent was at Ryde, for the hundred-guinea cup, presented by Mr. West. And here we met our old enemy, Lotus, which had been doing wonders against the Isle of Wight craft.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hope exclaimed as we came up, "Hullo, Mrs. Wyllie, I think the race lies between the Thames and the Medway today." Now this was most unlucky, as we have always found that wherever any bragging is done we are sure to lose; and so it proved. Keeping an eye on the time ball on Ryde Pier, Sea Maiden was first over the line, the wind was terribly light with a nasty bobbly swell which seemed to knock the life out of her. The boats with heavy lead keels went through it better than she did, and it was not long before we were passed. After rounding the Stourbridge it was a close pinch to Gillicker point, with the tide racing out and the sun blazing and dazzling one's eyes with its reflection in the oily heaving water. It was a weary time, and as we became mixed with the lagging members of the large fleet of one-raters which had started before us, our chances for that day were lost. It took the best part of a day to sail the one round. The Thames and Medway were not in it, Sea Maiden finishing an inglorious seventh.

PUNTS RACING.

Next day there was a little more wind, and Lotus came in a very good first, Sea Maiden second, and Wee Winn third. The moment the race was over, the helm was put up and we ran across to Portsmouth hard, and in two hours from the finish, the boat was safely placed on the truck that was to take her to Burnham-on-Crouch, where we were to do some racing, and where Lotus took first each time. There we had a week of first-class sport, some of the races being very exciting, one especially so, for there was a long run in a heavy sea, ending up in a jibe round the buoy which some did, and some did not do. It was a breathless moment as the boom came over and we careered away at a tremendous pace, the boat rocking wildly from side to side, and the waters seething all round and over us. Suddenly I found I had no grip on the helm, the rudder having floated up on our following wave. She broached to at once, and though, thanks to Commodore's prompt letting go of the sheet, we managed to save a capsize, it was a close thing.

That year we sailed twenty-seven races, winning fifteen firsts, six seconds, and two thirds, and ending the season on the Medway with a series of matches in which we all changed boats and crews. It was on a lovely autumn afternoon that we anchored our barge yacht under the wood as committee boat, with tea, something stronger, dry clothes, and a party of friends on board. In every case and with every crew Sea Maiden came in first, till we persuaded Lord Charles Beresford to sail his Undaunted with our sail, when she at once turned the tables. Next year there were a number of new punts built, namely: Mosquito, Star Fish, Water Lily, Princess May, and Tartar. The Royal Engineers, too, built the Terrible and Powerful, sister ships, with long overhanging sterns, and Captain Mareney, R.E., with his own hands built Bébé, which has proved the fastest of her class. In a strong wind the Bébé's speed is something quite phenomenal, and one race she sailed in a hard gale, surprised everyone who saw her. Mr. G. C. Kerr's punt, L'Espérance, besides being good-looking, sails very fast; and on one occasion, in a light wind, beat the seventeen-ton, Buccaneer, in a race to Sheerness and back, without time allowance. Owing to the drawing of our punt, which appeared in the Field, there have been many imitations of our flat-bottomed class started in different parts of the world. The Puffins at Plymouth, a little fleet at Weymouth, the new class at Southampton, and individual boats in Scotland, Northumberland, Anglesea, Florida, and even distant Hong Kong. There was a rumour that a challenger for the Seawanhaka Cup should take the shape of a long flat punt, and for this purpose a drawing was made by one of our most celebrated designers, but the Canadian holders of the cup have accepted the American challenge, instead of that of the Minima Yacht Club, so, this spring, the sound of the hammer will not be heard in our loft.

M. A. Wyllie.

MRS. PENN-CURZON.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Mrs. Wyllie's invalid daughter.—Ed.

[IN RED DEER LAND.]

Books and Magazine articles dealing with the Chase and the habits of the Red deer, are so many and so excellent that I feel diffident about attempting to say anything on a subject that has been so thoroughly thrashed out. In old days, or at any rate twenty-five years ago, very few people wended their way Westward in the months of August and September, to see what has now become such a popular sport. The crowds at the present time are now enormous, often worse than the Quorn fields, and the riders all full of zeal and desperately anxious not to miss anything from find to finish, thus often causing the Master no little anxiety, and trying his patience sadly.

In case my readers are not acquainted with the method in which stag-hunting is conducted, I will try to give a brief history of a day's sport. In the first place the deer must be harboured, that is "slotted" or tracked into covert, and this requires great knowledge of woodcraft on the part of him to whom the business is entrusted. The harbourer's business is to find out that his deer is a warrantable, i.e., a runnable, stag, which he can tell by the size of the slot, or footprint on the ground, and he must also make sure that his quarry has not passed through the covert. To do this he must search carefully for a slot leading out of the wood, or if the covert be too large he must make good as many of the paths round where he thinks his deer is lying, as he can. The difference between the slot of a hind and a stag is almost imperceptible to the ordinary eye, but if closely observed it will be noticed that the slot of a stag is larger and has a wider heel and blunter toes, also that an old heavy deer has his toes frequently uneven in length, while a hind's toe is pointed, and she has a narrow heel. In an old deer there is generally also a little space open between her toes. The harbourer can tell whether a stag or hind has been feeding, and though the signs believed in by some are disputed, one infallible test is whether the ash shoots have been nibbled or not. For while the hinds and young deer do not affect them, stags have a perfect passion for them, and the delicacy seems to be as irresistible to them as oysters and caviare are to a human gourmet.

The harbourer generally goes to the scene of action the day before the meet, and gleans what information he can from those whose knowledge he can rely on. With regard however to the feeding ground of the deer, he will do well to depend entirely on his own eyes, and to form his own conclusions. Next morning he must be afoot in the small hours, and look for any fresh slot pointing towards the covert, made by the deer returning from feeding. Should he see what he thinks belongs to a warrantable deer, he must next make sure the animal has not gone through the covert, and if the woods be very large, he must try and localise him as much as possible. The late Miles, who was the harbourer in the Devon and Somerset country for so many years, was a marvel in doing this, for he seemed to know the habits of the deer as well as they did themselves. His loss to the hunt was irreparable, for apart from the harbouring, he was of unbounded assistance during the run, and often when the deer seemed hopelessly lost, and Master and huntsman were in despair, have I heard Miles's whistle and his cheery holloa, saving the day at the eleventh hour.

For the business of tufting, as finding the deer is called, four or five couples of the strongest hounds are required, as they will have to run with the pack afterwards. Also, it is well to select those hounds most inclined to throw their tongues, as their deep notes are more than welcome in the big coverts, where they get out of sight. If the deer has been well harboured and is inclined to leave covert quickly, so much the better, but patience is often sorely wanted in stag hunting, when a cunning old deer will double back into covert time after time, and turn out his younger relations to try and get hounds off his line. We will suppose, however, that the deer has chosen to break covert quickly, and the welcome sound of Anthony's horn means that the body of the pack, till now kennelled in a convenient barn or stable, will be laid on. If the deer has chosen a good line, that is over the forest, we must pull ourselves together and save our horses wherever possible, knowing that we may gallop for eighteen or twenty miles or more.

It is wonderful how two or three miles over holding ground will steady a field, and weed them to within reasonable bounds. I consider Exmoor the worst possible country for a stranger to take his own line, the best man to hounds on earth cannot tell some of the crossings by instinct, many of the combes having only one even decent crossing, and that has to be negotiated with care. Most people, however, seem to come down with the idea that Exmoor is one vast bog, which is all nonsense, for most of it is quite rideable, or at any rate you can pick your way over it. The crossings are the worst drawbacks to riding straight to hounds. A large majority of the field ride to points, and most annoying it is, after you have galloped your hardest at the tail of hounds, to see a batch of tourists who have been piloted by someone who knows every inch of the country, and who has guessed the stag's point, with comparatively fresh horses, while your own, no matter how carefully you have nursed him, has pretty nearly had enough.

A deer will nearly always soil once, if not oftener during a run, and it is marvellous how a plunge in one of the many streams, or a roll in a peat hole, will refresh him. Stags, especially the older and fatter ones, generally lie down after they have run for a time if not pressed, that is if hounds are not laid on at once, and the master generally gives a big heavy deer a little law. A fresh find is a beautiful sight, and the tricks and dodges of a wily old stag would fill many chapters. To anyone fond of seeing hounds work, and not only anxious for a gallop, the sight of hounds trying to pick out the line of their deer, when he has gone up or down stream, is alone worth going out for. It is extraordinary how long a deer's scent will hold on the moor. It is no uncommon thing for hounds to hunt up to, and kill their stag, after he has been two hours ahead of them.

HOUNDS OF THE DEVON AND SOMERSET PACK.

(From a Picture in the possession of C. H. Basset, Esq., of Watermouth Castle.)

One thing in hunting the red deer impresses people very strongly who have only seen foxhunting, and that is the way hounds tail on the moor. Several explanations of this are given. One is that the deer running in a straighter line than the fox, the fastest hound gets in front and stays there, others say that it is easier to get through the heather in a string, and again some hold that the scent of a deer being very sweet, hounds run one behind another to get it all. When they do carry a head, the sight of the big hounds, none under twenty-four-and-a-half inches and all unrounded, racing over the heather, is a very fine one. Deer almost invariably die in the water, either in one of the numerous streams or rivers, or going to sea. In the last case they have to be followed by boatmen, and are brought to shore and killed. This is the greatest drawback to stag hunting, but it is no good being sentimental about it. The deer do an immense amount of damage to the farmer's crops, and if they were not killed in the chase they would very soon be shot, and stag hunting would be no more, so that my advice to those who cry out about the cruelty to "the poor dear stag," when they see him being ignominiously towed to shore, is to stay at home, so that their feelings may not be hurt by the sight.

It is wonderful how the more ignorant portion of the large field of strangers, who condescend to honour Exmoor with their presence in the stag-hunting season, grumble unceasingly at the sport. The country, Master, hounds, and hunt servants, all come in for scathing criticism. One has a great longing to let them try and hunt a deer themselves, to convince them that it is not such A B C work as they seem to think. Also, should the Master persist in remaining in a covert to hunt the big deer he knows to be there, instead of laying on to the four-year-old which has just broken away over a tempting line on the forest, there is a chorus of discontented ones, "Oh, what rot this is; why can't he go after a decent deer?" The malcontents, either forgetting or not knowing that it is the fat old sinner now doing his utmost to save his skin by turning out his younger relations, which gorges himself nightly on the farmer's best turnips and corn, and that it will be a poor consolation to the latter if hounds pursue a young deer twenty odd miles and then lose him, while the author of the mischief is left, possibly with a keener appetite than ever, after his unwonted exertions.

There is always a hope that a big fat stag may be run up and killed, should his whereabouts be a certainty, in time to lay on to another, and I have often seen two deer killed in one day. A fat stag which is merely blown and not exhausted, will waste a lot of valuable time beating up and down the water, too out of breath to breast the hill and give a gallop, and too strong to be pulled down. This gentleman is a most unpleasant customer to tackle, as in fact is any deer at bay. A stag is a grand looking beast when he stands with his back against a rock, in one of the picturesque streams that abound on Exmoor, with his lovely head well up, and great, sad, frightened eyes, the pack baying round him and not daring to come within striking distance of those death-dealing horns. The sooner then the huntsman, or one of the willing farmers always at hand and ready to assist, can slip behind the beast and lasso him, the better for everyone.

The head and slots of stags are the Master's perquisite, the skin and inside and the hinds' heads belong to the huntsman, who generally shares the liver with the farmers. The carcase is distributed amongst the farmers on whose land the deer was found, and who highly appreciate a bit of venison. The Master alone never gets any, and to speak for myself I have only tasted hunted stag once. This was when my mother was sent, by a kind neighbour, a haunch of a five-year old deer, which had given us a run of nearly thirty miles, and very excellent it was. I have never seen a more vicious stag either than this one, for though he had run from Cloutsham to within five miles of my mother's home,[2] he fought desperately and severely injured two hounds before he was taken. I always remember that gallop too on account of the marvellous way the puppies worked, with hardly any old hounds to help them, my father[3] having saved the older hounds for the next day, when he was meeting in a close woodland country, where he thought the inevitable crowded field would work less havoc among the older and more sensible hounds than on the puppies, many of which were hardly way-wise.

There is one delusion that strangers labour under who meditate a few days with the Devon and Somerset Staghounds, and this is, that it is absolutely necessary to ride "the horse of the country," as they term it. I think this is quite a mistake. Any horse that looks where he is going, and doesn't go yawing about with his head in the air, will go well on Exmoor, at any rate after a time or two, but horses accustomed to the country certainly get less frightened in soft ground than strangers. In fact, a moor-bred animal wont go into a bog at all. I have ridden all sorts and conditions of horses, and I think I would choose animals that stand about 15.1 or 15.2., short-legged and strong backed and with good shoulders, for though I have seen a little straight-shouldered Exmoor pony canter down a hill without a false step, when most people have been leading down it, yet I never think it gives you a comfortable sensation to be sitting almost on your horse's ears. Two things are absolute necessities, blood and condition, without these one cannot hope to get to the end of a long moorland gallop with comfort to either man or beast. I know no more hopeless-looking objects than a poor underbred and underfed hireling, floundering through the wet ground, remorselessly urged on by an ambitious but ignorant tripper, whose pedigree will probably bear even less looking into than his unfortunate steed's. For a very light weight with extravagant ideas, polo ponies would be ideal mounts, being in the height of condition, after the close of the season at Hurlingham, and very fast and handy on their legs, but it is not everyone who can afford or would care to risk valuable animals on such broken ground. Some people hold that big horses are better than small ones, but I cannot say I agree with them. A large horse shakes himself and his rider to pieces galloping down the hills, and if you would see a long run well, you must gallop down hills, and take it easy up them; he also does not recover himself so quickly should he make a mistake over the rough ground, and is more liable to strains and over-reaches in the boggy land, to say nothing of the fact that he can frighten you to death in the tiny narrow paths through the woods, where a false step means rolling into the river many feet below. A small horse may be quite as dangerous, but I don't think he feels so clumsy, and again, a small horse undoubtedly comes to time again sooner after a hard day. One thing I specially dislike on the moor, and that is a hard puller. People say, "what does it matter, when there's heaps of room." This is all very well on a racecourse, but when you are on the verge of almost a precipice intersected with ruts, peat holes and other trifles, with either a bog or a river waiting for you at the bottom, it is very poor fun to be hardly able to steady your horse, much less hold him, and I have seen some very nasty falls resulting from the inability of an unhappy sportsman to control his mount.

PRINCESS, IRISH MARE.

(Property of Mrs. Lewis Mackenzie.)

You can also have a nasty fall if you try and descend the steep combes sideways. It is a golden rule to ride a horse straight down. At the worst then he can but sit down, but if you are half cantering, half shambling down a hill sideways, and your mount puts a foot wrong, a horrible fall is the probable result. It is a wonder to me, looking at the crowd of people riding, most of them ignorant of the first principles of horsemanship, why there are not more bad falls than there are on Exmoor. Now and then it is true a man gets his face cut, or a rib broken or something of that sort, but really bad accidents are most rare. I suppose that the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, looks after the welfare of the bold tripper, or perhaps the softness of the ground has more to do with it.

I think Exford is the best centre for stag-hunting, that is if you do not mind having absolutely nothing to do on the off days, or have enough horses to go out with the foxhounds or harriers. Some people like Minehead, others prefer Dulverton. Personally I prefer Porlock, as it is quite close to the Moor meets, and is far and away the prettiest place to stop in. Accommodation is good and moderate, hirelings are to be obtained there and at Minehead, and are generally very good animals, though I would advise anyone with a couple or more well-bred horses in condition, to bring them down. The difference in comfort, especially in the long distances hacking home, is great.

Special care should be taken of saddles for this work, for there is no country where horses suffer so terribly from sore backs as Exmoor. The steep climbs up and down hill, the great heat, followed by standing still till a horse is chilled, then another gallop perhaps, and lastly a long ride home, horse and man, or oftener woman, dead beat, work absolute havoc in a stable full of otherwise sound horses. I would advise anyone hunting with the staghounds to have all saddles thoroughly fitted, if possible one for each horse, the horses' backs hardened a little, and above all to see that the saddle is left on the horse for some time after he is cool, whenever he comes in from hunting. Very few persons will take the trouble to do this, especially when a horse comes home about eleven o'clock at night, but it should always be insisted on.

Towards the end of September is to my mind the pleasantest time on Exmoor, and from the middle of the month to the time stag-hunting ends, about the tenth of October, sport is generally far better than earlier in the season. The deer break covert quicker, and run better, the weather is cooler, and Cloutsham which has in the earlier part of the season, been the happy picnic ground, to crowds of delighted strangers, now affords a sure find of a good Stag. This is, thanks to its kind owner and his son, who though not hunting-men themselves, are most desirous of showing sport to others. So much has been said about this opening function at Cloutsham and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, which in fact cannot be over-rated, that I will not allude to the "vast leafy combes," the "hazy outline of the Welsh coast," and the "stately purple-clad hill of Dunkerry," except to warn those who have never tried to gallop over the said Dunkerry that it is the most deceptive bit of going to my mind in the whole of the stag-hunting country. It is covered with rocks and stones, alternating with bogs, and is generally productive of a lame horse. I never saw it look so lovely as one day during hind-hunting.

It was a soft muggy day in November, and I was standing in a field behind Cloutsham farm, when a hind went away over Dunkerry. As I was riding a pony, I stood still and watched the proceedings. Anthony laid on, and the whole hunt swept away up the hill, and as they did so down came the fog like a curtain, but only covering half the hill. By and bye, back came the hind, and ran into Sweet Tree, as the extension of Cloutsham Wood on the Exford Road is called, and the hounds, huntsman and field all came one by one out of the mist. It was like a ghost hunt. Twice did that hind do the same thing, and then sent a young sister to take her place, but hounds were luckily stopped and the wily lady was captured, after a great deal of twisting and doubling up and down the water.

Very few people have any idea of the different aspect the country wears in the hind hunting season to what it does in stag-hunting time. In August on your way to the meet, you pass dozens of people, walking, riding, or driving, the latter with huge luncheon hampers, which are most welcome later on. The meet may be at Culbone Stables, in which case the Lynton road outside Lord Lovelace's plantation will be packed with carriages, etc., and people will idle about and stand in groups among the stunted fir trees, looking out on a calm blue sea. The stag may after some time "go to moor," and then away go the field after him, but for hours there will be carriages on the Lynton Road on the chance he may turn back and go to sea, which he may very likely do. In this case, those of the riders who have had enough, will turn round at the top of the hill and go home, but the majority will ride down through the Ashley Combe woods to the sea, and wait in the warm August afternoon till the stag is brought to land. The fishermen from Porlock Weir are always on the look out on a hunting day for a possible windfall in the shape of a deer going to sea, which means a sovereign in their pockets. The field meanwhile refresh themselves and their horses at the picturesque little hotel, the Anchor, and after the last rites of the chase have been gone through, ride home in the cool of the evening.

In hind hunting on a bitter December day, we have a very different picture. About four shivering women, or perhaps fewer, half a dozen sporting farmers, the Master and the hunt servants form the field. The women generally make a bolt for the little cottage at Culbone Stables, and sit round the fire there till Anthony comes for the pack. The wind is blowing half a gale, and sleet is falling, but once we are started no one cares for the weather. Deer, unlike foxes, will run in the teeth of the fiercest gale, and sometimes one is literally nearly blown out of the saddle. The hind which has probably left her calf lying in her bed, will run a big ring out to the Deer Park and back. With the ground at its heaviest, the small field has to gallop its fastest to keep the flying pack in sight. Back into Culbone the hind comes, and we stop and listen, and wonder if she will go to sea, trying in the meantime to get a little shelter from the icy wind under the larch trees. But our friend has not had half enough yet, and may take us over the same ground again, if she fails to induce another deer to take her place, or possibly we may go away after a fresh hind without knowing it; heart-rending work this for horses and hounds. Ultimately she will go to sea, either down the steep cliffs of Glenthorne, or from Porlock Weir, and the boatmen have to follow her, supposing it is not too rough for their safety, while the field, by this time of still smaller dimensions, wait patiently for the end. Then home we go. Porlock Weir was comparatively sheltered, but once on top of the hill again, the gale seems to have increased, and the sleet to be thicker, and by the time we get home we are nearly frozen, and it is pitch dark. Yet to my mind notwithstanding the horrible weather, hind hunting is a finer, wilder sport than stag-hunting, and a run after a straight-going hind in the spring when the weather is better, is hard to beat. Fog is the great enemy to hunting in the winter. Often the hounds have to go home from the meet, after waiting a couple of hours and more for it to lift.

F. Downer. Watford.

HEADS AT WATERMOUTH CASTLE.

I do not think casual visitors have any idea of the immense strain on hounds, horses and men that hunting from July to April entails, or they would not grumble as much as they do when they get a poor day's sport. Rather let them follow the example of one most genial tripper, who when a friend of mine remarked we had had a shocking bad day, nothing but wood work, said: "Well, I 'ear folks say they 'aven't 'ad a gallop, but I always 'as a gallop, and what I do is this. I watch one of them 'scarlet bounders' (presumably the huntsman), and when he lays on to the stag, I don't care where 'e is, I lays on to 'im. It takes a bit of doing too, and I always 'as a gallop!" Whether the "scarlet bounder" was equally pleased with a noisy follower, when he wanted to catch the slightest sound in covert, is another matter, but a jovial sportsman of this sort is far more welcome to the West Country than those people who go down and grumble at everything, and generally depart with the donation of a few shillings to the deer damage fund.

It is out of this fund the farmers are paid for the harm done to their crops by the deer, and richly they deserve some compensation, for without their help stag-hunting on Exmoor would soon be a thing of the past.

Edith Curzon.

THE TIVERTON STAGHOUNDS.

SIR JOHN AMORY'S STAGHOUNDS.

Though when Mr. Fenwick Bisset undertook to revive Stag-hunting on Exmoor in 1855, the attempt was regarded almost as a forlorn hope. It has now been found necessary to start a second pack in Devon, in order to keep down the herds of red deer. The last established pack is a private one belonging to Sir John Heathcoat Amory, and its popularity with all classes of the sport-loving West country is very great. Mr. Ian Amory hunts the hounds himself, and he is assisted by the Messrs. Las Casas, who act as his whippers-in, the important duties of the harbourer being also performed by an amateur. Everything in this establishment is carried out in the most sportsmanlike manner, and the time-honoured traditions of the hunt of the wild red deer are strictly adhered to. The sport shown by this pack, since its institution in 1897, has been excellent, and to the sportswoman who dares not brave the storm-swept expanse of Exmoor during the winter months, and yet loves to share in the grand sport of hind-hunting, the less exposed country hunted over by Sir John Amory's staghounds offers very great advantages. The picturesque little town on the Exe, indeed, is likely to take a high place among Western sporting centres, for it offers the triple attraction of the pursuit of the stag, the fox and the hare in its immediate neighbourhood.

J. Weston and Son Folkestone.

MRS. CULPEPER CLARKE.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Near Ilfracombe.—Ed.

[3] Mr. C. H. Basset, then Master of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds.—Ed.

[THE CHASE OF THE CARTED DEER.]

NOTE.—This article has been kindly read and approved by Mrs. Culpeper Clarke, who was unfortunately prevented from undertaking the task of writing it herself. In several cases the valuable suggestions she has made will be found embodied in the paper, marked by the initials C.F.C.C. At the special request of the writer of the paper, Mrs. Culpeper Clarke has consented to allow her photograph to appear.

Of all forms of the chase, that of the carted deer, has the unenviable distinction of having been followed, discussed and written about, by a greater number of people ignorant of the first elements of sport, than any other. It has too the disadvantage of being scorned by some of the boldest followers of the fox and the red deer, and thus while "crabbed" by those incompetent to judge, it is a "thing of naught" in the hunting calendar of some of the best sportsmen and women of the day. In spite of this, however, the hunt of the carted deer is the source of pleasure and health to many who otherwise would seldom or never be seen in the hunting-field, and as such it deserves to be chronicled.

That certain objections have always been urged with more or less weight against this particular form of sport, I am well aware, but I will leave its defence to abler hands than mine, and while ready to give help, if it may be, to any sister-sportswoman who would take it up, I must say boldly that a day with fox or hare is in my opinion, worth more than a dozen brilliant gallops after an enlarged deer. On the score of humanity, however, there is undoubtedly nothing to be said in its disfavour. The deer is well fed and cared for, and rarely comes to harm when before the hounds, and though there are nervous deer as nervous people, who will in the one case "funk" a possible fence, and in the other show signs of extreme fear at the pursuit of hounds, I do not believe in the agonies of terror of which the so-called humanitarians are pleased to make so much. On this point, however, let those who like Lord Ribblesdale, can wield the pen with as skilful a hand as they can steer a horse across country, speak with the authority which is theirs by right of profound knowledge, and long and unusual experience. And if we should find that other forms of sport are for whatever reason out of our reach, we may well be content to ride after the carted deer with such sisters of the chase as Lady Julia Follett, Lady Georgiana Curzon, Lady Downshire, and the brilliant horsewomen who week after week are among the followers of the Wards over the stiffest part of the Meath country. Can we go far wrong either in following such sportsmen as Lord Coventry and Lord Ribblesdale, with the spirit of Whyte-Melville inspiring us?

Let us then turn for a few words about the quarry of the Stag-hunt. The animal pursued, whether it be Stag, Havier, or Hind, has been carefully selected and most heedfully cared for, so that when it comes out for a gallop it is in the very height of condition. It is not often that it is asked to exert itself, for it comes out only in its proper turn, and this in the larger hunting establishments would not be more than three or four times in the course of the season. A Stag, fed on the choicest oats and the best old hay is not easily fatigued, and probably at the close of the day's proceedings, will not be nearly so "done" as the horses that have ridden in its pursuit, or the men and women to whom it has been giving pleasure. We all know the old history of Mr. Henry Nevill's deer, which lived on terms of perfect amity with the hounds kept for their chase, and I have myself seen a stag deliberately trot down a road and look over the hedge at the pack, which had considerately been stopped till his Lordship should get his second wind. The exploits of a celebrated old hind too, which was on the best of terms with all connected with her hunt, are still remembered in the country in which she afforded sport. As soon as she was released she would speed away, often for twenty miles or so, and when weary would take refuge in a wood. Recognising the sign that the hunt was at an end, the huntsman then stopped his hounds, leaving the hind in peace till the deer-cart came up. When this had been backed to the boundary fence of the covert where the deer was waiting, and the old driver had given a low peculiar whistle, the keen ears and soft eyes of the hind would appear through the bushes. If no enemy was in sight, she would then jump lightly in the cart and be driven home. Let us hope she would have a more comfortable journey than many a sportswoman, with weary limbs and a weary horse to carry her, and many long miles stretching between her and her abode.

IN THE AIR. NO. 1.

There are certain women who ride hard, for whom this form of the chase has special advantages. For example there is the woman who from whatever cause, whether from the care of a large household, or the pressure of the duties that her literary or artistic, or it may be her political tastes, have involved her in, finds it extremely difficult to take a whole long day for her pleasure in the field, and to such an one the short day with staghounds will be an inestimable boon. Again there are women, whose social or domestic duties keep them in town during the winter months, and to them a run with the staghounds will be a much-prized form of recreation.

On the other hand it should be remembered that to some women who are more or less of invalids, and who would yet rather not go out at all than leave off before the run is over, the possible long day, and the almost certain fast pace with staghounds, will be against this form of sport. This, like most other matters connected with sport, will depend very much whether the chase of the deer is the sport of the neighbourhood, when hounds will often make long days, or whether, as in some good foxhunting countries, it is more or less subservient to the chase of the fox.

There are others again whose lot is cast in a good stag-hunting country, who honestly find a satisfying enjoyment in riding after the hounds. These will like to make long days, and if they follow the chase to the end, will be not less weary than their foxhunting sisters, by the time they turn their steps homewards.

Let us see how such will fare.

Suppose that a run with Lord Rothschild's splendid pack is in prospect, and that the meet is fixed for twelve o'clock. If time is of moment to you, you may reckon that if you arrive at the rendezvous three quarters of an hour later, you will find you still have a margin before hounds are laid on. This will give you a comfortable morning's work, before the cart is at the door. For remember, that a pony cart or dog cart, or the more luxurious brougham, is very necessary to the comfort of the hunter of the carted deer. In the first place the long distances covered and the fast pace, make large demands on a woman's powers and those of her horse, and she should, therefore, husband both till the moment of the chase arrives. Equally for both horse and rider too, she should, if possible, make the return journey also in the cart.

That this often will not be practicable, and for the same reason that it is generally useless to have a second horse out stagging, does not in any way detract from the comfort of having the cart at hand if it can be managed. If, however, the deer should run too fast and too far, for his cart to come up to him for many hours after the "take," then—and this will be the most frequent experience of the followers of the chase—the rail may prove the best hack home for both woman and horse.

The former will thus be saved a weary jog home, and her horse will also be spared what, even if he is a good hack, will be the most difficult part of the day's work to him. And though, of course, an ideal woman's hunter should also be a perfect hack, how few even good horses answer the description. What hunting woman cannot recall some animal, and many it may be, which have served their turn, for which she would not have taken centuries, if offered when he was sailing with magnificent action over a grass country, but which on the journey home at night, she would have been almost inclined to give away to the first comer? But even with a good hack, it is a doubtful pleasure to ride him after he has tired himself in the chase, and you will find it a relief unspeakable to exchange the saddle for the cushions, and to drive or train home, instead of striving to keep your weary hunter on his legs.

T. Bennett and Sons. Worcester and Malvern

LADY DOROTHY COVENTRY ON SIXPENNY.

But to return to the meet. When you get to the place of meeting there will be three courses open to you as a rule. You can either see the stag un-carted and the hounds laid on, or you can omit the first ceremony and come on the scene with the hounds, which in well regulated establishments will not have been allowed to catch a view of the cart, or you can adopt another course, and wait till the stag has completed his first circle, which he is almost sure to run before leaving. If you incline to the last, and there is much to be said in its favour, you will look out for some point, such as the crossing of a road by the stag, and trotting quietly down to it, you will wait for the hounds to come up. By the time they reach you, they will have got over the first flurry with which staghounds always make for the line, and will come chiming down as prettily as a pack of harriers.

[I think the best plan is to come into the field with the hounds, if possible, pick your own place at the first fence—of course riding wide of the hounds—and do your level best to get a good start. If staghounds really run, a good start is every bit as important with them as in the Shires, and that is one reason I think they are such good training for judgment, decision and nerve. She who hesitates is sure to be lost sooner or later, and when you have been out of a good thing two or three times, because you did not push along at first, it does make you keen.—C.F.C.C.]

Then you should ride to the hounds and watch them working. You will observe that they string more than foxhounds—though they are foxhounds in everything but the use to which they are put—but such packs as Lord Rothschild's or the Queen's, will drive forward on a hot scent and work out a cold one, in a way that will delight any lover of hound work. Now you may, nay you must, ride somewhat closer to the pack than would be quite orthodox with foxhounds, and if there should be anything like a scent you will find that in spite of being a light weight, it may be, and riding one of the best, it will take you all your time to live with them. Nor will you be in any danger of overriding hounds. With a good deer you will find you need all your judgment, horsemanship, coolness and pluck to live to the end.

After you have been going some twenty or twenty-five minutes, perhaps, hounds will run up to their deer. But the sport will not be over. If possible at this point you should notice whether the deer has his mouth open or shut, for this will tell you whether you may still look for a long gallop or not. A deer, be it remembered, closes his mouth when he is beaten, but as long as he has it open, you may be sure he has not the smallest intention of being captured. You will find that with the consideration for the feelings of the quarry which marks all the proceedings, hounds will not be allowed to go on till ample time has been given for the deer to get a good start. He may not unlikely be encouraged by the friendly crack of a hunting crop by one of the field, but otherwise his Lordship will be left to himself, and the hounds meanwhile will stand with their sterns waving in eager impatience to be off, and their eyes fixed on the face of the huntsman. It was a grand sight to see poor Mark Howcutt at such a moment, in the vale of Aylesbury. The loose thong of his whip, as he sat motionless in front of hounds was enough to keep them in check, and when he quietly gathered the thong up, they knew the moment had come, and casting themselves on the line, they would break into a chorus of rejoicing, and race eagerly away.

It is not till you see the stag soil, that you may begin to take things easily, for this is generally a sign of the beginning of the end. It is, however (and here I recall the words of Whyte Melville), an act of courtesy to those who supply our sport, to stay and see the deer taken before we leave. If you are up at the end of a good gallop over the Vale, you may be pretty sure you will be able to hold your own wherever fortune may lead you, even if the Quorn hounds should be running their best from the Ashby Pastures, over the Twyford Vale to Burrough Hill, or the Cottesmore lady-pack be racing in front of you from Ranksboro' Gorse to Woodwell Head.

As stag-hunting begins later in the day than the pursuit of the fox, so does it leave off earlier, and the sportswoman who shares in it will generally find herself at home in time to get into a comfortable tea-gown, and give what our neighbours call "five o'clock" to her friends. There will then be the chance of a rest before dinner, and to those who are not over-strong, or who have heavy social duties before them, I would recommend the plan of a well-known rider to hounds in Leicestershire, who goes quietly to bed and gets perhaps a couple of hours sleep before her maid rouses her to dress for dinner. As many women undoubtedly suffer from the strain entailed by the great demands on their strength during the hunting season, the plan may help them to keep both good looks and health, and will thus give them a keener enjoyment in their favourite sport.

And now a word as to equipment, though this will be brief indeed, as what applies to the follower of the fox applies in almost every particular to her who rides after the stag. I would only suggest in the latter case that the habit worn should be plain, and that the distinctive collar of any Foxhunt of which you may be a member, is not quite in place when you are following another form of sport. As to the vexed question of the tall and the round hat, in the hunting-field, some will declare in favour of comfort as represented by the latter, while others will prefer the undeniable smartness of the ugliest product of modern civilization.

[My advice to everyone is to take a change in a Gladstone, and leave it either at the Inn where the meet is, or better still with the clothing and horse-box, for it is a serious matter to get ducked in a brook and then perhaps have a long train journey home, without the possibility of dry clothes. I say this feelingly, as this year after the Stag in Kent, I fell at a brook about 2.15—my watch stopped, so I know the hour—and after finishing the run, I had to ride seven miles to Paddock Wood, before training home. Of course I ought to have died of pneumonia after this, but happily was none the worse.—C.F.C.C.]

The above note reminds me that if at any time you should get a wetting, such as that described above, and have no welcome change at hand, you will in nine cases out of ten experience no harm, if in train or cart you cover your wet clothing with coat or rug, or even horse-cloth should nothing else be available. Some may think even a probable chill preferable to the last suggestion, but verbum sap.

The canteen for a day with staghounds will not require much thought, for between the late breakfast and early tea, which generally are possible, the demands of appetite will not be great. However, as there will be no second horseman to rely on, the sportswoman will do well to carry with her a few biscuits and a little cold essence of beef, or a slice of plum pudding, and some port wine should she prefer it. (A medical friend says there is nothing like Kola Wine.)

But now, last, though of more importance than all that has gone before, we come to the question of the hunter. To leave out of count for the moment, the points we should insist on for all women's hunters, the first great requisite for a horse that is to follow staghounds, is speed. For remember that the fastest possible form of the chase, is when a pack of large-sized foxhounds, is in pursuit of a red deer hind, over a grass country. A well-bred horse is essential, and other things being equal, if clean thoroughbred, so much the better.

[From my eleven years' experience of Stag-hunting, I have come to the conclusion that the most essential thing is that a hunter should be well-seasoned. If you ride a young horse with the stag, which would go perfectly well with foxhounds, he will go off his feed and fall all to pieces, even if you are lucky enough not to strain or over-reach him. A horse ought in my opinion to be quite seven years old, to take his turn regularly once a week stagging.

I quite agree with what you say about breeding, but for a woman the ideal horse for staghounds must not only be temperate, but in every way good-mannered. I suppose it is the rush at starting, which of course suggests racing, that excites them, but I know by experience that a horse which is a comfortable mount for a woman with Foxhounds or Harriers, may prove quite unmanageable if taken with Staghounds. A hot horse, too, even if you can ride it, takes so much out of itself, that it cannot stand the long days, and is sure to knock up. With the packs I know in Surrey and Kent, a good timber jumper is essential, and in Kent you also want a water jumper—a rare combination.—C.F.C.C.]

A good fencer will be the best to carry you in the Vale of Aylesbury or the Ashford Vale; while if you go out with the Queen's, you will need a stouter animal for their Beaconsfield country, and indeed for most of the country of the Royal Hunt. With the Wards in Ireland, you will need the very best class of horse you will ride with the Meath, and in all countries where the chase of the carted deer is pursued, you will, in my opinion, find size and scope important, as a large horse will be going well within himself while a smaller one is at a stretch. As however to every rule there is an exception, so an undoubted authority tells me, that an Arab pony standing only 14·2, was well to the front in a good run after stag one day this season (1897-8), and pounded some gallant Dragoons over a six-barred gate.

Although the fences in most stag-hunting countries are generally of a manageable size, yet as you have to gallop at them, you should have a bold free horse under you. One too which has his wits about him is perhaps, if that be possible, even more valuable after stag than after fox or hare, the pace necessitating the promptest decision and the greatest possible judgment in making the best of the unexpected, which is sure to happen, even when you think you know every inch of the country.

Stag-hunting then, we have seen, has its advantages, and I am not sure that if your lot is cast in a provincial country where the interest of watching hounds track their fox over flinty hills, from the depths of one thick covert to the recesses of another, is seldom varied by a gallop, you will not do well to take your place, at least occasionally, with the followers of the local staghounds. Of course, I am taking for granted that you are, more or less, interested in the working of hounds; but if you should be one of the hard-riding brigade, who frankly acknowledge they hunt to ride, then I should say that your best place will always be with staghounds, for with them you may reckon on the gallop which with other hounds is, and always must be, a matter of doubt. In most parts of the country you will find some staghounds within reach, at least of the "iron covert hack," and in Ireland the Wards and the Rosscommon are unrivalled for speed and incident in any land. It is only, though, the youngest, and pluckiest, and best mounted of us who can hope to live over the stiff Irish banks at the pace at which the latter hounds go. A saddening thought, but true, as many a good woman has found to her cost.

IN THE AIR. NO. 2.

If your hunting lot should be cast within distance of a stag-hound kennel, I would strongly advise you to learn something about the hounds. Your pleasure in the chase will be greater if you can distinguish between the notes of a trusted hound and those of a youngster which has not proved his right to your confidence. My own reception by kindly Fred Cox, when I made my first visit to Lord Rothschild's celebrated kennels, I have always felt to be a reproach to my fellow-sportswomen on this point. It was during a frost in the early days of 1895, that I determined to ask Cox to show me his beauties on the flags. A telegram brought back a satisfactory reply, and I duly presented myself at Cox's door. Mrs. Cox, however, was doubtful about admitting me, and told me her husband was engaged to show the hounds to a visitor at twelve o'clock.

"But I made an appointment for that hour," was my remark, and the astonishment with which the old lady regarded me I shall never forget.

With uplifted hands she exclaimed, "Well, to be sure ma'am, we thought you was a man!" and it was some little time, I could see, before the old huntsman himself decided that though I had the misfortune to be a woman, I was not altogether ignorant of what a good hound should be.

It will be a good thing when more women who ride to hounds know sufficient of hound work to be able to take an intelligent interest in the performance of the pack in the field, for those who can only enjoy a mad gallop know but little of the inner joys of the hunting field.

Frances E. Slaughter.

THE LADY THEODORA GUEST ON PEMBROKE.

(With the Blackmore Vale Hounds.)

[HUNTERS.]

The great question in buying horses to carry us with hounds is, of course, expense. If our purses are deep and well-lined, then we can ensure being well carried, provided of course we know sufficiently what we want to be able to choose aright. But even with two or three hundred guinea hunters, we may, according to good authority, only hope for the superlatively good one, once in a lifetime. Yet if only once this joy is to be ours it is worth trying for, the nearer perfection is our horse the greater will our pleasure and comfort be in the hunting field.

In saying this I am speaking of the great majority of women, those, who while being good riders and fair judges of what a horse should be, are yet not among the exceptional few who can make any horse go and most go well, and who can, therefore, lay claim to the title of consummate horsewoman. That the latter is rare, even in these days of hard riding, few will be found to deny, though perhaps many of us have a belief deep down in our minds, to which we would not give utterance for worlds, that we ourselves are above the average in our skill with, and knowledge of, horseflesh.

So those who feel they have nothing to learn will not be likely to trouble themselves with these few words on the choice of hunters, and to the "exceptional few" there is certainly nothing to be said that they do not know far better than one of their less-blessed sisters can tell them. But with these reservations there may still be a goodly proportion of riders to hounds, who will like to consider the subject of what a hunter should and should not be.

With a devout wish then that we could each truly say we find our pleasure in any horse, because even if he is a bad one, the excitement and interest of checking his faults and getting the best out of him, will make up for our loss of pride of place, let us think for a moment of the points essential for the average woman's hunter to possess.

These are, a well-laid shoulder, good carriage of the head and neck, and good manners.

Many other qualities there are which are more or less desirable, but the above are absolutely indispensable to a woman's safety, as well as pleasure in the hunting field, and, from choice, no woman should buy a horse that does not possess them.

A good shoulder, as we all know, means so much to the comfort of every rider, whether man or woman, that too much stress cannot be laid on it. But if desirable for all, to a woman it is the one point, for which, if she have to choose, she will give up all else. Without a shoulder which gives the play necessary for him to recover himself, a horse with the dead weight of a woman on his back, has no chance in the case of a slip-up, or peck, or any of the thousand-and-one trifles that will scarcely receive passing notice, if he does put himself right and go on.

Strange as it may seem, some women who go fairly hard in the wake of hounds, do not realise how all-important a matter this is. They do not, in fact, seem to understand the enormous difference between the dead pressure of our weight on a horse—light in comparison though this be in reality—as we sit with our support entirely on one side, to that of the man, who though in nine cases out of ten heavier than we are, yet by the even distribution of pressure and the springiness afforded by the double support of the grip of his legs on both sides of the animal, may be described as living weight. The advantage given by a man's seat is, I believe, incalculable, as those of us who have done long distance rides in uncivilised parts of the world, can say from practical experience, yet I would not—even if it were of the smallest use, in the face of popular opinion—advise women to start a crusade against the existing state of things. We have crusades enough in these days, without taking up the war of the saddle, a victory in which might turn out to be a disastrous failure from other points of view.

That the head should be well put on, is again of special importance to a woman, because beside the fact that she has less physical power than a man as a rule, from the nature of her seat she has less control over her horse, one therefore that carries his head badly, may prove beyond her power altogether to control, and will certainly be unpleasant and fatiguing to ride.

From the full clear eye which will look at you with such winning intelligence, you may and indeed must, if the horse is a stranger to you, make up your mind as to his character. And this is a test that will never fail. I would, therefore, counsel an intending buyer to turn resolutely from any horse that does not satisfy her in this respect, however good his points may otherwise be.

This brings me to the subject of manners, and full as much may be said on this important topic when we discuss the equine species, as when our talk concerns the human race, for is it not true, and equally true, that "manners maketh" both horse and rider what they are. But to confine ourselves to the former for the present, and to see first what he should not be. A horse that is to give you pleasure in the hunting field should not pull, and above all things must not rear, for nothing is so likely to lead to a ghastly accident as this. He must not be a refuser, as here a woman's physical lack of power will be against her. If he fidgets, you will find a long day on his back most fatiguing, and should he be a kicker your enjoyment will be marred. If, indeed, you ride an animal with this fault, and one which at the same time has any turn of speed, you should try to get to the front and stay there, for so you will have more space and freedom than can otherwise be the case. Wherever you are, remember you cannot be too careful to keep the active heels out of reach of the hounds, and of your companions in the field. It is most desirable that a hunter should be quiet at gates, and here, perhaps, I may be allowed to remark that all women who ride to hounds should be able to open a gate quietly and quickly, so if you are not proficient in this, I should advise a little practice by yourself. In a flying country your horse should be more than ordinarily bold, and as clever as you can get him for a creeping country, for never forget that you cannot drive or squeeze him as a man can. If you are a thorough good horsewoman you may of course use spurs, and thus force him "where he would not," but to raise the whip as you near a fence is to teach your horse to swerve, for he very soon learns to expect and shrink from the blow. Beside all these negative and positive qualities, the perfect hunter must be a perfect hack if possible, and when you have these combined you may congratulate yourself on having the horse of a lifetime.

LA CIGALE.

(Property of Mrs. Gordon Canning.)

A horse with the manners I have described will not be young, and I should say, though each rider will have her own opinion about this, that a horse is best for a good woman with hounds, when he is seven off, or even over.