“For aught I see they are as sick that
Surfeit with too much, as they that starve with
Nothing.”
We had just finished our breakfast one morning, and were lying about
the court to assist digestion, when I chanced to remark that I
considered the flesh not quite so nicely cooked as usual.
“Your palate must be out of order,” returned Trimbush. “Mark is as good
a boiler as ever heated a copper.”
“Still the material might have been tough,” said I, “and consequently
required longer boiling.”
“I think not,” rejoined my friend, with a smack of his lips. “My taste
may be depended upon in such important matters.”
“A great deal of one’s comfort depends upon the cook,” I observed.
“Beyond conception,” emphatically replied the old hound. “In addition
to which,” he continued, “we can’t perform our duties unless
properly kept. The meal must be good and old, the flesh well but not
over-boiled, and the broth rich and sweet to enable us to kill foxes
handsomely. Our strength, speed, and wind, depend upon the feeding.”
“No doubt about it,” coincided I.
“I remember,” resumed my friend, “hearing a scientific opinion given
on this important subject to us from a thorough-going sportsman of the
name of Cecil. In a few words I think more was never spoken.”
“If not too much trouble,” said I, “it would gratify me to hear it
repeated.”
“A pleased and patient listener,” returned Trimbush, “invariably
renders me a willing speaker.” And after settling himself in a position
of the greatest ease, he commenced the following philosophical
dissertation on catering for foxhounds:
“It is a circumstance very universally remarked by masters of hounds,
huntsmen, and others who are in the habit of making observations in the
field, that hounds have appeared sooner blown when running on moist
days during this season than usual. The cause has evidently arisen from
the peculiar mildness of the weather. Whenever the atmosphere is damp
and warm, it contains a less quantity of oxygen than when it is dry,
clear, and bracing, and the effect on the respiratory organs of all
animals when brought into active exertion is very apparent. Hounds have
been observed to lap water when going to covert more freely on some
occasions than others, which is also a symptom of the effect of the
atmosphere.
“Liebig’s very clever work may be consulted to advantage, to ascertain
how and why certain causes and effects in the animal economy are
produced; but as many persons who may be interested on the subject have
not an opportunity of procuring it, I will introduce a few abbreviated
extracts, which are most particularly connected with the effects of
food and the peculiar conditions of the atmosphere.
“Liebig says, ‘Two animals, which in equal times take up by means of
the lungs and skin[2] unequal quantities of oxygen, consume quantities
of the same nourishment which are unequal in the same ratio.
[2] As hounds do not perspire through the skin, I apprehend
they do not consume oxygen through that medium: hence a reason
why the efforts of the lungs are so laborious when protracted
exertions call them into increased action.
“‘The consumption of oxygen in equal times may be expressed by the
number of respirations: it is clear that in the same individual the
quantity of nourishment required must vary with the force and number of
the respirations.
“‘A child, in whom the organs of respiration are naturally very active,
requires food oftener than an adult, and bears hunger less easily. A
bird deprived of food dies on the third day, while a serpent, with its
sluggish respiration, can live without food three months or longer.
“‘The number of respirations is less in a state of rest than during
exercise or work. The quantity of food necessary in both conditions
must vary in the same ratio.
“‘The quantity of oxygen inspired is also affected by the temperature
and density of the atmosphere.
“‘It is no difficult matter in warm climates to study moderation in
eating, and men can bear hunger for a long time under the Equator, but
cold and hunger united very soon exhaust the body.’
“Liebig also states, ‘That the quantity of food is regulated by the
number of respirations, by the temperature of the air, and by the
amount of heat given off to the surrounding medium.’
“From the foregoing remarks, it will be seen how great an influence
food has upon animals called upon to exert such violent labour as
foxhounds are. The comparisons of the duration of life, when deprived
of food, between the bird and the serpent, I apprehend, relates
to birds whose nature it is to feed upon grain only, because the
carnivorous birds live much longer without food, their respiration
being slower: and I infer by this that the power of endurance in
hounds, and their perfection of wind and condition, are regulated by
feeding them with a due proportion of flesh, which, prepared by being
boiled, is converted at once into blood.
“All animals partaking of a mixed diet, partly of grain, will be
greatly influenced in their respiratory organs by the proportions
which are given to them and the state of the atmosphere. The quality
of the blood being regulated by the quantity and the quality of food
consumed, its capability of passing through the lungs is governed. When
an animal has partaken largely of food which renders the blood of that
character as to cause the consumption of a great quantity of oxygen in
its passage through the lungs, and the atmosphere is deficient of that
important gas--which is always the case in close damp weather, such as
is occasionally experienced during the winter--it follows, as a matter
of course, that hounds, and all such animals, will quickly evince
symptoms of distress, or, familiarly speaking, will become blown, as
the causes which produce that effect predominate.
“In hot climates man consumes very little, if any, animal food; in
cold ones, scarcely anything else: and the Esquimaux will partake of
blubber, animal oils, or fat--a food nauseating and disgusting to the
people of another climate.
“With these facts it becomes apparent how the quantity and quality of
food require to be regulated by circumstances, especially on the day
before hunting.
“There are few, if any, masters of hounds or huntsmen who are not
aware of the necessity of giving small proportions of flesh during
the warm weather at the commencement of the season, and again in the
spring, when such a condition of the atmosphere generally prevails as
that which we so universally experience during the months of November,
December, and January. Without a certain proportion of flesh, it is
well known that hounds cannot work; that is to say, they cannot go
through the fatigues of a quick burst or a protracted chase; at the
same time, too large a quantity will render them gross and plethoric,
consequently incapable of exertion.
“As the quality of the food depends in a very great degree upon the
manner in which it is prepared, that becomes a subject worthy of
considerable attention. It is a practice in many kennels to boil
the flesh to a most unnecessary and prejudicial extent, but it is a
custom which cannot be too strongly objected to. Flesh over-boiled is
divested of its nutritive properties in a very great degree. It may be
remarked by some, those who are advocates for excessive boiling, that
if the nutritive properties are extracted from the flesh, they are
contained in the broth, and _that_ broth being given to the hounds, the
nutritious principles are still preserved--an argument which I can by
no means agree to.
“Like man, the hound is found to thrive best upon food composed of
flesh and grain combined, consequently a comparison between the two
may with propriety be introduced. When a man undergoes the ordeal of
training for an athletic engagement, the animal food which he partakes
of is only subject to the process of cooking in a moderate degree;
overdone meat is studiously avoided. To the valetudinarian broth is
prescribed as affording light nourishment with a moderate expenditure
of the powers of digestion, but is never called in aid to form a
principal portion of the aliment for the human subject at a time when
great exertion is required. It is always found that broth creates
thirst with us, and there is no doubt it has the same effect on the
hound when given to a great extent, more especially when made very
strong.
“I must observe, that I am by no means about to recommend the disuse of
broth in the kennel; but I wish to point out the propriety of giving it
in moderate quantities, and of depending upon the flesh which is given
for containing the bulk of nourishment, and giving it in that state
when it contains the greatest quantity. It is an impression with some
huntsmen, that by boiling the flesh to an excessive degree, the bad
qualities are extracted--that is to say, if the horse had any disease
about him, that the humours would be extracted from the flesh; but then
it must be remembered that they would be contained in the broth, in
which state they would be quite as injurious, or perhaps more so.
“At the time when an animal is performing great exertion, it is
essentially requisite that his stomach should contain but a small
quantity of food, but that food should be of a nutritious character and
easy of digestion. The practice that I would recommend, and it is one
borne out by the reasons already assigned, as well as by experiment,
is, not to give hounds any broth at all in their food _on the day
before_ hunting.
“The pudding must be reduced with pure water which has been boiled,
and the usual allowance, or perhaps, on some occasions, a trifling
addition to the accustomed portion of flesh must of course be given;
by this method of feeding, hounds will most assuredly do their work
far better than when a quantity of broth with very little or no flesh
is given; a custom adopted in some kennels with very bad results. From
such treatment, hounds will be observed light of muscle, big in their
bodies, and incapable of running up at the conclusion of a severe day.
By adopting the recommendation of substituting water which has been
boiled, for broth, on the day before hunting, it will be found that
hounds will not evince an equal degree of thirst by constantly lapping
on their road to cover, nor will they be so soon blown in chase.”
“There,” ejaculated Trimbush, upon the completion of his task, “that’s
what I call giving the ‘why’s’ for all the ‘wherefores.’”
Clever and philosophical as I deemed this delivery to be, I had become
somewhat wearied with it, and in order to divert my companion from
steeping his senses in forgetfulness, which his blinking eyelids bore
evidence was fast approaching, I asked him if he had ever turned his
attention to the poetry as well as to the practical details of hunting.
“What do you mean?” inquired Trimbush, with a sleepy stare of surprise.
“Simply, whether you have made the attempt of earning for yourself that
fame,” replied I, “which I intend gaining for myself?”
“I’m quite in the dark,” rejoined my companion, testily.
“Well, then,” returned I, “to be more explicit, I mean to let my tongue
appear _in print_.”
“In print!” exclaimed Trimbush, husky with surprise. “How?”
“Ah,” added I, quoting an early reply to one of my interrogatories,
“there are many things as clear to our vision as the sunshine at noon,
and yet their causes are hid in impenetrable darkness.”
“Well, well!” added my friend, “I don’t wish to appear inquisitive, but
if you should mix me up in your--your--”
“Don’t say book,” remarked I. “It sounds so gent-like.”
“Anything you please,” said Trimbush. “But as I was about saying,”
continued he, “if you should come out so powerfully strong, perhaps
you’d make room for a little slice of an attempt at a song upon our
worthy master--God bless him!”
“Of your composing?” inquired I.
Trimbush coughed, licked his paws, examined the tip of his stern, as if
a flea was taking a liberty in that quarter, but gave no answer.
I repeated the question.
“As you _will_ have it,” he rejoined, pettishly, “then it _is_ my
composition.”
“I feel assured that you need not be ashamed of it,” returned I. “Pray
let me hear the effusion.”
“You’ll not laugh?” said he, inquiringly.
“Not if the intent be serious,” I replied.
“In that case,” rejoined Trimbush, “here goes!” and in a subdued,
melodious voice, he commenced his original song of
THE OLD HUNTING SQUIRE.
I’ll sing you a sporting song that was made by a sporting pate,
Of a fine old hunting Squire, who has a fine estate,
And who keeps his hounds and hunters at a liberal old rate,
And plenty gives to the poor and old who enter at his gate;
Like a fine old hunting Squire, one of the present day.
His custom is, when at the Meet, to welcome great and small,
And a hearty greeting gives he to friends and neighbours all;
’Tis here the laugh and joke and jest right merrily go round,
“But hark, my boys! pray, cease your noise; for now sly Reynard’s found!”
Cries our fine old hunting Squire, one of the present day.
Although threescore and ten his years, he boldly takes the lead,
And flies the gate, the brook, and wall, and sweeps along the mead;
He never swerves nor cranes--not he; his true heart’s in the sport.
Oh! our fine old hunting Squire is one of the right sort!
A fine old hunting Squire, one of the present day.
From scent to view they run him now, in vain fleet Reynard flies,
The ringing pack have doomed his death--he struggles, but he dies!
And at the finish who was there? Why he who at the burst
Led the boldest and the best, in the foremost flight was first--
Our fine old hunting Squire, one of the present day.
“A beautiful chaunt!” ejaculated I, pleased with the sporting rhyme,
“and one which shall have place in ‘The Life of a Foxhound.’”
* * * * *
Having doubtlessly made every note of value which could be drawn from
his experience, Ringwood’s memoir here ends from want of material,
and the earnest disposition on the part of his biographer of wishing
to prove neither monotonous nor wearisome. It was deemed by that wise
hound that a history or tale, when told, should, like a fox, when
killed, be broken up and finished. To this, therefore, we will give an
appropriate one in a ringing
WHO-WHOOP!
THE END.