LETTER I
Bristol Hot-Wells, March 20, 1779
You could not, my friend, have chosen a better season than the present, to remind me of sending you my Thoughts on Hunting; for the accident that brought me hither is likely to detain me some time: besides I have no longer a plea for not obeying your commands. Hitherto, indeed, I had excused myself, in hopes that some publication on the subject might have rendered these Letters needless; but since nothing of the kind, although so much wanted, has appeared; as I am now sufficiently unoccupied to undertake the task, I shall not think it a trifling subject, if you think it a necessary one: and I wish that my own experience of the diversion may enable me to answer the many questions which you are pleased to propose concerning it.
Knowing your partiality to rhyme, I could wish to send you my thoughts in verse; but as this would take up more time, without answering your purpose better, I must beg you to accept them in humble prose, which, in my opinion, is better suited to the subject. Didactic essays should be as little clogged as possible: they should proceed regularly and clearly: should be easily written, and as easily understood; having less to do with words than things. The game of crambo is out of fashion, to the no small prejudice of the rhyming tribe; and before I could find a rhyme to porringer, I should hope to finish a great part of these Letters. I shall, therefore, without further delay, proceed upon them:—this, however, I must desire to be first understood between us—that when, to save trouble to us both, I say a thing is, without tacking a salvo to the tail of it, such as, in my opinion—to the best of my judgment, &c. &c.—you shall not call my humility in question, as the assertion is not meant to be mathematically certain. When I have any better authority than my own, such as Somerville, for instance (who, by the bye, is the only one that has written intelligibly on this subject), I shall take the liberty of giving it you in his own words, to save you the trouble of turning to him.
You may remember, perhaps, that when we were hunting together at Turin, the hounds having lost the stag, and the piqueurs (still more at fault than they) being ignorant which way to try, the king bid them ask Milord Anglois: nor is it to be wondered at, if an Englishman should be thought to understand the art of hunting, as the hounds which this country produces are universally allowed to be the best in the world. Whence, I think, this inference may be drawn—that although every man who follows this diversion may not understand it, yet it is extraordinary, of the many who do, that one only, of any note, should have written on the subject. It is rather unfortunate for me, that this ingenious sportsman should have preferred writing an elegant poem to an useful lesson; since, if it had pleased him, he might easily have saved me the trouble of writing these Letters. Is it not strange, in a country where the press is one continued labour with opinions of almost every kind, from the most serious and instructive to the most ridiculous and trifling; a country, besides, so famous for the best hounds, and the best horses to follow them; whose authors sometimes hunt, and whose sportsmen sometimes write—that only the practical part of hunting should be known? There is, however, no doubt, that the practical part of it would be improved, were it to be accompanied by theory.
France, Germany, and Italy, are also silent, I believe, on the subject; though each of these countries has had its sportsman. Foxes, it is true, they never hunt, and hares but seldom, yet the stag, and wild boar, both in France and in Germany, are still pursued with the utmost splendour and magnificence. In Italy, there has been no hunting since the death of the Duke of Parma: he was very fond of it; and, I apprehend, all hunting in that country ceased with him. The only sportsmen now remaining are gentlemen in green coats, who, taking their couteaux de chasse along with them, walk into the fields to catch small birds, which they call andar a la caccia, or, in plain English, going a-hunting: yet it has not been so with horsemanship: that has been treated scientifically by all—in Italy, by Pignatelli; in Germany, by Isenbourg; and in France, by La Guerinière. Nor are the useful lessons of the Duke of Newcastle confined to this country only; they are both read and practised everywhere: nor is he the only noble lord who has written on the subject— while, upon hunting, all are silent: and were it not for the muse of Somerville, who has so judiciously and so sweetly sung, the dog, that useful, that honest, that faithful, that disinterested, that entertaining animal, would be suffered to pass unnoticed and undistinguished.
A northern court, indeed, did honour this animal with a particular mark of approbation and respect; but the fidelity of the dog has since given place to the sagacity of the elephant.1 Naturalists, it is true, have included dogs in the specific descriptions that they have given us of animals. Authors may have written on hunting, and booksellers may know many who to sportsmen are unknown; but I again repeat, that I know not any writer, ancient or modern, from the time of Nimrod to the present day (one only excepted), who has given any useful information to a sportsman.2
It may be objected, that the hunting of a pack of hounds depends upon the huntsman; and that the huntsman, generally speaking, is an illiterate fellow, who seldom can either read or write—this cannot well be denied—I must therefore observe, that it is impossible for the business of a kennel to go on as it ought, unless the master himself knows something of it. There must be an understanding somewhere; and without it, no gentleman can enjoy in perfection this noble diversion.
It was the opinion of a great sportsman, that it is not less difficult to find a perfect huntsman than a good prime minister. Without taking upon me to determine what requisites may be necessary to form a good prime minister, I will describe some of those which are essentially necessary towards forming a perfect huntsman; qualities which, I will venture to say, would not disgrace more brilliant situations; such as a clear head, nice observation, quick apprehension, undaunted courage, strength of constitution, activity of body, a good ear, and a good voice.
There is not any one branch of knowledge, commonly dignified with the title of art, which has not such rudiments or principles as may lead to a competent degree of skill, if not to perfection, in it; while hunting, the sole business of some, and the amusement of most of the youth in this kingdom, seems left entirely to chance. Its pursuit puts us both to greater expense, and also to greater inconvenience, than any other; yet, notwithstanding this, we trust our diversion in it to the sole guidance of a huntsman: we follow just as he shall choose to conduct us; and we suffer the success, or disappointment, of the chase, to depend solely on the judgment of a fellow who is frequently a greater brute than the creature on which he rides. I would not be understood to mean by this, that a huntsman should be a scholar, or that every gentleman should hunt his own hounds. It is not necessary a huntsman should be a man of letters: but give me leave to observe, that, had he the best understanding, he would frequently find opportunities of exercising it and intricacies which might put it to the test. You will say, perhaps, there is something too laborious in the occupation of a huntsman, for a gentleman to take it upon himself; you may also think it is beneath him: I agree with you in both; yet I hope that he may have leave to understand it.—If he follow the diversion, it is a sign of his liking it; and if he like it, surely it is some disgrace to him to be ignorant of the means most conducive to it.
I find there will be no necessity to say much to you in commendation of a diversion which you professedly admire:3 it would be needless, therefore, to enumerate the heroes of antiquity who were taught the art of hunting, or the many great men (among whom was the famous Galen) who have united in recommending it. I shall, however, remind you, that your beloved hero, Henry the Fourth of France, made it his chief amusement (his very love-letters, strange as it may appear, being filled with little else); and that one of the greatest ministers which our own country ever produced, was so fond of this diversion, that the first letter he opened, as I have been told, was generally that of his huntsman.4 In most countries, from the earliest times, hunting has been a principal occupation of the people, either for use or amusement; and many princes have made it their chief delight; a circumstance which occasioned the following bon mot: Louis the Fifteenth was so passionately fond of this diversion, that it occupied him entirely. The King of Prussia, who never hunts, gives up a great deal of his time to music, and himself plays on the flute. A German, last war, meeting a Frenchman, asked him very impertinently, “Si son maître chassoit toujours?” “Oui, oui,” replied the other—“il ne joue jamais de la flute.” The reply was excellent; but it would have been as well for mankind, perhaps, if that great man had never been otherwise employed. Hunting is the soul of a country life: it gives health to the body, and contentment to the mind; and is one of the few pleasures that we can enjoy in society, without prejudice either to ourselves or our friends.
The Spectator has drawn with infinite humour the character of a man who passes his whole life in pursuit of trifles; and it is probable that other Will Wimbles might still be found. I hope, however, that he did not think they were solely confined to the country. Triflers there are of every denomination. Are we not all triflers? and are we not told that all is vanity? The Spectator without doubt, felt great compassion for Mr. Wimble; yet Mr. Wimble might not have been a proper object of it; since it is more than probable that he was a happy man, if the employment of his time in obliging others, and pleasing himself, can be thought to have made him so. Whether vanity mislead us or not in the choice of our pursuits, the pleasures or advantages which result from them will best determine. I fear that the occupation of few gentlemen will admit of nice scrutiny: occupations therefore that amuse, and are at the same time innocent; that promote exercise, and conduce to health; though they may appear trifles in the eyes of others, certainly are not so to those who enjoy them. Of this number, I think I may reckon hunting; and I am particularly glad that the same author furnishes a quotation in support of it: “For my own part,” says this elegant writer, “I intend to hunt twice a week, during my stay with Sir Roger; and shall prescribe the moderate use of this exercise to all my country friends, as the best physic for mending a bad constitution, and preserving a good one.” The inimitable Cervantes also honourably mentions this diversion: he makes Sancho say—“Mercy on me, what pleasure can you find, any of ye all, in killing a poor beast that never meant any harm!” that the Duke may reply—“You are mistaken, Sancho: hunting wild beasts is the most proper exercise for knights and princes; for in the chase of a stout noble beast, may be represented the whole art of war, stratagems, policy, and ambuscades, with all other devices usually practised to overcome an enemy with safety. Here we are exposed to the extremities of heat and cold: ease and laziness can have no room in this diversion. By this we are inured to toil and hardship; our limbs are strengthened, our joints made supple, and our whole body hale and active: in short, it is an exercise that may be beneficial to many, and can be prejudicial to none.” Small indeed, is the number of those who, in the course of five thousand years, have employed themselves in the advancement of useful knowledge. Mankind have been blest with but one Titus, that we know of; and it is to be feared, he has had but few imitators. Days and years fly away; nor is any account taken of them; and how many may reasonably be supposed to pass, without affording even amusement to others, or satisfaction to ourselves? Much more, I think, might be said in favour of the Wimbles; but it must be confessed, that the man who spends his whole time in trifles, passes it contemptibly, compared with those who are employed in researches after knowledge useful to mankind, or in professions useful to the state.
I am glad to find that you approve of the plan I propose to observe in the course of these Letters; wherein it shall be my endeavour not to omit anything which it may be necessary for you to know; at least, as far as my own observation and experience will give me leave. The experience that I have had may be of use to you at present: others, perhaps, hereafter, may write more judiciously and more fully on the subject: you know it is my interest to wish that they would. The few who have written on hunting, refer you to their predecessors, for great part of the information you might expect from them; and who their predecessors were, I have yet to learn. Even Somerville is less copious than I could wish, and has purposely omitted what is not to be found elsewhere; I mean receipts for the cure of such diseases as hounds are subject to: he holds such information cheap, and beneath his lofty muse. Prose has no excuse; and you may depend on every information that I can give. The familiar manner in which my thoughts will be conveyed to you in these Letters, may sufficiently evince the intention of the author: they are written with no other design than to be of use to sportsmen. Were my aim to amuse, I would not endeavour to instruct: a song might suit the purpose better than an essay. To improve health, by promoting exercise; to excite gentlemen who are fond of hunting to obtain the knowledge necessary to enjoy it in perfection; and to lessen the punishments which are too often inflicted on an animal so friendly to man—are the chief ends intended by the following Letters.
I shall not pretend to lay down rules which are to be equally good in every country; I shall think myself sufficiently justified in recommending such as have been tried with success in the countries where I have generally hunted. As almost every country has a different dialect, you will also excuse, I hope, any terms that may not be current with you: I will take the best care I can that the number shall be small. It is needless, I think, to advise you not to adopt too easily the opinions of other men. You will hear a tall man say, It is folly to ride any but large horses; and every little man in company will immediately sell his little horses, buy such as he can hardly mount, and ride them in hilly countries, for which they are totally unfit. Pride induces some men to dictate; indolence makes others like to be dictated to; so both parties find their account in it. You will not let this mislead you: you will dare to think for yourself. Nor will you believe every man, who pretends to know what you like better than you do yourself. There is a degree of coxcombry, I believe, in everything. You have heard, I make no doubt, that greyhounds are either black, or white, or black and white; and if you have any faith in those who say they know best, they will tell you that there are no others.5 Prejudice, however, is by far too blind a guide to be depended on.
I have read somewhere, that there is no book so bad, but a judicious reader may derive some advantage from the reading of it: I hope these Letters will not prove the only exception. Should they fall into the hands of such as are not sportsmen, I need not, I think, make any excuses to them for the contents, since the title sufficiently shows for whom they were designed. Nor are they meant for such sportsmen as need not instruction, but for those that do; to whom, I presume, in some parts at least, they may be found of use. Since a great book has been long looked upon as a great evil, I shall take care not to sin that way at least; and shall endeavour to make these Letters as short as the extent of my subject will admit.
You will rally me, perhaps, on the choice of my frontispiece; but why should not hunting admit the patronage of a lady? The ancients, you know, invoked Diana at setting out on the chase, and sacrificed to her at their return: is not this enough to show the propriety of my choice? At all events, I assure myself that you will approve her attendants, Health, and Contentment.
I shall now take my leave of you for the present. In my next Letter I shall proceed according to your desire, till I have answered all your questions. Remember, you are not to expect entertainment: I wish that you may find some instruction: the dryness of the subject may excuse your want of the one, and I cannot doubt of your indulgence whilst I am obeying your commands, though I should fail in the other.
