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C. J. Cornish - The Naturalist on the Thames
appearance of all the gates and rails adjacent to the road. As the ground was always beautifully farmed
and in good order, the condition of the gates did not surprise me. There was, however, a story attached to
their smartness. A seller of quack medicines had sent out advertisers with most objectionable little bills,
which he had posted on every gate adjoining the roads. My entertainer, who was the occupier of the land,
had brought an action against the medicine man for defacing his gates, which was only compromised by
the delinquent undertaking to paint every gate. He demurred at first to painting the railings too, but in the
end had to do this also.
The stalking-horse is still part of the sporting equipment of some old Thames-valley farmhouses, but not
in this neighbourhood. Only one wet season fell to my lot, and then, though I often saw bodies of duck, I
had no opportunity of getting near them. A neighbour anchored a punt under a hedge on the line which
he believed the duck would take at dusk, and killed several. Hard frosts send large bodies of duck to the
river; they come as soon as ever the large private lakes, like those at Blenheim, Wootton, and Eynsham
are frozen, and lie in small flocks all along the river. Water-hens are so numerous on the river now,
owing to their preservation by the Conservancy, that any small covers of osier near are full of them. They
make extremely pretty old-fashioned shooting when beaten up by a spaniel from the sedge and osier
cover. I once turned out a dozen water-hens, a brown owl, a woodcock, and a water-rail from one little
withe patch. When shooting the wood we always had one or two water-hens in the bag, and sometimes a
chance at a duck flying overhead from the river. Only once were there many woodcocks in the cover.
There must have been at least five, and all were missed. At last, as we were finishing the beat, one of the
guns, who was young and keen, went off after the last-missed cock along the river bank. As we were
loading up the game at the wood gate we heard a single shot. Then he appeared in the ride with the cock.
Both he and his excellent old spaniel received warm congratulations. For my own part I was never tired
of by-days in the wood in my first season. The best sport was starting rabbits from under the rows of
fresh-felled ash and hazel poles, which the woodman called drills. They are about five feet high and
seven feet through. The rabbits get under them in numbers, and sit there all day. We had an old retriever
who was an expert at finding them. The next process was for the gun to clamber on to the top and stand
knee-deep on the springing faggots, while a woodman on each side poked the rabbit out with a pole. He
might bolt any way, and was under the next drill in a trice, so the shooting was quick. I bagged twelve
one afternoon in this cheerful manner. Another great ambition of our lives was to get the better of the hill
partridges. There were plenty of them, but they always dived into the wood, and were lost for the day.
Only once did we score off them. We drove about sixty from the hills into the wood. There they were
seen running along the rides like guinea fowls, but by placing a gun at the corner of the wood, and
beating towards him, we killed nine brace.
A FEBRUARY FOX HUNT
When the Yeomanry left the hunting field for South Africa, and "registered" horses were commandeered
by Government, fox hunting in counties where it is not the main business of life might be supposed to
languish. As a matter of fact, it did not; and if the fields were smaller than usual, and a good many
familiar faces missing, the master very properly felt that as he had his pack and there were plenty of
foxes, he might as well employ the one and hunt the other, and keep up the spirits of the county by good,
sound sport and plenty of it. Masters who take this view, and there are very few who do not, are public
benefactors and shining examples; for it is not only the men who hunt who benefit vastly by the change
and exhilaration which hunting brings in its train. The whole countryside enjoys a wholesome tonic by
the frequent visits of the hounds, and the well-equipped company with them. Nothing cheers up the
village, or cures the influenza, or brings oblivion of war news, or puts every one into conceit with
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