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With every change sportsmen of the old school have prophesied the total ruin of fox-hunting. Roads and canals excited great alarm to our fathers. In our time every one expected to see sport entirely destroyed by railroads; but we were mistaken, and have lived to consider them almost an essential auxiliary of a good hunting district.
Looking back at the manner in which fox-hunting has grown up with our habits and customs, and increased in the number of packs, number of hunting days, and number of horsemen, in full proportion with wealth and population, one cannot help being amused at the simplicity with which Mrs. Beecher Stowe, who comes from a country where people seldom amuse themselves out of doors (except in making money), tells in her "Sunny Memories," how, when she dined with Lord John Russell, at Richmond, the conversation turned on hunting; and she expressed her astonishment "that, in the height of English civilisation, this vestige of the savage state should remain." "Thereupon they only laughed, and told stories about fox-hunters." They might have answered with old Gervase Markham, "Of all the field pleasures wherewith Old Time and man's inventions hath blessed the hours of our recreations, there is none so excellent as the delight of hunting, being compounded like an harmonious concert of all the best partes of most refined pleasures, as music, dancing, running and ryding."
Mrs. Stowe's distinguished countryman, Washington Irving, took a sounder view of our rural pleasures; for he says in his charming "Sketch Book:"—
"The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary effect upon national character. I do not know a finer race of men than the English gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy which characterizes the men of rank of most countries, they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, of robustness of frame and freshness of complexion, which I am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air, pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country."
FOOTNOTES:
[213-*] I think this is a mistake. In a copy of the rules forwarded to me by a Cheshire squire, one of the hereditary members of the club, it is a pair of gloves. But in the notes, the songs and ballads by R. Egerton Warburton, Esq., of Arley Hall, it is printed "breeches."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WILD PONIES OF EXMOOR.
In England there are so few wild horses, that the following description of a visit I made to Exmoor a few years ago in the month of September, may be doubly interesting, since Mr. Rarey has shown a short and easy method of dealing with the principal produce of that truly wild region.
The road from South Molton to Exmoor is a gradual ascent over a succession of hills, of which each descent, however steep, leads to a still longer ascent, until you reach the high level of Exmoor. The first six miles are through real Devonshire lanes; on each side high banks, all covered with fern and grass, and topped with shrubs and trees; for miles we were hedged in with hazels, bearing nuts with a luxuriance wonderful to the eyes of those accustomed to see them sold at the corners of streets for a penny the dozen. In spring and summer, wild flowers give all the charms of colour to these game-preserving hedgerows; but a rainy autumn had left no colour among the rich green foliage, except here and there a pyramid of the bright red berries of the mountain ash.
So, up hill and down dale, over water-courses—now merrily trotting, anon descending, and not less merrily trudging up, steep ascents—we proceed by a track as sound as if it had been under the care of a model board of trustees—for the simple reason that it rested on natural rock. We pushed along at an average rate of some six miles an hour, allowing for the slow crawling up hills; passing many rich fields wherein fat oxen of the Devon breed calmly grazed, with sheep that had certainly not been bred on mountains. Once we passed a deserted copper-mine; which, after having been worked for many years, had at length failed, or grown unprofitable, under the competition of the richer mines of Cuba and South Australia. A long chimney, peering above deserted cottages, and a plentiful crop of weeds, was the sole monument of departed glories—in shares and dividends—and mine-captain's promises.
At length the hedges began to grow thinner; beeches succeeded the hazels; the road, more rugged and bare showed the marks where winter's rains had ploughed deep channels; and, at the turn of a steep hill, we saw, on the one hand, the brown and blue moor stretching before and above us; and on the other hand, below, like a map, the fertile vale lay unrolled, various in colour, according to the crops, divided by enclosures into every angle from most acute to most obtuse. Below was the cultivation of centuries; above, the turnip—the greatest improvement of modern agriculture—flourished, a deep green, under the protection of fences of very recent date.
One turnpike, and cottages at rare intervals, had so far kept up the idea of population; but now, far as the horizon extended, not a place of habitation was to be seen; until, just in a hollow bend out of the ascending road, we came upon a low white farm-house, of humble pretensions, flanked by a great turf-stack (but no signs of corn; no fold-yard full of cattle), which bore, on a board of great size, in long letters, this imposing announcement, "The Poltimore Arms." Our driver not being of the usual thirsty disposition of his tribe, we did not test the capabilities of the one hostelry and habitation on Lord Poltimore's Moorland Estate, but, pushing on, took the reins while our conductor descended to open a gate in a large turf and stone wall. We passed through—left Devon—entered Somerset; and the famous Exmoor estate of 20,000 acres, bounded by a wall forty miles in length, the object of our journey, lay before us.
Very dreary was this part of our journey, although, contrary to the custom of the country, the day was bright and clear, and the September sun defeated the fogs, and kept at a distance the drizzling rains which in winter sweep over Exmoor. We had now left the smooth, rocky-floored road, and were travelling along what most resembled the dry bed of a torrent: turf banks on each side seemed rather intended to define than to divide the property. As far as the eye could reach, the rushy tufted moorland extended, bounded in the distance by lofty, round-backed hills. Thinly scattered about were horned sheep and Devon red oxen. For about two miles we jolted gently on, until, beginning to descend a hill, our driver pointed in the valley below to a spot where stacks of hay and turf guarded a series of stone buildings, saying, "There's the Grange." The first glance was not encouraging—no sheep-station in Australia could seem more utterly desolate; but it improved on closer examination. The effects of cultivation were to be seen in the different colours of the fields round the house, where the number of stock grazing showed that more than ordinary means must have been taken to improve the pasture.
We started on Exmoor ponies to ride to Simon's Bath.
Exmoor, previous to 1818, was the property of the Crown, and leased to Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, who has an estate of a similar character close adjoining. He used its wild pasture (at that time it was without roads) for breeding ponies and feeding Exmoor sheep. There are no traces of any population having ever existed on this forest since Roman times. The Romans are believed to have worked iron-mines on the moor, which have recently been re-opened.
Exmoor consists of 20,000 acres, on an elevation varying from 1000 to 1200 feet above the sea, of undulating table-land, divided by valleys, or "combes," through which the River Exe—which rises in one of its valleys—with its tributary, the Barle, forces a devious way, in the form of pleasant trout-streams, rattling over and among huge stones, and creeping through deep pools—a very angler's paradise. Like many similar districts in the Scotch Highlands, the resort of the red deer, it is called a forest, although trees—with the exception of some very insignificant plantations—are as rare as men. After riding all day with a party of explorers, one of them suddenly exclaimed, "Look, there is a man!" A similar expression escaped me when we came in sight of the first tree—a gnarled thorn, standing alone on the side of a valley.
The sides of the steep valleys, of which some include an acre, and others extend for miles, are usually covered with coarse herbage, heather, and bilberry plants, springing from a deep black or red soil: at certain spots a greener hue marks the site of the bogs which impede, and at times almost engulph, the incautious horseman. These bogs are formed by springs, which, having been intercepted by a pan of sediment, and prevented from percolating through the soil, stagnate, and cause, at the same time, decay and vicious vegetation. They are seldom deep, and can usually be reclaimed by subsoiling or otherwise breaking the pan, and so drying the upper layers of bog. Bog-turf is largely employed on Exmoor as fuel. On other precipitous descents, winter torrents have washed away all the earth, and left avalanches of bare loose stones, called, in the western dialect, "crees." To descend these crees at a slapping pace in the course of a stag-hunt, requires no slight degree of nerve; but it is done, and is not so dangerous as it looks.
Exmoor may be nothing strange to those accustomed to the wild, barren scenery. To one who has known country scenes only in the best-cultivated regions of England, and who has but recently quitted the perpetual roar of London, there is something strangely solemn and impressive in the deep silence of a ride across the forest. Horses bred on the moors, if left to themselves, rapidly pick their way through pools and bogs, and canter smoothly over dry flats of natural meadow; creep safely down the precipitous descents, and climb with scarcely a puff of distress these steep ascents; splash through fords in the trout-streams, swelled by rain, without a moment's hesitation, and trot along sheep-paths, bestrewed with rolling stones, without a stumble: so that you are perfectly at liberty to enjoy the luxury of excitement, and follow out the winding valleys, and study the rich brown and purple herbage.
It was while advancing over a great brown plain in the centre of the moor, with a deep valley on our left, that our young quick-eyed guide suddenly held up his hand, whispering, "Ride on without seeming to take notice; there are the deer." A great red stag, lying on the brown grass, had sprung up, and was gazing on our party—too numerous and too brightly attired to be herdsmen, whom he would have allowed to pass without notice. Behind him were clustered four hinds and a calf. They stood still for some minutes watching our every movement, as we tried to approach them in a narrowing circle. Then the stag moved off slowly, with stately, easy, gliding steps, constantly looking back. The hinds preceded him: they reached the edge of the valley, and disappeared. We galloped up, and found that they had exchanged the slow retreat for a rapid flight, clearing every slight or suspicious obstacle with a grace, ease, and swiftness it was delightful to witness. In an incredibly short time they had disappeared, hidden by undulations in the apparently flat moor.
These were one of the few herds still remaining on the forest. In a short time the wild deer of Exmoor will be a matter of tradition; and the hunt, which may be traced back to the time of Queen Elizabeth, will, if continued, descend to the "cart and calf" business.
A sight scarcely less interesting than the deer was afforded by a white pony mare, with her young stock—consisting of a foal still sucking, a yearling, and a two-year-old—which we met in a valley of the Barle. The two-year-old had strayed away feeding, until alarmed by the cracking of our whips and the neighing of its dam, when it came galloping down a steep combe, neighing loudly, at headlong speed. It is thus these ponies learn their action and sure-footedness.
It was a district such as we had traversed—entirely wild, without inclosures, or roads, or fences—that came into the hands of the father of the present proprietor. He built a fence of forty miles around it, made roads, reclaimed a farm for his own use at Simon's Bath, introduced Highland cattle on the hills, and set up a considerable stud for improving the indigenous race of ponies, and for rearing full-sized horses. These improvements, on which some three hundred thousand pounds were sunk, were not profitable; and it is very doubtful whether any considerable improvements could have been prosecuted successfully, if railways had not brought better markets within reach of the district.
Coming from a part of the country where ponies are the perquisites of old ladies and little children, and where the nearer a well-shaped horse can be got to sixteen hands the better, the first feeling on mounting a rough little unkemped brute, fresh from the moor, barely twelve hands (four feet) in height, was intensely ridiculous. It seemed as if the slightest mistake would send the rider clean over the animal's head. But we learned soon that the indigenous pony, in certain useful qualities, is not to be surpassed by animals of greater size and pretensions.
From the Grange to Simon's Bath (about three miles), the road, which runs through the heart of Exmoor proper, was constructed, with all the other roads in this vast extra-parochial estate, by the father of the present proprietor, F. Knight, Esq., of Wolverly House, Worcestershire, M.P. for East Worcestershire (Parliamentary Secretary of the Poor Law Board, under Lord Derby's Government). In the course of a considerable part of the route, the contrast of wild moorland and high cultivation may be found only divided by the carriage-way.
At length, descending a steep hill, we came in sight of a view—of which Exmoor and its kindred district in North Devon affords many—a deep gorge, at whose precipitous base a trout-stream rolled along, gurgling and plashing, and winding round huge masses of white spar. The far bank sometimes extended out into natural meadows, where red cattle and wild ponies grazed, and sometimes rose precipitously. At one point, where both banks were equally steep and lofty, the far side was covered by a plantation with a cover of under-wood; but no trees of sufficient magnitude to deserve the name of a wood. This is a spot famous in the annals of a grand sport that soon will be among things of the past—Wild Stag Hunting. In this wood more than once the red monarch of Exmoor has been roused, and bounded over the rolling plains beyond, amid the shouts of excited hunters and the deep cry of the hounds, as with a burring scent they dashed up the steep breast of the hill.
But there was no defiant stag there that day; so on we trotted on our shaggy sure-footed nags, beneath a burning sun—a sun that sparkled on the flowing waters as they gleamed between far distant hills, and threw a golden glow upon the fading tints of foliage and herbage, and cast deep shadows from the white overhanging rocks.
Next we came to the deep pool that gives the name to Simon's Bath, where some unhappy man of that name, in times when deer were more plentiful than sheep, drowned himself for love, or in madness, or both—long before roads, farms, turnip crops, a school, and a church were dreamed of on Exmoor. Here fences give signs of habitation and cultivation. A rude, ancient bridge, with two arches of different curves, covered with turf, without side battlements or rails, stretches across the stream, and leads to a small house built for his own occupation by the father of Mr. Knight, pending the completion of a mansion of which the unfinished walls of one wing rise like a dismantled castle from the midst of a grove of trees and ornamented shrubs.
A series of gentle declivities, plantations, a winding, full-flowing stream, seem only to require a suitable edifice and the hand of an artist gardener to make, at comparatively trifling expense, an abode unequalled in luxuriant and romantic beauty. We crossed the stream—not by the narrow bridge, but by the ford; and, passing through the straggling stone village of Simon's Bath, arrived in sight of the field where the Tattersall of the West was to sell the wild and tame horse stock bred on the moors. It was a field of some ten acres and a half, forming a very steep slope, with the upper path comparatively flat, the sloping side broken by a stone quarry, and dotted over with huge blocks of granite. At its base flowed an arm of the stream we had found margining our route. A substantial, but, as the event proved, not sufficiently high stone fence bounded the whole field. On the upper part, a sort of double pound, united by a narrow neck, with a gate at each end, had been constructed of rails, upwards of five feet in height. Into the first of these pounds, by ingenious management, all the ponies, wild and tame, had been driven. When the sale commenced, it was the duty of the herdsmen to separate two at a time, and drive them through the narrow neck into the pound before the auctioneer. Around a crowd of spectators of every degree were clustered—'squires and clergymen, horse-dealers and farmers, from Northamptonshire and Lincolnshire, as well as South Devon, and the immediate neighbourhood.
These ponies are the result of crosses made years ago with Arab, Dongola, and thorough-bred stallions, on the indigenous race of Exmoors, since carefully culled from year to year for the purpose of securing the utmost amount of perfection among the stallions and mares reserved for breeding purposes. The real Exmoor seldom exceeds twelve hands; has a well-shaped head, with very small ears; but the thick round shoulder peculiar to all breeds of wild horses, which seem specially adapted for inclemencies of the weather; indeed, the whole body is round, compact, and well ribbed. The Exmoor has very good quarters and powerful hocks; legs straight, flat, and clean; the muscles well developed by early racing up and down steep mountain sides while following their dams. In about forty lots the prevailing colours were bay, brown, and gray; chestnuts and blacks were less frequent, and not in favour with the country people, many of whom seemed to consider that the indigenous race had been deteriorated by the sedulous efforts made and making to improve it—an opinion which we could not share after examining some of the best specimens, in which a clean blood-like head and increased size seemed to have been given, without any diminution of the enduring qualities of the Exmoor.
The sale was great fun. Perched on convenient rails, we had the whole scene before us. The auctioneer rather hoarse and quite matter-of-fact; the ponies wildly rushing about the first enclosure, were with difficulty separated into pairs to be driven in the sale section; when fairly hemmed in through the open gate, they dashed and made a sort of circus circuit, with mane and tail erect, in a style that would draw great applause at Astley's. Then there was the difficulty of deciding whether the figures marked in white on the animal's hind-quarters were 8 or 3 or 5. Instead of the regular trot up and down of Tattersall's, a whisk of a cap was sufficient to produce a tremendous caper. A very pretty exhibition was made by a little mare, with a late foal about the size of a setter dog.[228-*]
The sale over, a most amusing scene ensued: every man who had bought a pony wanted to catch it. In order to clear the way, each lot, as sold, as wild and nearly as active as deer, had been turned into the field. A joint-stock company of pony-catchers, headed by the champion wrestler of the district—a hawk-nosed, fresh-complexioned, rustic Don Juan—stood ready to be hired, at the moderate rate of sixpence per pony caught and delivered. One carried a bundle of new halters; the others, warmed by a liberal distribution of beer, seemed as much inspired by the fun as the sixpence. When the word was given, the first step was to drive a herd into the lowest corner of the field in as compact a mass as possible. The bay, gray, or chestnut, from that hour doomed to perpetual slavery and exile from his native hills, was pointed out by the nervous anxious purchaser. Three wiry fellows crept cat-like among the mob, sheltering behind some tame cart-horses; on a mutual signal they rushed on the devoted animal; two—one bearing a halter—strove to fling each one arm round its neck, and with one hand to grasp its nostrils—while the insidious third, clinging to the flowing tail; tried to throw the poor quadruped off its balance. Often they were baffled in the first effort, for with one wild spring the pony would clear the whole lot, and flying with streaming mane and tail across the brook up the field, leave the whole work to be recommenced. Sometimes when the feat was cleverly performed, pony and pony-catchers were to be seen all rolling on the ground together; the pony yelling, snorting, and fighting with his fore feet, the men clinging on like the Lapithae and the Centaurs, and how escaping crushed ribs or broken legs it is impossible to imagine. On one occasion a fine brown stallion dashed away, with two plucky fellows hanging on to his mane: rearing, plunging, fighting with his fore feet, away he bounded down a declivity among the huge rocks, amid the encouraging cheers of the spectators: for a moment the contest was doubtful, so tough were the sinews, and so determined the grip of Davy, the champion; but the steep bank of the brook, down which the brown stallion recklessly plunged, was too much for human efforts (in a moment they all went together into the brook), but the pony, up first, leaped the opposite bank and galloped away, whinnying in short-lived triumph.
After a series of such contests, well worth the study of artists not content with pale copies from marbles or casts, the difficulty of haltering these snorting steeds—equal in spirit and probably in size to those which drew the car of Boadicea—was diminished by all those uncaught being driven back to the pound; and there, not without furious battles, one by one enslaved.
Yet even when haltered, the conquest was by no means concluded. Some refused to stir, others started off at such a pace as speedily brought the holder of the halter on his nose. One respectable old gentleman, in gray stockings and knee-breeches, lost his animal in much less time than it took him to extract the sixpence from his knotted purse.
Yet in all these fights there was little display of vice; it was pure fright on the part of the ponies that made them struggle so. A few days' confinement in a shed, a few carrots, with a little salt, and gentle treatment, reduces the wildest of the three-year-olds to docility. When older they are more difficult to manage. It was a pretty sight to view them led away, splashing through the brook—conquered, but not yet subdued.
In the course of the evening a little chestnut stallion, twelve hands, or four feet in height, jumped, at a standing jump, over the bars out of a pound upward of five feet from the ground, only just touching the top rail with his hind feet.
We had hoped to have a day's wild stag hunting, but the hounds were out on the other side of the country. However, we had a few runs with a scratch pack of harriers after stout moorland hares. The dandy school, who revel in descriptions of coats and waistcoats, boots and breeches, and who pretend that there is no sport without an outfit which is only within the reach of a man with ten thousand a year, would no doubt have been extremely disgusted with the whole affair. We rose at five o'clock in the morning and hunted puss up to her form (instead of paying a shilling to a boy to turn her out) with six couples, giving tongue most melodiously. Viewing her away we rattled across the crispy brown moor, and splattered through bogs with a loose rein, in lunatic enjoyment, until we checked at the edge of a deep "combe." Then—when the old yellow Southerner challenged, and our young host cheered him with "Hark to Reveller, hark!"—to hear the challenge and the cheer re-echoed again from the opposite cliff; and—as the little pack in full cry again took up the running, and scaled the steep ascent—to see our young huntsman, bred in these hills, go rattling down the valleys, and to follow by instinct, under a vague idea, not unmixed with nervous apprehensions of the consequences of a slip, that what one could do two could, was vastly exciting, and amusing, and, in a word, decidedly jolly. So with many facts, some new ideas, and a fine stock of health from a week of open air, I bade farewell to my hospitable hosts and to romantic Exmoor.
FOOTNOTES:
[228-*] According to tradition, the Exmoor ponies are descended from horses brought from the East by the Phoenicians, who traded there with Cornwall for metals.
POSTSCRIPT.
THE HUNTING MAN'S HEALTH.
Without health there can be no sport. A man at the commencement of the hunting often requires condition more than his horse, especially if engaged in sedentary occupations, and averse to summer riding or walking. Of course the proper plan is to train by walking or riding. I remember, some years ago, when three months of severe mental occupation had kept me entirely out of the saddle, going out in Northamptonshire, fortunately admirably mounted, when the hounds were no sooner in cover than they were out of it, "running breast high," five minutes after I had changed from my seat in a dog-cart to the saddle. We had thirty-five minutes' sharp run, without a check, and for the latter part of the run I was perfectly beaten, almost black in the face, and scarcely able to hold my horse together. I did not recover from this too sudden exertion for many days. Those who are out of condition will do well to ride, instead of driving to cover.
In changing from town to country life, between the different hours of rising and hearty meals—the result of fresh air and exercise—the stomach and bowels are very likely to get out of order. It is as well, therefore, to be provided with some mild digestive pills: violent purges are as injurious to men as to horses, and more inconvenient.
The enema is a valuable instrument, which a hunting man should not be without, as its use, when you are in strong exercise, is often more advisable than medicine.
But one of the most valuable aids to the health and spirits of a hard-riding man is the Sitz Bath, which, taken morning and evening, cold or tepid, according to individual taste, has even more advantageous effects on the system than a complete bath. It braces the muscles, strengthens the nerves, and tends to keep the bowels open. Sitz baths are made in zinc, and are tolerably portable; but in a country place you may make shift with a tub half-filled with water. In taking this kind of bath, it is essential that the parts not in the water should be warm and comfortable. For this end, in cold weather, case your feet and legs in warm stockings, and cover your person and tub with a poncho, through the hole of which you can thrust your head. In default of a poncho, a plaid or blanket will do, and in warm weather a sheet. If you begin with tepid water, you will soon be able to bear cold, as after the first shock the cold disappears. The water must not reach higher than your hips, rather under than over. The time for a Sitz bath varies from ten to twenty minutes, not longer, during which you may read or smoke; but then you will need sleeves, for it is essential that you should be covered all the time. I often take a cup of coffee in this bath, it saves time in breakfasting. In the illustration, the blanket has been turned back to show the right position.
THE HOT-AIR OR INDIAN BATH.
In case of an attack of cold or influenza, or a necessity for sweating off a few pounds, or especially after a severe fall, there is no bath so effective and so simple as the hot-air or Indian bath. This is made with a wooden-bottomed kitchen chair, a few blankets, a tin cup, and a claret-glass of spirits of wine. For want of spirits of wine you might use a dozen of Price's night lights.
Take a wooden-bottomed chair, and place it in a convenient part of the bedroom, where a fire should be previously lighted. Put under the chair a narrow metal cup or gallipot, if it will stand fire filled with spirits of wine. Let the bather strip to his drawers, and sit down on the chair with a fold of flannel under him, for the seat will get extremely hot—put on his knees a slop-basin, with a sponge and a little cold water. Then take four blankets or rugs, and lay them, one over his back, one over his front, and one on each side, so as to cover him closely in a woollen tent, and wrap his head up in flannel or silk—if he is cold or shivering put his feet in warm water, or on a hot brick wrapped in flannel. Then light the spirits of wine, which will very soon make a famous hot-air bath. By giving the patient a little cold water to drink, perspiration will be encouraged; if he finds the air inconveniently hot before he begins to perspire, he can use the sponge and slop-basin to bathe his chest, &c.
When the perspiration rolls like rain from his face, and you think he has had enough, have a blanket warmed at the fire, strip him, roll him in it, and tumble him into bed. In five or ten minutes, you can take away the blanket and put on his night shirt—give him a drink of white wine whey, and he will be ready to go to sleep comfortably.
This bath can be administered when a patient is too ill to be put in a warm bath, and is more effective. I have seen admirable results from it on a gentleman after a horse had rolled over him.
It can also be prepared in a few minutes, in places where to get a warm bath would be out of the question.
In the illustration, the blanket is turned back, to show the proper position, and by error the head is not covered.
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PRESCOTT'S ESSAYS, BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL.—Comprising:
C. B. Brown, the Novelist. Irving's Conquest of Granada. Cervantes. Sir Walter Scott. Chateaubriand's Eastern Literature. Bancroft's United States. Moliere. Italian Narrative Poetry. Scottish Song. Poetry and Romance of the Italians.
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BANCROFT'S HISTORY OF AMERICA. The Colonization and its Results. With Index.
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BANCROFT'S HISTORY OF AMERICA. Vols. 3, 4, and 5, with Index. Continuing the History from its Colonization, and completing a period in the History of the American Revolution.
This cheap edition of Mr. Bancroft's standard Work is now complete as far as he has written it, and contains the history of the American Revolution considered in all its causes—the rise of the Union of the United States from the body of the people—the change in the colonial policy of France—and the consequences of the endeavours of Great Britain to consolidate her power over America.
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MICHAUD'S HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES, The First English Edition translated from the French; with Notes. Memoir and Preface by W. ROBSON.
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THE BRITISH EXPEDITION TO THE CRIMEA. By W. H. RUSSELL, The Times' "Special Correspondent." Being a Revised Edition of "The War," with additions and corrections. Illustrated with Plans of the Battles, Woodcuts, and Steel Portrait of Author.
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A HISTORY OF BRITISH INDIA, from the Earliest Period of English Intercourse to the Present Time. By CHARLES MACFARLANE. With Additions to the year 1858. Illustrated with numerous Engravings.
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RUSSELL'S MODERN EUROPE, with a View of the Progress of Society from the Rise of the Modern Kingdoms. New Edition, continued to the Peace of Paris, 1856, to which is added a compendious Index compiled expressly for this Edition.
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THE HISTORY OF EXTRAORDINARY POPULAR DELUSIONS. By CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D. The Third Edition. Illustrated with One Hundred and Twenty Engravings, from scarce Prints and other authentic sources.
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BONNECHOSE'S HISTORY OF FRANCE. The first English Edition. Translated by W. ROBSON, Esq., Translator of Michaud's "History of the Crusades," &c. With Illustrations and Index.
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FELICE'S HISTORY OF THE PROTESTANTS OF FRANCE, from the Commencement of the Reformation to the Present Time. Translated from the Revised and Corrected Edition.
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HISTORY OF THE POPES. By LEOPOLD RANKE. Including their Church and State, the Re-organization of the Inquisition, the Rise, Progress, and Consolidation of the Jesuits, and the means taken to effect the Counter-reformation in Germany, to revive Romanism in France, and to suppress Protestant Principles in the South of Europe. Translated from the last edition of the German by WALTER K. KELLY, of Trinity College, Dublin.
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EMBASSIES AND FOREIGN COURTS. A History of Diplomacy. By THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN. The Second Edition.
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PICTURES FROM THE BATTLE FIELDS. By THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN. The Third Edition, with Illustrations from Sketches taken on the spot, and Chapters respecting—
Scutari and its Hospitals. Miss Nightingale. Balaklava. A Snow Storm. The Commissariat again. A Camp Dinner. The Heights before Sebastopol. The Bashi-Bazouk. Russian Officers and Soldiers. The French Officer. The Zouave.
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LANDMARKS OF THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By the Rev. JAMES WHITE. (The Twenty-second Thousand.)
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LANDMARKS OF THE HISTORY OF GREECE. By the Rev. JAMES WHITE.
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GOLDSMITH'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. A New Edition, with Continuation to the Death of Wellington. With Portraits of all the Sovereigns.
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BIOGRAPHY.
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BOSWELL'S LIFE OF DR. JOHNSON, with numerous Portraits, Views, and Characteristic Designs, engraved from authentic sources.
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THE LIFE, PUBLIC AND DOMESTIC, OF THE RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE. By PETER BURKE, Esq. (of the Inner Temple and the Northern Circuit). Profusely illustrated with Portraits, Scenes of Events, and Landscape Views, relating to the great Orator and the other noted persons of his time and career.
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ELLISTON'S LIFE and ENTERPRISES. By GEORGE RAYMOND. Illustrated with Portrait and Engravings on steel, from designs by Phiz, Cruikshank, &c.
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EXTRAORDINARY MEN: their Boyhood and Early Youth. By WILLIAM RUSSELL, Esq. The Sixth Edition, illustrated with 50 Engravings of Portraits, Birthplaces, Incidents, &c. &c.
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EXTRAORDINARY WOMEN: their Girlhood and Early Years. By WILLIAM RUSSELL, Esq. Illustrated with numerous Engravings designed and executed by Messrs. Dalziel.
This volume contains the lives of the Empress Josephine, Christina Queen of Sweden, Catherine Empress of Russia, Mrs. Fry, Madame Roland, Mrs. Hutchinson, Isabella of Castile, Marie Antoinette, Lady Stanhope, Madame de Genlis, Mrs. Opie, &c. &c.
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EXMOUTH'S (LORD) LIFE. BY EDWARD OSLER.
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MARLBOROUGH'S LIFE. By CHARLES MACFARLANE. With Two Illustrations.
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THE GREAT COMMANDERS OF ALL NATIONS. By G. P. R. JAMES. A new revised Edition, comprising the Lives of Henry the Fifth, Turenne, the Great Conde, Marlboro', Peterboro', General Wolfe, Cromwell, Duke of Alva, Gonzalvo de Cordova, &c., &c., with Eight Illustrations.
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THE BUCCANEERS (HISTORY OF); or, The Monarchs of the Spanish Main. By WALTER THORNBURY. With Eight Illustrations by Phiz.
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WELLINGTON (LIFE OF). By CHAS. MACFARLANE. With Illustrations by John Gilbert.
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GRIMALDI'S LIFE. Edited by CHARLES DICKENS, and Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
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CRANMER'S LIFE. By JOHN STRYPE, M.A., being Memorials of the Most Reverend Father in God, Thomas Cranmer, some time Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. A New Edition, by PHILIP E. BARNES, Esq., B.A., F.L.S., of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law.
The works of Strype hold a place amongst the very best authorities, as forming a most valuable portion of the history of the reformation of religion in this country, no less than as of standard excellence, inasmuch as the narratives of the most interesting events in the annals of our country were based by this truly Protestant author upon documentary evidence, and drawn from original MSS., the greater part of which are still extant.
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NELSON'S LIFE. By JOSEPH ALLEN, Author of "Battles of the British Navy." With a Portrait of Nelson.
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RICHELIEU'S LIFE. By W. ROBSON. With Illustrations.
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"The student will find the events of Richelieu's life reflected as in a mirror."—Liverpool Albion.
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CHANNING'S (DR.) LIFE and CORRESPONDENCE. Edited by his Nephew, WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING. A New Edition, with a Portrait.
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JULIUS CAESAR (LIFE OF). By the Ven. JOHN WILLIAMS, Archdeacon of Cardigan, Author of "Life of Alexander." Printed on superfine paper, with Four Illustrations.
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STANDARD BIOGRAPHY.—CHEAP EDITIONS
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Life of Nelson. By Joseph Allen. Life of Wellington. By MacFarlane. Peel (Sir Robert), Life of. With a Portrait by W. Harvey. Life of Oliver Goldsmith. By Washington Irving. Lives of the Successors of Mahomet. By Washington Irving. Monk and Washington. By F. Guizot. Representative Men. By R. W. Emerson.
FICTION.
THE STANDARD EDITION OF THE
NOVELS AND ROMANCES OF SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART., M.P. Uniformly printed in crown 8vo, corrected and revised throughout, with new Prefaces.
20 vols. in 10, price L3 =3=s. cloth extra; or any volumes separately, in cloth binding, as under:—
s. d. RIENZI: THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 3 6 PAUL CLIFFORD 3 6 PELHAM: OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 3 6 EUGENE ARAM. A Tale 3 6 LAST OF THE BARONS 5 0 LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 3 6 GODOLPHIN 3 0 PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 2 6 NIGHT AND MORNING 4 0 ERNEST MALTRAVERS 3 6 ALICE; OR THE MYSTERIES 3 6 THE DISOWNED 3 6 DEVEREUX 3 6 ZANONI 3 6 LEILA; OR THE SIEGE OF GRANADA 2 6 HAROLD 4 0 LUCRETIA 4 0 THE CAXTONS 4 0 MY NOVEL (2 vols.) 8 0
Or the Set complete in 20 vols. L3 11 6 " " half-calf extra 5 5 0 " " half-morocco 5 11 6
"No collection of prose fictions, by any single author, contains the same variety of experience—the same amplitude of knowledge and thought—the same combination of opposite extremes, harmonized by an equal mastership of art; here, lively and sparkling fancies; there, vigorous passion or practical wisdom—these works abound in illustrations that teach benevolence to the rich, and courage to the poor; they glow with the love of freedom; they speak a sympathy with all high aspirations, and all manly struggle; and where, in their more tragic portraitures, they depict the dread images of guilt and woe, they so clear our judgment by profound analysis, while they move our hearts by terror or compassion, that we learn to detect and stifle in ourselves the evil thought which we see gradually unfolding itself into the guilty deed."—Extract from Bulwer Lytton and his Works.
The above are printed on superior paper, bound in cloth. Each volume is embellished with an Illustration; and this Standard Edition is admirably suited for private, select, and public Libraries.
The odd Numbers and Parts to complete volumes may be obtained; and the complete series is now in course of issue in Three-halfpenny Weekly Numbers, or in Monthly Parts, Sevenpence each.
UNIFORM ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS OF MR. AINSWORTH'S WORKS.
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TOWER OF LONDON (The). With Forty Illustrations on Steel; and numerous Engravings on Wood by George Cruikshank.
LANCASHIRE WITCHES. Illustrated by J. Gilbert.
JACK SHEPPARD. Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
OLD ST. PAUL'S. Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
GUY FAWKES. Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
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CRICHTON. With Steel Illustrations, from designs by H. K. Browne.
WINDSOR CASTLE. With Steel Engravings, and Woodcuts by Cruikshank.
MISER'S DAUGHTER. Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
ROOKWOOD. With Illustrations by John Gilbert.
SPENDTHRIFT. With Illustrations by Phiz.
STAR CHAMBER. With Illustrations by Phiz.
"It is scarcely surprising that Harrison Ainsworth should have secured to himself a very wide popularity, when we consider how happily he has chosen his themes. Sometimes, by the luckiest inspiration, he has chosen a romance of captivating and enthralling fascinations, such as 'Crichton,' the 'Admirable Crichton.' Surely no one ever hit upon a worthier hero of romance, not from the days of Apuleius to those of Le Sage or of Bulwer Lytton. Sometimes the scene and the very title of his romance have been some renowned structure, a palace, a prison, or a fortress. It is thus with the 'Tower of London,' 'Windsor Castle,' 'Old St. Paul's.' Scarcely less ability, or, rather, we should say, perhaps more correctly, scarcely less adroitness in the choice of a new theme, in the instance of one of his latest literary productions, viz., the 'Star Chamber.' But the readers of Mr. Ainsworth—and they now number thousands upon thousands—need hardly be informed of this: and now that a uniform illustrated edition of his works is published, we do not doubt but that this large number of readers even will be considerably increased."—Sun.
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FLITCH OF BACON (The); or, the Custom of Dunmow. A Tale of English Home. By W. H. AINSWORTH, Esq. With Illustrations by John Gilbert. The Second Edition.
"Certainly no custom was ever more popular; the fame of it is bruited throughout the length and breadth of the land. It is a subject that gives excellent scope to a writer of fiction; and Mr. Ainsworth, by skilful treatment, has rendered it most entertaining. The materials are put together with dramatic force."—Examiner.
"In our judgment, one of the best of Mr. Ainsworth's romances."—Scottish Citizen.
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COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Comprising the Chateau d'If, with 20 Illustrations, drawn on Wood by M. Valentin, and executed by the best English engravers.
"'Monte Cristo' is Dumas' best production, and the work that will convey his name to the remembrance of future generations as a writer."
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FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER; or, the Rich and the Poor. By CHARLES ROWCROFT, Author of "Tales of the Colonies," &c. With 27 Illustrations by Phiz.
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CARLETON'S TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY. A new Pictorial Edition, with an Autobiographical Introduction, Explanatory Notes, and numerous Illustrations on Wood and Steel, by Phiz, &c.
The following Tales and Sketches are comprised in this Edition:—
Ned M'Keown. The Three Tasks. Shane Fadh's Wedding. Larry M'Farland's Wake. The Battle of the Factions. The Station. The Party Fight and Funeral. The Lough Derg Pilgrim. The Hedge School. The Midnight Mass. The Donah, or the Horse Stealers. Phil Purcell, The Pig Driver. Geography of an Irish Oath. The Llanham Shee. Going to Maynooth. Phelim O'Toole's Courtship. The Poor Scholar. Wildgoose Lodge. Tubber Derg, or the Red Well. Neal Malone.
Also, a New Cheap Re-Issue.
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"Unless another master-hand like Carleton's should appear, it is in his pages, and his alone, that future generations must look for the truest and fullest picture of the Irish peasantry, who will ere long have passed away from the troubled land, and from the records of history."—Edinburgh Review, Oct. 1852.
"Truly—Intensely Irish."—Blackwood.
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THE FORTUNES OF TORLOGH O'BRIEN: a Tale of the Wars of King James. With Steel Illustrations by Phiz.
"This stirring tale contains the best history of the Battle of the Boyne, and is written with a master hand. It is fully equal to any of Lever's works."—Observer.
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THE NEW TALE OF A TUB. By F. W. N. BAYLEY. Illustrated by Engravings reduced from the original Drawing by Aubrey.
"Fun and humour from beginning to end."—Athenaeum.
ROUTLEDGE'S STANDARD NOVELS.
Price =2=s. =6=d. each, cloth gilt.
This Collection now comprises the best Novels of our more celebrated Authors. The volumes are all printed on good paper, with an Illustration, and form, without exception, the best and cheapest collection of light reading that is anywhere to be obtained.
The following are now ready:—
1. Romance of War. By James Grant. 2. Peter Simple. By Captain Marryat. 3. Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp. By James Grant. 4. Whitefriars. By the Author of "Whitehall." 5. Stories of Waterloo. By W. H. Maxwell. 6. Jasper Lyle. By Mrs. Ward. 7. Mothers and Daughters. By Mrs. Gore. 8. Scottish Cavalier. By James Grant. 9. The Country Curate. By Gleig. 10. Trevelyan. By Lady Scott. 11. Captain Blake; or, My Life. By W. H. Maxwell. 13. Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood. 14. Whitehall. By the Author of "Whitefriars." 15. Clan Albyn. By Mrs. Johnstone. 16. Caesar Borgia. By the Author of "Whitefriars." 17. The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss Porter. 18. Lancashire Witches. By W. H. Ainsworth. 19. Tower of London. By W. H. Ainsworth. 20. The Family Feud. By the Author of "Alderman Ralph." 21. Frank Hilton; or, the Queen's Own. By James Grant. 22. The Yellow Frigate. By James Grant. 24. The Three Musketeers. By Alexandre Dumas. 25. The Bivouac. By W. H. Maxwell. 26. The Soldier of Lyons. By Mrs. Gore. 27. Adventures of Mr. Ledbury. By Albert Smith. 28. Jacob Faithful. By Captain Marryat. 29. Japhet in Search of a Father. By Captain Marryat. 30. The King's Own. By Captain Marryat. 31. Mr. Midshipman Easy. By Captain Marryat. 32. Newton Forster. By Captain Marryat. 33. The Pacha of Many Tales. By Captain Marryat. 34. Rattlin the Reefer. Edited by Captain Marryat. 35. The Poacher. By Captain Marryat. 36. The Phantom Ship. By Captain Marryat. 37. The Dog Fiend. By Captain Marryat. 38. Percival Keene. By Captain Marryat. 39. Hector O'Halloran. By W. H. Maxwell. 40. The Pottleton Legacy. By Albert Smith. 41. The Pastor's Fireside. By Miss Porter. 42. My Cousin Nicholas. By Ingoldsby. 43. The Black Dragoons. By James Grant.
Transcriber's Note
The following typographical errors were corrected.
Page Error iii Mr. Rarey's Introduction changed to Mr. Rarey's Introduction. v snaffle.—the changed to snaffle.—The vii struogling changed to struggling 10 under the auspicies changed to under the auspices 11 violent loungings changed to violent longeings fn 20-* April 7.' changed to April 7." 23 shere humbug changed to sheer humbug 26 omiting changed to omitting 30 scimetar changed to scimitar 31 spangled troope changed to spangled troupe 31 horse wont changed to horse won't 64 suppleing changed to suppling 88 long wholebone whip changed to long whalebone whip 95 any horse changed to any horse. 128 round to the right. changed to round to the right." (based on comparison to another edition of the book) 129 gotamongst changed to got amongst 129 aid-de-camps changed to aide-de-camps 159 of my pupils changed to of my pupils. 173 white potatoe oats changed to white potato oats 173 45lbs. changed to 45 lbs. 185 distance, we though changed to distance, we thought 202 Mobbing a fox changed to Mobbing a fox. 210 danger of stubbing changed to danger of stubbing. 216 distinction bewteen changed to distinction between Ads 2 Bancrofts changed to Bancroft's
bullfinch / bulfinch farm-house / farmhouse fox-hounds / foxhounds jibbing / gibbing off-side / offside over-run / overrun practice / practise (and other forms of the word also vary) road-side / roadside steeple-chase / steeplechase thorough-bred / thoroughbred
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